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bitsandbobsandstuff · 5 years ago

Text

Ink on his heart

Summary: Here’s how Bucky Barnes got a haircut and then decided it was about damn time he controlled his own destiny - starting with a bit of ink.

Star Spangled Bingo Square: “A thoughtful gift”

Characters: Bucky Barnes x TattooArtist!Reader

Words: 7,400 Warnings: Tattoo experiences, a couple stories about war. Some swearing. Mostly lots of feels and fluff.

A/N: This one has been in my head a long time, I love tattoos and I love the idea of Bucky getting them! While I desperately wish I could draw the designs in my head, hopefully you get enough of a word picture to imagine. And yes, it is kinda long (I know, I know), but I couldn’t stop myself!

Want to find all my stories? Search #bitsmasterlist or try the link in my bio!

*****

Not that Bucky’s counting, but it’s been three days, 18 hours and 26 minutes and he can’t get over it.

In the damp, chilly hours before dawn, he sits on the floor of the tower living room, watching the marshmallows in his hot chocolate melt in white swirls. Now and then, he lifts his eyes to the windows, finds the faint edges of his reflection in the dark glass, and tilts his head. Tentative fingers scratch through close cropped hair and a slow smile appears. Even now, he expects long strands trailing through his fingers. Believes he can feel the phantom tug of a snarl.

It was just a haircut. What a simple, ordinary thing.

But Bucky Barnes has never been ordinary.

That small act triggered a startling transformation. Decades of heartbreak fell away with that dark hair, revealing the shape of a man he begins to remember, and it makes him think. About small things, about change. About simple acts making an extraordinary difference.

The last haircut Bucky remembers before the beginning of his first ending, was January 1945. The memory came back one evening, of a tent in Austria, the heavy silence of snow drifting down. He remembers Steve with a dull scissors, snipping carefully along his ear, remembers the catch of a knife gently shaving his neck. It was a ritual they shared for years. When pennies were tight and life was tough, they took care of each other.

And then? Then there was after.

After the fall, after capture, after the world went pear-shaped. Hydra wasn’t concerned with the formalities of self-care, a haircut was functional. Sharp scissors biting into his scalp, rough hands tearing his hair, a harsh slap if he considered resisting. Get it done and get it done fast. The Asset has work to do.

He despised those haircuts.

But now, here he is. No more handlers and horrors. No more running. No more hiding. No more ropes dragging him somewhere he doesn’t want to be.

Wresting back his independence was exhilarating.

When Steve had finished this haircut - because Bucky still preferred a Steve Rogers special to anything - he’d dusted off Bucky’s shoulders and waited. Sam stood behind him, and Bucky rolled his eyes, expecting a barrage of sassy comments.

But Sam just ruffled the freshly cut hair and laughed.

“Not bad old man. Still not as handsome as yours truly, but hey - maybe someday.”

Such a simple thing, a haircut.

It makes him wonder what else he might do, just for himself.

Fuzzy and disconnected, an old memory flickers to life. It buzzes in his brain, images and connections filtering through the cracks and Bucky lets out a breathless laugh.

“Yeah,” he murmurs to himself. “Okay.”

He closes his eyes and sips his hot chocolate.

*****

Steve yawns when he answers the door. Blond hair spikes in every direction and he rubs his eyes, looking for all the world like a sleepy, overgrown toddler.

“Hey, man. Everything okay?”

Bucky leans against the doorframe and chews his thumbnail while he gathers his thoughts.

“Sure, just - can I get a favor?”

Bemused, Steve ushers him inside and Bucky plops in the red bean bag chair Steve keeps tucked beside his dresser. Stretching out his legs, he waits for Steve to flop back into bed and snuggle his pillow, before he speaks.

“Remember back in ’37 when we were coming home from that shitty bar in Midtown, and we saw that sailor getting a tattoo?”

Whatever Steve expected, it wasn’t this. It takes him a moment to conjure the image, but when it comes he belts out a laugh.

“That terrified kid gettin’ a big heart on his arm? Looked ready to shit his pants?”

Bucky grins at the memory, a milk-faced kid with hair dark and shiny as an oil-slick.

“Thought he was gonna puke on the guy.”

“Yeah, and didn’t we stand outside that window arguing while you tried to convince me we both needed one? Something about good girls liking bad boys?”

“Hey, I stand by that statement!”

“Oh fuck off, you know exactly what your Ma would’ve said if we’d come home with tattoos.”

“Yeah,” Bucky chuckles. “God, she’d a skinned me alive.”

“Damn straight,” Steve agrees and they fall quiet, momentarily lost in shared memories of a woman with a voice of steel and a heart of gold.

Bucky leans forward and rests his chin on his knee.

“You know, all these years and I’ve never really - done anything like that,” he admits wistfully. “Gotten something done to me, I mean. Something I decided on my own. If that makes sense?”

Controlling his own destiny, choosing to do something by himself, instead of always accepting things done to him - the idea is intoxicating. He remembers the pained grimace on that sailor’s face and he relishes the prospect.

Pain you choose to feel holds a different meaning, than the torture he knows.

“S’never too late, Buck,” Steve says drowsily. “You can do anything you want.”

Bucky contemplates Steve’s words. He can do anything he wants. Heart beating fast, he takes a deep breath.

“So listen, I was thinking -”

*****

For two straight weeks, Steve works on ideas.

The floor of his bedroom is littered with sketches and concepts, crumpled sheets of paper dappled with flowing lines. Finally, after midnight on a dreary Thursday, he knocks on Bucky’s door. The moment it opens, he shoves his tattered leather portfolio in Bucky’s hands.

“So, I guess, uh - here.”

Steve crosses his arms, his toe tapping nervously, and Bucky chokes down a laugh. Some things about Steve Rogers remain comfortingly unchanged. No matter how incredible his work, all confidence seems to evaporate the moment Bucky lays eyes on anything.

—

“Give it back asshole!”

“God dammit Steve, YOU’RE the one who asked me to look!”

“Yeah well, I changed my mind, now give it back!”

—

Bucky remembers laughing while Steve chased him around their apartment. He remembers the neighbors banging on the wall, shouting at them to shut up, and he remembers the smell of their forgotten scrambled eggs burning. But most of all, he remembers that drawing - he tucked that portrait of his mother in his rucksack the day he shipped out and it stayed there, a good luck charm all through the war.

Steve had cried when Bucky told him.

Because Bucky’s opinion was always the one that mattered. Seventy years changes nothing.

Tonight, he opens the leather case, revealing three separate drawings. Outlines of black ink and a rainbow of colors paint over the curves and breaks of a human form and he pores over each page. Each drawing is utterly unique, telling the story of Bucky Barnes in metaphors and moments.

There are no words.

His throat feels suddenly thick, cotton lodged in his windpipe.

“I can redo them,” Steve blurts out. He snatches at the paper, but Bucky spins sideways, blocking the reach.

“The fuck you will. You ain’t touching these,” his voice cracks. Blinking back the flood of emotion, he looks up. “This is - they’re perfect, Steve. Thank you.”

Steve blushes petal pink and coughs to hide his delight. He fails miserably, of course, but that’s one more reason Bucky loves the little punk.

*****

One week later, Bucky stands before a demure brick storefront on a slow Brooklyn side street, the portfolio housing Steve’s three precious drawings clutched tight in a sweaty hand. Glancing at the address in his hand, he looks up to find stenciled letters curving across a glass window.

BROOKLYN INK ESTABLISHED 1973

“Here we go,” he mutters. Before he can lose his nerve, he shoves forward.

Three steps inside the tattoo parlor, he pulls up short.

Wow.

Black iron chandeliers hang from the ceiling, splashing sparkles across plush velvet chairs, rich violet and bright turquoise. The floor is an eclectic mix of reclaimed barn board, full of knots and whorls in every shade of brown. Artwork in black and white frames line the brick wall, tattoo designs, letters and fonts, photos of finished work. The entire space overflows with warmth, and Bucky feels instantly at ease.

The front desk is empty, but he hears someone rattling around back, so he takes a seat. Piled high on an end table are bundles of photo albums, full of work; he sinks into the cushions and starts flipping through.

Immersed in the images, he misses the sound of quiet footsteps.

“Are you James?”

The voice startles him and in one swift move, he manages to throw the album on the floor and tumble from the chair. Pages of photographs spill everywhere and he crawls over, hastily scooping them up and babbling one inappropriate apology after another.

“Shit! Sorry, I’m sorry! Shit, I mean I’m sorry for saying shit. Fuck, I didn’t - oh my god, I’m sorry, I’m not usually so - ”

Soft laughter greets him and he looks up in panic, a more refined apology on his lips, but the words evaporate.

Crouching beside him, graceful hands gather up the mess of photos, slipping them back into the album. Dropping it carelessly on the end table, she bounces back to her feet and offers him a hand.

“No worries,” she says with a breathtaking smile. “I shouldn’t have startled you.”

Although he has no need for the support, Bucky reaches mutely for her outstretched fingers because he can’t help but take them. When she tugs, he allows her to pull him up.

“I’m, um - Bucky. Please, call me Bucky.”

“Hello Bucky,” she says. She shares her name and he repeats it slowly. Clearing his throat, he takes a deep breath.

“Thanks for meeting me so late, I know it’s after hours.”

“Sure,” she says lightly. “So, what can I do for you?”

This is the tricky part.

“On the website, it mentioned you had experience with - with tattooing around scars,” he begins carefully. “Scar tissue I mean. Is that right?”

With his question, her expressions turns serious. She observes him for a long moment.

“Yes, I do. Can I ask how long you served?” she asks delicately and Bucky acknowledges her perception with a short nod. He toys with the zipper on Steve’s portfolio, debating his response.

“Seemed like forever,” he finally says, and it’s the most honest answer he has.

Nodding silently, she motions him behind the counter.

“Come on back, let’s see what you had in mind.”

Hugging the pictures to his chest, Bucky follows, eyes saucer wide as they weave through the work area to her space. The shop smells like the woodsy smoke from the candles sitting along her table, mixed with ink and latex and an odd sterile tang. He inhales and discovers he likes it, the strange scent lighting him up.

Dropping to her stool, she gestures for him to have a seat. Bucky sits gingerly, wide eyes still staring. When she catches his eye, he flushes.

“Sorry. First time I’ve been in a shop.”

“That’s okay, there’s lots to see,” she says easily. Looking at the portfolio still clutched against his chest, she grins. “Did you have some ideas already?”

He thrusts the portfolio at her. Propping it on her knees, she flips it open and he beams when he hears her astonished gasp.

“I like the colors there, if you think they’re possible?”

“Sure, might take some extra time, but I can do it,” she murmurs, pinching her lip. Turning the page sideways, she examines every minute detail, shaking her head in disbelief. “This is exquisite.”

“I’ll tell my artist. He’s a real diva sometimes.”

“I’d say he’s earned that right,” she laughs, tracing the paper with a light finger. She flips to the second picture and tilts her head. “The grays and silvers might look nice with midnight blue for contrast?”

Bucky nods eagerly. “Yeah, I love that idea.”

She looks again, examining the intricate design.

“Can you tell me about your pain tolerance? The designs are beautiful, but they’re complex. Each will take multiple sessions to finish.”

Bucky drops his eyes. He heaves a sigh at the obligatory question.

“It’s high,” he mutters. “Very - high.”

Silence follows his admission. When he dares to look up again, he feels a twinge in his chest at the compassion he finds. He offers a rueful smile and she slowly returns it.

“Would you like to come after hours? It can get noisy during the day, if you prefer things quieter. Most soldiers like that better.”

There is a sweep of relief at her casual acknowledgement. He huffs out a shaky breath.

“That would be great. If you don’t mind, I mean.”

“Not at all. I’m a night owl anyway.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says quietly. “Me too.”

She looks back to the portfolio, carefully shuffling the pages.

The third picture appears.

And Bucky sees it, that precise moment when realization sinks in. When she realizes exactly who is sitting in her chair tonight. There is no doubt the drawing gives that fact away. Heart pounding, he flinches, steeling himself for the inevitable.

But nothing happens.

She meets his nervous gaze head on and yet - that gentle smile remains.

“Bucky,” she repeats and this time she understands. “Oh. It’s nice to meet you, Bucky Barnes. Come back tomorrow night, 9pm. Don’t be late.”

He leaves the tattoo shop feeling lighter than he has in years.

*****

TATTOO 1: FOREARM

“Show me a man with a tattoo and I’ll show you a man with an interesting past.” - Jack London

*****

Perpetually early for everything, Bucky arrives at 8:45pm the next night.

The bell over the door tinkles when he enters, and she looks up from the front desk and waves. His stomach unexpectedly leaps and he thinks it must be nerves.

“Hey, Bucky,” her voice is soft.

“Evening,” he says shyly.

“You ready to do this?”

“Could hardly sleep last night,” he confesses with a grin.

Sliding timidly into her black leather chair, he watches her arrange tools on a shiny silver tray. An arm rest is attached to his right side, and he dries his sweaty palm on his jeans before easing his arm onto the cushion, palm up. When she drops onto her stool at his side, he offers a weak smile.

“You got the email I sent with all the information, right? Did you have any questions?”

He scrunches his nose, recalling the long, detailed summary she shared. For each of the three tattoos he requested, she gave him a detailed analysis of the process for creating each design; broke down how long each session would take; gave explicit instructions on the healing and care process; confirmed each individual color and how it would be applied; clarified the tools that would be used, including their brand names and how each one worked; she even provided floor plans of her shop - outlining entries and exits and bathrooms and locations of fire extinguishers.

It was a novel of information that must’ve taken her hours, and he was inexplicably grateful for the time she spent just to make him comfortable.

“No questions, I just, uh - thanks. For putting all that together. It was helpful to have all the information. Helps me keep my head on straight.”

“Of course,” she says. “So this first design should take probably 5-6 hours. Since you’re new, we’ll start with short blocks and see how it goes.”

Bucky gives a jerky nod and she pauses, pressing her fingertips against the smooth skin of his forearm.

“Here are the rules. You’re in charge, okay? We can go as fast or as slow as you need. This is not a race, and I have nowhere to be but here. Any time you want to stop, you say the word and I stop. We can take a breather, grab a cup of coffee and start again - or we can call it a night. This is your experience, Bucky. You’re in control. Understand?”

There is a fierce surge of gratitude at her words. Gratitude for her kindness, for her acceptance. Gratitude for her.

“Got it,” he whispers.

And with that, they begin.

Bucky follows each step, while she measures his arm, while she considers the contours and angles of his muscle, while she cleans and preps his skin. When she finally applies a stencil, his heart is hammering so hard his teeth are chattering.

The low buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears with a click.

When the needles touch his skin, sweat instantly beads his neck. Adrenaline drenches his tongue and for one wild moment, Bucky panics. Wonders if this was a terrible idea, because what idiot asks for pain, seriously Barnes, what the hell is wrong with you, why’re you so stupid all the -

And then - oh.

Huh.

Interesting.

Wide-eyed, Bucky follows her careful strokes, black lines appearing on his skin.

It does hurt - sort of. Obviously nothing he can’t handle; in the grand scheme of his life, this would register as a minor inconvenience, but there is a pinch.

But that spark of pain vanishes, when the raw symbolism behind Steve’s design hits him full force.

Holy shit.

How many times through the decades did Bucky Barnes die? And how many times did he rise, born again from the frozen ash of oblivion? It was simply what the Soldier did. But it was a shadow-life, nothing more. Bucky never knew how close he was to giving up, until that day above the Potomac, Steve’s bloody face beneath his furious fists. He was so far gone, so lost and forgotten, until those memories cracked the Soldier’s fierce veneer.

And suddenly he was Bucky again. Awake and alive. For the first time in 70 years he felt fire in his soul. For the first time in 70 years he could breathe.

Tears inexplicably fill his eyes.

“All okay?”

Through a tunnel, Bucky hears her voice. Hypnotized by the metaphor inking itself into his skin, his head feels waterlogged when blinks up at her.

“Sorry?”

She scans his face, her thumb rubbing the pulse thrumming at his wrist.

“Everything okay?” She asks again and Bucky feels a potent rush of euphoria.

“Yes,” he says slowly. The excitement bubbles over and he lets out an ecstatic laugh. “Yes! This is incredible. This is - fucking hell, this is amazing.”

Chuckling to herself, she bends back to her task.

“So I guess we’ll keep going?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Yeah, let’s keep going.”

Two hours later, the outline of the Phoenix is inked into his skin, crisp black lines like fresh paint. Long tail feathers are curled around his wrist, the lush feathered body splashed over his forearm, her wings spread open and curving around his arm, her head reaching toward the sky.

Born from ash. Alive again.

Bucky hates to cover it up, but she insists.

“Follow the cleaning instructions and it should be fine. We need to wait between the sessions, give you time to heal.”

At that comment, he fidgets.

“Actually, I heal pretty - fast.”

“I assumed you might. Usually I say 2-3 weeks between sessions, so how about you come back in 1 week and we can see. Let’s just make sure. Does that work?”

Bucky glances at the crisp white bandage on his arm.

“Okay, that works,” he says.

She squeezes his hand and he meets her eyes.

“You did great,” she tells him.

Bucky smiles in return. And he doesn’t stop for the next six days.

*****

When he walks into the shop for his next session, he carries a large coffee for himself and an extra large iced peach green tea for her. When he gets to the front desk, he thrusts the cup at her.

“Evening. Um, here. Saw you had one last time, so - anyway.”

“Bucky, thank you. I’ve been craving one all day.” She gives the straw an experimental bite, before taking a long drink and for some reason, the silly quirk makes his heart bounce.

After a quick check on how he’s healed, she declares him perfect and they get started, settling into a comfortable silence. After an hour of buzzing, Bucky clears his throat.

“Is it okay to talk while you work?”

“It is,” she affirms, dabbing at the ink. Glancing up, she sees hesitant blue eyes. “I’m good at listening too. Sometimes it’s nice just to listen.”

Bucky figures that’s a fair statement. He fiddles with a stray thread on his shirt.

“Do you read much?” He asks hopefully, picturing the teetering stack of books beside his bed. She perks at the question.

“I love to read. Have a pile of books on my nightstand waiting for me to find time. What about you? Are you reading anything good now? Any favorites I should know?”

Bucky swallows the happy surprise. If he could, he’d be content to spend the rest of his years with a comfortable chair, a cup of coffee, and an unending supply of stories. He could talk about books for days, he just normally keeps quiet, because most people aren’t interested in that facet of Bucky Barnes.

So he begins to talk.

He tells her how Natasha lent him all her Russian copies of Pushkin and Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, insisting that reading in the original language was infinitely better. He describes how he found a copy of Rumi’s poetry at a yard sale, and what an incredible treasure it was. He flusters recounting how much he cried reading ‘A Fault in our Stars’ and says he was scared shitless to even see a clown for a full year after reading Stephen King.

He talks and talks and talks, and when he finally stops to breathe, she glances up.

“It’s nice to hear a man who’s so well read,” she says and Bucky preens at the compliment. “Do you have an all time favorite? Something you never get tired of?”

A favorite? No question.

“Yeah, I do. Something I read during the war and kinda fell in love. It’s about here, I guess. About Brooklyn.”

At the description, her mouth quirks, but she keeps working.

“Did you ever think about a book quote for a tattoo?”

Now there’s an idea. He makes a mental note to think of a quote he could add as another tattoo. Or maybe another couple tattoos. Hell, one session in and he’s already addicted.

The comment tumbles free before he realizes he’s spoken out loud. He blushes at her laughter.

“It can be addicting,” she agrees. Bucky understands completely, seeing the vibrant crimson ink soak into his skin, painting the bird’s feathers. And then she pauses, meeting his eyes with a peculiar expression. “The right words can make you feel invincible.”

Setting the tattoo machine down, she rolls her chair back a bit and sits up straight. Lifting the hem of her shirt, Bucky sees a line of gold text inked below her ribs, his eyes following the flowing cursive.

“She was all of these things and of something more,” he reads aloud.

“‘A Tree Grows in Brooklyn’ is my favorite book too,” she says quietly. There is a long, unbroken moment where they stare into each others eyes. He should say something, he thinks. Something intelligent or witty or anything, but instead he just thinks about the fact that he found a woman in Brooklyn to permanently carve pictures into his skin and she has the same favorite book as him.

Bucky always was a sucker for fate.

“That’s - that’s really - I love that,” he finally says instead.

*****

A week later, Bucky arrives with a bundle of folders and an exasperated expression.

“This is really annoying, but do you mind if I finish some reports while you work? Got behind, someone’s gonna have my ass.” Bucky raises the papers apologetically.

“No problem,” she says easily. “Let’s keep your ass safe.”

Bending back to her task, Bucky snorts a laugh. They’re just a handful of mission reports, normally he types them soon as he returns, but lately he’s been slacking, because lately he has other things he finds more interesting.

Like the scene in front of him.

Together they work, each with their own pen. Bucky writes, she colors, and the clock on the wall ticks along. After awhile, she takes a break to stretch. Rolling her shoulders, she observes him.

“Are you left-handed?” she asks curiously and it takes Bucky a moment to think.

“Oh. Uh, not really,” he says. “But I can switch. Never been a problem.”

At the confession, she raises her eyebrows.

“That’s impressive. I wish I had a talent like that.”

He ducks his head at the praise. And he keeps writing, of course. Maybe adds a bit more flair. After all, the old Bucky Barnes did like to swagger.

*****

“Well, I think that’s it.”

It takes a beat before Bucky understands what she means. Confused, he peers up at her with a dopey expression and she gestures at his arm.

He feels his heart lurch.

It flames to life along his arm, painted in vibrant ruby red and rich crimson and deep plum, highlights edged in shining gold. Mesmerized, Bucky stares down at the lines of ink and he flexes, the tendons of his arm shifting, and the bird moves. For one wild moment, he believes if he stays still, it could leap from his skin and take flight.

It leaves him breathless.

“God, this is better - fuck, it’s so much better - than I ever imagined. How did you - wow. I don’t know how you did it, but - thank you. Thank you so much.”

Unanticipated emotion makes his voice tremble. Because this is the first time Bucky Barnes chose something permanent for himself. Serums and metal arms and bullets and blades, those were always forced upon him, his pleading refusals met with violence and sneering indifference.

But this?

This.

This is all his.

*****

TATTOO 2: BACK

“Wear your heart on your sleeve in this life.” - Sylvia Plath

*****

“So, uh, how exactly does this work?”

Standing beside the leather chair while she organizes her inks, Bucky wrinkles his nose. She looks up and motions for him to turn, straddling the chair with his chest pressed against the back.

“Are you comfortable completely removing your shirt? Or would you prefer to leave it part way on? I’ll just need it out of the way for the right side of your back.”

Bucky grimaces. Eventually she’s going to see his shoulder - he knows that - but he’s not in the mood to rip that band-aid off yet.

“Uh - let’s do part of the way if that’s okay?”

“That’s okay,” she confirms and he awkwardly tugs his right arm free, baring the broad expanse of his back. Tucking his arms in front of him, he slings a leg over the chair and rests his chin carefully on the headrest.

He says nothing, simply stays still while she absorbs the sight. Littered up and down his back are a litany of scars, puckers from the occasional bullet, thin lines from errant blades, and a few other marks he prefers not to define. His voice is muffled when he warily asks.

“Are you able to - work with it?“

“Absolutely,” she answers firmly and Bucky warms at the decisiveness in her tone. Her confidence makes him feel infinitely more positive.

This is the largest of his three tattoos, stretching from the tip of his shoulder blade and flowing down to his waist. It will also take the longest, but Bucky assures her he has no issue sitting perfectly still for hours.

It’ll be worth it. He can’t wait to show Sam - he’ll get a kick out of this one.

Once she applies the stencil over his skin, she goes to work, dropping into that headspace of deep focus. She works so quietly for so long, he falls into a trance, lulled by the melodic buzz.

When she speaks, it startles him.

“What made you decide you wanted a tattoo?”

He lays his cheek along the edge of the chair so he can see her from the corner of his eye when he answers.

“S’random, but back in ’37, me and Steve were out and I remember walking by this old tattoo shop over in Midtown. They had one of those big glass windows with the chair in front, so people could stand and watch. Anyway, we walk by and there was this kid sitting in the chair, and no fuckin’ joke, he was getting a big heart on his arm with ‘MOM’ written in the middle.”

“Ah yes, the ever popular ‘mom’ tribute. I’ve done a few of those,” she says and Bucky grins.

“Well anyway, I always kinda wanted something, you know? Thought about getting one before I shipped out, but I didn’t, and then it was - “ he pauses for a moment, but she encourages him with a questioning hmmm? and Bucky bravely pushes forward. “I had lots of years where I didn’t get to make my own decisions. And there was so much - bad shit that happened to me. Anyway, I guess I thought if someone’s gonna do something to me, I wanted it to be on my own terms. You know?”

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “I think that makes perfect sense.”

Bucky sits quietly, contemplating. The question has been rattling around his brain for awhile and it spills free before he can stop himself.

“The whole process, it feels sort of - intimate, doesn’t it?”

He flushes at the insinuation, but intimate is the best way to describe it, he thinks, this practice of someone permanently carving their art into your skin.

“It is intimate,” she says softly, leaning closer. “It’s almost like you’re - leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin? I don’t know if that makes sense, but that’s what it’s always felt like.”

Bucky nods, watching her capable, artistic, beautiful hands as they move, slowly transferring bits and pieces of herself to him.

What a gift. He holds on tight.

*****

It was bound to happen at one of the sessions.

It’s been dark and rainy for days, buckets dumped from the heavens, the perpetual grumble of thunder always near. When Bucky comes through the front door, he feels like a wet dog. He shakes out his jacket, stomps his boots. He feels off base tonight, the result of bad sleep, bad dreams, and one particularly bad mission. He’s frustrated with himself for bringing it with him, thinks maybe he should’ve cancelled, but the thought of skipping his session - both the ink and her - was too depressing.

So instead of holing up in his room and moping under the covers, he braved the storm.

The one inside and out.

Searching for calm, he licks chapped lips.

“Hey,” he says, cringing when his voice cracks.

“Hey, Buck,” she turns cheerfully, but when she sees him squinting at her through the droplets cascading down his face, his shoulders hunched and tense, she stops. Looks him up and down and her expression softens. Beckoning him back, she digs up a towel and a dry t-shirt with ‘BROOKLYN INK’ stamped across the front, ushering him to the bathroom.

“Take all the time you need. No rush.”

Bucky mumbles his thanks and shuts the door. Gripping the sink, he glares at the mirror, at the smudge of dark beneath his eyes, at the clench of his jaw. Closing his eyes, he breathes slow and deep.

“You’re okay. You’re okay.”

He repeats the mantra, determined to settle. He’s been eager for this session all week, he’s sure as hell not ruining it because he can’t get his idiot brain to stop spinning.

When he finally emerges, he finds her arranging her work space. Halting in front of her, he keeps trembling hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes downcast.

“I’m afraid I’m poor company tonight,” he admits quietly.

“That’s okay. We can reschedule, Bucky,” she says softly and Bucky feels the disconcerting sting of tears. He rubs the heel of his hand against watery eyes.

“If it’s okay, I’d - I’d rather go ahead. Been looking forward to seeing you - uh, seeing you work, all week. It was just - “ he pauses and fights the temptation to spill his guts. No, he snarls internally, she doesn’t need to hear all your shit.

He clamps his mouth shut and shrugs instead.

She says nothing, but when she gives his hand a comforting squeeze, Bucky feels that familiar surge of gratitude. She guides him carefully toward the chair and he slumps into the seat, automatically tugging up his new shirt.

“Just close your eyes and breath. You’re okay.”

