#and yeah it hardened them. they all ended up bounty hunters on their own (for a while) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

oliviajdjarin · 3 years

Text

Chapter 16: An Understanding

Warnings: this one really isn’t bad, just a droid death and sappiness.

Author’s Note: Thank you to anyone who has supported this. We are almost there!

(If this is your gif please lmk!)

The sweet moment between the three of you was quickly ruined by a distant explosion, so the Mandalorian woman quickly rushed you all out after she quickly gave Mando a gift.

A Mandalorian jet-pack.

You had seen other Mandalorians use them in the past, and Mando seemed incredibly honored to have one, so if Mando was happy, you were happy.

The team followed the tunnel towards the smell of sulfur, trying your best to track the lava flats. You didn’t have much of choice. That was the only way out.

As you walked down the tunnels, you held the sleeping child in your arms, keeping him close to you. Mando walked next to you, stealing glances at you as you walked. You would glance back, but he would always face forward once more, trying to make it seem like he wasn’t starring. You would always smile at him when he would turn away, obviously embarrassed.

Who knew you could make a beskar covered warrior like that be embarrassed?

You felt at peace. At home. For once you actually had one. You didn’t even know how to describe the feeling. It’s like your anxious brain and beating heart finally subsided. Like your body relaxed, and you had nothing to fear. Sure, the team was still stuck in these tunnels and the exit would be swarming with stormtroopers, but you had backup. A team. A clan.

It felt like a new start.

Once you finally made it to the river’s edge, a boat was leaned up against the land. It had obviously seen better days and the droid inside hadn’t been used in a long time.

Great.

Mando and Karga tried pushing the boat, but that did no use, so Cara raised her rifle and shot the boat free from the hardened lava.

You smiled at her and chuckled, thinking about the fact she had outsmarted a Mandalorian and a well known Guild member. You were not surprised in the slightest.

You could’ve sworn she laughed back.

Everyone climbed into the boat, and by some miracle, the droid inside sputtered to life. It stood up, raising its paddle and dropping it into the orange liquid beside it. It then said some droid gibberish, which IG-11 presumed was a request.

“I believe he is asking where we would like to go,” IG said.

“Downriver. To the lava flats,” Karga said, and the droid set to paddling.

Mando was to your left, while Cara was at your right. The child had woken up once more, using his energy to chew on your thumb. Mando brought his hand up to his helmet, activating the thermal scanners.

“That’s it,” Karga yelled, pointing to the growing light coming from the end of the tunnel.

“We’re free!”

It had been a long time since you had heard something like that.

“No,” Mando said, squashing your elated mood.

“Stormtroopers. They’re flanking the mouth of the tunnel. They must know we are coming.”

“Stop the boat,” you said sternly to the ferry droid. The droid, however, gave no sign that he actually heard you.

“Hey,” Cara said firmly, walking up to the droid.

“She said stop the boat,” she said before shooting the droid’s head off.

You appreciated Cara’s act of defense for you, you really did, but it didn’t do any good. The boat kept moving.

There was no other way. You had to stand and fight.

You pulled your longspear from your back and tucked the child deeper into your arms. You had fought stormtroopers before, why would this time be any different?

“They will not be satisfied with anything less than the child,” IG said, and you turned your head to look back at him. Your confused expression accurately represented the feelings of the rest of the group as well.

“This is unacceptable. I will eliminate the enemy, and you will escape.”

“You don’t have that kind of firepower pal,” Mando said in reply.

“You wouldn’t even get to daylight.”

“That is not my objective,” said the droid. “I still have the security protocols from my manufacturer. If my designs are compromised, I must self-destruct.”

“What?” you asked the droid.

“I am not permitted to be captured. I must be destroyed.”

The droid looked at Mando and said, “Sadly, there is no scenario where the child is saved in which I survive.”

“No,” Mando said, moving closer to the droid.

“You’re not going anywhere. We need you.”

“Please tell me the child will be safe in your care,” the droid said, now looking at both you and Mando.

“But you will be destroyed-” you began to say.

“And you will live,” IG said. “I will have served my purpose.”

He looked to Mando and said, “There is nothing to be sad about.”

“I’m not…. sad,” Mando said, but you were no where near convinced. His voice was the only way for you to humanize him, and emotions were very easily traced on the voice. When you can’t see someone’s face, the voice is all they have. You had gotten good at that.

It seemed IG had gotten good at it too.

“Yes, you are. I’m a nurse droid. I have analyzed your voice,” IG said before coming to the child and brushing his hand along his forehead.

No matter how little Mando wanted to deny it, the droid was your saving grace.

The droid then stepped into the boiling lava, and started making its way down towards the exit.