Bucky rests his chin on the edge of the chair. Troubled eyes flutter shut, and the comforting buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears, muting the sound of the storm raging outside. When he feels the prick of the needles, he lets out a weary breath. And when he feels the easy pressure of her fingers, he begins to relax.

For hours, she works. Firm strokes, painting the story across his skin.

The dark night begins to fade before she finally sets her tools aside. When he climbs to his feet, she pulls him into a gentle hug.

Bucky sinks into her arms.

That morning, the sun begins to shine.

*****

Bucky’s been sitting for a couple hours now, eyeing the brick wall behind the chair. A question pops into his head and he feels like a jerk for not asking sooner.

“Hey - all these hours together, and I never asked you - what made you want to draw on people for a living?”

She hums at the question, and he can hear the happiness in her reply.

“Well, I always wanted to be an artist. For my eleventh birthday, my best friend Mike gave me this set of gel pens, there were a million colors. When I told him I wanted to be a tattoo artist, he let me draw pictures all over him for practice. He insisted on being the first person I inked, once I got my license. Would always tell people he was the ‘original canvas’ for my brilliance.”

When she laughs, Bucky chuckles with her; it reminds him of Steve.

“Sounds like a good man,” he says.

“Yeah, he is - he was,” she quietly corrects herself. “He was an EOD specialist in Afghanistan. Right before he left for his last tour, I drew up plans for the arm sleeve he always wanted; he planned to get it when he finished. A month later, he was in a convoy that was moving through the Gereshk Valley in the Helmand Province, when an IED hit his vehicle. He didn’t make it home.”

The story hits home like a kick in the face.

Too many soldiers, too many lives. Bucky reaches back to still her hand. He slowly turns to face her, gently tugging the tattoo machine free and setting it aside. Wordlessly, he offers his hand and she accepts it gratefully, weaving her fingers through his. It takes a few attempts before she speaks again.

“It took me a long time to get through that. One day I met a friend working down at the VA, and I heard a vet talking about the scars on his legs. He sounded so - sad about them, you know? Kept saying he didn’t recognize himself anymore. And I just stood there thinking, maybe I couldn’t help Mike, but I could still do something.” Staring resolutely down, she considers her fingers still entangled with Bucky’s. “I did some research and took some classes and - learned how to tattoo on scar tissue.”

Bucky gazes at her. He feels a sweep of pride at the way she turned her tragedy into something beautiful.

“I’m so sorry that happened,” he says and she finally looks up, meeting blue eyes bright with compassion. “But you should know, what you’re doing for people, it’s incredible. And if you don’t mind me saying, I think he’d be real god damn proud of you.”

A tear slips down her cheek and she ducks her head, her whisper so low he nearly misses it.

“Thank you Bucky.”

*****

Hours later, Bucky hears a clatter of tools and her huff of relief.

“All done.”

Wiping her hands, she pops excitedly up from the stool and Bucky pushes back from the chair to follow. Without a thought, she grabs his metal hand, tugging him impatiently over to a set of floor length mirrors along the wall. Bucky grips tight and obediently follows, his pulse racing. When she positions him at the mirror, she adjusts the panels so he can see himself from all angles.

“There, have a look.”

Along his spine, the single metal wing bursts free, so intensely realistic, Bucky’s jaw drops. It arches gracefully up, curving over his shoulder blade and sweeping down his back, razor sharp feathers tickling his rib cage before billowing out above his waist. Made from silvers and grays and shaded hints of midnight blue, it glows in the light. When Bucky reaches toward the sky, the muscles shift beneath the ink and it creates the strangest sensation of feathers unfolding.

All the scars littering his back, a flesh and bone patchwork of memories left by vicious handlers and fights too close for comfort, have disappeared. Blending into the steel of his new wing, their only purpose is to strengthen the image.

After all this time, he’s come to terms with the metal arm so unwillingly gifted all those years ago. But it’s remained a relic of a past life, something heavy, to drag him down.

But now, he rolls his shoulder back and his new metal wing lifts him higher than he’s felt in a long, long time.

*****

TATTOO 3: SHOULDER

“I can bear any pain as long as it has meaning.” - Haruki Murakami

*****

“So our last session.”

“Our last session,” he murmurs.

Bucky thinks for a moment that she seems glum, but maybe that’s wishful thinking.

“This is a tough one,” she warns, “but I think we can do it in one session. I won’t try and cover them up, it won’t work. The best solution is to incorporate your scars into the design. Make sense?”

Bucky pictures the pattern Steve drew, bright green leaves and vines tracing the seam of his arm, melding with the thick ribbons of raised tissue. It doesn’t matter, but he timidly asks anyway.

“Will it hurt?”

“No,” she says gently. Pressing her hand to his galloping heart, she shakes her head. “It won’t hurt much there, but you need to tell me if it hurts here. You need to tell me if I should stop. Remember, you’re in charge, okay?”

“Okay,” he whispers.

Steeling himself, he whips off his shirt, balling it up in nervous hands. The cool air blowing through the shop is a relief for his overheated body.

“Do you mind if I feel the skin here? So I can make sure I approach it right?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Bucky mumbles. Staring at his hands, he waits.

Leaning close, her fingers brush over him, feeling the lines and ridges, assessing the canvas. For ten minutes, she tests his skin, lightly pushing and pressing, observing the scars and bumps where metal meets man.

“Does it still hurt?”

She doesn’t want to ask, but needs to know what she’s working with. With a grim smile, he shrugs.

“Not really. Aches sometimes, but doesn’t hurt. Can’t feel much there besides some pressure.”

Nodding, she pinches her lip. “I was thinking last night, um - would you want to add anything else into the design? Nothing big, but a few flowers? Some daisies maybe?”

“Sure, I’d like that. Any reason for daisies?” Bucky asks curiously.

Pulling out a few additional bottles of ink, she absently touches the necklace at her throat, and Bucky sees a silver daisy spinning.

“Daisies represent new beginnings. Thought it might be a nice way to end, if you like?”

Does he like it? The idea of having this small thing in common?

Hell yes he likes it.

Maybe - maybe he even more than likes it?

“Yeah. That sounds perfect,” he says softly. He swallows hard and she nods encouragingly.

“Okay. Remember - stop me if you need a break.”

This one, Bucky knows will be hard. It was the reason he left it to the end - the mental fortitude required here is much different.

As she begins, he contemplates the pink furrows gouged into his skin. The memory of how they got there flashes before him, a sick image of shredded skin raked bloody beneath his blunt fingernails. Faint screams of a past life echo in his ears, the smokey cry of his own voice desperate for relief from the pain.

Cold sweat slides down his face and he slams his eyes shut, but that seems to make it worse. The images glow technicolor bright, and he grunts a frustrated breath.

And then, through the thin latex of her glove, he feels her cool hand press against his pounding heart. Cracking an eye open, he finds her calm face and he focuses on her, until his breathing begins to ease. Blinking rapidly, he drinks in the curve of her nose, the shape of her mouth, the beauty of her eyes.

His heart stutters, stunning him into a different kind of breathless.

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, wide eyes locked on hers. “Yeah, I’m okay. You can keep going.”

When she bends back to her task, Bucky melts. It occurs to him, that perhaps if she might let him, he could be content watching her forever.

But for tonight, this forever lasts only a few hours before she’s done.

And there it is.

Shades of green line his shoulder, the vines curling and winding around his scars, blending them seamlessly into the foliage covering his skin. Spidering vines trail across his chest, and it seems incompatible in a way, something alive bursting from the stark metal, but the leaves look so real, he swears they flutter with each breath he takes. Strewn throughout the greenery, small splotches of yellow and white reveal her daisies and he sucks in a breath.

For the first time in his life, Bucky stares at his scars and a foreign word comes to mind, one he never, ever thought to use.

“Beautiful,” he breathes. “They’re beautiful.”

*****

And so, after 3 months and 30 hours together, they were done.

Hands in his pockets, Bucky gazes at her. Ink on her hands, ink on his heart. It hits him then, this is it. They shuffle, making small talk, neither ready to say goodbye.

“Promise you’ll come back if you decide on anything else. Tattoos, piercings, anything,” she teases and Bucky laughs.

“Told you, I might be a little addicted,” he admits, knowing full well he means to tattoos and to her. “Soon as I can think of a reason, I’ll be back.”

“I hope so,” she says. There is a brief moment where she seems to gather her courage and then she leans in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “You’re a work of art, Bucky, but - you were before any of this. Remember that.”

Dazed, Bucky touches his cheek.

Indelible and perfect, the tattoo of her lips inks itself straight onto his heart.

*****

When she arrives at the shop the next day, there is a new sight sitting on the front desk.

Daisies, their white petals and yellow faces as fresh as the afternoon sunshine filtering through the window. Bemused, she looks around the bustling shop and spies the card propped beside the overflowing vase, her name scrawled across the front.

“When I got home, I stood in front of the mirror for hours, staring at your artwork. Every time I told myself to go to sleep, I found something new I loved. The tail feathers on my Phoenix or the petals of your daisies. What you’ve given me is more than I ever hoped - I can never thank you enough.

But anyway, I remembered what you said - how this kind of art is like leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin.

Well, I won’t lie - you must have done, because I miss you already.

So at the risk of being forward (although I did break into your shop and leave this, so maybe this won’t seem that forward), would you have dinner with me?

I think there’s another new beginning waiting out there, if you’d like to find it with me.

Yours,

Bucky”

At the bottom of the note, a phone number is printed.

Brushing her fingers over the delicate white petals, she pictures him, that dark haired man with eyes like blue ink, so heartbreakingly beautiful inside and out. She feels the unconscious pull of her heart, telling her all she needs to know.

A new beginning.

She says yes.

*****

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #SSB2020 #bucky fic #bitsmasterlist #tattoos #tattoo trope

5K notes · View notes

a-dorin · 4 years ago

Text

stranger

pairing: the mandalorian x medic!reader

word count: 2.69k

warnings: cursing, canon typical violence, blood, wounds, burns, references to killing/violence, the taste of blood, sewing a wound up, yearning, pining, an idiot who wears only a beskar helmet and takes on more than he can handle 99.99% of the time

a/n: hi i wrote this in like no time at all so i hope you guys like it. (also at like 2:05 in the morning) also, this takes place during season one, and diverts a little bit away from canon because he doesn’t have all of his new beskar armor yet (oops) also, sorry if the ending line is shitty i have a hard time with it sometimes

“i thought this was the last time you were going to pull shit like this on me karga,” you dig your index finger into his chest, your jaw clenched, lips curled in a sneer, “you always say it’s going to be the last time shit like this happens and guess what? it doesn’t ever fucking end does it? i help you one time and--”

the leader hangs his head, raising a hand in defeat, “i am well aware of how you feel about me and the way i do my business. however, this is someone i can’t turn away. and you’re the only person i trust to fix him.”

exhaling, your eyes squeeze shut, “who is it?”

“someone who has been working with me for quite some time,” greef pauses, taking a moment to gauge your reaction, “he’s a skilled bounty hunter, one of the best, actually. typically, he fixes himself right up, but his injuries are far too severe to just ‘sew up’ and go about his business. trust me, i had to do some convincing to even bring him to you.”

through the entryway, a draft rolls in, causing you to shrink into your clothes, “it’s a little too chilly to talk out here. come in, we can discuss my payment, and then i’ll make my decision.”

greef takes a step forward, clearing his throat, “i’ll pay you, and so will he. i am well aware of how you feel about giving my men medical attention. but you do know that i will pay you well for this, right?”

you nod slightly, rubbing your temple with your fingers, “how much are we talking here, karga?”

“i would like for you to assess his injuries first,” he counters, “then we can talk about payment.”

“fine,” you mutter, crossing over to your table, “please, just bring him in. if he bleeds out on my table, it’s your fault karga!”

“hopefully there will be none of that,” karga shakes his head, the words so low that you could barely hear him, “i’ll bring him in. let me know when you’re finished.”

swiftly, you gather up your supplies, your hands gathering as much as you could. from the sound of it, things weren’t looking good. reaching out, you pull your cart towards you, practically tossing the supplies on the metallic surface. cursing under your breath, you search for your gloves, eyes frantically searching your surroundings, yet they’re nowhere to be found.

guess you’d have to get a little messy with this one.

a long-winded groan startles you from your task at hand, and your heart sinks the moment karga brings him in. he’s donned head to toe in battle armor, the hues of the metal a variety of colors. the only distinguishable piece is a beskar helmet, light reflecting off its surface.

not once did karga mention that you would be tending to a mandalorian.

“how bad is it?” you inquire, your voice crisp and cool as you stride over to karga, helping him carry the mandalorian to your table.

blood seeps through his clothes, soaking the garments with a horrid scarlet. in several spots, there is singed fabric, signifying that he took a few good shots. the mandalorian reeks of burnt flesh and the stench of a battle, your nose wrinkling and bile rising in your throat.

this was far worse than karga described, and this was no time to start panicking.

“just a few blaster shots,” the mandalorian cuts in, his voice distorted from a modulator, “nothing that i couldn’t fix myself.”

“ah, ah, ah,” karga interjects, “there’s more to it than that. i believe he has several lacerations, perhaps a few burns from blasters.”

“that beskar couldn’t stop everything huh?” you arch a brow, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

the mandalorian doesn’t respond, anxiety bubbling up within you, “karga, try and keep him awake as long as you can. i have a few healing stems, along with some bacta shots, but depending on how deep the wounds are, i won’t be able to treat him unless we strip him of the armor.”

“i-i can’t take that off,” the mandalorian gurgles, “i-i, m-my cr-creed.”

“what creed?” you shoot karga a curious glance, guilt plastering his features.

“he has a creed he follows,” karga inhales sharply, “it’s his way of life.”

your lips part, forming an o. you want to scold karga for not briefing you on all of the minor details, as he normally does with his men. however, there was no time for banter or bickering.

you had to maintain your composure.

“how much blood has he lost, you think?”

“i can’t give you a definite answer on that,” karga takes a step back, allowing you to survey the mandalorian, “i would say a lot, but i’m not too sure. perhaps his garments stopped some of it, or the pressure of his armor.”

“that’s not enough pressure,” you murmur, plucking a pair of shears off your cart, “hey mando, can you hear me? are you still with us?”

a feeble hand raises from the table, his voice breathy and far away, “i-i’m here. anything but the helmet, please.”

“of course,” your voice is soft and hushed, “the helmet is off limits.”

“now that i’ve got him in here,” karga gestures his head towards the nearly unconscious mandalorian, “he has something back at his ship that i need to tend to. will you need my assistance or can you handle it?”

“i can handle it,” your voice falters, “go do what you need to do. it may be an hour or two before he’s feeling better.”

“you know how to find me if you need me,” karga’s words trail off as he exits your home, the doors sliding shut behind him.

“all right mando,” you take his hand, squeezing it, “i’m going to start by removing your armor okay? let me know if you can’t feel anything. that’s when we have a problem.”

“i can feel everything,” he spits out, “fuck. it hurts. it all hurts.”

“you really took a beating huh?” carefully, you start by removing his boots, hastily yet with caution.

who knew if he took a hit to the spine, paralyzing any point of his body.

“hey,” you place his boots on the floor, “can you wriggle your toes for me mando?”

immediately, relief ripples through you as you watch his toes move, signaling that there was no nerve damage. next, you remove the plates of armor covering his shins and thighs, placing them directly by his boots. the armor was severely damaged, almost beyond repair, as it was littered with dents and holes.

how many run-ins did this mandalorian have in his lifetime? how many of his days had he spent fighting?

“do you have other clothing in your ship?” you press on, slicing the fabric with your shears, “karga mentioned you had a ship.”

“mmmhmmmm,” he hums, “name is the razor crest.”

“ahh,” soaking a rag with bacta spray, you wiped down his exposed legs, assessing his wounds as you did so, “that’s a wonderful name.”

the flesh was only burned, which could be healed almost instantly with the bacta spray. luckily, there wouldn’t be much scar tissue either, only a few minor scars here and there. yet, you wondered if there was an inch of the mandalorian’s body that wasn’t scarred.

“d-don’t worry so much bout my legs,” he stammers, “it’s my shoulder that i’m worried about. i can feel the blood soaking through.”

“i’ll have to remove the rest of your armor and your tunic,” biting your lip, your hands wrap around his chest plate, desperate to find a way to get it off.

“hey,” his voice sounds again, this time a lot clearer, “i can get it off. you don’t have to worry about being hasty about this. i’ll make sure you get your sum.”

“i-i just,” you stutter, the taste of blood hitting your tongue as he sits up, “karga sounded so worried and i want to do a good job because the way he talked, you were his best hunter and i just can’t--”

“you won’t fuck anything up,” a hand reaches out, finding yours, “this isn’t anything i haven’t encountered before. the thing is, you’re a trained medic. i’m not. i would probably make a mistake and make my injuries worse somehow. take. your. time.”

for a moment, your eyes flutter closed, a weary sigh flowing from your lips. you can sense the mandalorian watching you carefully, studying your features through the tinted visor.

“o-okay,” you whisper.

the mandalorian sits up, shedding away the remaining pieces of his armor, “would you like for me to roll over?”

you nod, gnawing at your lower lip once more as you realize that this mandalorian, this stranger, was about to be nearly undressed, half-bleeding, half-conscious, on your table. and he was so patient with you. so much kinder than previous patients in the past.

“wait,” your brow furrows, “your helmet would make it awkward for you to lay on your stomach. how about you move over a little, to the edge of the table?”

“of course.”

he straightens his back, scooting over to give you some space. clambering onto the table, you reach up to adjust your light. taking your rag, you wipe down his back and shoulders, muscles rippling under your touch. every so often, your fingertips graze his heated skin as you lose yourself in your work.

you catch a quiet groan as you continue to work, your heart fluttering.

the sound wasn’t drenched with pain, nor anywhere near the noise you first encountered when he was being brought in by karga.

this was a sound of contentment, a sound of bliss.

“how long has it been since you’ve felt someone’s touch?”

shame burns through you the moment the question tumbles from your lips, nearly consuming you whole as he tenses. maker, did you feel so guilty. he was a stranger to you. how could you just blatantly ask that?

the answer arrives, short and sweet.

“too long.”

leaning over, you press a piece of cloth on his shoulder, a lengthy laceration stretching from his clavicle to his left shoulder blade, “oh, i see.”

“do you usually get this close and personal with your patients?”

“depends,” you shrug, “hey, i’m about to sew you up. it may sting.”

plunging the needle in, you press yourself to his back as you start the suture, your breath fanning against his neck. the mandalorian stiffens as he catches a whiff of your scent, and how it was so heavenly as it wafted into his nostrils.

his jaw clenches as he chokes back a hiss of pain, remaining as still as possible.

“you’re being so good for me,” your voice floods his ear, the praise nearly causing him to crumble completely.

within seconds, you’re all finished, sliding off the table, “i take it that karga is coming back with a change of clothes?”

“i hope so.”

gazing over at your table, you notice the healing stems, “i have some healing stems for your travels. they’ll probably help with that dull pain you’ll have in that area for a while. it won’t be an issue unless you somehow reopen that wound. if it was any closer to any major artery in your neck, you would’ve bled out.”

“i’ll take them.”

“well,” you hand them to him, “take them before you forget them. you seem like the forgetful type.”

a low chuckle erupts from the beskar, “i don’t think i could forget a night like--”

a knock on the doors interrupts the mandalorian’s sentence, cutting it short. as you make your way over, you hear a string of curses flowing from the table. more than likely his native tongue. pressing a button, the doors slide open, revealing greef karga and a strange, little creature, swathed by a bundle of clothing in his arms.

“you were fast,” karga remarks, cradling the creature, “how is he?”

“he’s fine,” your focus is directed away from karga, honing in on the creature, “who is this?”

“this is what i had to retrieve from his ship. he’s a very precious child. extremely important to that mandalorian over there.”

the child coos, its eyes two vast pools of obsidian. he blinks, a tiny hand flailing out. you melt, lips curling into a broad smile, “hello, little one. are you looking for your father?”

“he is,” the mandalorian echoes from across the space.

karga enters, keeping the child against his chest as he strides over, placing the bundle next to the mandalorian. from a distance, you watch fondly as the child teeters towards the bounty hunter, an incoherent blubber sounding as his guardian pats his head, reassuring him that they would no longer be separated.

within minutes, the mandalorian was springing to his feet, with a fresh set of a clothes, the same armor strapped to his frame. the child is in his embrace now, clinging onto his thumb. karga hovers by his side, more than likely filling him in on the next mission. the next victim to hunt.

“how should i pay you?” his voice, one you had grown familiar over the course of the hour, fills your ears.

“oh,” you blink, “um, don’t worry about it. you have far more important things to--”

“no,” his tone is firm, “you deserve some sort of payment.”

“she lives here after all,” karga remarks, folding his arms across his chest, “i could pay her any time.”

“how about you head out so that we can discuss this a little more privately?” he turns to karga, the query almost more of a command than a question.

“of course,” karga dips his head, shifting towards you, “i’ll see you around. hopefully this is the last time i spring a patient on you.”

“i’m sure it won’t be the last,” you roll your eyes playfully, “see you around, karga.”

“tell me, how much do i owe you? name anything in the galaxy and it’s yours.”

“you’re ridiculous,” you snort, “you don’t owe me anything. you could’ve died and you’re worried about paying me.”

“because you deserve it,” he takes a step forward, the space between the two of you dissipating, “from the sound of it, you let this happen quite frequently. you don’t get paid enough for it either.”

“how about you pay me a visit the next time you make a pitstop in nevarro,” your eyes fall to the floor, careful to not meet his gaze, “would that be enough?”

a gloved hand grasps your chin, tilting your head up.

“oh cyar’ika, that would be more than enough.”

the child giggles, bouncing, “maybe you should get a move on. he seems hungry. there’s a cantina not too far away from here. they serve good food, even if the locals get a bit rowdy. i bet it’s nothing you run into, though.”

“it’s probably best if i leave nevarro.”

“be safe out there mando,” you whisper.

“i will.”

just like that, he’s out the door, leaving your knees weak, heart all aflutter.

as the mandalorian made his way to the razor crest, child in tow, his mind was reeling, all of his thoughts honing in one particular thing.

a medic on nevarro, who mentioned briefly that he seemed to the forgetful type. yeah, he traveled near and far, to all rims and edges of the galaxy, but he was one to forget people, nor faces. he encountered so many species: human, twi’leks, wookiees, chiss, you name it.

the moment he stepped foot on the razor crest, he yearned. the desire burning through him, aching and desperate.

stars, how he longed to go back. just for one more glimpse. one more glimpse of that stranger’s face, that beautiful face.

he was determined though, determined to find his way back. perhaps in a few days, even. the mandalorian was relentless, especially when it came to getting what he craved. and oh, how he craved to know the name of the stranger on nevarro.

someone who would no longer be a stranger to the mandalorian.

he just knew it.

#the mandalorian #din djarin #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #mandalorian #mandalorian x reader #din djarin fluff #star wars #mandalorian fluff #mando

190 notes · View notes

sokkas-honour · 4 years ago

Note

For the Spotify writing could you do 50 for Korra

ms. california - korra x reader

pairing: korra x reader (gender neutral)

wc: 1.8k

notes/warnings: nothing here folks :)

i love your voice but hate the way, you talk of her consistently

you heard the boats coming in before you saw them, you heard the cheers erupting from a small crowd that had formed around the south pole’s dock, all flocking to catch a glimpse of their avatar coming home. while everyone’s excitement stemmed from seeing what was essentially a hero, you were just excited to finally see your oldest friend whom you hadn’t seen since she had left to go back to republic city after spending time healing with master katara in the south pole.

excitement cursed through your veins at the prospect of seeing your best friend after years of being separated as you ran to mix in with the crowd of natives welcoming one of their own home.

your heart swelled once you finally spotted her, standing proudly at the front of the ship, her mother placed right next to her as they both waved at the crowd. you noticed her newly cut hair that you had only seen in recent varrick industries movers, it looked even better on her in person.

you pushed your way through the crowd, excusing yourself as you bumped into several people, most of them unphased as they kept their gaze on the master of all four elements. you didn’t stop moving until you found yourself next to tonraq, a man who had served as almost a second father to you ever since you were a toddler. your father being one of the water bending masters that kept an eye on korra growing up, meaning you grew up alongside her at the white lotus compound.

“hey y/n, excited?” the chief asked as soon as he noticed your presence next to him, keeping his eyes on his daughter that was fast approaching.

“yes sir.” cheers got louder as the boat finally stopped, chief tonraq invited you to join him as he walked towards the boat, the guards he had enlisted letting you pass in order to join him.

when your eyes met here as she started coming down, you felt a smile grow on your features as you watched her face mirror yours, two old friends finally reuniting.

unexpectedly, korra picked up the pace and wrapped you in a hug as soon as she got near you, taking you by surprise.

“i missed you.” she exclaimed as you were returning it, happy to once again be in her arms. her large coat was soft to the touch but she smelled rather foreign, most likely due to the fact that was living in a bustling city. the sound of her voice was something you didn’t expect to miss so much but now that you finally heard it for the first time in months, you didn’t want to ever go without it again.

“missed you too.” you squeeze her slightly before you two finally broke apart, grins still on your faces as you both eyes each other up and down in order to see if there were any noticeable changes in each other’s appearance.

a little later during the day, after following korra revisit her home town you ended up having dinner at her childhood home. swapping not only childhood stories but also catching up on the things you had missed and that’s when when you found out about her.

one question was asked and suddenly, that’s all korra could talk about, all of her recent experiences being completely thrown out the window to talk about things her girlfriend, asami, had been doing, how her company was doing, some new invention she had come up with in the later hours of the night, a funny thing she had said, everything that was coming out of the avatar’s mouth had something to do with her.

you tried your hardest to engage in the conversation, finding your heart melt at how she talked about asami with so much love and amazement. her eyes sparkled in a way you had never seen them and you felt your heart sting a bit knowing that she’d never talk about you that way, that her eyes would never lit up at the sheer mention of your name. after a couple of minutes of enduring it, you retracted to your own thoughts, letting tonraq and senna interact with their daughter.

but every time you say her name, it honestly kills me

to help digest your food, and because korra insisted she wanted to, you both went on a walk after you finished eating some delicious homemade noodles. the cold didn’t both you as much as you were bundled under your coat, happy to find that outside the sky was clear, no signs of a snow storm in sight.

“sorry, i talked a lot back there.” she immediately said once she stepped out of her home to join you, excusing herself for being the center of attention at her own celebratory dinner.

“you realise that you haven’t been home in ages, and you’re the avatar, you’re the only one with any real stories to tell.” you joked as you started leading her in a random direction, knowing the whole area like the back of your hand meant that no matter where you two went, you wouldn’t get lost.

“come on, life here isn’t that boring.” she laughed lightly at your comment, following you closely so she wouldn’t get lost.

“you’d be surpised.” she rolled her eyes, not believing for one second that her best friend who always loved to live life to the fullest was admitting to living such a monotonous one.

“my dad told me you started teaching people waterbending which means you’re a real master now, that’s cool!” she nudged you lightly, causing a small smile to tug at your lips at the compliment on the full mastering of your skill, something that you were incredibly proud of.

“yeah, it’s not what i plan to do forever but it’s fun.” you shrugged your shoulders slightly before you two fell into a comfortable silence, the only sound between you being the trudging of your boots in the snow and the usual night sounds.

“but i could totally beat your ass, water or all elements, you don’t stand a chance.” you spoke up defiantly while simultaneously holding a joking tone in your words making her stop in her tracks.

“is that so? i’d love to see it.” she placed her hands on her hips as her eyes jokingly narrowed in your direction, thankfully you were still close enough to people’s houses to have some light letting you see her hilarious facial expression that looked identical to the one she used to wear when she was younger.

“how about tomorrow? we can even invite your parents so they see how weak the avatar actually is.” you teased as you suddenly felt the snow beneath your feet shift, causing you to fall backwards. quickly reacting, you brought snow up around the both of your arms to propel yourself forward, directing the snow directly at your friend as soon as your feet were flat on the ground.

korra brought her arms up to stop the snow from hitting her before letting it go limp and drop the ground.

“damnit, i would’ve loved to catch you off guard.” she whined, finally walking up to you after having let you walk by yourself a short distance.

“korra, you called me a master not two seconds ago, did you not think i’d be able to react to that?”

“listen, i didn’t think this through.” she rose her hands up in defence as you laughed, shaking your head at how much your friend could be idiotic when she wanted to.

“no kidding.” your comment earned a gust of air being bent in your face, causing your hood to fly backwards and your face going cold.

you narrowed your eyes at her as she simply stuck her tongue out childishly, causing you to laugh at how immature she was.

“i sure hope your city friends also get to deal with this side of you, would be a shame if they didn’t.” you managed to say once your laughter died down, being met with playfully offended avatar with her arms crossed as she observed you laughing with a quirked eyebrow.

“actually, asami says i’m pretty mature.” she stated matter of factly and you felt your happiness falter slightly at the mention of her girlfriend, wishing you could just go back to five minutes ago when you weren’t reminded of the fact that korra was living a completely different life to yours, one that didn’t involve spending it with you but with some supposed beautiful and genius inventor.

she's your girl, she's in all your pictures. california girl, i wish i was her

the following day, after tiring each other out sparring, you both headed back to her house as she mentionned wanting to show you some pictures she had of her life in republic city. you had barely seen certain staples of it like air temple island and the aang statue inside of books but never anything more.

“this is the spirit portal in the middle of the city.” you had seen numerous times the southern portal but there was something about the new one that made it stand out, while trying to figure it out, you spotted her, tall, long black hair, looking adoringly at korra who was talking to some officiel and you knew right then and there that was asami.

as korra showed you pictures of the pro bending arena, more in depth ones of air temple island, the spirit vines and in practically all of them you could see her, her whole presence seemed elegant, you could tell why korra had fallen for her.

when you're gone, she sleeps in your t-shirts

“shit i forgot my shirt.” korra mumbled as she frantically searched through the bag for her night shirt as you watched her from the other side of the room.

“don’t you have some here?” you suggested, looking around her room to maybe see one laying around but you knew that senna kept the room nice and tidy while her daughter was away.

“probably, hopefully asami is making use of it.” korra shrugged her shoulders before abandoning her bag on the ground, making her way to her crate where she kept all of her older clothes, grabbing the first one that came in between her fingers before facing you again, excited to have a sleepover like you always used to have.

“yeah, hopefully.” you mumbled, staring at the small fire that korra had lit for extra warmth, wishing that maybe in another life you weren’t just korra’s childhood friend, maybe you two actually got together, maybe if you had followed her to republic city instead of staying home afraid of being reprimanded by your parents for disobeying orders, maybe everything would’ve been different.

it hurts, i wish i was her, ms california.

general taglist: @biqherosix @draqondance @butterfly-skinnylegend @alteasmoon @staygoldsquatchling02 @sunnypluto

lok only taglist: @welovediaaxx @firelady-jay @callmecopper

#korra x reader #atla x reader #avatar the last airbender imagine #lok x reader #avatar the last airbender x reader #krew x reader #korra #atla #lok #avatar x reader #avatar #korra lok x reader

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pretend-writer · 4 years ago

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Down Below (Chapter 73)

Summary: After being sent down on Earth with the other prisoners from the Ark, Y/N Reyes faces series of events and learns about survival. With new things happening around her, she is now starting a new chapter in her life.

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader, John Murphy x reader, Raven Reyes x sister!reader

Word Count: 3.3k words

Warning: swearing, depression, mention of death

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Raven, Murphy, Shaw and I decided to be our own search party to look for Octavia and Diyoza. It had only been a day or two since Bellamy had kicked them out but I was too worried about them.

'Look, it's like a double date now.' Raven grinned, 'This is so cute.'

'We should've done this after the actual date. Now Y/N and I are going to be dirty and sweaty.' John complained, searching around the woods. 'And what happened to waiting and relaxing?'

Throwing the stick out of my way, I sighed. 'I'm sorry John. I know how much it meant to you to keep calm but I started to worry about Octavia.'

'It's okay, I know how much she means to you. Let's just hurry and find her and Diyoza.'

Nodding in response, I turned my head left and right as I tried to find any signs or trails that may lead to Octavia and Diyoza.

'Oh... my...' Shaw whispered. Whatever he found didn’t sound like it was a good sign at all. Tailing from behind with John, I quickly tried to catch up but was distracted by Raven's sudden scream.

'No... this can't be real.' It was Octavia and Diyoza lying on the ground, slain from something or someone and we had no idea what was out here in the woods.

It was shocking to say the least, I didn’t prepare myself to see Octavia and Diyoza like this. It hurt to see my best friend like this, seeing as though they lost their lives helpless and scared.

Raven’s hands were covering her mouth, still trying to process the gruesome bodies that was laid in front of us. Shaw stood closer to her, trying to comfort Raven as he hugged her from her side. ‘What do you think did this?’

John huffed. 'I don't know but this isn't right. If Bellamy never banished them, this wouldn't have happened.'

'But I could've stopped this too.'

'This is not your fault.' Raven grabbed onto me, 'Bellamy did this. Now he's going to live with regret for the rest of his life.'

Kneeling next to Octavia's dead body, I cried into her chest. There was no way this was happening, I should've went and followed her. As a friend, I was supposed to be the one to take care of her especially when her brother wasn't the one to do it.

'No, no. This can't be happening...' I cried, trying to shake her awake. 'Octavia... Octavia.'

'Y/N, we don't know who or what did this. We need to go, NOW.' Raven pulled me up, holding me as I tried to resist her. I didn't want to leave Octavia and Diyoza here, there was also a part of me thinking that there was something I could do even though I knew they were dead.

'I can't leave her, I can't leave them here.'

John joined in with Raven, 'Y/N. Let's go!'

'No, no, I can't.' I repeated, still trying to resist even when both Raven and Murphy were slowly pulling me away from their bodies.

'Y/N!' My eyes shot open as I felt someone shaking me, quickly sitting up on the bed as I realized it was just a terrible nightmare. 'Y/N, are you alright?'

Clarke seemed worried, asking me repeatedly if I was okay. I nodded and replied back with a question. 'What are you doing here?'

'Passed by Murphy during breakfast and asked him if I can talk to you. He told me you were still asleep and that you probably wouldn't mind me waiting here.'

'Do you have to talk to me now? At this instant?' I scratched my temple, still trying to process the dream that felt so real. 'Also, I do mind so John doesn't know what he's talking about.'

'Well, sorry for wasting your time.' Clarke got up but before she left my room, I called her name.

'You came all the way here to wait until I woke up, it sounds like it's an emergency. So what do you want?'

She paused, contemplating on leaving but sat back down instead. 'I wanted to apologize for my actions and everything I've done in the past.'

I bit my lip, crossing my arms as I squinted my eyes. 'Is it so important that you had to do this now?'

'Yes, of course it's important. I don't want you to think that I did all of the things I did on purpose.'

'You went to apologize to Blake yesterday before the ceremony so you could've come to me then. Or days before that, when we woke up from cryo. Or maybe the day when you ditched everyone and sided with McCreary.'

'Okay, I'm late to come to you and I'm sorry. But considering the history we had, I needed to prepare my thoughts and what I wanted to say to you.'

The disagreements that Clarke and I had in the past were things that I held in for the longest, I was unable to get along with her after I realized what she was capable of.

'See, the thing is Clarke: I don't know if I want to hear what you're about to say. The constant things you've done in the past over and over shows how selfish you are.'

'I know... I know...' Clarke nodded, weirdly agreeing to what I was saying. 'I was especially not fair with you, you have every right to hate me. Yet, you still somewhat tolerate me or at least you try.'

'Because in the end, we had to work together. We were supposed to be one clan. We had no other support but each other.' I looked over at her, 'Then you just left us. Left Wonkru and your friends and decide to join hands with that monster.'

Clarke stared down at the floor, continuing to listen to me. 'I didn't care that you left me or Octavia. We were a mess, I know and we had no right to justify what was wrong or right. But you went to the one man that wanted us dead. You let all the people down.'

She nodded, taking everything in and having no excuses for her actions. I didn't think I'd see this side of her, or even have a decent conversation with her for that matter.

'I'm sorry about what my mom did to you, Y/N.' Clarke made eye contact with me, 'What she did down in the bunker.'

Quickly, I shifted my eyes as I suddenly felt vulnerable that Clarke knew the real truth. Clarke sat next to me on the bed, holding my hand. 'Now I know why you were you, the reason why you became Skafaiya. I'm really sorry.'

'It's not your fault.' I replied back, feeling a bit weird getting sympathy from the person that I didn't get along with. It was nice however, to try to make amends with her. 'Abby had her own shit she was dealing with.'

'She made that decision on her own, taking pills and hiding it from everyone including Kane. My mom didn't have to threaten you to kill those people.'

'What's done is done... but thank you for acknowledging it. Thank you for coming to talk to me.' I couldn't say I forgive her for the things she's done but we have all done things we weren't proud of.

The lesson I've learned after overcoming the darkness that I had to deal with all these years, was that mistakes come in different ways. What matters was that people acknowledge it and learn from it. Hopefully this time, Clarke shows that she changed.

'Thank you for listening to me with open ears.' Clarke smiled, scratching her head as she changed the subject. 'Uhm, there's a party tonight. Russell said something about celebrating Delilah on her final day, didn't really ask what that meant because I didn't want to pry. But anyways, I was going to ask if you were going.'

'Are you asking me to go with you?' I joked.

Clarke laughed, 'I'm sure I'm the last person you'd wanna go with. Besides, I heard about the date with Murphy so I was wondering if you two would make it.'

'Hopefully we can, can't turn free alcohol down.'

'Of course.' She got up and smiled. 'Would be nice if you can come. I'll see you later, Y/N.'

✤ · ✤ · ✤ · ✤ · ✤

After a weird, rather friendly encounter I had with Clarke, I got ready to meet up with the rest of the people. John, Raven, Echo and Shaw were having breakfast together at the main area.

'You don't seem angry, must be a good sign.' Raven smiled at me as I took a seat next to Shaw. 'If you are upset, it's Murphy's fault. He's the one that sent Clarke to your room.'

Chuckling, I shook my head. 'I'm not upset. Matter of fact I think I needed that.'

It was refreshing to have a small talk with Clarke, all the unspoken words and bad energy we had between us was finally cleared up. It was nice to start over in a way, it'll be hard to forgive and forget at this moment but it was nice to move on from our issues.

'Look at you, growing up and maturing.' Murphy laughed from across the table. 'I'm proud of you.'

'Proud of me, huh? So am I expecting a "I'm proud of you, Y/N" present tonight on our date?'

'Ew, I don't want to know about all of that.' Raven crinkled her nose.

John's eyebrows raised. 'Ah, speaking of our date, let's do that tomorrow night instead. I want to take you to this dance tonight.'

Not going to lie, I was far more excited about this date with John than anticipated. It sucked that I wouldn't get to have a nice alone time with him but going to a dance didn't sound too bad.

On the other hand, I wanted to spend all the time we had now so that we could start checking what Sanctum was all about. I still didn't fully trust Russell and his people and it was about time that we figure out what was really going on.

Not to mention that awful nightmare that I had of Octavia and Diyoza still haunted me, I was curious of what was going on with them also.

'You look hesitant.'

'No, it's just that-' I stopped myself, not sure if it was a good idea to say what I felt out loud. I didn't want any reason to make anyone else paranoid as I was.

'It's okay, just tell me the truth Y/N.' John nodded.

Looking back at John, I sighed, feeling bad since I felt as thought I was always pulling up excuses. 'It's just these people are so sketchy and our people who are stuck in the ship needs a place to stay, you know? A-and Octavia and Diyoza are in trouble. I just feel it in my gut that I need to go save them.'

The four looked at each other and laughed, leaving me so confused. 'What's so funny?'

Echo shook her head, 'Murphy had discussed this before you came to the table.'

'Yup and I called all of this. You being hesitant to enjoy the time to yourself.' John smiled.

'I knew this would happen but I agree with you. These people... I can't seem to wrap my head around all of this.' Raven said.

Shaw agreed, 'I second that. Definitely something going on here.'

'No, it's not that I don't want to enjoy and relax. I just need t-'

'You don't need to do anything, Y/N.' John grabbed my hand. 'You think you always need to do something but you don't. You deserve a break, just this once be selfish and enjoy these two nights. It won't hurt anyone.'

'And worse comes to worse, we'd let Clarke and Bellamy do everything. You just hang out with Murphy.' Raven grinned, 'I'm also here too so don't worry about it.'

It was nice that my friends were supportive of me but it was hard to switch everything off. I always want the best for everyone, since the day we were sent down here my brain was in full survival mode. We've lost so many people, I want to be the help to make sure we don't lose people anymore.

'Come on, it's just two nights. We'll be alright.' John squeezed my hand, reassuring me as he looked me in my eyes.

'You're supposed to meet your new best friend, Clarke at the dance too.' Raven joked, 'Now you really have to go.'

'Fine, fine but only if we all go.' I looked over at Echo, smiling at her. 'All of us.'

Shaw clapped, grinning widely as he hugged Raven. 'Deal, let's get wasted!'

It was nice to see everyone smiling and enjoying peace for a change. There was nothing to worry about; no intruders, no group of people that was trying to kidnap or kill us, no death of our loved ones. We were just simply living. Maybe enjoying myself for a little bit won't be bad at all.

✤ · ✤ · ✤ · ✤ · ✤

'Look, Clarke and that dude are eye humping each other.' Murphy gestured the direction with his head, smiling and sipping on his drink.

Clarke looked at our direction, then did a double take as she noticed we were staring at her. She waved and shooed us to stop looking at her.

'How cute.' Echo said then faced the other way. 'Then there's Raven and Shaw over there on the dance floor.'

'Love is in the air.' I joked, almost everyone was paired up with someone. It was nice seeing everyone happy, really drunk and happy.

Murphy chuckled. 'More like lust. See, now Clarke is walking away with that dude. We all know what that means.'

Raven rushed towards us, giggling and smiling as she was drunk. It was surprising, in fact I probably haven't seen her so wasted before. 'Murphy! Come dance with me!'

'Oh, no no. For one I don't dance, you should know that Raven. And second, I don't want you and Shaw's love juice all over me.'

'Come on, Murphy! You danced with Y/N when we were at the Ark, why won't you dance with me?' Raven whined, trying to pull him off of his seat.

He chuckled, 'That was because Y/N had to bribe me. I also can't resist when it's her that asks.'

'Aw, just go dance with her!' I nudged John, 'It's one dance. How bad can it be?'

Groaning dramatically, he got up and took Raven's hand. 'You owe me big time. Both of you Reyes' are stubborn as hell.'

As they walked away into the dance floor, Echo giggled. 'I've never seen Raven so drunk before. Is she always like that?'

'Ha, you're telling me. She's my sister and I've never seen her this loose either. It's kind of weird, actually.'

'We didn't really have alcohol up at The Ring, we had to act silly and pretend we were drunk.' Echo continued to laugh and looked my way, quickly apologizing. 'Ah, shit. I'm sorry, Y/N. I didn't mean-'

'What's there to apologize for?'

'Well, I know what you've been through while we were up there.'

It was nice to see that Echo acknowledged the pain I went through, but none of that was her fault. I didn't want her to think that she didn't have to cherish the life she had up there because of me. 'You had your life, I had mine. There's no reason to apologize for that.'

'But I do have to apologize about Bellamy though.'

'No, Ech-'

'Y/N, I do. I want to.' It was hard for me to let go of my ex-boyfriend, someone that I loved and cared so dearly for a long, long time. I didn't want constant reminders of that, but I wanted to give Echo a chance.

Nodding my head, I decided to listen to what she had to say. Worse case, I'd just drink my night away and pretend nothing happened.

'Back at The Ring, it was difficult for him. Bellamy didn't know if you made it out of surgery alive and before Raven flew us up to the Ark, the radiation cut off our connection with the Bunker. Him and Octavia barely said goodbye to each other, before that she had told him it was less likely you'd make it.'

'You were in critical condition when you made it to the hatch, you weren't breathing and the only reason why Abby noticed that you were up there was because the knocking on the hatch suddenly stopped. That was the last thing Bellamy heard about you, that you were practically dead when Jackson and Abby took you in.'

'Raven, Monty, Harper, they all tried to keep him in a positive state. Telling him that you were strong and that you made it out of surgery well. He didn't know what to believe, all he knew was it was Emori and my fault that you couldn't come to the lab in the first place. That's when everything started, he was in a very dark place Y/N.'

It made me sad that Bellamy had suffered through his own pain, not realizing that he was as hurt as I was. The worse part of all of this was that he couldn't trust me or felt safe enough to talk to me about it.

'I'm not excusing what he did or what I did, it wasn't right at all. I just hope that you understand that Bellamy was going through shit too. It got worse when he found out Murphy still loved you, that he broke up with Emori because of his feelings towards you.'

'He lost hope for everything, thought he had to move on but didn't know how. Wanted to believe that you were still alive but in the back of his head, having the thought of you and Murphy too. I know it's hard to understand but he isolated himself for a long time and he only talked to me, as weird as it was knowing that he hated me at first.'

I took Echo's hand, giving her a reassuring smile. 'Despite what happened to me and Bellamy now, thank you for being the friend that he needed through all of that.'

She started to shed tears, nodding her head as she squeezed my hands. 'I-I'm so sorry, Y/N. For everything. Leaving you to die on the cliff, the Priamfaya, about Bellam-.'

'It's okay, Echo.'

'No, no it's not. Please know that I'm deeply sorry for everything.'

We were in the middle of a dance party, crying our eyes out; the thought of us looking sad and depressed suddenly made me laugh. Confused, Echo cocked her head.

Wiping my tears, I shook my head. 'I'm sorry, it's that everyone is drunk and practically humping each other and it was just funny in my head.'

Echo broke out in laughter, sniffling and wiping her cheeks. She then got up and took her hand out. 'Let's get drunk and dry our tears away.'

'I love the sound of that.' I smiled, grabbing her hand and following into the crowd. Walking towards the bar, I saw Bellamy talking to Emori, Jordan and a few of the people from Sanctum.

He lifted his head, meeting his eyes with mine but not knowing how to react as he realized I was looking at his direction. Awkwardly, he gave a wave, acknowledging this weird moment.

I couldn't help but feel sad, it hurt me so much that Bellamy felt so depressed while he was at the Ring. I wish that I was there to take his pain away, the last six year that he struggled.

Echo was right, I couldn't justify what he had done to me but knowing the whole truth shed me a light on things that were so confusing.

Perhaps this would be the start of clarifying everything from our last six years we were apart, maybe we could be best friends again.

Maybe this time around, I can finally get the answer to everything.

#down below series #bellamy blake series #bellamy blake fanfiction #bellamy blake fanfic #john murphy x reader #bellamy blake x reader #raven reyes x sister!reader #bellamy blake fic #bellamy blake imagine

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lokis-army-77 · 3 years ago

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If You Please

Chapter twelve

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2588

This is technically a reader insert but without the (y/n) and all that. She also has no name mentioned so feel free to imagine as you please.

Follow the reader through the events of the Captain America movies and experience her love for Bucky Barnes.

Warnings: none

Note: Normally I am the type of person to be date accurate when writing things and if you are too, I'm sorry. I messed up on the dates, so the battle of New York happens like a month after it should. This is also a short chapter because it's a filler and I'm trying to just get to the Winter Soldier but have everything make sense.

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Masterlist

A few days later I had received a small archivist job in the WWII department of the Smithsonian. Thankfully the made-up resume and a few fake SHIELD recommendations came in handy. I would officially start the following week after a few background checks were cleared. In my free time until then, I unpacked all the boxes in my apartment. It started to feel more homely and warm when all of my things filled up the space. When I didn’t feel like unpacking anything, I started taking long walks to the VFW building. I hadn’t joined in on any of the meetings yet, I just stood by the doorway and watched, listening to the stories people told.

One day that week as I stood back in the hallway after the meeting had ended, a man came up to me. He was a little taller than I was and had the brightest smile I had ever seen. I had watched him in the meetings before, he was usually the one hosting them, giving advice to all who needed it.

“I’ve seen you standing out here for the past three days, why don’t you come have a seat next time? It would be more comfortable than standing out here for an hour.” He said as he leaned his back against the wall right next to me.

“I have thought about it, but I tend to get here after you have started. I don’t want to interrupt anything by just barging in.” I said over my shoulder at him.

“You won't interrupt anything, just come on in next time, we’d be happy to have a new face around,” He pushed himself off the wall and walked down the hall.

After that, I ended up joining the meetings and even spoke a few times. I learned that the man who came up to me that day was Sam Wilson, pararescue, who had served two tours in Afghanistan. From the first day he came up and talked to me to now, we quickly became friends.

The days had turned into weeks and I was finally able to live relatively by my own means. The Smithsonian was great, in the archives, no one was really around and I could spend a whole day without any interruptions, which allowed me to just concentrate on what I was doing. After closing, I normally walked to meet Sam, who was usually way too excited to see me, even though we saw each other almost every day without fail.

“You’re late today.” I jumped, startled out of my thoughts at the sound of someone talking to me. I looked up, spying Sam standing next to one of the small trees outside the VFW building.

“What do you mean late?”

“I mean you usually get here at three-thirty. It's four right now.” He said looking down at his watch.

“Oh sorry, I didn’t realize. I've just been lost in my thoughts lately.” I sighed.

“I know we’ve only been friends for what? A month? But I already know when something is bothering you, What is it?”

“Nothing really, just my brother. Since moving here he's called at least twice a week to check up but it’s been radio silence for the past two weeks, he doesn't even answer when I try calling him. I'm just a little worried that something bad is going on, considering his job.”

“Well, maybe he’s just really busy at the moment, or he's somewhere he can't call you. You know how it is being out on those military missions.”

“I know, it’s just the last time we were apart on a mission,” I trailed off and looked up at Sam, he raised his eyebrows, quietly waiting for the end of the sentence. “Someone close to us passed. It’s still fresh in my mind like it happened yesterday. I was there that day and I was too far away to even know what had happened, now my brother and I aren’t even in the same vicinity as each other, there is no telling what could happen and it makes me nervous.”

He gave me a small apologetic smile and patted my shoulder before leading me from the tree where we stood to where his car was parked. “What do you say we hang out at mine and just watch some tv? Get your mind off things? Or we can talk about it, either way, it’s better than dealing with it alone.” I nodded my head and grabbed onto the car door handle as he unlocked it.

Walking through the front door after him I took a quick look around. It was cozy, way more decorated than I thought it would be for a man in his early thirties living alone.

“Make yourself at home. Do you want anything to drink?” He asked neck-deep in the fridge.

“Okay, I’ll just have some water,” I called out as I made my way further into the living room. The couch was backed up to the wall a few feet away from the dining room table. I sat down on it and scooted as close as I could to its right arm. A few moments later Sam came over with two glasses of water and a bag of chips. He handed me my drink before crashing down into his own seat. “Thank you,” I said before taking a long sip.

He nodded as he said “No problem.” Before he got himself really comfortable he searched around for the TV remote. As he pressed the ‘on’ button the TV came to life. “What in the world is that?” He sounded concerned so I quickly looked at the screen.

“Breaking: Attack on New York City. This afternoon at 2:15 several unidentified aircraft descended onto Earth's surface. Strange beings, some are calling aliens, Accompanied these ships and are causing havoc in Manhattan. Eyewitnesses have stated that they have seen Iron Man, and what seemed to be Captain America, leading a team of three others fighting back against the invaders. The battle seems to be over but updates are still coming in, let's take a look at some footage of the downtown destruction.” My eyes went wide and my heart stopped as I listened to what the reporter was saying. I kept my eyes glued to the screen as it changed to show a destroyed street. As the camera panned around I spotted Steve fighting against two of the creatures, before the clip quickly changed to show one of the large ships crashing into the New York skyline.

“Oh God Steve, what did you get into?” I murmured to myself.

“You say that like you know him personally.”

“Uhh.” I just gave him a wide-eyed look of surprise. “I do, he’s my brother.”

“Now really isn’t the time to be joking about things,” He gave me a pointed look.

“I swear I’m not joking, he really is my brother. I can explain later, I need to try and get a hold of him.” I pulled out the small flip phone from my pocket and dialed the number for Steve's cell phone, it rang and rang but no answer. I hung up quickly and dialed the number Fury gave me at the beginning of the month. After two rings he answered.

“I assume you are looking for Captain Rogers.”

“Where is he? Is he okay?” I tried to keep the worried tone from coming through in my voice.

“He’s fine. He is in the middle of a debriefing. I’ll tell him you called.”

“Okay, thank you.” As soon as the words left my mouth he gave a quick hum and then hung up. I looked over at Sam whose eyes hadn't left me at all. “Everything is fine, he's in a debrief so that means that whatever happened in New York is definitely over.”

“That’s good to hear, hopefully, those things don’t try to come back again.” He shook like a shiver ran down his spine. “Now please explain how Captain America, a man from the 1940s, is your brother.”

“I can hear the skepticism in your voice.”

He held his hands up in defense, “Hey, I'm not the one saying I'm the sister to a 90 something-year-old man.”

“Look, it’s a long story that I would rather not get into now but the short version is that I was born in 1921, Steve is my older brother, we both ended up taking the super-soldier serum and fought against HYDRA in the second world war. We ended up crashing a plane into some Ice in the Atlantic ocean and were found and unfrozen last October.” “If you are really Captain America’s sister, then why are you never mentioned in anything?” I looked at him and shook my head.

“Well for starters it was the forties and I was a woman fighting on the front lines. Credit is never given where it is due. But there is also the fact that I was a part of the SSR, which was very secretive, after I died.” I put my fingers up in air quotes, “They should have erased most, if not all the files on me, per protocol. The only reason Steve is well known is because of his time going cross country selling war bonds.” I paused for a second before quickly adding, “I’m sure if you look hard enough, you’ll find me in the history books somewhere.”

Sam just sat there not really saying anything. This was the first time I think he had ever been quiet for more than five seconds. I let out a deep sigh and stood, grabbing my bag from the floor. “Thanks for having me over, but I think I need to go. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He stood and walked me to the door.

“Don’t be late. I’ll see you.” Sam waved me off and I headed down the street.

About half a year later while sorting through some archive files, I came across Peggy Carter. I felt a pang in my heart as I stared at the photo of her standing next to Howard Stark. Other than Steve and Bucky, those two were my closest friends. I fell down a rabbit hole after that, finding any information on the two that I could find. They had both helped found SHIELD in 1965, they had both gotten married and had children of their own. Peggy's children had stayed out of the public eye, but in true Stark fashion, Howard’s son evidently took over the family business and was living the high life. I pulled out a newspaper from the stack I had on the table in front of me and was shocked at what I saw. The title read ‘Howard and Maria Stark Die in Car Accident’, I knew Howard most likely wasn’t alive anymore but seeing the photographs of the wrecked car in the newspaper cast a somber mood through the room.

I laid the paper down on the table and ruffled through more of the papers before determining that we had no information on if Peggy was alive or not. That sent me into a frenzy of looking through phone books to try and find her and calling every retirement home in DC that I could. The only lead I had to go off of was a small interview from a newspaper, talking to Peggy about the seventieth anniversary of V-E Day, stated that she was living in Washington, DC.