You watched the droid with wide and curious eyes. You had never seen a droid be so… selfless. You had always seen droids as mindless robots who only acted out of survival, but this one gave its life for you.

You wished you could repay him somehow.

When the detonator on the droid finally exploded, the child in your arms lifted his ears and watched. Even though the droid had been there for a small time, he was still the reason you and the child were alive. It seemed like the kid was loosing a friend.

You could see the pain in his eyes, and you wished you could take it all away from him and put it into your own.

Once the boat finally drifted into the tunnel, you saw the bodies of the stormtroopers on either side of the bank.

Maybe this actually… worked?

But, like many… many… times before, the scream of a tie fighter ruined all chances of an easy departure.

“Moff Gideon!” Cara shouted before raising her blaster and shooting at the aircraft. Mando and Karga immediately joined her, while you used your longspear to shield you and the child from any blaster fire.

The ship’s canons rained fire on the group for a couple seconds before the ship went roaring completely over your heads.

“He missed,” Karga said in relief.

“He won’t next time,” Mando said. The ship was already starting to turn back around.

“He mentioned he knew you,” Mando said to you, referring to when he was trapped in the town not even an hour before this.

“Yeah….” you said.

“I’ve pissed him off,” you chuckled out, and Mando looked at you with a breathy laugh as well.

“Hey,” Karga said suddenly. “Let’s have the kid do the magic hand thing.”

Oh great, you thought to yourself.

“Come on baby! Do the magic hand thing,” Karga said to the kid while wiggling his fingers.

The child only giggled in your arms and waved back, and you let a light chuckle come out of your nose.

“I’m out of ideas,” Karga said.

“I’m not,” Mando said, turning around to get the jet-pack from the boat.

You watched him walk away with a slight smirk on your face. You believed in Mando more than anyone, and you prayed he had enough training to know how to use that thing.

You saw the tie fighter making its way back to you through the corner of your eye, but you continued to watch Mando. He attached the pack to his back and then locked eyes with you before shooting into the sky like a rocket.

You watched him with a beating heart as he flew right in front of the tie fighter, allowing it to go under his feet. He then hooked his grappling cable onto the wing and used the jet pack to propel himself onto the cockpit window.

Even though you were scared out of your mind, you still managed to smile at the sight above you.

Your Mandalorian was incredible.

Mando’s blaster did almost no damage to the cockpit door before Moff Gideon jerked the ship to the left. The ship was starting to spiral, and your awe quickly turned into worry.

Mando was holding on with everything he had.

He all of a sudden let go and went soaring through the air. The left side of the ship completely exploded, which sent the ship careening to the ground. It burst into smoke on impact.

Barely a second later, your Mandalorian landed before you in a slight crouch, before standing to his full height.

The smile on your face said it all.

He chuckled slightly at your shocked and happy expression before taking the child from you and holding him in his arms. You walked to stand beside him and stare up to his face, proud and joyful.

You got a Mandalorian.

Karga and Cara stood before you two with equally shocked expressions

“That was impressive Mando,” Karga said. “It looks like your Guild rates have just gone up.”

You grinned at Karga, enjoying his little tease.

“Any more stormtroopers?” Mando asked.

“I think we cleared the town,” Cara said with a laugh. “I’m thinking of staying around just to be sure.”

“You’re staying here?” Mando asked, equally confused as you were.

“Well, why not?” Karga asked. “Nevarro is a very fine planet, and now that the scum and villainy have been washed away, it’s very respectable again.”

“As a bounty hunter hive?” Mando asked, and you once again giggled at his bluntness.

“Some of my favorite people are bounty hunters,” Karga said with a bit of a chuckle.

“And perhaps”- he said while placing a hand on Cara’s shoulder- “this specimen of a soldier might consider joining our ranks.”

“And you, my friend”- he said while turning his attention back to Mando -“will be welcomed back into the Guild with open arms.”

Mando looked to the child in his arms, beaming up at him with utter adoration. He then looked to you at his side, and you gave him a smile that said I’m with you. With whatever you choose.

“I’m afraid I have more pressing mattors at hand,” he said, turning his head back to the child.

“Well you better keep watch of this one,” Karga said to Mando while gesturing to you.

“She could take your place at the Guild in a second,” he says, while snapping his fingers for emphasis.

“And she would do a damn good job,” he says, and you laugh in reply.

Mando gives a slight nod in agreement which only makes you laugh harder.

You can’t recall ever laughing this hard.

“Y/n,” Cara says, and you divert your attention back to her.

She is trying to look at you, but she just can’t meet your gaze.

“Listen… I… I’m really sorry. The Empire hurt me a lot and I just couldn’t…” she chokes out.