After eight failed calls, finally, on the ninth, I had finally found a home which had a Peggy Carter as a residence in room 204. I rushed to pack up my things and left my office early. I ran down the back hallways as fast as I could without drawing too much attention. When I made it out of the building I ran full speed to the road to hail a cab.

Amazingly the traffic was almost nonexistent and I made it to the retirement home in only ten minutes. I fumbled out of the cab and I raced through the front doors of the building. I must have startled the women at the front desk because as soon as I rounded the corner to the staircase, they were yelling after me. I took the steps three at a time in my haste to get to the second floor. I stopped running when I was outside of room 204. I couldn’t see anything clearly through the frosted window so I knocked hesitantly and slowly opened the door and stepped in.

There in the middle of the room, against the wall was a single bed. A woman laid there quietly with her eyes closed. The closer I came to her the more familiar she looked. I let out a relieved gush of breath. There she was, older now, but still the Peggy I once knew. I nervously grabbed one of the chairs in the corner of the room and brought it over to her bedside so I could sit. Gently I gave her a small tap on the hand before just holding it in mine. She stirred but her eyes never opened.

All of a sudden one of the nurses from downstairs came into the room, with an angry and shocked expression.

“Ma’am, You can't be in here. If you want to see a patient, you have to sign in.” I ignored her, my eyes trained on Peggy's face. The commotion of the woman barging into the room had made her open her eyes and look around. I just watched as she scanned the room, first to the door on the left, to the wall in front of her, past me sitting on her right, then to the window behind me.” Her brows raised and she lifted her hands to her eyes to rub. The shock on her face was evident as she turned her head to stare directly at me.

“Hey Carter, long time no see huh?” I gave her the biggest smile that I could.

“Is it really you?” She reached her hand out to mine and grabbed hold.

“It is, it’s really me.”

“Ma’am, I mean it, you can't be here.” The nurse tried again, this time Peggy shot her a glare.

“Ms. I’ll have you know this is one of my best friends and she can be in here if she wants to. Now leave us alone.” The young nurse nodded her head and rushed out, even in old age she could still put on that commanding tone that struck fear in every man. She slowly turned back to me, almost like if she looked back for me, I would be gone. “How? How are you here?”

“It’s a long story Peg, are you sure you want to hear it?”

“Look where I am, I have nothing but time.” She laughed out and I let out my own small laugh as I shook my head.

In addition to what I had been doing, like hanging out with Sam, after that first visit, I made it a priority to see Peggy once or twice every two weeks, depending on how she was doing. Dementia had put a lot of stress on her, and seeing me after almost seventy-five years and looking relatively the same as I had when frozen took out a giant toll on her.

And that's how the next 10 months went until Steve eventually moved into an apartment directly under me.

Tag List: @ginger-swag-rapunzel @underc0vercryptid-reads @geek-and-proud @intothesoul @leyannrae @starkleila

#james buchanan barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky fic #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x rogers!reader #winter solider x reader #marvel fic #marvel fanfiction

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milstrim · 4 years ago

Text

Comfort in My Shadow

Chapter 2: Right Through You

By @iwritedumbshit for @iron-mum

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Ned Leeds, James “Rhodey” Rhodes

Summary: Soulmates are definite in the universe. Nobody knows exactly why they exist, or what dictates who is bonded to who, the only thing known is that they are never wrong. But Peter’s not so sure about that.

Living at the group home had taught Peter a lot about laying low and how to stay alive when nobody cares. But he’d always clung to the hope of the shadow at his feet reflecting his soulmate that had watched over him for years.

Typical that his soulmate is actually a superhero that Peter is convinced shouldn’t want anything to do with him. Maybe, just this once, the Universe was wrong.

But Tony Stark is desperate to prove that it is right.

Ch 1 // Ch 3 // Ch 4 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8

---

"I'm sorry." It was the last thing Spider-Man said before he swung away, swallowed by the darkness of an alleyway. It was a whimpered choke. Fearful.

"No! Wait--" Tony tried to call, but it was too late. The man was gone. No. Not a man. A fifteen year old. Tony glanced down at his shadow and then back at where Spider-Man had disappeared. Spider-Man was his soulmate. And he was fifteen. Tony had to catch himself against the wall as his chest squeezed painfully tight and his throat closed up in panic, barely managing to mutter out, "Jesus Christ. Fifteen."

That was horrifying on an entirely different level than what had just transpired. Not only had his soulmate flinched away from him and then run off the first chance he'd gotten, he was swinging around the streets of New York and putting himself in danger and he was a kid. Did his parents know? Maybe that was why the kid had run off so quickly. He'd freaked out so horribly when he'd realized the time that Tony had to blink away the horrible memories of his own father with his backhanded slaps and harsh words that had stung even more.

Tony sucked in a cold breath as he stared at the spilled hot chocolate mixing with his own dropped coffee. How often had Spider-Man been hurt? On the street or at home? Suddenly all Tony knew was terror at the implication and newfound knowledge of just exactly who his soul was connected to. Just who the shadow that had been with him for fifteen years really had been. And all he knew was the horrible guilt that he clearly wasn't what his soulmate had been looking for. Could soulmates be wrong? Knowing himself, it was possible.

The mechanic shook his head furiously, forcing himself to stop leaning on the wall and take a deep breath. He'd found his soulmate--sort of--and he wasn't about to just let them go that easily. If he could just have one good conversation, preferably without that mask, about their connection, everything would be okay. Or, it could at least be resolved. If the kid didn't want to know him, didn't want to be his soulmate--well...

Tony sniffed, snatching the cups off of the pavement and throwing them in the trash. He'd cross that bridge when he got to it.

Tony began to make his way back to the tower, his steps slow and stumbled, eyes fixated on his shadow whenever it came into view. After a few minutes, the hood disappeared and fuzzy hair took its place. Well, now he knew why his shadow always looked like they were bald in the afternoon and at night.

"Friday," Tony started, his glasses lighting up at the call of his voice. "I need a full search of the city. As in-depth as you can get it. Follow Spider-Man, look for his identity, and focus on kids born on August tenth, 2001."

"There are six hundred thirteen people born on that day currently living in New York."

"Okay, filter out for boys in Queens. Between 5'7" and 5'9."" He paused, thinking about the fingers that he'd seen through Spider-Man's gloves. "Lighter skin, too."

"I have forty-two possible matches."

"Well, it's better than six hundred," Tony sniffed. "Keep an eye on them, and keep a special eye on Spidey. If he looks like he's in a situation he can't handle, alert me. Or just tell me the next time he pops up."

"Of course, sir," Friday agreed. "What shall I file this under?"

Tony mused for a moment. "Create a new file, and place it on my private server. Name it 'The Itsy Bitsy Spider.'"

Hopefully he'd have a face to that protocol soon.

---

Peter stumbled up to the front door of the Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys, his breaths quick and furious as he scrambled for a decision. After escaping from Mr. Stark's disappointment, he'd fled across the bridge and eventually found an alleyway to change into where his spidey sense had finally calmed down. Cameras were following Peter now wherever he went as Spider-Man now, he was sure, so he'd had to be painfully and slowly careful. Finding an alleyway out of the sight of any cameras had been simple enough, but it would be relatively easy for Mr. Stark to triangulate his location, so Peter had changed and thrown on a hood and forced himself to become lost in the New York crowd of people on the night shift or party-goers higher than a kite.

So far, the teenager thought he'd managed to get away with it, but he'd have to be more careful about when he went out if he didn't want Mr. Stark to find out who he was. The man already seemed disappointed to find out his soulmate was Spider-Man, he couldn't imagine what realizing it was actually Peter Parker would do to him.

Peter swallowed down the trepidation that bubbled under his skin in boiled anxiety as he shuffled in front of the door to the group home. Maybe Mr. Fowler hadn't realized he was late and he could try and sneak in through the window instead of being caught outside the door. Then again, if he did know, he was likely waiting for Peter to slip in that way and catch him red-handed. The real question was what would end in less punishment?

The teenager's musings were cut short by a spike in spidey sense and the wrenching open of the chipped red door, bringing with it the dangerous stench of stale beer. Mr. Fowler's displeased grin froze Peter to the floor in terror until an outstretched hand reached out and gripped his arm in a vice. "You're late."

Peter held back a wince as he was pulled in through the door, forcing himself to stumble along as the door was slammed shut behind him, rattling the old building. Mr. Fowler dragged him towards the dining room as he rushed to apologize. "Sorry, Mr. Fowler. I--I didn't mean to! I just got caught up on the subway and my phone died and--"

"I've heard that one before," the man snapped. Peter's jaw clamped shut with an audible click. He bit his tongue to keep his feeble excuses from escaping as he was pushed into a chair roughly. The man's hand gripped onto Peter's shoulder painfully tightly, but the liquor on his breath kept the boy glued to the chair more obediently than anything else. "Now where have you actually been, Peter?"

"I-I didn't mean to be late," he tried again. "I was just--"

There was a harsh smack to the back of his head, whipping it forward. Peter winced, but it didn't really hurt, so he forced himself to sit still. He was fine. Mr. Fowler couldn't really hurt him, and even if he did, it didn't matter. Peter would heal. Every bruise he'd ever gotten here had always been gone by the morning.

"Enough with the excuses, Pete," Mr. Fowler ordered. "I just need an answer for the report now that I have to write up your next strike."

Peter flinched. The system at the Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys was extremely strict. Three strikes and you're out. Peter already had one strike when Mr. Fowler had caught him sneaking an extra snack after dinner. He'd been drunk then too.

Four strikes meant that Peter would be moved to another home for "troubled teens." That he'd attend another school and have to forge a new system of being Spider-Man. And, most importantly, it meant he'd be leaving the younger kids here to Mr. Fowler's wrath by themselves. Peter was the second oldest at the group home of six. Jeremiah was the oldest, but he'd be aging out in barely a month, leaving Peter to try and take care of the others, all no older than twelve.

Peter would heal, they wouldn't. It was as easy as that. But it didn't seem like Peter was going to escape this strike and that he'd have to be careful about even thinking about patrolling for a few weeks. Then again, with Mr. Stark possibly looking for him, maybe it was for the best. And it would just be for a little bit. Just a little bit.

There was a horrible shiver up the teenager's spine, and Peter had to force himself to stay still as there was another slap to his head, this one harder than before. He bit his lip as Mr. Fowler leaned in closer, the staleness of liquor on his breath making the boy's nose crinkle in barely concealed disgust.

"Listen to me when I'm talking to you, son," Mr. Fowler sneered. "Failure to do so can end in another strike, y'know. Two in one day and you'll be shipped off to Jersey tomorrow morning. So?"

Peter took a deep breath through his nose and grit his teeth. He knew what the man wanted to hear. What he wanted to put in Peter's file. It seemed to be a personal pleasure of his to fuck with his file, and all the other boys' really, as much as humanly possible.

"I was out goofing off with some friends. We were smoking and throwing cans at cars and I lost track of time."

Mr. Fowler tutted. "So irresponsible, Pete. I will have to write that up, y'know, and you'll receive the usual grounding. One week. Now why don't you go and head to bed?"

It wasn't a question, so Peter stood shakily and forced himself near the stairs, knowing better than to ask if he'd get some kind of food before he went to sleep. He wouldn't be getting any dinner for the entirety of his grounding anyway. Peter was lucky that he got away without any bruises, instead only escaping with a dull pain in the back of his head.

He slipped up the stairs and into the room he shared with Jeremiah and Tim. Jeremiah had his back turned to Peter, clearly just fixed to keep his head down for the next month, but Tim was sat up straight in bed, bright black eyes staring at Peter in awed worry. The teenager forced himself to look away, instinctively turning to his dull shadow but snapping away from that as well to stare at his bed instead.

"Go to sleep, Tim. You have school tomorrow."

"But, Peter--"

"Go to sleep, Tim," he said again, a little more forcefully this time. Tim stared at him for another painful moment before slipping down under his covers and turning to face the wall opposite Peter. It dragged a stone of guilt into his stomach, but Peter just couldn't at the moment. Even as he changed out of his ratty clothes into even rattier pajamas, the new knowledge of who his shadow really was wouldn't leave.

Peter turned the light off in the hall and closed the door to him and the other boys' room, grateful for the first time in his life to see his shadow disappear. He knew he was being just a little ridiculous, it wasn't like Mr. Stark hated him or anything, at least, Peter didn't think he did. But, well, the teenager was exactly that; a teenager. One that was poor and alone and had superpowers that he used to do little good deeds around his neighborhood. And Mr. Stark was Mr. Stark. The universe had to have been wrong this one time.

And what was worse was that Peter had just run away. He'd acted like an overdramatic romcom character when discovering that their soulmate was the quarterback they hated or something. It was possibly the worst part of all of this.

Peter kept in a sigh as he dropped onto his old mattress, pulling the lumpy covers over himself and squeezed his eyes shut in a half-assed attempt to bully out the pain of hunger in his stomach and the ache of undeserved longing in his heart. He so desperately wanted to be able to know his soulmate, but there was no way that Mr. Stark would be excited to actually know him. Besides, Mr. Stark pushed the Accords, and Peter was an unlicensed vigilante on the street. It was the man's job to find out who he was and turn him in.

Being soulmates didn't change that, even as his vision flashed to show a dark and fancy lab. Well, now he knew why his soulmate had always had such nice stuff.

---

"You what?"

"I found my soulmate," Tony snipped. "Keep up, honey bear. You're losing your touch, old man."

Rhodey ignored his comment, still staring at Tony from where he sat on a box in the Avengers common room that was probably filled with either dishes or Avengers gear. Tony passed the colonel a horribly green smoothie that he accepted without complaint, still staring at Tony but this time with a wide smile on his face.

"You really found him? Just walking around Manhattan?" Rhodey asked.

"Well, technically someone was trying to kidnap me, but sure."

"I'm sorry. What?"

"Relax. Everything turned out fine since my soulmate showed up."

Rhodey gave him a look, eyes glancing from the billionaire to the short shadow on the ground. "Your soulmate who is fifteen, saved you from a kidnapping?"

"Well, yeah. But he's got superpowers, so I don't think it was much of a sweat for him."

"Super--who the hell is your soulmate? Is this Twenty Questions? First guess: Ant Man."

"Hardy har," Tony joked. "No, not Lang. It's the spider kid."

Rhodey paused. "You have no idea who he is, do you?"

Tony shrugged, twirling the straw of his own green smoothie for a slight distraction from the fact that his soulmate had flinched and then ran away from him. It had kept him up with an anxiety-filled kind of drive as he'd tried to pick out which of the kid's was his little shadow. He'd only managed to weed out a few of the kids of the forty-something.

"No. He, uh, ran away. Friday's on the job looking for him right now, but he's a slippery one, 'cause, uh, no luck so far."

"I'm sorry, man," Rhodey apologized. "That sucks. Do you...do you know why he ran?"

"Something about a curfew."

"Then maybe he'll be out soon looking for you. Once school is out for the day, of course."

"Yeah. Maybe," Tony agreed, but he thought differently. The shake in the kid's voice, the flinch as he'd ducked away from Tony's hand, and the horrible defensive tenseness when he'd looked away from their switched shadows to look at him. He didn't think Spidey was exactly thrilled, or that he'd be looking for a way to tell the billionaire exactly who he was.

"Any flashes?" Rhodey asked. Tony hummed in confusion. "Since you realized you were soulmates?"

"Oh, uh, just a room last night. I don't know, it was pretty hard to make out." Tony had turned off all the lights in his lab once he'd arrived in it, hoping for some kind of flash of where his soulmate was. It had been reassuring to see the connection still intact, but it wasn't like the dark and bare bedroom had been much help. "I think he has siblings or something. There was another bed in there. Oh, add that to the search engine, Friday."

"Of course, sir. Now down to twenty-eight kids."

Tony smiled. Maybe he was actually getting somewhere.

---

"You what?"

"Shut up, Ned," Peter shushed, curling forward in another sit-up to hiss at his best friend who was staring at him in amazement. Ned didn't seem deterred in the slightest, but at least his voice dropped to match Peter's hushed whisper.

"I can't shut up. I'll never be able to shut up again! You met Tony Stark last night! This is the greatest day of my life."

"It really wasn't that big of a deal," Peter lied. He had conveniently left out the part where the billionaire was his soulmate, and considering Ned's reaction of his just meeting the guy, Peter was going to keep that to himself for the time being. Or forever. Whichever came first. Ned continued to stare at him in astonishment, and Peter relented as he curled up again. "Okay, it was pretty cool. He bought me a drink."

"What, like a beer?"

"No, Ned, a hot chocolate."

"Ohhh. That makes more sense."

"Yeah," Peter agreed. "And keep it down. Please? I don't need anyone thinking I drank last night. Mr. Fowler already put a new load of bullshit on my record and you know all the teachers get updates on the shit I do."

Ned's eyes darkened. "He gave you another strike?"

"Yeah," Peter panted, curling up faster as anxiety pumped underneath his skin. "My fault. Stupid. Shouldn't have been late."

"How late were you?"

"Like, ten minutes I think."

Ned spluttered, "But it was just ten minutes!"

"Mr. Fowler's a rule stickler," he half-truthed. Ned didn't need to know how shitty his group home leader was. "I'll just have to be more careful for a while and get back on his good side." Like Mr. Fowler had a good side. "It'll be fine in another week or two."

Ned clearly wanted to protest more, his friend was always so suspicious of Mr. Fowler and so insistent that Peter should just tell the man that he was Spider-Man and that he was helping people. Well, Ned thought they should tell everyone that he was Spider-Man, clearly thinking that it would help him get away with late assignments or missing curfew, but really it would only succeed in him getting arrested. Besides, now that Mr. Stark might be looking for him, he was determined more than ever to keep his identity safe.

Coach Wilson passed by, complementing, "Looking good, Parker."

Peter slowed down, faking a tired grimace and just wishing with every fiber of his being that PE would be over soon.

"So I guess that's a no on Liz's party, then?" Ned asked. Peter turned away from watching Coach Wilson walk away to stare at his friend.

"Liz is having a party?"

"Yeah? She talked about it last decathlon practice. Were you not paying attention?"

"I guess not. My bad," he mumbled. "Is it tonight?"

"Yeah, but you're probably in trouble aren't you?"

"Yeah," Peter agreed, thinking about the dinner he was going to miss tonight. Then again, if he went to the party, not only would Liz be there, but there'd probably be some snacks too. "But my curfew doesn't change."

"It doesn't?"

"I don't think it ever will. Like I said, Mr. Fowler is a stickler for rules, and the curfew is his favorite. It's completely unmovable in his mind."

"Weird."

"Yeah. He's pretty strange," Peter agreed. "So, what time tonight?"

"Seven, I think. And anyway, remember my idea about telling everyone that you're--"

"No, Ned. We're not telling people that I'm--" he lowered his voice dramatically, "--that I'm Spider-Man."

Ned pouted. "Fine. But could you, I don't know, appear as Spider-Man?"

"What? Why?"

"C'mon! Think about how cool it would be if you dropped down and were like, 'Hey, Ned! Whattup? Where's my buddy, Peter? 'Cause we're besties and I'm a cool superhero!' Wouldn't that be cool!?"

Peter stared.

"Ned, literally no one cares about Spider--"

"Now, see, for me, it would be F Thor, marry Iron Man, and kill Hulk," came the voice of the girl's sitting on the bleachers. Peter and Ned turned to listen.

"Well, what about the Spider-Man?" Charles asked.

"It’s just Spider-Man," Betty replied. Peter raised an eyebrow at Ned in a way that meant, See?

"Did you guys see the bank security cam on YouTube? He fought off four guys," Liz argued, her voice climbing just a little higher. Peter's eyes widened.

"Oh my God, she’s crushing on Spider-Man."

"No way."

Liz shrugged, tugging a strand of hair behind her ear. "Kind of?"

Peter turned back to Ned. "Yeah. Okay, sure, I'll bring the suit."

---

"Thank you, Mrs. Leeds!" Peter called, waving at the woman through her beat up green Toyota. She waved back at him and Ned with a cheery smile.

"See you two boys later! I'll be back at nine to make sure you're home on time, Peter."

"Thank you!" he said again as she drove off.

"Bye, Mom!" Ned said. There were a few looks sent their way, but Peter didn't really care. Even when Flash liked to humiliate him in front of the other kids at school, Peter never felt more than surface level embarrassment. He was past the point of caring about high school drama, but Ned ducked his head nervously, readjusting his new hat. His friend turned to him and whispered, "Dude, you have the suit right?"

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Peter gestured to his backpack. "Yeah."

"This is gonna change our lives," Ned squeed as they stepped up the driveway. Liz had a large house on a well-lit street in the suburbs. He could see even more colorful lights inside, just as bright as the music was, and anxiety rolled in his chest. He didn't care about what other people thought of him, he really didn't, but he couldn't stop the nerves at such an unfamiliar environment.

Peter stared down at his shadow on instinct, searching for comfort in the familiar fluffy hair. Catching himself, he forced himself to turn away and stare forward as he stepped through the door behind Ned.

He almost stumbled back as the noise hit him. There was the movement of chatter and the blaring of shitty and loud music. Peter stared as some girls walked past, swallowing nervously as his gaze went from them, to Flash DJ-ing, and then landing on Michelle, who glared at them as she spread jam on a piece of toast.

"Can’t believe you guys are at this lame party," she said. Peter frowned in confusion.

"But you’re here too," Ned said, confused hesitation taking up his voice.

"Am I?" And then she stalked away. Peter and Ned glanced at each other in confusion.

Ned recovered first, tapping his backpack. "Okay, anyway, we’re gonna have Spider-Man swing in, say you guys are tight, and then I get a fist bump or one of those half bro-hugs and--"

"Oh, my gosh!"

Ned was cut off as Peter turned away from him to look at Liz. Redness flushed onto his cheeks as she approached them with a wide smile and a red cup in her hand.

"Hey, guys. Cool hat, Ned."

"Hi, Liz," Ned said with a wave.

"Hi, Liz," he said, cursing himself as his voice broke immediately.

"I’m so happy you guys came. There’s pizza and drinks. Help yourself."

Peter's stomach rumbled at the thought, but he forced it down with a smile and a warbled, "What a great party."

"Thanks," Liz smiled. There was the shattering of glass, making her turn sheepishly. "Oh, I... My parents will kill me if anything’s broken. I gotta--"

"Yeah."

"Have fun," she said, hurrying away. Ned turned to him furiously, gesturing to where the senior had left.

"Dude, what are you doing? She’s here. Spider it up."

Like a flip had been switched, Peter remembered that Iron Man was probably looking for him. No way he could get away with showing himself at a high school party. This would be all over social media in barely an hour. "No, no, no. I can’t... I cannot do this. Spider-Man is not a party trick, okay? Look, I’m just gonna...be myself."

"Peter, no one wants that."

"Dude," Peter snapped, but even as he walked away, he knew it was true. He thought of the image of Mr. Stark's face when he'd realized they were soulmates.

Now more than a little out of it, the teenager finally made his way through the house, searching desperately for wherever the pizza was. He didn't make it very far down the hall when there was the screech of his name over a microphone.

"Penis Parker, what’s up?!" Flash yelled over the microphone. People turned to stare at Peter and Ned, sneers or sympathetic smiles decorating their faces. Peter tensed, glancing over to Ned. "Thought you were stuck at the group home! And didn't you know you were supposed to dress nicely for a party?"

Ned gave Peter a look, and that was how the superpowered teen ended up on the roof in his shitty superhero costume with his mask in hand as he chewed his lip in jittered fear.

"Hey, what’s up?" he said in a deepened voice, grabbing his mask from the bag and straightening it out. "I’m Spider-Man. Just thought I’d swing by and say hello to my buddy Peter. Oh, what’s up, Ned? Hey, where’s Peter, anyways? He must be around..." Peter sighed, dropping his hands and digging his fingers into the mask as his brows furrowed. "God, this is stupid. What am I doing?"

Peter stared from the roof down at where Ned was waiting, looking around anxiously, his friend's shadow bright underneath the lights. He glanced out of the corner of his eye down at where his own was scrunched beside him, wondering what Mr. Stark was doing right now. Maybe he was doing cool Iron Man stuff in the lab he'd had a flash of. Maybe...maybe he was wondering what Peter was doing too.

Just as he was about to sigh about how unlikely that was, there was the sound of a distant crash and a plume of bright blue. He began to push himself up, leaning forward to try and get a better look at the thing as his senses rang.

"What the hell?"

Peter stuffed on his mask and swung away, making his way through the neighborhood. After running across an embarrassingly long golf course, the sprinklers biting against his skin with the freezing water, he finally arrived at where he'd seen the blue smoke. Spider-Man dipped himself low, clinging to a small bridge and popping his head around the corner.

There were three men, a broken down old car, and a classic kidnapper white van. Peter watched as one guy whooped at the explosion that burst out from the weapon in his hand against the car. The two other men cringed back as he flinched at the bright light. The man returned to the van, putting the gun down and grabbing another one. It looked extremely similar to the one that had been used against Mr. Stark last night.

"Now, this is crafted from a reclaimed sub-Ultron arm straight from Sokovia. Here. You try."

The guy passed the weird arm-gun to the man with curly hair, who examined it in confused disdain. "Man, I wanted something low-key. Why are you trying to upsell me, man?"

"Okay, okay, okay. I got what you need, all right?" the guy placated, moving back to look through the van. "I got tons of great stuff here. One sec. Okay, I got, uh, black hole grenades, Chitauri railguns..."

"You letting off shots in public now? Hurry up," the tallest one warned. He stepped up to the curly haired guy. The buyer, Peter guessed. "Look, times are changing. We’re the only ones selling these high tech weapons."

"Oh, so this is where bad guys are getting their stuff," Peter whispered to his shadow out of habit. He shook his head, glaring forward and away from where Mr. Stark's silhouette extended.

"I need something to stick up somebody. I’m not trying to shoot them back in time," the buyer complained.

"I got anti-grav climbers," the guy at the van suggested. That seemed to finally get the third man's attention.

"Yo, climbers?"

And then, of course, Peter's phone rang. Immediately guns were drawn, clicking towards the buyer as Peter tore his phone out of his pocket, almost swearing as he caught sight of Ned's caller ID and shutting it off.

"Okay, what the hell was that?"

"Did you set us up?"

"Hey, hey, man."

His senses ringing, Peter dropped from the bridge, catching the men's attention. "Hey! Hey, come on. You gonna shoot at somebody, shoot at me."

"All right."

The gun clicked towards him. Peter shot a web, tearing the gun away, and then ran forward. His senses spiked and then pain jolted through Peter as something bright smashed against his face. It launched the teenager straight into the leg of the bridge, the concrete crumpling under his force. He groaned in pain, forcing himself onto his elbows.

"What the hell?" he muttered. The revving of an engine tore his head to where the van was beginning to drive off. He shot a web to the back of the van, attempting to stick to the ground but only succeeding in being dragged away and onto the harsh road, eliciting a surprised yelp from the high schooler.

Spider-Man shot another web in an attempt to right his balance, gritting his teeth as the road tore at his skin. The van dragged him around, swerving intentionally and smacking Peter through at least five trash cans before finally losing him into a pillar of solid brick. He groaned in pain even as he pushed himself to his feet and shot another web. It attached to the door, ripping it to the ground with a metal screech. Peter threw his hands up in exasperation.

"Great! Guess I'm gonna have to take a shortcut."

Peter leaped over a car into a yard and then a few more yards. At least there was a cute dog, but he wished he'd had more time to play with it.

The superhero stumbled along after scaring a couple of girls--his bad, but they'd get over it eventually. Hopefully--diving over a fence and skimming over a pool in a crowd of people that stared at him in gawked surprise. He called, "Great movie!" before swinging up with a tree and landing just a little too hard on a nearby roof. He panted heavily even as he kept going. He caught sight of the white van.

"Almost got you," he said to himself. "Thought you got away from me, didn’t you? I got you right where I want you. Surprise!"

Finally close enough, Peter leaped from the roof. His spine shivered, his hairs raised, and his heart leaped in fear as metal claws clamped down around him. Peter screamed hoarsely, twisting in midair as he was propelled away from the ground at a frightening speed. "AgH! What the hell!!??"

Peter barely took in the large wings, instead focusing on digging his hands around the metal claws clenched around his ankle. Whoever the bird guy was, he certainly didn't appreciate it. Haunting green eyes met Peter's wide white. His heart beat rapidly. How high up was he? The ground below looked so tiny. At least there was water under him.

And then he wasn't so thankful as the metal digging into his feet released all of the sudden. Peter screamed as he fell, twisting in midair as he searched desperately for an escape. The water underneath him grew closer and closer and there was nothing for Peter to grab onto. Nothing to web. Oh no, oh no, oh no oh no oh no--

Peter slapped against the surface. All the air was forced from his lungs as he was carried under by the lapping waves.

---

"Sir--" Friday started. Tony didn't look up from where he was writing out code that he'd been pouring over for hours, going through every idea and web combination imaginable.

"Please don't turn down my music, honey," Tony said, swiveling in his rolly chair and wheeling over to the table where the webs he was in the process of replicating were beginning to formulate. He was on his fourth attempt now, and he was getting close. "I'm working."

"I am operating under the Itsy Bitsy Spider protocol."

Tony readjusted his glasses, turning away from where he was stirring the sticky formula to glance at the hologram of the suit. He'd been wondering when the kid would show up again. He hadn't been out all afternoon. "Yeah? What's up?"

In response, Friday popped up a video. It was clearly shot through a phone, shakily recording the kid skimming off of a pool before launching himself in the air. It dragged an amused smile from Tony, but it dropped as the next video played.

This one was clearly a security camera from the suburbs. The video was only a couple seconds long as a shuddering white van sped past the house, smoke flying from behind it. There was a bright purple shot and then Tony finally managed to catch sight of the bright red and blue suit being dragged along. Tony turned to his shadow, staring at where the hood was pulled up.

"What the hell have you gotten yourself into now, kid?" he asked it. "How old is this video?"

"Barely a minute."

Tony glanced at the unfinished suit and then back at the video playing on a loop. He guessed the suit would have to wait.

"Get me Mark Forty-Eight and take me to where this video was taken. Quickly, dear."

The suit activated across the room, stepping out of its case and allowing for Tony to be covered by it. The screen lit up immediately, his path highlighted to where the nearest window had opened. Tony shot out into the New York night, his heart beating rapidly. The kid had to be okay, right? He probably dealt with weird shit all the time.

The thought didn't stop the mechanic from being nervous. The kid was fifteen after all. He wasn't exactly equipped for this kind of thing.

It took barely a couple of minutes for Tony to arrive at the street where the video had been taken. There was a burn mark on the road, but no Spidey, and no sign of that van. He hovered, scanning for where the kid could be.

"Heat signatures, Fri. Give me something to work with."

His screen lit up, orange and red figures milling about in houses. There were a few people walking streets over, a car roving by slowly, a clash of body heat that made him think of a party, and a red dot hurtling out of the air ever closer to the river. Wait--

Tony fixated on where the red dot was slowly approaching the water, his heart pounding. "What is that? Friday, zoom in."

The video clipped towards the red dot, and Tony gasped as he recognized a body twisting through the air. And not just any body.

Spidey.

His thrusters whined before forcing the suit forward towards the dot that had disappeared from view. He turned in air, hovering over the body of water, before glancing down with a fearful swallow. A heat signature was illuminated.

"Kid," he gasped.

Tony dove down immediately and broke through the water's surface. It was dark underneath, but he could make out where the kid was. He wrapped his metal arms under the kid's armpits before shooting back into the blissfully cold air.

"I've got you, kid. I've got you."

Spidey didn't respond.

Ch 1 // Ch 3 // Ch 4 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8

#friendly neighborhood exchange #tony stark #peter parker #Iron Man #spiderman #irondad #spiderson #ironman fanfiction #spiderman fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #irondad and spiderson #soulmate au #platonic soulmates #not st*rker

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izzyfandoms · 4 years ago

Text

Through Your Ears And Mine

SHIPS: Dukemile

CHARACTERS: Remus Sanders, Emile Picani

WARNING: Remus eats something gross

GENERAL TAGLIST: @quillfics42 @aj-draws @phantomofthesanderssides @phlying-squirrel @sly-is-my-name-loving-is-my-game @because-were-fam-ily @imtryingthisout @a-creepycookie @emo-disaster @littlestr @spooky-scary-virgil @fuyel @mimsidoodles @soupgremlin @aroaceagenderfluid @birdsbookshiddeninrealbirdsskin @quirkalurk @gingers-trashy-stuff @iinyxtello @justaqueercactus @melodiread @mrbubbajones @glassferns @pun-master-logan @gayturtlez @k1ngtok1

Masterpost

A Series Of Soulmate AUs Masterpost

Remus always knew when he was about to switch hearing with his soulmate.

His ears warmed and started to tingle, and he always had a few second warning until he lost his own hearing, and started to hear through his soulmate’s ears. It always lasted at least five seconds, and never more than half a minute, though mostly somewhere in the middle, and usually didn’t give him too much information, though he enjoyed it every time.

He often heard cartoons, and he’d managed to piece together that his soulmate was a therapist through the numerous snippets of patients talking. Once, he’d heard them call his soulmate ‘doc,’ which was as close to a name or nickname as Remus had ever gotten to hearing.

Whenever he heard music, it was almost always Disney or from cartoons, which painted quite the picture of what Remus’s soulmate was like.

He seemed cute and sweet and kind, based on his taste and his choice of career, and absolutely nothing like Remus, himself.

But everyone said that opposites attracted, and Remus already knew that his soulmate was exactly his type. That was how soulmates worked, after all.

Unfortunately, Remus’s voice stopped working whenever he heard through his soulmate’s ears, which made it pretty difficult to leave a message, and the unpredictability of when it happened made it equally hard to plan ahead. He was never much of a planner, though, and was content to just let life happen to him.

They couldn’t really use their soulbond to find each other, but Remus was still happy with what it was, and listening to his soulmate was always the best part of his day.

He’d find him when he found them, and though Remus was impatient, he wasn’t the kind of person to just go out and find him himself.

When he heard the warmth and tingling in his ears, he was listening to music – it was loud and crude, just his taste, but nothing his soulmate hadn’t heard through him before, so he kept it going when the world faded out, and his soulmate’s side faded in.

“-are the Crystal Gems, we’ll always save the day!”

Ah, Steven Universe. Remus’s cousin, Patton, had teamed up with Roman to make Remus watch the show with them, so he was familiar with the theme tune. It also wasn’t the first time he’d overheard his soulmate watching it.

“And if you think we can’t, we’ll always find a way!”

Remus drummed his fingers on his knee in time to the music.

“That’s why the people of this world believe in: Garnet, Amethyst and Pearl and Steven!”

Only a moment after the theme-tune was finished, it faded out and the song Remus was listening to faded back in. It was almost over, and Remus suddenly realised how loud it was, especially in comparison to the song he’d just overheard. Hopefully his soulmate didn’t have sensitive ears.

Remus huffed, flopping back against the couch, and keeping the song at the deafening volume.

That was boring. He’d been hoping for something a little more interesting – some snippet that would tell him more about his soulmate and their life – but apparently fate had had different ideas.

Remus got up, ripping the headphones from his head and dropping them and his phone onto the couch cushions. He went over to his kitchen and decided to make the most terrible snack he could possibly think of. After a moment of consideration, tapping his foot on the kitchen floor tiles and scanning his surroundings, he decided on ketchup and mint chocolate chip ice cream.

For a second, he wondered if he should microwave the ingredients, making it more of a soup, but he decided against it as he really didn’t want to wait that long.

He mixed the two ingredients in the first bowl he could find, grabbing a spoon from the drawer and then sitting on his kitchen counter, pulling his legs up to sit cross-legged.

He ate slowly, savouring the sweet and sour mix of food that he knew would absolutely horrify everyone he’d ever met. Remus would have to text Roman about his snack lately, simply to nauseate and annoy his twin brother. It tasted good, in Remus’s opinion, but he was always one who liked peculiar flavours.

When Remus finished his snack, he dropped the bowl into the sink, alongside all of the other dishes that had been left there for days. He could clean up another time.

(He would not.)

The moment he took a step out of the kitchen, the warmth and tingling in his ears suddenly resumed.

Remus froze in place. It was uncommon for these things to happen back-to-back like this, but not completely underheard of. Once, a few years ago, it had happened twelve times in one day – twice an hour for six hours in a row – and afterwards Roman had told him that that had meant he’d been close to meeting his soulmate, but had missed the opportunity. After that, Remus had sulked for a week.

Hope began to bubble up inside of him, and Remus immediately grinned. He slumped against the wall, and prepared to listen to what he assumed was likely going to be more Steven Universe.

Instead, when his hearing faded out, and his soulmate’s faded in, he heard something else.

“Gosh, I really hope you can hear this! My friend told me to do this, said it worked for him. I recorded this on my phone, ‘cos you can’t normally hear my voice,” the voice was quick, and it took a moment for it to click in Remus’s head that this must have been his soulmate’s voice. He would’ve gasped if he could have. Instead his voice was stuck in his throat, like it always was when he heard through his soulmate’s ears. “So, um, my address is...”

There was only just enough time for the address to finish, before the sound faded out, and the silence of Remus’s apartment faded back in.

He was frozen in place, his eyes wide.

The voice was male, at least from Remus could tell, which made sense as Remus was gay, and therefore only really attracted to men. It was perfect, and already the most attractive voice Remus had ever heard in his life, and he never wanted to stop hearing it.

A minute passed, and then Remus jumped to work. He sped through his apartment, sifting through the mess of drawers – and making an even bigger mess – as he searched for a pen and a piece of paper. He went over the address again and again and again in his head as he moved, making sure not to forget it and memorizing it quickly.

When he finally found a scrap piece of paper – that had a doodle of a man being beheaded on the back – he immediately scribbled the address over the back.

He stared at it for a few seconds, clutching the paper so tightly that he almost ripped it in half.

Then, he made his mind up.

The plans he had already made for tonight, meeting up with his parents for their fortnightly dinner together, immediately slipped from his head. He had to go to this address.

He rushed over to the couch, picking up his phone and searching up the address, and his eyes lit up and his heart skipped a beat when he realised: his soulmate was close.

A two-hour long drive. Possibly less, if Remus didn’t care about breaking laws and ignoring the speed limit, which he truly did not care about.

He could go to that address right now. He could meet his soulmate today.

Remus had to. He would.

He crumpled the paper up into a ball, shoving it into his pocket along with the pen. He then rushed through his apartment like a hurricane, making an even bigger mess of the place as he searched through drawers for his car keys. For once, he was annoyed with himself at his lack of order, as he usually didn��t have much of an idea of where everything was. Normally he didn’t mind, but right now he was in enough of a hurry that he hated it.

When he finally found his keys, he turned and left his apartment.

He forgot to shut the door behind him, but it would be a while until he remembered that.

He drove faster than the speed limit when he could, but apparently fate was on his side, as he wasn’t at any point pulled over. He was halfway through his drive when the hearing switched again, and, for once in his life, Remus was responsible, and he pulled over to listen.

It was the same voice – another recorded message – and Remus’s heart skipped a beat in his chest.

It started with an awkward laugh – endearing and adorable and it made fireworks go off in Remus’s heart – and then the voice spoke again.

“Maybe I should’ve started with my number,” his soulmate said. “And my name. I got a little ahead of myself there, sorry.” Another awkward laugh. “Um... my name is Emile Picani and my number is...”

Remus grabbed the pen that he’d stuffed into his pocket and scribbled the number across the back of his right hand as it was recited. The hearing faded out, and he was left staring at his hand when the sound of the cars zooming past him faded back in.

After a moment, he dug around in his pockets for his phone, and retrieved it quickly.

He wasted no time adding the contact to his phone, and then texting it immediately.

REMUS

would it be weird for me to come to ur address right now

If Remus were any other man, he would have realised how weird of an opening that was. However, he was not any other man, he was Remus, and that was the best he could come up with.

He didn’t have to wait long for a reply.

EMILE

Umm....

I guess that depends on who you are!

Remus could practically hear that sweet, awkward laugh in his head, and he couldn’t wait for the next time he’d get to hear it in his ears again. Hopefully, that next time would happen face-to-face.

REMUS

soulmate

ur voice is pretty

Remus drummed his fingers on his knee as he waited impatiently for the next text. It only took a couple minutes for the next text to come.

EMILE

Oh my gosh!!! Wow!!!!!

So it worked?

My brother told me it would but i was so nervous!

It worked for him and his soulmate but i wasn’t sure it would for us!!!!

All bonds are different right?

REMUS

it worked

can i come then?

EMILE

Gosh okay!!

I don’t have work today and it would be jut wonderful to finally meet you!!!

*just

As long as it doesn’t inconvenience you of course

REMUS

Im already close

And he was. A quick glance at his GPS made it known that he was already only an hour away. Just an away from his soulmate’s place, and from finally meeting his soulmate himself.

Remus was ecstatic.

He stuffed his phone into his pocket and restarted his drive.

Again, he drove over the speed limit, but, again, it seemed that fate was on his side, and he wasn’t caught and pulled over.

He got a few complaints from pedestrians when he sloppily parked just down the street from his soulmate’s apartment building, and one even kicked his tire. He ignored them all without hesitation, though, and only just remembered to lock his car behind him as he raced down the street: not quite running, but certainly hurrying.

He passed pedestrians that he paid no mind, darting through the crowd, and then stopped in his tracks when he passed a small stall selling flowers.

Remus paused, his mind moving a mile a minute, before he bought the first bouquet that caught his eye – it was rainbow: a bright, mixture of colours that Remus hoped his soulmate would like.

He wasn’t usually the nice, romantic type, but even Remus wanted to make a good first impression.

It didn’t take long for him to get inside the apartment building – one of the tenants opened the door just before him, and kept holding it open for Remus when they saw him following behind.

He climbed the stairs – he figured running up them was better than taking the elevator, and risking having to stop at every floor. It didn’t take long for him to find his soulmate’s apartment; he checked the address once on the way, and, though his hand-writing was messy and unreadable to most, he knew he was in the right place.

Remus stopped at the door, and knocked loudly.

But before just before it could open, the familiar warmth and tingling of his ears returned, and the moment the door swung open, he still heard it, but through the ears of the man now in front of him, instead of his own.

The man in front of him – his soulmate, his soulmate – was cute. Very, very cute. He had curly hair and wide eyes, and clothes that were pink and beige and neat and clean, as opposed to Remus’s, which were always ripped and messy.

They stared at each other, as they could not yet talk.

Emile’s eyes kept flicking between Remus’s face and the bouquet, and it was only when their hearing switched back that he remembered to hand the flowers to his soulmate.

He held them out, and Emile took them and held them to his chest.

“Thank you.”

#me #writing #dukemile #intrumile #remani #sanders sides #cartoon therapy #emile picani #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #soulmate au #human au #fluff

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miraculouscontent · 4 years ago

Text

Ask Explo--

...you know what, you’re right. Name change effective immediately.

Askplosion #10:

(unrelated to everything by the way but I DEMAND THE ANON WHO MENTIONED “REMARRIED EMPRESS” A WHILE BACK COME FORTH AND ANSWER FOR THEIR CRIMES. IT’S SO GOOD BUT IT’S UNFINISHED AND I’M HOOKED, HOW DARE YOU)

Asks responding to previous posts:

It’s okay! I figured that was what it was but it’s been so loooong.

Ah, wow.

Um, that’s definitely not a part 2; I think that’s more like a four-parter/five-parter or something.

Sorry! No can do!

That’s totally fair!

I think the reason I so quickly agreed with it is like--

I’ve been watching the Inuyasha sequel and it’s not like I don’t think the narrative’s apparent punching bag Moroha (who is fourteen years old) shouldn’t be punished when she does something wrong/sneaky/manipulative, but they punish her as if she’s Miroku (who was eighteen years old).

Basically, I want the punishment to take the age into account, or at least only affect Marinette on a more personal level and not be “Heart Hunter” where they take totally understandable feelings of heartache (remember, it wouldn’t have mattered which miraculous she took because Hawk Moth got the Miracle Box and Fu regardless; even beyond her emotions, I feel like she chose the best option available to her considering which temps she knew the location of) and then punish her for them by memory wiping Fu and taking away all of her temps and giving Hawk Moth the grimoire translation.

Yes!! I really wanted to respond to this one, thank you! (It’s this one and then there was another one talking about Luka and Adrien, then talked to me about how I refer to Luka as “soft” but not in a bad way; I unfortunately don’t remember the whole thing.)

Ahaha, and yeah, I feel you. Anti-salters are a very strange conundrum I still haven’t figured out; like, I get not liking salt, but...

I mean, when I don’t like certain content, I just blacklist it. If I end up seeing it anyway due to cross-tagging or a lack of tagging, then I just blacklist the person themself. You won’t see me going after people for that very reason; I only see what people send/ask me if it’s content I don’t like.

I’m glad you’ve found some peace in this blog! Hopefully it continues to be that way for you in the future!

(and yay, a fellow INTJ!!)

New Asks:

There are female writers? ;P I just assumed they were all locked in a closet until the male ones were like, “okay, pretend to help us here, we need one female writer to claim girl power.”

As for Ladybug all like, “Cute, isn’t she?” I think it was rhetorical (she could also be messing with him but “Glaciator” tells us that she didn’t know he crushed on her so who knows). The writers do this thing where Marinette is all panic-y and occasionally self-conscious as herself, but then as Ladybug, she suddenly gets a bit of an ego. I think it’s meant to be there in order to make Chat Noir look less... idk, “obnoxious” when he starts boosting his own ego; trying to balance the two by giving them both big heads, so to speak.

Honestly, I feel like Adrien needs less screen time. :|

Even when he’s not on-screen, characters are usually talking about him, or you see his face in Marinette’s room/somewhere in Paris. I’m become so jaded by the guy that I don’t even think it’d matter if they remade the series and gave it a “totally good and interesting Adrien.” That’s how badly the show has made him out for me; “Adrien Agreste” the character is just... sigh, I’m so done with him.

And yeah, this whole idea about, “Marinette is [x], we need more AAAAAADRIEN!” comes off really bad, lol, especially when Adrien has very little going for him.

(this ask ends off like there should be a part 2 but there isn’t one in my inbox, so sorry if there’s meant to be something else!)

The exact lyrics according to the wiki:

My wish for a cat who's in love, with our own Ladybug. Is that he'll get what he's always wanted! She doesn't know she loves him, only sees Adrien, But Christmas miracles always happen!

Yeah, especially nowadays, those lines bothers me. Not only does it imply “true selves,” but that it’s Chat who should be getting what he always wanted and Ladybug is the one with a problem.

Like, excuse me?

Probably Stormy Weather, even in the first episode. Ladybug and Chat Noir couldn’t even touch her until they arrived on top of the TV station.

+ With all those effects and shots, it made it feel more action-y than typical episodes.

Marinette, Aurore, Luka, Anarka, Jagged...

basically any name that I haven’t really heard before (”Luka” makes me think of Vocaloid but the Luka there was female), or a name that relates a lot to the character (like “Aurore” for “aurora” since she loves weather things).

dfjbghfkdgfdgnjfdg this anon really like, “I NEED ANSWERS!!!”

It’s as if these characters hit 18 or something and just grow overnight, I swear. I’m hypothetically fine with some more variety in character height (it’s not like the show tries to be realistic, after all), but maybe don’t give us official heights if they’re gonna be this weird/inaccurate.

Especially when they change it just for the sake of a shot anyway. If you watch “Simon Says” when Ladybug and Adrien stand next to each other while looking at the picture of Adrien’s mother, the very next close-up has an obvious difference in their heights from what you just saw.

They’re 3D models!!! This shouldn’t happen!

I... honestly never thought of the “less threatening” thing! Dang!

And yeah, Marinette isn’t helpless or incompetent, but because of the Adrien crush, it makes her that way at times since she’s always falling on him and--

...ugh, actually, yeah, don’t wanna think about those implications. Hard pass.

Gross.

I’m not familiar with that one, though Astruc deletes his tweets all the time (there was one tweet where he confirmed that Luka was poor and it only exists in screenshots now because it didn’t get archived and he deleted it almost like he realized that he was pointing out the blatant classism in the show, oops).

Yeah though, I haven’t seen anything like what you’re describing. Sorry!

It’s okay! Sorry for having you clarify but him choosing and Marinette deciding to never give it back are very different things.

I don’t recall Chat Noir having much purpose in the final fight (in terms of both contributing and actual fighting; I know Cataclysm broke the object to release the akuma but was it needed?) so Marinette might either go cat-less or get a temp. Plagg could also be helpful in his own right because he’s small and blends in with the night, so he could hypothetically sneak up on the bad guy.

Afterwards, there’d need to be a new cat, but Adrien would also have to reconsider his actions and really think about what happened. I could also see Plagg going to Adrien’s house, half to apologize for giving the idea to Adrien that Adrien leave without telling Ladybug, but also half to call him out for giving up without consulting anyone. Adrien is a lot of conflicting things (see Adrien’s passivity compared to Chat Noir’s recklessness) so he’d have to find a middle ground within himself.

Marinette might carry Plagg around in her purse for a while and let Plagg have a say in who he goes to. Plagg might grieve for a bit over not having Adrien around (even if Adrien was flawed, Plagg didn’t ask for any of this so Marinette is doing her best here).

O-oh.

That’s always the rough patch with “endgame ships.” Once it’s obvious to the audience that they’re endgame, no more effort needs to be put into them.

The other thing too is how Kagami, for example, is friends with Marinette. Even once Adrimi sinks, she’ll presumably stay friends with her. Luka, meanwhile, is Juleka’s brother.

They have lives outside of their love interests. Adrien is so into Ladybug that he doesn’t have that; I mean, Nino is Adrien’s best friend like once in a blue moon.

The entire class is just watching an episode and then calling on raised hands to answer what was wrong with what they just watched.

“Everything?”

“I mean, yes, but I’m sorry, you have to be more specific to get credit.”

I think Aeon herself is fine. It’s mostly just her transformed and that transformed name that I have a problem with (she doesn’t even look uncanny so I don’t get it). I heard there was something wrong with the name “Aeon” but searching the name doesn’t give me anything I would qualify as such so I have no idea. I just wish she was given a little less “I’m programmed to--” (makes her seem less sentient) and more “[anything that doesn’t have to do with pushing the love square]” because I feel like they might’ve done the latter to make her more “likable”? I think fans of anything usually like the “matchmaker” character provided it’s for a ship they like. Also strange that they make her a robot but Max and Markov don’t extensively interact with her, but that’s a nitpick and not a criticism of her character.

...I’m rambling, my bad lol.

(Ohhh, she was supposed to be a mummy? Like, foreshadowing her “dying”?? That went right over my head but I guess that’d be where the name Uncanny Valley came from? No clue.)

Best case scenario is probably the middle or the end of Season 4.

And yeah, it really doesn’t matter to me what they do with the love square. Marinette had gone through too much suffering and the show goes out of its way to show how much stress Marinette is being put under (and also keeping Luka away during episodes like “Gamer 2.0″ even when it makes sense for them to be there, as if trying to make sure Marinette doesn’t have enough moments with him to forget Adrien).

Like, ah, yes, I totally believe that Marinette is in a position where she can make reasonable decisions about her love life while all circles of her life are on fire.

If the Sonic movie of all things can have an interracial couple, there’s no reason why this show can’t, just saying.

And, even with Marinette, she’s white-passing (according to what basically everyone says, I’m really awful about recognizing race so this isn’t my field; I wasn’t aware that Ondine was Asian, for example).

Does Nadja count? Manon’s dark-skinned (I’m still not over the fact that all the kids in this show are dark-skinned; it’s not like it’s a problem from a representation standpoint - though all the kids are also all generically bratty/whiny so there’s that - but the percentages in this show are weird) while Nadja is really light-skinned, meaning either a dark-skinned husband or Manon is adopted.

Though I guess the problem then is that we don’t know, so there’s no established couple there.

Non-Miraculous Asks:

w-who gave you the right to say such things????

Uhhhh, that might be too broad of a question, I’m sorry!

I know this isn’t satisfactory, but I will say that my favorite genre is Fantasy/Romance (it’s why I adore Red Shoes so much; by the way, an anon asked for my opinion on that a while back and I will get to it! I’d need to watch it again to get screenshots) and my least favorite is probably Tragedy/Horror.

I don’t think I’ve watched enough to really be able to say? I’ve kind of been all over but I’ve never fully gone through any of them outside of Miraculous. I’ve seen bits of Sailor Moon, Tokyo Mew Mew, Star VS the Forces of Evil (don’t know if that counts), and I meant to watch Yuki Yuna is a Hero but never got around to it. I saw the entirety of Puella Magi Madoka Magica but you guys know how I feel about that one.

Maybe Cardcaptor Sakura by default then? It was definitely not perfect but I liked some of the character dynamics (I also have a clipcut of it - basically where I go through a series/movie and cut out parts I don’t like so it’s only good stuff - so I’m cheating a little) and the male love interest was a tsundere type that I actually ended up liking, which is really rare.

!!! That sounds sweet~ I know Sailor Moon is popular so I’ll definitely take your word for it on that one.

I would also accept a “reincarnated”/”destined lovers” trope if maybe the ship themselves are the one who set it up in the first place. I have a Lukanette AU, for example, where they basically got together and then prayed to the shrine of the renewal god that they’d “always be together,” which ended up allowing them to reincarnate over and over (as if they set up their own soulmate AU ;P) and continuously find each other.

Though I guess that’s not technically a “meant to be trope,” but still, it’s a form of it but where it was totally consensual on both sides.

Also, I finally thought of a show that ended with the ship I wanted: Gargoyles. I didn’t see the entire series, mind you, but I saw most of it and Goliath and Elisa were just... quality, I adored them.

+ With Beauty and the Beast being my favorite Disney movie, they fit right in with my tastes.

I forget that AangToph (I think the “official” name for the ship is Taang, but don’t quote me on that) exists sometimes, maybe because I’ve never shipped Aang with anyone; I’ve got no problems with the ship though.

Ugh, and this is what I mean when I talk about people who set up these reasons behind people shipping something based on what they saw a few people do. It’s like, “you only ship Adrimi/Lukanette to spite Adrienette!!”

Meanwhile, me having shipped all three at one point and then dropped off the love square.

Also, me shipping Zutara has nothing to do with it being dark/edgy because I’ve never seen it that way (intriguing, sure but dark and edgy? lol) and also avoid dark/edgy ships like the plague.

I still laugh at people who are like, “you can’t ship it because it’s not endgaaaaame!” as if shows can dictate how and why I enjoy something. Like sure, if you want to let a show/movie spoonfeed you how you’re supposed to feel, then by all means, go ahead.

I suppose people may be theoretically happier that way, but it doesn’t make for an analytic mind.

I legitimately thought that “AssClass” must’ve been the actual name for something until it registered with me what it actually meant.

And eh, I guess it depends on the comparison and how accurate the comparison actually is? Like, comparing Puella Magic Madoka Magica to Miraculous... they’re not really close at all, but comparing... idk, Bunnyx to Homura or the concept behind “backfiring wishes”... maybe?

(note that the rest of this post is more Puella Magi Madoka Magica salt so you can stop reading here if you’re not interested in that; I’m not sure if this is all the same anon but I don’t mind letting people vent so I let them go off~)

why can’t we just have nice things

I agree, and I give a little eyeroll every time it’s like, “oh, this person had [miraculous]”

+ even just in general, I feel weird about any show that mentions/implies that real world famous people are [x] or [y] in their show. It breaks my immersion; real world locations are one thing but when it’s specific people (unless they’re made up characters like Santa Claus) or games just--break me.

I also don’t know what to think when there aren’t magical boys but you have these magical girls in this frilly outfits/skirts. The demographic is girls so I presume the reason must be like, “you can look pretty and still beat people up” (;P) but having so many magical girl shows without a hint of a magical boy makes me suspicious that it’s for fanservice. Sailor Moon has Tuxedo Mask but I also don’t know what that guy did outside of the meme of him doing nothing so I’ve got no clue.

(edit: I should correct myself that I’m not talking about Sailor Moon specifically; I don’t know magical girls that well, though I do know there are ones clearly intended for fanservice (you could say that for anything, to be fair, but still). It’s just that I see things like super short skirts or very “questionable” shots and I’m just like, “hm”)

Hmmm, good question. I feel like there has to be a lot but I’m also the type who doesn’t watch a lot of TV lol. I’m just familiar with cliches and tropes and such.

The reason I try not to use “ism”s of any kind is mostly because it’s too broad. Like, you know how the English language only has one way of saying, “I love you,” but other languages like Spanish have multiple?

It’s like that, and sometimes I think it’s too easy to throw those words out there. A “small” (possibly completely unintentional/misunderstood) offense is sexism, and then a “large” offense is called the exact same thing. I’d rather go into why something is sexist than just call it that, y’know? The only exception I make is “classism” because I feel like that’s not as... I dunno, divisive?

Anyway, for that same reason, I can’t answer firmly that, “Madoka Magica is sexist.” I will however say that it makes me uncomfortable with how the show makes out the girls being emotional because they’re young and female and then proceeds to make their life a living hell before they’re old enough to properly answer to it (I know that’s the point but that kind of makes it worse?). It doesn’t help with how all the girls have different personalities, so it’s not like you have only “crybaby girls” who are being taken advantage of; it’s basically like... all girls.

Not helped is the fact that their soul gem not only deteriorates naturally, but it can also do so faster if the girl falls into despair, which then turns them into a monster (and I know it’s kind of like an akuma thing, but the fact that it’s only girls is... I dunno, it comes off wrong?). It seems cheap that the soul gem deteriorates no matter what so it constantly needs fed even if the girl is consistently happy.

I would probably opt for the show being centered more around Kyubey being new to this or something - like, magical girls are a new thing - and then have Kyubey being surprised because they presumed that the soul gem would deteriorate naturally since “emotions are powerful but destructive to the person having them,” but then all the girls team up and help each other work out their problems. Maybe the reason magical girls are usually alone isn’t even because of the grief seed (I think that’s what it’s called?) thing not being able to be shared, but because Kyubey intentionally separates magical girls so they can’t do what the main group is doing, but Madoka is so into the idea that, “We shouldn’t have to be alone,” and so she’s constantly pulling all the girls together, which keeps them healthy.

Maybe Homura’s backstory could be that Madoka originally was more sheepish and more afraid to put herself out there, especially since she was a magical girl (who are encouraged to go it alone), which is why their soul gems were both deteriorating; they were friends but kept more of a distance, or maybe they were a team but that’s all they were. Then Madoka gives Homura the last grief seed to save her and that’s what inspires Homura and makes her see Madoka as something more than a teammate, which is why Homura actively tries to save Madoka specifically (which then encourages Madoka to want to keep everyone together as friends).

In the case that Kyubey doesn’t separate them out of concern of fRiEnDsHiP, but for another reason altogether, and then it’s ultimately their own downfall when they allow the girls to hang out and realize that it’s doing a lot of good for them.

“cute and innocent”

That was exactly it. It’s on Kyubey’s trivia section on the Puella Magi Madoka Magica Wiki.

Before the anime's first dark plot twist aired, head writer Gen Urobuchi said on his Twitter account that the "Kyu" in Kyubey's name comes from the English word "cute". This was a lie meant to further mislead fans into thinking that Madoka Magica is an innocent happy show. In a later episode, it was revealed that "Kyubey" is, in fact, short for "incubator".

In my personal opinion, a spoiled plot can’t be “ruined” if it’s a good plot. If you told me that Kagome was trapped in the Modern era for three years and then decided to stay with Inuyasha at the end of Inuyasha, it wouldn’t/shouldn’t decrease the value when I finally see it for myself because it’s good. That’s not to say that everything should just be spoiled right out of the gate, but it’s saying that maybe your plot isn’t good if you have to rely on shock value to make it work??

I FEEL THAT “ASSIGNING IT TO THE WHOLE GENDER” THING SO BAD. It just adds to my “the girls all have varying personalities so it’s not like Kyubey’s only after emotional crybabies or anything” salt.

I have no idea about any of the stuff about the writers so I can’t confirm or deny them. I will very much agree on the target audience thing though, especially with the whole “keeping the dark plot a secret” because really? Who is this for then? Like, the first two and a half episodes are for one demographic and then the others are--???

I dunno. Me personally, I just like feel good stories. I do like some good conflict and drama (for context, Remarried Empress is basically a webtoon that gives you things to feel salty about and then makes its own salt fic as its plot, allowing for endless streams of feels and catharsis, so I’m definitely not against drama), but there are other times where I just want to feel good watching something.

I feel like the show expects the characters to be selfless/perfect and then punishes them even though it’s their writing that’s causing them to act out. I can’t really talking about “out-of-character” but sometimes it’s just obvious where “we did this because we needed a plot/conflict.”

Like, hello? We don’t need the main characters screwing up; why can’t we just have some feel good thing where they take the day for themselves (seriously, imagine a Miraculous episode where Chat Noir actually tells Ladybug to take a couple days for herself, like maybe someone else gets the earrings for a few days as a temp while Marinette gets to breathe; IMAGINE IT). Not everything needs to be high-stakes to be interesting and you need those calmer moments so that the action-packed ones feel more intense.

SAYAKA DESERVES BETTER.

I feel like the magical girl genre as a whole can be way more complex than it’s made out to be. I think people hear the word “magical girl” and think “cute girls in short skirts talk about girl problems and fight evil with the power of friendship and accessories.”

Ugh, just the mention of Rebellion makes me sigh internally.

Congrats on working on your own magical girl story! I hope it goes well for you!

I know it’s not technically a magical girl show, but there was also Totally Spies that Astruc worked on to some degree (I think there was some characters who were based on/a loose reference to the mains from that show but I don’t remember exactly).

The thing about the female characters suffering is that they could make for good lessons on positively directing one’s emotions (like Usagi from Sailor Moon, for example, maybe having a problem with taking her anger out on her friends, but learns that she can save that rage for the bad guys; “Gamer 2.0″ from Miraculous could’ve done that, honestly, by having Ladybug absolutely WRECK all of her gaming opponents in “violent” (cartoon violence obviously) fashion). It’s just a shame that it’s not taken advantage of.

Sayaka??? Selfish???????

*does not compute*

(Also, I wasn’t tired of them, don’t worry! It was a little overwhelming in my inbox but it’s me who’s allowing all the asks to flow in so the blame isn’t on you lol.)

I’m not sure where this obsession came from with, “you have to be selfless and you’re not allowed to use your powers for yourself.” It’s like the world’s going to end if a character leaves to go Self-Care or something. I think what happened is that shows got this idea that promoting only the giving of others is great and it’s not important to take time for yourself (even with “Gamer 2.0,” it was still Marinette playing games with everyone else, and they treated her dedication and seriousness like a bad thing when she literally did not have time to waste and they didn’t give a reason why it was good for her to take a break, only that she should).

This usually leads to the “demonization” of characters who sport a lot of self-confidence or any sort of ego. It works on both sides; Marinette is a punching bag because of her anxiety and occasional lack of confidence, but if she had an ego as Ladybug, there are parts of the fandom who deem her “obnoxious” (i.e: “Reflekdoll”). There’s a delicate balance between “be confident” and “be humble” and it’s a tightrope act.

#((Yes! This strategy works for not losing asks.))#((In other news--))#((I gotta test out this new microphone so I wanna do a ''Voiced Askplosion'' where I record my answers instead of writing them))#((Anyone who sends me a 🎤 alongside their asks will get a voiced response next time!))#((I probably can't answer everything but you know how it is~))#(((i swear that someone is going to do it just to see if they can get me to swear when I read out their asks)))#((or... like--))#((''ok i don't actually have a question''))#((''but plz say the words 'adrien and marinette are meant to be' because i want to hear how much u struggle to say it''))#category: salt #other: non ml talk #category: ramble #character: Marinette Dupain Cheng #category: fandom #episode: Evillustrator #character: Chat Noir #character: Ladybug #character: Adrien Agreste #character: Stormy Weather #category: me myself and i #category: staff #relationship: Adrien Agreste & Marinette Dupain Cheng #character: Aeon #character: Uncanny Valley #relationship: love square #MC's Renders #render: persona

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i-write-sometimes-blog · 4 years ago

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Earth Girl(Rey x Reader) Five

Summary: Days seems to be peaceful on this new planet but with the First Order on your tail things could change quickly.

Word count: 2,208

A/N: I have forgotten about this series ngl but I love it so much and I'm finally back at it! If you're new here you can find the previous chapters on my masterlist. Hope you like it! Let me know what you think!

The days were cold on the mysterious swampy planet, fortunately you had the Falcon, this big starship that was slowly becoming your home, its walls and circular halls seemed worn out yet that detail made them special for you. You were sure this old ship had witnessed a hundred stories.

And there was also Rey, bright as the sun.

It was strange how closer you two had become in so little time but you liked it, you loved to have her around, to take her hand. To kiss her.

This whole thing seemed too good to be true, for moments you thought it may be just a dream but you had realized a long time it was not. It was real, the planets, the star ships and aliens. All of it was real.

Rey was real.

“How long do we have to stay here?” you asked, leaned on a rock outside the Falcon as you watched the night sky full of stars, they looked so different up close and maybe it was because they weren’t the same stars you used to watch from the roof of your building back in your homeplanet.

“I’m not sure.” Rey told you, “Last contact with the General was at least a week ago, and she only said to hide.”

“And until we can contact the Resistance again, what?” you added.

“We wait.” she said unbothered or at least she tried to sound like she didn’t care to wait.

“So we just wait here forever?”

“If we have to.” She said before taking the last bite of her food. She seemed somehow upset about all this, there was sadness in her eyes that tried to avoid you and the stars above you. You knew this had something to do with her family, she mentioned before you arrived at Takodana, yet she had never spoken of it again.

“Rey, what happened to your family?” you asked. Her eyes met the cold ground as she prepared her words.

“They left me in Jakku.” She said, clearly struggling to say those words. “I thought they’d come back someday but... they never did.” she told you really seriously, you had never seen her this serious.

“You know what happened to them or where-” you said.

“If I’d known I would have left the desert a long time ago.” She cut you off. You both stay quiet for a minute, not really knowing what to say until you broke the strange silence between Rey and you.

“It must have been really rough to live all alone.” you tried to show her some sympathy but it clearly didn’t help much. Rey gave you a humorless chuckle before raising her voice again.

“You have no idea what it was like,” She said in a rather sad way, “to wake up everyday and work under the burning sun to have something to barely eat. What it was like to live with the only hope that someday someone will come for you.” she looked so sad talking about her past, this was a side of her you hadn’t seen and it only let you know that as strong as she looked she could be so vulnerable too and that she had always been alone, just like you.

“Nights were the worst.” Rey continued with her past. “I used to look at the sky and wonder where they were, why did they leave me .”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn't have asked.” you murmured sincerely reaching to take your hand in yours. Rey’s eyes met yours for the first time since this conversation started.

“At least I’m not alone this time.” She told you, giving a small squeeze to your hand as a tiny smile curved her lips.

“You’re right.” you said offering her a warm smile.

“I’ll try to contact the base. Hopefully we can get out of here soon.” She said already getting up. “You wanna come with me?” she asked.

“I think I’ll pass just this time, I want to see the stars a little longer.” you said admiring the bright stars painting the sky.

“Sure, but stay close, okay?” she said and you nodded. Rey leaned in to press a short kiss over your lips before disappearing inside the Falcon.

You stayed sitting on your place, just admiring the night sky, it calmed you and at the same time the simple sight of it excited you and the old question came back to your mind, “What’s out there?” but this time you knew for sure that there was something else, thousands of unknown planets that awaited for you to discover.

After a while you decided to explore the surroundings, you wanted to know more about this place. And so you took a nice calm walk through the swampy planet, or maybe not as calm as you expected.

The peaceful atmosphere suddenly faded away as you heard a voice that was definitely not there the day before, turning around you spotted a handful of soldiers, their white armor contrasting with the darkness of the night. Quickly hiding behind a tree, you listened carefully to the intruders.

“Affirmative, Sir.” One of them said to a small blue hologram on his gloved hand. “We found the Millenium Falcon.”

“Bring me the girl.” Said the hologram that showed a cloaked figure, his voice was deep and it scared you. You knew who he was referring to, he wanted Rey, this was probably the First Order Rey had talked to you about and therefore the man in the hologram was their leader.

“Right away, Sir.” The trooper said.

A shiver ran down your spine with fear, fear of what could happen to Rey if they captured her. You had to warn her about this. So slowly you tried to back away.

A branch cracking under your foot alerted the troopers who immediately turned their helmets in your direction.

“We found her, Sir.” Was the last thing you heard before one of them shot a weapon at you that made you fall unconscious to the ground.

*******

When your eyes fluttered open you found yourself in an unknown place, you didn’t recognize the strange place you were in but you were sure you weren’t in the swampy planet anymore because you could see the stars through the big windows in front of you.

From the corner of your eyes you caught a tall cloaked man watching you as if he’d been waiting for you to wake up. It was the same man you saw before in the hologram.

“What do you want from me?” you asked.

“From you? Nothing.” He said looking you up and down before taking a few steps away from you, his gaze turning to the big windows of the ship. “It’s incredible how incompetent these troopers are. They brought the wrong girl". he added.

You took your time to scan the room, it was almost empty except for the big black table surrounded by chairs identical to the one you were sitting in. But most important, there was only one big metal door.

One way in and only one way out.

“Then why are you keeping me here?” you raised your voice again.

“You’re just a bait for the scavenger.” The man looked over his shoulder. “You care for her, don’t you? I’ve seen it in your mind.” His words let you perplex, how could he know something like that? Did he just say he saw it in your mind? Apparently this man searched inside your mind while you were unconscious.

“And she cares for you too.” he turned around and walked close to you, a curious gaze on his face, a long scar crossed his face. “But I still don’t understand why you are so important to her.”

A strange sensation crossed your mind, an electric feeling that tickled inside your head and you had the feeling he was inside your mind.

“Oh.” he finally spoke. “An earth girl, you are from earth. I see why you’re so precious to Rey now. A little childish of her to believe in the legends about your people but tell me, have she asked for her wish yet?.”

You stayed silent looking at him with hate.

“Sir!” the door opened and a young man in black uniform appeared in the doorway, panic in his voice. “She’s here.”

The very next moment you saw a known figure stepping into the room. You recognized the silhouette cover in light clothing, the brown hair arranged in three little buns in the back of her head, you recognized those eyes.

It was Rey, and she looked not pleased to see this man as she held the laser sword in her hand.

Immediately as the man saw Rey, he pulled you from your seat, holding you close to him as he ignited his own strange sword made of a red light. He held it close to your neck, you could hear the way the saber buzzing in a dangerous way.

“Let her go, Kylo.” Rey spoke, anger on her voice. So that was the name of this man, Kylo.

“Join me and I’ll let her go.” Kylo growled, never losing his grip on his weapon. “Pledge yourself to my teaching and I swear nothing will ever happen to your precious Earth girl.”

You observed Rey thinking features, but she didn’t say a word.

“She’ll have everything she wants once I rule over the galaxy.” Kylo added and suddenly you realized his true, evil goals.

Rey’s eyes travel from his to yours, a sorry look on them. You knew she couldn’t accept, she would never and you understood, a bit afraid of what would happen next yet you accepted that it was better than Rey joining this rude skyscraper. You slightly nodded to her.

“No.” Rey said. “Never.”

An idea to escape Kylo's grasp crossed your mind in an instant and you hoped it would work, this man was by far stronger and taller than you but hopefully this would set you free.

“I’ll give you one last chance, Rey. Join me.” he said and just as he was about to speak again you punched the side of his body with your elbow, trying to use all your forces. Without knowing you hitted a wound that had not fully healed which made him grunt in pain, unconsciously letting go of you.

As soon as you were free of his grasp you rushed towards Rey but she ran towards the tall man whose saber was already aiming for you but instead was stopped by Rey’s blue saber.

The clash of the lightsabers soon filled the room as Rey and Kylo fought. The adrenaline rushed through your veins for the sudden battle in front of you, a fight to protect you, that was possibly the sweetest thing someone had done for you. However you wanted the fight to end, you didn’t want Rey to get hurt because of you but how could you help if you were just an earth girl?

No, you were much more than that. Maz had told you not to let the place you were from define you and she was right.

Taking the blaster from your waistband you removed the safety lock and aimed at Kylo but Rey’s body interfered in the way, you held your breath for a moment and stopped yourself from pulling the trigger. You hadn’t realized until that moment that your hands were shaking and your heart was racing really fast.

This was more difficult than you thought.

This was not like training with a rock but to shoot at a moving object trying no to hurt Rey in the way. You recalled the training but most important, you remembered Rey’s words: “You have to be sure when you pull the trigger, no time for doubts in battle, hold it steady.”

Sighed, aimed one more time at the big man who kept fighting against Rey, and concentrated you finally pulled the trigger.

The blaster hitted Kylo’s hand forcing him to drop his weapon.

“Rey! Come on!” you said running towards her and grabbing her hand to drag her out of the room, away from that man you already hated.

Rey and you ran through endless hallways of this big ship, never letting go of her hand. She seemed to know the way out, you assumed this was not the first time she had been inside one of these. You ran shooting a few troopers from time to time, you were becoming good at shooting, you raced down the hangar where you spotted the big old ship waiting for you.

“Did you see that? I never thought I could do that.” you said when you made it to the Falcon. “That was awesome, I mean, not that I almost died but that we could escape, we made a really good team, Rey”

She didn’t answer you at first, she was just so concentrated piloting the ship in the vast space, pulling levers and pushing buttons to get as far as possible from the big ship you had just left.

What an adventure.

“Well, where to now?” you giggled, letting yourself fall in the copilot seat.

“Earth” she said before pushing the lever and jumping into hyperspace.

Tagging: @1-800-depressedlesbian , @xgaygremlinx, @natasha-danvers , @deputy-orange-juice

(In case you want to be tagged for specific things or everything I write, just let me know)

#rey of jakku #rey star wars #rey x reader #rey x y/n #i-write-sometimes-blog #rey of nowhere #rey x you #star wars imagine #star wars #rey #dark rey x female reader #earth!reader #earth girl series

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hydrasweapon · 4 years ago

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@weaponizedembrace gets the longest starter in history for our thing

Howard doesn’t find Steve. Even after days, after months, he doesn’t find Steve. He keeps on searching, though – maybe because he cannot stand Bucky’s face whenever he comes back empty-handed. In the meantime, Bucky’s injuries heal up. Way quicker than should be possible, he’s as fresh as a daisy – minus the arm, of course. They want to send him home. He tells them very sincerely fuck you and that’s it. He guesses it’s also Carter’s and maybe Colonel Phillips doing that they leave him alone, but he doesn’t care. To be honest, Bucky doesn’t care about a lot of things anymore. VE-day comes and goes and he toasts with the other Howlies but then he walks back to the barracks, surrounded by screaming, partying people, and he feels nothing. The war in Europe is over and he has never felt more lost, not even in the trenches with shells detonating right next to him.

He reads about the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki and wonders what Steve would have said to that. Then he has to put the newspaper away because it feels like his heart is going to give up on him. He gets a lot of letters from his family but doesn’t know how to respond, so he only puts them in his duffel or sometimes in the pocket of his jacket and feels bad for never finding the right words.

In late August, Carter tells him that she’s going to go to New York City to continue the SSR’s work and also that there’s going to be an official state funeral for Steve in Arlington. Nobody, not even a super-soldier, could survive months without food or shelter in the icy, windswept wasteland of the Arctic. Bucky listens and doesn’t answer but he turns up the day Carter and Stark leave for the States in Stark’s private plane.

The ceremony is pompous. The Arlington National Cemetery is bursting at the seams because every politician wants to say goodbye to a hero and hopefully get some good publicity while doing that. Bucky has to puke three times behind a tree before he is able to walk up to President Truman to get his own Purple Heart medal and receive Steve’s Medal of Honor because there is no other family member left to take it for him. They even conjured a fucking statue up out of nothing. They want to take photos in front of that statue. Bucky is glad his stomach is already empty or he would have puked on the shoes of the President himself and wouldn’t that be something to put on the front page.

He doesn’t stay longer than it takes to get the medals, do some hand-shaking and take some pictures. There is a speech. The President said some words, too, but the real speech is by Colonel Phillips himself and Bucky can’t listen to that, he just can’t. They will think he’s rude but he’s pretty certain Phillips understands. He leaves the cemetery and promises himself to never come back to this place.

Bucky takes the train up to New York. After half an hour, he feigns to be asleep because people keep thanking him for his service and welcoming him home and it makes his already empty stomach roil again. His parents and Becca are waiting for him at the train station. It’s when Winifred Barnes wraps her son up in her arms, that something breaks inside him. Bucky takes a deep, shuddering breath, and now the tears, finally, come. They stream down his face, soak his mother’s blouse, and he cannot get enough air into his lungs, everything is hurting, the pain squeezes his chest, his insides, his heart, and he falls to his knees and Winifred sits down next to him on the cold, hard ground, and just keeps him close and rocks him back and forth like a child, but he will always be her child, won’t he? No matter what.

Bucky doesn’t manage to get a grip on himself for half an hour. All the time, his mother’s tight embrace doesn’t waver; Becca shields his vulnerable left side and his father’s hand is heavy and protecting on his shoulder. George Barnes glares at every passenger even thinking of making a stupid remark concerning this scene on a public station platform.

Then, somehow, Bucky manages to stop crying, or maybe he is just – empty. His father bundles his family up in the car and they drive through Manhattan and back to Brookly, home. Bucky is too tired and exhausted and falls asleep with his head on his sister’s shoulder. He doesn’t even notice when George picks him up carefully and carries him inside as he used to do back when he was a young boy and drifted off listening to the wireless in the evening. His and Becca’s child room changed into Winifred’s sewing room years ago but there’s still his old bed and when his father puts him down there and covers him with a warm quilt, he curls up and sleeps for hours.

During the next couple of weeks, neither Bucky nor his family knows how to treat each other. Winifred bakes a lot, George urges Bucky to play cards with him in the evenings. Becca comes over whenever she can. Bucky visits his grandparents' grave; they had died while he'd been overseas. Apart from that, he doesn't really leave the house: There are always people on the street he knows. They welcome him back and either tell him how sorry they are for his loss or ask where Steve is (if they didn't put 2 and 2 together yet).

He stays in his family home and stares out of the window and lets his mother put some meat on his bones and wonders what on earth he is supposed to do now, without his best friend and without a left arm besides.

It’s shortly after Christmas (a rather silent affair) that Margaret Carter knocks on his door and kind of bullies him into joining the SSR once more. She knows all the perfect words for him to agree -- that Steve wouldn’t want him to spend the rest of his life this way, that he cannot live off his parents forever, that he is still a useful member of society. He agrees just to get her out of his room because she makes him feel scraped raw. Shortly after New Year’s Day, Bucky starts to work for the New York office of the SSR.

The years pass. They are -- mostly a dull succession of days. His sister marries in 1949, a guy called William Proctor, who works for a shipping company and never saw the European Theater due to really bad eyesight. Dancing with Rebecca on her wedding day is one of the few memories Bucky will cherish for the rest of his life. She is so happy.

Unfortunately, being a married woman seems to mean that she absolutely has to marry her brother off, too. She introduces him to friends at least once a month and invites him over for dinner with -- what a coincidence! -- single ladies all the time. She also makes him visit the dance halls with her every other week. He doesn’t mind the last one -- it’s really nice to watch all the couples dance, learn this new Boogie Woogie thing. He is not interested in the gals, though. He simply cannot bring himself to think of love again.

He's no longer working for the SSR but for an agency Carter, Stark, and Phillips formed of its remnants: the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. The acronym makes Bucky want to both puke and cry. It doesn’t change much, workwise, though.

1954 is a big year. He attends the weddings of Dum Dum Dugan and Jim Morita and it’s almost as if the Howling Commandos are back together. Even Falsworth comes to the States for the occasion, him and Gabe sharing pictures of chubby Montgomery Junior and little Steven. Gabe looks a little sheepish when he tells Bucky the name of his son and Bucky might be a little choked-up but he’s certain Steve would have loved this little, full-faced namesake. Only Dernier doesn’t make it.

1954 is also the year Bucky has a vocal dispute with Peggy Carter and quits his job quite aggressively. But what else is he supposed to do when he’s down in former Camp Lehigh for a work thing and crosses paths with Arnim godfuckingdamn Zola? It’s only due to three coworkers that he cannot bash Zola’s face the moment he spots him in the corridor. He doesn’t give a flying fuck about Operation Paperclip. Carter’s words are like poison in his ears. He doubts she believes them, herself. But she has the greater good in mind and was probably overruled in Zola’s case. Bucky does not care. He will not work for an agency hiring this piece of dirty shit. He has nightmares for weeks, always seeing that grubby little face with its evil smirk in front of his eyes.

It’s complicated to find another job. Nobody wants to hire a cripple. Labor work is impossible for him, too. Shortly before Thanksgiving in 1954, Bucky notices for the first time that something is off. That he is -- wrong. When he asks for a job in a nearby factory, the boss asks him how he lost his arm. He doesn’t believe the war-story. “Look at you, you’re too young to have been in the war, son.”

That evening, Bucky stares into the mirror. The guy is right: He looks like he came home from Europe yesterday. He looks like a guy in his mid-20s, not like a man going on 40. His younger sister looks older now. There’s not a single white hair. There are no wrinkles. He drinks a whole bottle of whisky and tells himself he’s having excellent genes.

Shortly before Christmas, he gets a new job thanks to his brother-in-law and works as an accountant in the same shipping company as William Proctor.

1958 is both a joyful and terrible year. Becca gives birth to her first child after years of trying to get pregnant. Little Emily Sarah is the cutest thing on earth and Bucky loves her with every fiber of his being. He tries to ignore the women gushing at him ‘being such a young, handsome father’ when he takes her out for walks. He turned 40 two months ago. He should not look like this.

In late August, George Barnes dies. The doctor speaks of a heart attack. Bucky cries late at night, in his bed, when he doesn’t have to be the strong one anymore. He moves in with his mother again to support her -- so she can keep the apartment she lived in for nearly 45 years already, and so she has company and someone to watch over her. She, too, is getting older and frailer. Bucky could be her grandson, now, given his looks. When their old neighbor Mr. Lowenstein mentions this, Bucky cannot ignore it any longer. He calls Howard Stark.

The passage of time manifested itself in a lot of wrinkles in Stark’s face. That’s how a man his age should look like. That’s what Bucky wants to see when he’s standing in front of a mirror. Stark looks taken aback at his sight, then explains in great detail that he’s an engineer and usually doesn’t do biological stuff but he draws a vial of blood either way and looks at it under a microscope and then tells him that he could be mistaken but the last and only time he ever saw cells like Bucky’s was shortly after they shot Steve up with Erskine’s serum.

Bucky thinks of Zola and his countless injections and fire in his veins and pukes right across Stark’s workbench. Stark says there’s nothing he can do. That was Erskine’s area of expertise, not his. He really doubts Bucky is immortal but he will probably live to see his 150th birthday. Bucky could ask Zola, of course, Zola who’s working for S.H.I.E.L.D. now. But he’d rather cut his remaining arm off than ever seeing him again.

He doesn’t tell his mother nor his sister. He tries to live on as if nothing happened but it’s hard. He notices now that he heals way quicker than the average human being. He gets bonuses because he never calls in sick for work. On a sleepless night, he walks through Brooklyn and over to Manhattan and back to the docks for work and doesn’t feel tired at all. He’s----he’s like Steve now. Or rather, was since that factory in Kreischberg. He just chose to never notice.

He sees his mother age and little Emily Sarah grow up and his own face doesn’t change at all. Sometimes he wonders if everyone he knows is going to die and he will end up alone in this world. It’s a terrifying thought. More often than not he finds himself standing on the docks after work, staring into the muddy water. Steve is down there, too. A cold, dark grave. He wouldn’t want Bucky to off himself. He would be furious. That, and maybe whatever Zola did to his body would prevent him from dying, anyway. So Bucky thinks about it but never acts on it.

In January 1961, Winifred Barnes dies. Bucky, confused he doesn’t find his mother in the kitchen as usual in the morning, goes to check on her. She looks like she’s still sleeping but her hands are cold. Bucky sits down next to her for three hours and cries and hides his face in her neck that still smells like her. It’s only when his brother-in-law pounds on the front door because he didn’t turn up for work that Bucky gets up and calls his sister.

They bury their mother next to George Barnes. Bucky brings flowers every week.

One year later, shortly before the assassination of Kennedy, Howard Stark pops up out of nowhere, looking mad and excited. He talks a lot of gibberish Bucky doesn’t understand, but he gets the gist either way. Howard invented the prototype of a mechanical prosthesis that will work like a normal arm made of flesh and bone does. It’s absolutely batshit crazy. The surgery needed to implant the sensors of the arm into one’s brain will probably kill the test subject. Bucky agrees, anyway. First of all, he doesn’t mind dying. Sooner rather than later (which means in over 100 fucking years). Secondly, having only one arm sucks. He has gotten used to it, over the years, but it’s still crap. And, in the end, if Stark manages to develop a working prosthesis far superior to what they got now, all the other poor cripples will benefit, too.

Bucky doesn’t tell his sister because she would try to stop him. She’s mad as hell at him, though, and refuses to speak to him for one month when he comes back with a metal arm (because of course, he did not die). Emily Sarah thinks her uncle is absolutely amazing.

The arm is better than any prosthesis he had so far. It’s not a real arm but he doubts anything will be like the real thing. He keeps it covered up whenever he goes outside. According to Stark, there’s nobody else who would survive such extensive surgery. He puts the blueprints away for later generations. ‘Now is just not the time’, he says.

Then there’s another war. Bucky wonders why on earth the United States engage in whatever is happening in Vietnam. 20 years later and everyone seemed to have forgotten about Europe. They probably think now that there’s a wall dividing Germany and thus Eastern and Western countries, they have to do their bombing and shooting somewhere else. He’s getting more and more nightmares just reading the newspapers. Steve didn’t sacrifice his life so humans could fight on another continent. But nobody cares about Captain America anymore save perhaps for stupid comics and stupid movies and stupid biographies they want to interview Bucky for.

His mood, never back to being cheery and humorous after the war, turns even darker. There are no more mirrors in his apartment. He’s sick of seeing his young face. He knows Becca and her husband noticed, too, but they don’t say anything. Some ghosts you just cannot explain. Some ghost you just cannot understand if you didn’t see them yourself.

His only glimmer of hope is little Emily Sarah. He lets her dance on his feet. He lets her play with his metal arm. He picks her up from school if his job allows it. He tells her about a guy named Captain America he met in Europe who was really brave and heroic and saved them all. Those stories are her favorite. Unfortunately, she also notices the comics and thinks it’s absolutely hilarious that Captain America has a young friend whose name is also Bucky. Neither Bucky himself nor her parents tell her the truth.

Then, on a rainy day in April 1966, Bucky gets the worst message imaginable. Car accident. Slippery road. No survivors.

He breaks down when he has to pick a coffin small enough for a child.

He lays them to rest next to his parents. Carter is there, too. She puts a huge bouquet of lilies in front of the headstones and squeezes his arm. Her cheeks are wet. Bucky doesn’t thank her, cannot open his mouth because he fears he wouldn’t be able to stop screaming. She knows, though.

Bucky has to clear out his sister’s apartment the next day. When he stands in front of the big mirror in the main bedroom and sees his youthful face, chestnut hair, the skin free of wrinkles, he puts his fist through the glass. There’s a sharp-edged shard embedded in his wrist. He pulls it out and stares at the blood oozing out and then sits down and hopes.

Two hours later, the wound is scabbed over and the dizzy feeling has vanished. He takes the photos and other mementos and leaves the apartment.

Stark does not seem surprised to find Bucky visiting his Estate in Los Angeles. ‘I tried to, you know,’ he tells him. ‘To reverse the effects of that serum. But I did not succeed. Maybe smarter minds in the future will be able to.’

Bucky stares at him, feeling all the pain of the world settling on his shoulders. ‘I can’t wait that long. I can’t. Put a bullet through my head or reverse the effects, I don’t care.’

Stark is silent for a long time. Then he says: ‘Maybe there’s another option.’ And leads him down to the basement.

The thing that looks like an iron maiden from the Dark Ages is supposed to freeze a person like you’d put a piece of steak into the freezer for eating it later. Little does Bucky know that Howard’s idea for it comes from Arnim Zola himself. Having received a terminal diagnosis, there is absolutely no idea too crazy for Zola to extend his lifespan or survive until more advanced medicine will save him. Stark toyed with the idea himself. What if he would get sick? What if he wants to go to a future where he isn’t limited by his own time and state of research? He doesn’t tell Bucky any of that. He only says: ‘It might kill you. It will kill every normal human, that’s for sure. If you don’t die, though, maybe scientists can help you in the future.’

Bucky needs a week to take care of his belongings, money, and the apartment. He never felt more alive in the past 20 years than this week. He only keeps what reminds him of his family and Steve. It fits in two suitcases. He offers Stark all the money he’s got and the billionaire looks affronted. It’s probably only peanuts, for him. He takes it anyway, ‘to make investments. Gonna need money in the future, pal.’

Then, on a Sunday evening, Bucky unscrews the metal arm, undresses, and steps inside the tank-like machine. The metal is cold under his bare feet.

‘Do you really want to do that?’ Stark asks one last time. Bucky looks at him, all the tiredness of the world in his eyes. Then he closes his eyes. He doesn’t feel the cold at all.

#weaponizedembrace #ᴥ ;; au: to the future #(putting this under a read more bc otherwise I'd spam everyone's dash with 5 fucking pages of starter)#(rest my soul)#(this all wanted to get out)#(also)#suicide mention tw #(just to be on the safe side)#(he doesn't really attempt to but he thinks about it)#thread: to the future

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httpfandxms · 4 years ago

Text

Exploring a New World (7/30)

Pairing: James T. Kirk x Reader

A/N: Hi everyone!! I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I did. I really tried to add a lot more dialogue for Y/n, but feel free to let me know if I should add more lines for the character or any other type of suggestions. If something doesn’t make sense please let me know. I love your comments and it truly helps me keep going!

I just want to apologize for my absence this past week. I wasn’t in a good place mentally because my “friends” are being very cruel to me for some reason so it was very hard for me to concentrate on anything else. It sadly is still an on going situation, but I have my family and my one good friend as well as you all to help me through this so thank you very much!

Just a little FYI: I wanted to add the scene where James becomes Captain in this chapter because I felt it would flow better. However, I’m having a little problem for the next chapter so I moved it there. When I eventually edit this whole series and I’ve hopefully figured out extra scenes for part 8, I’ll probably stick that scene back in this chapter where I originally wanted it.

Leonard entered the med bay while you closed the curtain around a patient. While he made his way over to you, he said, “you know Spock wanted to speak with you as well, but I saved you the trouble since you usually start hitting people when you’re angry at them.” He stopped right beside you and grinned.

You pushed his arm lightly, “I do not do that.”

He let out a small gasp, “see, you just pushed me.”

“Stop it,” you groaned with a smile. “How’d it go with Spock? Did he take that stick out of his Vulcan butt and admit about making the wrong choice about Kirk?”

“Of course he didn’t,” he scoffed. “All he did was acknowledge our friendship to Jim and then he…”

“Then he what?”

He mumbled something incoherent.

“What? Speak up.”

Leonard crossed his arms as he looked away from you then grumbled, “he threw my metaphor back in back in my face.”

You laughed, “about time someone did.”

“That’s funny to you huh,” he asked to which you nodded in response. “Oh, well then how would you like that I throw your feelings for Jim in your face?”

Your smile fell off your face and was replaced with a slight frown as you shook your head and avoided his eyes, “I-I don’t have feelings for Kirk.”

“Oh really? Okay then, what’s with the weird sexual tension and flirting that’s been happening for the past three years? And why do you only call him, James, when you have your guard down? You only ever call him Kirk when it’s professional or when you’re closing yourself off.” You opened your mouth to speak, but he continued, “I know you care about him, maybe more than you realize, but you can’t keep lying to yourself that you don’t.”

You chewed on your lip as you felt your cheeks heat up. You pondered for a moment, but then scoffed, “you’re ridiculous.”

Chapel walked over to you two, “sorry to interrupt, but Dr. McCoy, one of the injured crew members that were requested for a checkup left before we could proceed.”

Leonard replied, “I’ll see to it. Thank you.” She nodded then went back to her duties. He watched as she walked further away from you both then turned his attention back to you and said, “can you go find him?”

“W-what, no! Leonard, I have my own patients to take care of,” you whined. “My day is full while you’re just sitting around in your office probably picking random gunk off the bottom of your shoes. You just said you’ll take care of it yourself so you do it.”

“I don’t want to look for him,” he whined. “I’m your chief medical officer so you have to do as I say.”

You crossed your arms, “don’t you dare pull rank on me, that’s not fair.”

“Oh I’m definitely pulling rank on you. You think I want to go around looking for a patient who doesn’t want to be here,” Leonard babbled. “so have fun playing hide and go seek because I sure as hell am not playing.”

“You’re the worst pain in my ass,” you remarked.

“Oh, that’s an upgrade. I thought Jim was the worst,” he teased. “Anyways, what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t annoy you at least once every day.”

“A better one,” you mumbled to which he laughed and gave you a light shove towards the exit. You waved him off as you said, “I’m going, I’m going. You owe me one, though.”

You walked along the engineering deck pursuing your search for the patient. Just as you turned a corner, you heard someone yell, “Mr. Scott.”

At the sight of a familiar blond, you froze and softly asked, “James?” You shook your head out of your slight daze. “H-How are you back on the ship?”

Kirk chuckled, “that’s a bit of a long sto-” he was interrupted by a knocking within the machinery beside him. Kirk’s eyes went wide and quickly placed his ear to it then yelled, “Mr. Scott, can you hear me?”

You quickly made your way beside Kirk and asked, “is someone actually in there?” A man appeared in the tube who you could only assume was Mr. Scott. “Oh my God.”

“Hold on a second,” Kirk yelled.

You and Kirk ran after the man while following the tube. The man went further away from us as he went up the vertical tube which made Kirk yelled, “No, no!”

Kirk kept his eyes on the man, yet your eyes quickly set on something else. “Kirk,” you said while you tapped his arm. He brought his attention to you and followed the direction to which your eyes were set on. Mr. Scott was heading towards the water turbines.

You ran towards the control board and Kirk quickly followed. You both pressed on various controls to release the valve that was located just before the turbine. The computer announced, “turbine release valve activated.”

The door opened and Mr. Scott fell to the floor with water pooling around him. Kirk kneeled over him and asked, “you alright?”

You knelt beside the two men and asked, “sir, are you okay?”

Mr. Scott sat up and coughed up water. “My heads’ buzzing and I’m soaked, but otherwise I’m fine,” he spoke in a thick accent. He gave you a once-over then turned to Kirk, “do you see her too or am I dreaming?”

Kirk only laughed as he shook his head.

“My name’s Y/n and you must be Mr. Scott,” you said then stuck your hand out.

He gladly took your hand and gave it a firm shake as he responded, “aye, but you call me Scotty.”

Kirk looked over to you and smirked, “what are you doing out here instead of in med bay?”

“Well… we um. We actually lost a patient,” you shrugged.

“I’m so sorry,” Kirk consoled.

“Oh, no! I didn’t mean he’s dead,” you blurted then let out a laugh. “He actually just ran away someplace and Leonard is making me look for him.” Kirk cocked his head slightly with a smile plastered in his face as you rambled on. “Which reminds me that we should probably get going now because they’ll be sending people down here soon.”

Kirk stood up first and lent a hand to you and helped you up. You both then turned to the soaked man and helped him to his feet. Kirk led the way across the engineering deck as you and Scotty followed closely. Once we went up a particular stairway, we were met by officers.

“Halt,” one said.

You all turned around to go in another direction, but were met with another officer who said, “come with me, cupcake!” You recognized him from the name he called Kirk as the officer from the bar a few years back.

They forcefully grabbed the two men you were with. One approached you, but you immediately took a step back as you raised a hand, “I can walk myself perfectly fine, thank you.” He gave you a curt nod and motioned his hand for you walk ahead and follow the others who were dragging Kirk and Scotty.

Tag List:

@chook007 @imjustassaneasyou @carrietrekkie @uniethenlfer @bubblyglimmer @maddie1504 @distinguishedkryptonitecreator @movieinmyhead @azure23x @badbitxhbuckybarnes @tyzerman91

#star trek #star trek imagine #james t kirk #james t kirk imagine #james t kirk x reader #jim kirk #jim kirk x reader #jim kirk imagine #captain kirk #captain kirk x reader #captain kirk imagine

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goodwriterwithbadhabits · 4 years ago

Text

Dark of the Night

So I thought this was kinda short but its actually 4 pages of writing, so I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Murder, blood, cops, and mentions of WW2, drinking and sex

Master List

“Come on out, let me see you.” The deep voice echoed through the trees behind you. You didn’t dare stop moving, despite the branches catching on your clothes and the skin exposed by your Halloween costume. Never in a million years did you actually expect this kind of thing to happen. The night had started off smoothly, a simple highschool Halloween party, the right mix of sexy and drunk that was supposed to end with everyone either getting laid or passing out.

Somehow none of you were so lucky.

When the first scream happened, it had brought everyone into the kitchen to find a giant of a man tearing apart the party's host. Her blood was staining the white tiles and within seconds of seeing this, even the bravest of football players had bolted from the scene. At first you had tried hiding in the basement, but that had resulted in someone’s corpse being dropped next to you, splattering you in blood. He had seen you, despite trying to keep quiet, and had tried to swing at you, but thanks to the small hallway you were in, he had only managed to cut your arm. You barely managed to escape the house, your shoes long abandoned, and no thoughts on your mind but to save yourself.

Now here you were, running through the woods, barefoot and bleeding, hoping you would make it to town before he caught up with you. You swung yourself around a large tree, trying to catch your breath, but still remain quiet.

“Hey! Over here!” Someone yelled quietly, “Hey!” You finally caught sight of the person trying to get your attention. It was one of the seniors who had been at the party, waving to you from a small hatch in the ground. “Get over here, quickly.” He motioned you over again, glancing towards the sound of the attacker approaching. You didn’t need to be told twice. You flew across the 15 feet to him in mere seconds, pulling the hatch closed as you climbed down the ladder.

Inside was pitch black, and for a few seconds you were sure you were alone until you saw the light of his phone screen as he turned on his flashlight. “Are you-”

“Where are you?!” The attacker's voice comes from right above you and before you can react, his hand is clapped over your mouth, his body pressing yours against the damp wall behind you as he kept you both quiet. Your arms stings where his other hand is holding your wound, which makes your eyes water. His phone is on the floor now, the screen barely visible in the darkness. Far above you someone screams, and you hear the attacker running towards them, his heavy footfalls slowly retreating into silence. Your savior doesn’t move for several moments, waiting until he’s sure no one is there before letting you go and grabbing his phone.

“Sorry, I didn’t want him to hear us.” He explains, shining his flashlight towards his own hand. You can’t see his face but he must have realized the blood on his palm was yours, because the next thing you know his light is pointed at you. “Oh shit, you’re bleeding.” You glance down at the gash on your arm, finally able to see the blood that's coating the length of your forearm.

“Oh, he must have got me more than I thought.”

“Come here, there's another room this way.” He holds out a hand for you to take, and you do, happily. In the other room is an old bed, a broken mirror, an old desk, and what looks like a dresser, though its beyond repair. He sits you on the bed, which shockingly holds your weight, and sits next to your injured arm. His phone is angled so the flashlight reflects off the mirror, casting light across the room.

“What is this place?” You ask as he rips the sleeve of his tshirt off.

“I think it might have been a world war 2 bunker. People built them all over the place. The other room has shelves and old canned food.” He explains, tying the scrap of his shirt over your cut. “You know you’re lucky you got away.”

“Yeah,” You sigh, “I just hope some of the others did too.”

“Me too. I’m Jaebeom by the way, but everyone calls me JB.” You chuckle at his cute smile, which looks so out of place with his black tshirt and eyebrow piercing.

“I thought it was you.” You nod, “You’re part of-”

“If you say Jackson’s squad, I’m going back up top.” He groans, which makes you laugh again.

“No, I was going to say Mark’s friend group.” You defend. “I’m Y/n, I’m Mark’s lab partner in Chem.”

“Okay, I remember him talking about you.” He nods, “Good to know you’re real.”

“And the only reason he’s passing Chem.” Above you another scream echoes, closer than last time. “Are you sure we’re safe down here?”

“I don’t know, to be honest. If he knows where this place is, we’re sitting ducks.” He confesses. Absently, you reach for his hand, needing some kind of anchor.

“Do you think someone was able to phone the police?” You look over at him again, but he’s focused on your entwined hands. “Can you?” He shakes his head sadly, looking back up at you.

“I have no service down here. What about you?”

“I kinda threw my phone at the guys head. Hopefully its still at Nicole’s.” Your heart sinks when you remember what had happened to your friend. “Oh god, Nicole.” Your voice breaks, tears stinging your eyes. You didn’t want to cry in front of him, but the reality of what was happening was finally hitting you.

“Hey, don’t cry.” JB’s voice is soft as he pulls you closer, letting you hide your face in his neck. “I’m scared too, but we’re alive. Isn’t that something to be happy about?”

“Our friends are dead.” You remind him.

“But we aren’t.” He reiterates. “Right now, we just need to focus on staying alive.” He pulls you away from him, looking you in the eyes. “We’ll stay down here for a while, then we’ll run back towards the house, okay?” You nod along.

“Yeah, sounds like a plan.” Silence falls over the bunker as you both strain to hear the world around you, you’re still lying on his shoulder, savoring his warm arm around you. “You know there’s a rumor going around about you?”

“Is there?”

“Yeah, people say you’re dating some model from China.” JB laughs at the statement, which has you laughing as well.

“Okay one, she’s Korean and two, she’s my cousin.”

“Oh fuck!” You laugh, pulling him away as you crack up. He laughs with you, and the weight of reality begins to lessen. As you finally manage to get control of yourself, you can’t stop looking at him. Until now you had only ever been passing ships, hell you hadn’t even known he was at a party with only twenty-some guests. In the halls at school he never caught your eyes, but here you were, hiding in some dark ass bunker from a killer psychopath together, and despite everything that was happening one thought kept creeping back into your mind:

Damn he’s hot.

“So tell me-” He cuts himself off, smile dropping as he presses a single finger to his lips. Carefully he reaches over, grabbing both his phone and your hand in order to shut the light off.

“Are you in there?” The voice doesn’t sound like the attacker but still has you clutching JB’s hand for dear life. He squeezes back, pulling you up and carefully making his way over to the corner by the door. JB pushes you against the wall, his body flush against yours as you try to make yourselves as small as possible.

“We’ll be okay.” He breathes, lips just touching the shell of your ear. “I won’t let him hurt you.” You can hear the dull clanking of someone’s shoes coming down the ladder and have to press your face into JB’s neck to keep yourself quiet. “Down here!” Another voice calls, “I saw her go in.” You might have recognized the voice if you could hear it over your pounding heart. JB turns, keeping you behind him as he peers into the darkness. You can only grip the back of his shirt, praying that your deaths come quickly. Your arm throbs as the sound of someone’s shoes get closer, the beam of their flashlight swinging back and forth as they search for you. Peeking over his shoulder you watch the beam of light get closer and closer to the room until its shining directly in your face.

“Jaebeom?”

“Dad?”

A week passes almost silently. JB’s father, the sheriff, had driven you both to the hospital, and hours later, you were safe in your own bed. Only a few days later was the funeral. Seven of the 29 kids invited had been killed, 10 injured and 2 missing, but they had shown up at the police station just hours after their names had been announced, having been making out in their car on the mountainside. The killer, a hermit from a nearby town, had been killed when he tried crossing the highway after one of his potential victims.

None of this really meant anything to you. What mattered was that you were alive, your best friend Jeongyeon was alive, and your friend Nicole was not.

You had only seen JB once since that night, at the funeral. He hadn’t said anything to you, just stood beside you as you listened to the preacher send your friends off to heaven, and held your hand tightly. Finally after over a week, school was back in session, so here you were, trying to ignore the whispered rumors as you pulled your chemistry book from your locker.

“You know, that bunker’s still unlocked if you want to join me in there again.” His voice makes a smile erupt on your lips.

“Only if you promise there won't be any more psychos trying to kill us.” You turn to find him opening the locker neck to you. “Have you been there all year?”

“All four, actually. I usually just kept everything in my backpack.” He explains, setting his lunch bag on the empty shelf.

“Then why-”

“Mark told me where your locker was.” He pulls one of his books from his bag, setting it in his locker. “And I meant what I said about the bunker.”

“How about somewhere above ground?” You offer, “Like the pizza place by the library?” His smile grows into a grin.

“It’s a date?” He extends his hand for you to take. You nod, closing your locker and entwining your fingers together.

“A date.”

#Im Jaebeom #jb imagines #got7 jb #jb imagine #Im Jaebum #im jaebeom imagines #im jaebeom imagine #got7 #got7 imagines #got7 imagine #halloween event

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capricornus-rex · 5 years ago

Text

Stronger Than Blood (2)

Chapter 2: Meet the Mechanic | Cal Kestis x Reader

Requested by Anon

Summary: Meeting another Force-sensitive was one thing, but having them related to one of the most formidable known duelers was a whole other story to tell. While being stranded in another planet after barely escaping the Haxion Brood, Cal crosses paths with someone who’s at a crossroads with their own identity and lineage.

Also posted in AO3

Tags: Force-User! Reader, Force-Sensitive Reader, Sith-Related! Reader

Previous: Part 1 | Next: Part 3 | Masterlist

2 of ?

The cityscape reminded him so much of Bracca and Coruscant altogether.

Tier upon tier of annexes and alleyways along buildings, big and small, framed the city. Humans and other races diversified the bustling city life. Cal was already beginning to get nauseous for flicking his eyes left and right in search of a parts shop—as well as watching out for Imperial patrols.

“I just hope the Imps doesn’t find out soon that we’re here,”

“Bee… Trill?”

“Yeah, buddy, of course we’re gonna find help. Don’t you worry,” additionally, Cal patted the little droid’s head as he walked.

Not long after his consolation to the droid, a modest parts shop caught the eye of the young redhead. The sign only read “Tundu’s Mech” presuming that it was the name of the owner. Either way, he followed his instincts, trusting that from the looks of the building’s façade, it was highly likely a mechanical parts shop. Hopefully, they’ll have the merchandise the Mantis needs.

The door of the shop was merely twin swinging doors that flopped even when the person has gotten through, the hinges were squeaky enough to produce a sound—signalling the entry of a customer—until it mellowed. An Iktochi appeared from the other side of the room, obscured by a wall of small parts in a closed display case, nonchalantly greeting the boy. The blood-orange creature didn’t face Cal until he waddled towards the counter, in a sort of formality.

“Welcome, friend!” he repeated. “See anything you need here? I assure you I have quality wares as much as the next stall in the block!”

Cal didn’t waste time with the niceties. He started off by telling the parts that the Mantis needs as well as an extra set of hands to help out. Without needing to be prompted, BD-1 flashed a holograph of the entire Mantis’s cross-section, highlighting the damaged parts red.

The Iktochi shopkeeper ran his clawed finger across his chin as he took a gander of the hologram. He wagged his finger.

“Aaaah-ha,” he groaned. “I think we may have something. Hold a minute.”

The owner suddenly shifted to speaking in his native Iktochese, fixating his head in the direction of the other side of his shop. Shortly after, you popped out of the room where he had his eyes on, and then you joined him by the counter. Tundu continued using his dialect on you, it was stern and hissy, you replied in full Iktochese in the same bickering-like manner.

You took notice just now of the ginger boy with a tiny droid riding his shoulder. Your eyes met for the briefest moment and then the Iktochi transitioned into speaking Galactic Basic.

“You’re in the workshop again, child! You’re staying there for way too long and less on watching the store!” Tundu scolded.

“It’s lean hours already, Tundu, I doubt someone will come here,” you argued.

“Well, there is one now, [y/n],”

Tundu gestured to Cal. His presence in the store finally sank into you.

“Hey,” you casually greeted. “What do you need?”

Cal stuttered and fumbled over his person, by habit he searched his pockets hoping to find a compact projector there and forgetting for a moment that BD-1 had that covered. The little droid sensed the redhead’s anxiety and did him a solid of flashing the holograph again.

“Oh, thanks,” he quickly told BD and then turned to the blue projection of the ship. “Yeah, we need these parts—hopefully you have something that fits into a luxury cruiser.”

“An S-161 luxury yacht,” you uttered, an expression of interest plastered all over your face. “Impressive. Not many models like this nowadays. It’s beautiful.”

Cal’s eyes trailed to you, an involuntary smile curled at the corner of his mouth as he studied your inquisitive expression, peering and squinting your eyes closer to the projection to get a better look. He sensed something unique about you ever since you walked in on him and the store owner. It was only a feeling and he didn’t fully trust it yet.

You clicked your tongue, and then hovered your pointer finger about the broken tendon of the landing gear, “I think I can find you a fresh replacement for this one. The others—the bigger parts—are gonna need some inventory checking.”

“You made inventory last month, no?” Tundu jabbed.

“Wouldn’t hurt to visit the storage room,” you shrugged.

“Good, good,” a tired sigh was released from the Iktochi’s lungs. “Sorry, your name? Cal, was it? I shall leave you to my little protégé. My apologies. Bad back, you know.”

Without needing a response from the boy, the Iktochi immediately retreated to his private room in the shop. Now, it’s just you and the boy with a little droid.

“Sorry, he often forgets that he works up his lungs whenever he scolds me,”

“He does seem to trust you well enough though,”

You scoffed, “Guess you could say that.”

A pause. Cal looked around the store while you continued to gather and then re-sort the scattered merchandise on the counter display.

“So, uh, don’t wanna rush you the same way your boss does but when are you gonna do that inventory check?” Cal struggled to sound as politely as he can, without sounding like he’s telling you how to do your job.

You dismissed it as you continued reorganizing the items, “Oh sure, this’ll be done in a sec.”

You told him to wait in that little area that could be the lobby, you gestured to a crate and offered him a seat, followed by an apologize for not having the best interior design in Nalima. You excused yourself to the stockroom, the sound of the metal clanging together was enough an evidence for Cal to know you’re trying your best to help.

You come out of the room with two parts on each hand. You raised the right hand first.

“Okay, this is the landing gear ligament that I told you,” you switched to the left hand. “This is a replacement suspension coil. I didn’t see your ship land but I think it’s safe to assume that you’ve worked up your cruiser there. It’ll be dangerous to work with a brittle suspension.”

You were taken aback when Cal started marching towards you, under the impression that he was about to take the parts off of your hands, you retracted them farther from him and then shot him a quizzical look straight in the eye.

“Don’t worry, I was just gonna take a look,” he said so in a gentle, reassuring tone.

Not only did his voice make you certain enough that he’s trustworthy, it was the feeling he gave off ever since he stepped in the store. Back in the workshop, you had already sensed his presence, but shrugged it off as a fluke—that is until Tundu called for you to the counter and met him.

You were slightly hesitant to hand him over the parts, when he stood close enough, a metal shine caught your eye—you followed it and found a very familiar trinket hanging on the hook of his belt.

Jedi…? Here?

All of a sudden, your mind was in a rush. The memories immediately flooded over you, clouding you of your senses. The hesitation tripled, but you were too late to reaction when you felt his fingertips make contact with your palm as he takes away the parts from your hands with care.

“Are you okay? You kinda froze there for a moment, [y/n],”

“You’re a Jedi, aren’t you?” the delivery of that question was calmer than you expected it to be.

Your eyes met again. Cal had a startled look in his face, while your expression mirrored the same frozen state you had mere seconds ago.

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna turn you in,” you assured him, but uttered it within his earshot. You take a deep breath and shifted back to the real topic at hand, turning your voice back to its normal volume. “Oh, and your busted hyperdrive compressor? That’s a bit tricky.”

“Why? Why’s it tricky?”

“Well, for one: it’s hard to come by those things,” your shrugged your shoulders. “I don’t know why people keep breaking their compressors every now and then.”

“And I suppose you know where to find one?”

An amused chuckle rumbled in your throat, “Take a wild guess, pretty boy.”

Cal replied with his trademark smug, putting himself at par with your snark. For whatever odd reason that he couldn’t point his finger on, the vibe that you exuded intrigued him the longer he interacts with you. It’s almost as if the Force was telling him—rather, nudging him about something.

“Tomorrow. Come by here tomorrow and I’ll take you to the inner district,”

“Why not now?”

That amused smile that adorned your face melted in an instant when the answer came into mind.

“Imperial patrols, they’re stricter—and more suspicious of you—when going through the inner district. Especially at this hour. You arrived here just a tad borderline of the wee hours,”

“No surprise there,” said Cal agreeably.

Two of you have settled the agreement for tomorrow’s excursion. You instructed him to meet you at the store in the morning—when the patrols aren’t so strict. It almost felt like a shame for you to tell him that it’s closing hours now, but he flashed a friendly smile at you as he slowly walked away.

As soon as Cal left the store, the feeling was still there and couldn’t make of it—at least not yet.

“Bee, chirp?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, BD. There’s just… something that about that [y/n],” Cal confided to the tiny companion on his shoulder. “It’s strange, but… I know it means well.”

He dismissed the thought as he made his way back to the Mantis, he eventually spotted the Imperial patrols that you were talking about—white duraplast armor sticking out of the dark, neutral colors of the city like a sore thumb—and evaded them. The whole ordeal reminded him greatly of how he strode Bracca’s streets day and night, in and out of work, just to avoid these Stormtroopers.

Cal got back to the Mantis, unfollowed and unscathed, and bore the good news to the crew in the middle of dinner.

“Just how much trust can you put in a person?” Greez asked, his tone delivered the question somewhat sarcastically, but he was gravely serious.

“Well, I don’t know if I can justify my reason but… there’s just something about her that I can’t explain,”

“You know the word for that is called ‘crush,’ right, kid?”

The young Jedi’s cheeks burned nearly as red as his hair. He averted his face from his crew, hanging his head low while he fiddled away the food on his plate.

“You don’t mean that she’s…”

“Force-sensitive?” Cal shrugged as he drives the prong of his fork into the Scazz steak and brings it into his mouth. “Could be or could not.”

Cere expressed on the crew’s behalf that she trusts Cal’s judgment.

“So far, you haven’t befriended anyone who’s tried to kill us,” Cere blurted, somehow solidifying her confidence in the boy.

“Right?”

The crew continued on with their meal. The quarters weren’t a suitable place for Cal to sleep in yet, so he slept in the couch of the lounge instead—and made himself comfortable there. In the midst of the dead silence of the ship, he had more time to think… of you.

He doesn’t know if you were aware of it, but the moment his fingertips brushed against the skin of your palm, he felt a jolt course into his body. Given that his connection with the Force is still healing, even a Padawan could still spot the signs, however, this was only a hunch that has yet to be proven.

Cal slept with the hope that the Force could tell him more.

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moonlit-imagines · 5 years ago

Text

Familiar Faces

Cal Kestis x reader

warnings:

a/n: ohhhh my god im sorry this is the last cal idea i had im so sorry there are requests for him now ahhahahhah

prompt: it’s been too long since cal and y/n had seen each other

“Cal, can you hear me?” Cere asked over. the comms. Cal was making his rounds on Zeffo, he’d probably be here a while.

“Loud and clear, Cere. What’s going on?” Cal slowed his run to a walk to hear what Cere had to say, she sounded serious and he could hear the Mantis getting ready to move.

“We intercepted more imperial transmissions and it sounds like you inspired another Jedi to come out of hiding. Greez and I are going to find them before the Empire does, are you going to be okay here?” Cere explained and waited for Cal’s response.

“Of course I’ll be okay, go find our Jedi, I’ll talk to you soon.” Cal stopped in his tracks and proudly smiled to himself, glad that he wasnt alone on the front lines anymore. Hopefully. He went on with his journey, running into some sort of trouble every few steps. So much better than hiding, for sure.

—————

Meanwhile, you were on Tatooine, dodging every authority in sight. You didn’t actually want to be found, but some people want their payday. All you wanted to do was finish up the ship you were being paid to tune up and make some money, but here you were on a middle of nowhere planet with the galaxy’s most ruthless soldiers on your tail. It was a good thing you’d kept your lightsaber all these years, something told you that you were going to need it.

“‘Go to Tatooine,’ they told you, ‘no one’ll ever look for you there.’” You muttered to yourself as you peered out the alley to see if the coast is clear. It wasn’t. You saw your boss talking to an inquisitor and her troops. “This isn’t gonna be good, is it?” You asked yourself and overheard your boss telling them which way he saw you go and exactly where you lived. “Oh, come on, Sal, I thought we were friends.” You rolled your eyes and turned around to see an older woman standing at the end of the alley with her blaster in her hand. She saw your lightsaber and you thought this was it, but she put the blaster back in it’s holster and approached without fear.

“I’m Cere, I’m here to help.” She told you with her hand extended for you. “I can’t explain everything now, but we came here for you. We have the other Jedi.” Your eyes went wide as you realized she really was here to rescue you. “Let’s go.” She backtracked to her ship without being spotted by any imperial enemies. Only problem is, the ship was far off in the desert so that it wouldn’t be spotted. “You haven’t talked the whole way here.” Cere sat down on the couch and invited you over by patting the seat.

“Sorry, I have a lot on my mind.” You accepted her invitation and leaned your head back. “Today didn’t exactly go as planned.” You blew a piece of hair from your face and leaned forward, turning your head to her and holding your hand out. “I’m y/n, I realize I haven’t told you my name yet.”

“Well, y/n, are you ready to restore the Jedi Order?” Cere asked and took you off guard.

“That’s what I’m doing here? Wow,” you chuckled with a look of disbelief stuck on your face, “where’s the other guy?”

“On a planet called ‘Zeffo.’ He’s supposed to be searching old Jedi temples by now.” She explained. “I’d like you to meet him without any preconceived notions from me. You’ll see him very soon. Would you like something to eat?”

“Oh, sure. Thanks.” You closed your eyes and wonder what it was you had just gotten yourself into. “Who’s the captain of this ship, huh?”

“That would be Greez. You should head to the cockpit and say ‘hi.’” She suggested while fixing up some leftovers. You figured there was nothing better to do and took a look in the cockpit.

“Hey! There you are!” Greez greeted you with a bundle of warmth. “I’m Greez Dritus, captain of the Mantis, and you are..?” He waited patiently for a reply.

“Y/N L/N.” You answered respectfully. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a Lateron.” You observed his four arms and he let out a hearty laugh.

“Oh, yeah? Get used to it! Hope you didn’t track any sand onto my ship.” You could tell he was joking. “I like you, kid. Cere told me I wasn’t allowed to talk about our other Jedi friend until you met him, not sure why, but oh, well. More time to talk about me!” Greez joked and you joined in his laughter. “We’re almost to Zeffo, kid. Take a seat.”

The Mantis landed on Zeffo and was greeted by heavy fire from an AT-ST. Since it wasn’t the worst threat, you quietly ate your warmed leftovers in the kitchen while Cere called the mystery Jedi that you would be partnered with.

“He’ll be here soon.” She informed as you stared at your glass of water. “Have you used the Force since Order 66?”

“Not really, I haven’t had to. I’m probably a bit rusty.” You admitted, getting a bit distracted by the sound of the imperial walker taking shots at the ship. “Are you sure were safe in here?”

“We’re perfectly fine, I’d like to see you use the force on that glass, if you’re up for it.” She motioned to the water and you gulped and heard the AT-ST start to shoot in another direction, which made you feel better.

“Uh...yeah, okay.” You lifted your hand gently and closed your eyes in an attempt to concentrate, feel the Force around you. You had to open yourself back up to it.

“You’re doing good, y/n.” She told you as she saw the glass levitate slightly, but you suddenly jumped and the glass flew across the room and shattered. You were gasping for breath and she put a hand on your shoulder to calm you. “Hey, that’s not a big deal. I can clean it up.”

“I’m confused about your relationship to the Force.” You told her and she chuckled.

“Well, I was a Jedi, but—” She was cut off by the sound of the door of the Mantis opening for the other Jedi. You looked up and watched as the young redhead boarded and greeted him crew, then turned his gaze to see you on the couch. You were quick to get up and stunned at who you were looking at.

“Cal Kestis?” You asked in disbelief while slowly stepping towards him.

“Y/N L/N?” He did the same and suddenly the two of you had your arms locked around each other, his hand was placed at the back of your head, tangling with your hair.

“I...I thought you died.” You whispered with a shaky voice, you were filled with all sorts of emotions during this reunion. You blinked back tears and let out a soft chuckle after realizing that you got one of your best friend’s back.

“Well, that makes two of us.” He pulled you away and you moved your hands to his face, tracing his scars.

“Where have you been?” You looked into his teary eyes and he held onto your hand that was caressing his cheek.

“Bracca, and you?” Cal couldn’t help but smile upon closer look of your face.

“Tatooine.” You placed your head onto his chest and bit your lip to keep it from shaking.

“So, you two know each other?” The pair of you turned to Cere with her arms crossed and a himt of a smile.

“Me and y/n were padawan learners together, our masters had us train together often. We were best friends as kids.” Cal explained to Cere.

“Well, I’m glad there’s some familiarity. Why don’t you bring y/n to your quarters and catch up, maybe explain the mission?”

—————

Well, in the end, things didn’t exactly gonas planned, you were just glad that everyone was okay. You were sore, so sore from all pressure you had put on your body, it was all so sudden. You passed out on your bunk above an injured Cal, the last thing he could remember was you dropping when Vader had thrown you across the hall of the fortress. He shot up from his sleep and nearly hit his head. He dreamed you died, scrambling to figure out if it was true.

Cal spotted your arm hanging off the side of the bunk and hoisted himself up to you to investigate. Fortunately, you were still with him, but he woke and startled you, sending you backwards with a gasp.

“Oh, god, Cal!” You launched yourself into his arms and he fell back, you laid on top of him, nuzzling your head into his neck. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Are you kidding me? I thought you were a goner while we were still in the fortress. You nearly gave me a heart attack!” He stroked your back and you listened to his breathing. “I don’t think I can lose you again.”

“You won’t. I promise.” You lifted yourself off of him and slipped your eyes down to his lips, but quickly back up. Bad idea. You hoped that Cal didn’t notice, but of course he did.

“Come on, let’s go see the team.” He suggested before you sheepishly crawled off of him and waited for him to hop off the bunk. You paused with your legs draped over the side of the bed and stared at your calloused hands, trying to picture your fate if it weren’t for Cal and the others. “Are you coming?” You noticed he was watching you the whole time and looking a bit worried with a grin to ease himself.

“Uh—ye...yeah.” You stuttered and dropped from the bed, Cal caught your sides and held you momentarily, keeping you close to him. “The crew?” You whispered.

“I know, I know. I just...need a second.” Cal placed his forehead on yours and closed his eyes. “We’re Jedi.”

“Right.” You agreed, trying to be rational in your mind, trying to figure out what he was getting at, trying not to get your hopes up that he might be implying that there was a reason he would want to break the Code.

“There’s no Council.” He added, making your lips part ever so slightly upon realization.

“Yeah.” You moved your rough, worn down hands to his cheeks and he opened his eyes, you sensed confliction in him, but he could say the same for you. “Cal?”

“Yeah?” Cal answered but you cut off your thoughts and watched him standing there in front of you, each of you still a bit battle damaged, but it was okay because you still had each other. There was a moment of realization where you thought that was all you needed, each other. Damn the Jedi Code.

Cal didn’t exactly grow impatient, he just couldn’t go another second without learning how you tasted. He tightened his grasp on you and leaned forward to your lips, joining them with yours. You pushed forward and wrapped your arms around his neck and shoulders to deepen this experience, he was gentle, moving his hands up your waist a bit. He enjoyed the hums that were slipping from your throat.

“I can’t lie to you, I’ve been waiting to do that for a while.” You shyly admitted and gave him a quiet chuckle.

“I know, me too.” He placed a separate kiss on your forehead. And your nose. And your cheek. And your other cheek. You were giggling, he was happy, then he took your hands into his and whispered. “This is our new path.”

#cal kestis imagine #cal kestis x reader #cal kestis #star wars x y/n #star wars x reader #star wars imagine #star wars #star wars jedi fallen order #jedi fallen order imagine #jedi fallen order x reader #jedi fallen order

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zabrak-show · 4 years ago

Text

Blood of the Sith

Summary:

Kudra Deschain is a young pilot working for a trade company out of Coruscant. Her next trade route to Mustafar, ends up being a fiery life changing revelation to the dark side of the force, where she meets Maul, a Sith apprentice to Darth Sidious.

Notes:

This is pre phantom menace, by like maybe a couple years. I had fun writing this, but it's just for fun so hopefully no one takes this too seriously and gets mad at me for depicting Maul in a way they don't like, or not having some other random spec incorrect. I wanted to show a softer side to Maul. Probably NSFW, but there's nothing that graphic as I am a secret prude.

A huge thank you to my fiance for helping me out with some of the technical aspects as well as the story writing. And thank you to all my friends who have not only put up with me talking about my dumb Maul story for the past few months while I slowly chipped away at it, but encouraged me to continue. Sorry it’s such a slow burn, please hang in there I swear Maul shows up soon lol!!

7 chapters all together. 12.7k words (total for all 7 chapters combined)

Chapter 1

The metal floor plates quietly vibrated as the YT-1000 entered the Coruscant atmosphere. The pilots were a young woman with pale skin and long black hair, and a young male twi’lek with orange skin. They wore similar black jumpsuits and even seated at the helm it was obvious the twi’lek would tower over the woman.

“So Kudra, what are you planning to get yourself into now that we’re back from that mess?” The twi’lek asked with a smirk.

“Mess?” She replied, dodging the question, “I had everything under control the whole time.”

A green and gold astromech droid wheeled in to beep his counter and the twi’lek laughed and asked, “Your droid really loves to call you out. Why do you still keep that old thing around?”

Kudra busied herself with checking all the landing sensors and grumbled back, “That droid has proven useful on every run we’ve done. Plus, I like her sarcastic attitude.” She was cautious to not make it obvious the droid was her only friend and constant in her life the last 10 years.

“Have you set up the meeting then with Krass? After we land I won’t have much time to…”

“Yes Kudra,” The twi’lek cut her off and she shot an icy glare his way, “Krass will be ready and waiting for us so you can go off on your secret missions or whatever it is you do.”

Kudra sat in silence while they came into the landing bay. Why did he always get so mad she didn’t want to hang out with the team after a job? They just spent 2 weeks on this crusty cargo ship together. They both deserved to do whatever they wanted on their own.

As promised, Krass was there waiting for them, once they got off their ship. He was a tall weequay with leathery brown skin and knotted blonde hair. He always tried to look higher class than he was, which made him look tacky in Kudra’s opinion. He wore his usual worn out and dated long red leather coat with tarnished brass buttons and knee high black boots over canvas pants. He stuck out like a sore thumb on the landing bay amongst the muted flight suits of most everyone else.

Krass and the twi’lek discussed unloading the cargo and routine maintenance with the landing crew while Kudra checked in on L0-K1.

“Make sure these maintenance droids don’t mess anything up while I’m gone.” She said as she stooped down to wipe grease from the droid’s arm. L0 beeped and wheeled away.

Kudra stood in the back against the wall of Krass’ small, now crowded office. The whole team was probably over 40 people, but he only held the meetings for pilots, engineers, and copilots so 13 of them all together. A low hum of conversations between everyone enveloped the room until Krass spoke up to start the meeting. The room quieted and he gave his usual fanfare speech while explaining everyone’s next jobs. A sinking feeling hit Kudra in the gut as she realized her name hadn’t been called. She could not afford any time off right now, and as far as she knew she hadn’t done anything wrong lately. As it seemed like the meeting was wrapping up, Krass remembered her, “Ah yes Kudra, I haven’t forgotten you. You’ll be taking the Z95 to the outer rim for a small but important job.”

Kudra nodded her head, “Yes, Sir.”

Slowly, everyone filed out of the room and Krass caught her arm as she neared the door.

“Listen,I know you just got back, but if you can leave right away, it’d be a huge help. I’d consider your ship, the YT1000, paid in full after the job got done. If you do it right of course.” He finished sternly now forcibly grabbing the top of her shoulder.

“Sure,” Kudra responded coolly, “I can leave as soon as the ship’s ready. What’s the mission?”

He loosened his grip, “Top secret.” he stared into her green eyes as if to search for a reason he might be wrong about sending her on this mission, finally removing his hand from her shoulder and looking away.

“You’ll be going to Mustafar to trade with a mining collective there. In and out, easy peasy. It’s hotter than blazes there and not like some desert planet. It’s covered in lava so pick up some protective clothing, ‘fore you head out. I’ve already deposited more than enough credits for ya to prepare. Any questions?”

Kudra thought for a moment, “Naw, just load the information onto L0 about which landing bay to aim for and who the point of contact will be. Thanks for trusting me captain, I won’t let you down.” The weequay sprung to life suddenly and patted Kudra so hard on her back it made her cough. “Enjoy your night and I’ll let you know when the ship’s ready.”

Kudra pulled the covers up around her, pulling it off the naked sleeping man next to her in bed. She quietly packed her bags and got dressed. She debated on waking him up, and tripped over an Alderaanian wine bottle, spinning it across the floor and making a loud clank against a metal chair leg. Well, I guess that’ll wake him, she figured. He rubbed his eyes and yawned. He was really quite handsome, dark brown skin and curly brown hair with scruffy facial hair like he’d forgotten to shave.

“Hi gorgeous, are you leaving already?” he looked up at her from the bed.

“Yes,” Kudra responded plainly. “Apologies for waking you.” She started to pick up his clothes to hand him and he grabbed her for a kiss, causing her to lose her balance and fall into him, kissing him deeply and forgetting herself for a moment.

“I’m sorry” she said, pulling away, “this was fun. I do need to get going though.”

“Right,” he shrugged her off and got dressed in awkward silence.

Kudra made it to the ship bay just in time. Krass was waiting with L0.

“Ok, you’re all set with coordinates.”

“Great, thanks Krass,” she started to crawl up the boarding ladder.

“Kudra, wait.” She stopped and turned her head toward him.

“I didn’t mention it earlier, but” he paused to look around them as he handed her a small black velvet pouch, “this is very important and very secretive. Never take it off your person, until you meet your point of contact. It’s worth your very life.” He stuffed the bag in her hand and didn’t let go for a moment.

“So what, is this the actual cargo?” she looked at him skeptically.

“You could say that. Don’t let it into the wrong hands. It’s imperative it gets to our contact person.” he shook his hand holding hers and the pouch.

“Ok, I’ll make sure your old “friend” gets their prize.” she joked with a wink.

“Please, Kudra. This isn’t a joke. No funny business with the clientele this time. You won’t always have someone like me to get you out of your lovelorn messes.”

Kudra’s cheeks burned red hot and her heart raced. How dare he treat her like this, like some mischievous star crossed lover. She covered the anger up with her voice keeping it as cool sounding as she could, “Of course. In and out, business as usual.” She turned to crawl back up the ladder, and Krass was still standing there and yelled after her, “No. NOT business as usual! Professional this time please!” Kudra kept climbing, “Yup you got it Captain. You know I always get the job done one way or another.” She and L0 boarded the Z95 at last. She tied the bag to her belt and got ready for take off.

“What’s the worst that could happen, L0?” she asked the droid as they exited the Coruscant atmosphere. L0 responded, likely with an actual answer to the worst things that could happen and Kudra laughed.

After about an hour into their journey, Kudra remembered the weird encounter with Krass before they left. She opened the pouch to see what was so important inside. L0, beeped her opposition.

“Chill out, L0, I’m just seeing what it is that is so important. I’ll put them right back in the pouch.” She dumped the pouch contents into her palm. Two pyramid shaped, black and gold objects fell into her hand. She noticed there was some type of inscription on the sides of the pyramids. Somehow they felt heavier outside of the bag than inside of it.

“Wow, what do you think these are? Some kind of puzzle?” she asked L0 and the droid screeched a response.

“Ha ha yeah, I suppose my life should be worth more than a couple puzzles.” She slipped them back into the bag and tied it to her waist again.

“Alright, L0, we’re getting close. Narrow in on our coordinates before we get out of hyperspace.”

Kudra tied her long black hair back, revealing a portion of her head shaved and a tattoo of a convor. The ship came out of hyperspace near Mustafar, but in the middle of an electrical storm. The ship controls went erratic and every sensor that could beep started beeping.

“Woah, L0 what the hell is going on? I can barely get into a landing pattern.” Kudra weaved in and out with the barely working steering controls, trying to avoid the erratic lightning happening all around them.

“Why does this shit only ever happen in the outer rim?!” She was desperately trying everything as they started to enter the atmosphere, “L0 please fix our navigation plot, I can’t see anything!” L0 chirped, but the ship was struck by lightning, flickering their main power and everything went dark, the controls went dead.

“That can’t be good! I’ve gotta land L0, find me something to land on, find a way to SLOW us down.” Another lightning strike on the ship and power flickered on for a moment. Enough for Kudra to take some controls and slow the ship down. Everything happened so fast and she was doing everything not to panic and to just focus to try and find any type of solution. She had to use all her strength to try and guide the ship with what little power they had. All Kudra could see was lava. “Is there anything NOT lava on this dumb planet??” she screamed and L0 screamed back at her. She found a landing, but they were coming in way too hot. It was the best they could hope for, so she made the descent.

The initial impact onto the scorched ground completely obliterated one of the wings and most of the rest of the ship was torn up beyond recognition. They were sliding and spinning out of control until finally a bed of lava stopped the ship. What was left of the back of the ship was up in flames as the lava ate away at them. No time to think other than “escape” Kudra began kicking the canopy to try and free both of them. She was running on pure adrenaline as she could feel the ship slipping further and further into the lava, the flames getting hotter and hotter. It started to feel hopeless, so Kudra took a moment to focus every part of her on getting out of the burning ship. A deep breath in, eyes shut, and a strong kick thrusted the canopy off the ship and Kudra jumped out and fell onto the burnt ground. L0 flew out after her with a shriek and an ungraceful tumble next to her sounding like an empty can.

“Woah, L0, you look like shit.” Kudra coughed out, while starting to stand. L0 wheezed a response

“I know, I feel like shit too. Thankfully I have these ugly threads to keep me cool.” she looked down at the black and dark green thick formless robes draped over herself and then back at the ship melting and burning into the lava pool as she lowered her goggles over her eyes. The reality hit her again, and she realized how bad this was. The ship was gone. They were in the middle of nowhere on a lava covered planet. The ship let out a final death rattle as the lava engulfed it entirely and Kudra fell to her knees. Well, this was maybe the worst that could happen.

They started walking, with no real apparent plan other than to maybe find somewhere that wasn’t covered in lava.

“Do we even know how to get to the mining collective from here? What was the contact person’s name?”

L0 chirped the answer.

“Ok, I am choosing to ignore the distance we are from them, but Uane’s the name so we got that.” Kudra sighed deeply. She was too exhausted to keep up any sort of positive charade.

“We need to get out of this heat. Let’s see if we can find a cave over in those cliffs.” Kudra pointed off into the distance a series of cliffs that normally probably wouldn’t take longer than 20 minutes to walk to, but in this heat it was hard to say.

L0 beeped conversationally.

“Listen, I realize if I had taken Krass up on his original offer years ago, I’d be unhappily married but with a ship. And not here. That much I realize. What’s your point?”

Another prodding chirp from L0.

“Settle down? With Krass? Are you out of your mind? I do just fine on my own without looking after some useless old person all the time. This heat is really melting your brain, L0.”

L0 continued prodding Kudra with past mistakes she had made. Kudra wished she could punch a droid and have it do anything other than hurt her own hand.

“L0, what is your deal? We’ve been over this. Why are you always bringing up that deal on Corellia? The whole thing worked out a lot better, actually BECAUSE of me.”

L0 whirred in disbelief.

“Yes I stabbed Crix Harend! As you’ll remember he attacked me. At the time, I had no idea that was his wife in my bed.”

The droid buzzed on about this Correllian from Kudra’s past.

“I actually don’t think Crix ever found out about me and his brother. Anyway that was so long ago. Why can’t you let it go? We still managed to trade our cargo with them in the end.”

L0 wasn’t letting it go and starting to get on Kudra’s last nerve.

“Yes, because I slept with Crix too. What is with you right now?” She screamed at the droid.

They walked on and on in mostly silence now as Kudra was mad at L0 and also too exhausted and shell shocked to make commentary. As thankful as she was to have been warned about the heat and having the right clothing for this planet, something told her they weren’t meant for all day frolicking in the lush lava fields.

Mustafar felt like hell. Every breath was fire on Kudra’s lungs, every step reminded her of all the pain, mostly physical, but her mental game wasn’t so strong right now either. She trudged on and on, L0 whirring quietly behind her. At last, they found a cave to hide in. It wound pretty far back through some tunnels, but that was good. The further in they went the cooler and darker it got. L0 lit up the cave with a small flashlight attachment as Kudra made a makeshift pillow and blanket with her capes and passed out.

Next chapter

#fanfic #fan fic author #simp for sith #sith love story #mustafar #pilot #star wars #phantom menace #darth maul x oc #coruscant #fan fic newbie #be gentle with me #feedback welcome

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