You could tell she was trying to apologize to you. For when your identity got revealed, for doubting your loyalty, or anything in between. She was obviously struggling, so you decided to help her along.

“Cara,” you said, and her eyes met yours.

“Your reaction was perfectly understandable. Truly. There is nothing to be sorry for,” you say, and a flash of relief skates over her eyes.

“I just saw how you were with Mando and the kid today and I…. I owed you an apology,” she said, and you smiled at her.

“Thank you, Cara. I’m glad we could come to an understanding,” you respond, and she smiles back at you. A genuine, relieved smile.

“As am I,” she says while leaning forward to caress the child’s ear.

“Take care of this little one,” Cara said to you and Mando. You gave her a respectful nod, acting as a promise that you would.

“Or maybe,” Karga added, “it will take care of you.”

You looked to Mando with a light smile, and you could tell he was grinning too.

The weight of guilt and shame had been lifted off of you. The people you cared for most forgave you. They looked at what you did right in the eyes, but looked past it, and saw you. You were sure it would take some time for them to completely trust you, but they were willing to try.

You couldn’t ask for anything more.

Tag list:

@leahkenobi @pinkninja200 @farfromjustordinary @440mxs-wife @bookloverfilmoholic @impala1967666

#din djarin #din djarin fluff #din djarin imagine #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you

185 notes · View notes

feralthoughtdump · 3 years

Text

Arsonist’s Lullaby

Part One: Kiss With A Fist

Part Two: Only Angel

Bucky and his Angel’s relationship grow closer.

Word Count: 6.8K

CW: violence, Bucky and his nightmares, John Walker being an ass, a little bit of fluff, smut, brief shower sex, Bucky steps on the reader with his boots, spitting, choking, spanking, Bucky using his metal arm, crying, FATWS ep. 3&4 spoilers

The cold air of the cargo container was strange, given that they were in a southeast Asian island. It sent a chill down Angel’s spine. Like something would go very wrong. They survey the empty space, searching for Nagel.

Sharon was certain Nagel was here, but there was no sight of him.

But Angel could hear the slight vibrations of music coming from… somewhere.

She approaches the back of the container and feels around the rough metal wall.

“Hey, I think he may be in here.” She beckons them over.

Pressing a gloved hand onto the metal, she pushed, revealing a small laboratory in front of them.

“You three go ahead.” She mutters. “I’ll keep an eye out with Sharon.”

Before they can say anything, she strides out of the container.

“You don’t need to worry about them.” Sharon crosses her arms as the door closes. “I know them well. They can hold their own.”

“Oh, I know.” Angel chuckles.

“Bucky likes to call you Angel, huh. Seems like you two bonded pretty quickly.”

She gives Sharon a humored look as they stroll around the dock.

“I thought psychopaths couldn’t form bonds.”

“You know I didn’t mean it.”

Their eyes dart all over the place, looking for any oncoming bounty hunters.

“How’d you get my photo anyways?”

“Heavy analysis of CCTV footage, a few phone calls, and a lot of digging. The photo was shit quality, but it was enough for me to go off of.”

“Was it enough to catch me?”

“I guess so. Then Zemo blew up the UN so we tabled the case.”

“Interesting. Maybe that UN bombing was a blessing in disguise. Saved me a life sentence in a high-security prison.”

They turned a corner.

“You wouldn’t have gone to jail. MI6 would’ve given you a job instead.”

“Hmph. I’d rather die than be a servant.”

From the corner of her eye, Angel spots a passing black shadow.

“Guys,” she presses a finger onto her earpiece. “Someone’s here.”

A gunshot rings out from the container and the hairs on the back of her neck stand. Sharon gives her a knowing look and they turn the safety off of their guns.

“Here.” Angel whispers, handing Sharon a knife. “It’ll come in handy.”

Three bounty hunters transverse on them and they open fire, taking them down one by one.

“We don’t have much time, hurry up!” Sharon yells into the earpiece.

A bounty hunter wraps their arms around Angel and she grabs a knife, jamming it into their arm.

Adrenaline floods her system, dialing her senses up to ten. A swift roundhouse kick sends another hunter tumbling to the ground.

From behind her, she hears Sam and Bucky yelling and she runs towards them.

“It’s in every action movie!” She hears Sam yell.

If her life wasn’t on the line, she would’ve laughed.

“You okay?” She pants.

“No! We’re not!” Sam yells. “Zemo shot Nagel!”

“What? Where is he?”

Her question was answered when a container set fire and exploded. She spots Zemo standing atop another, donning a purple mask. Before she can point him out, he sprints away.

“Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Gunshots ring from her right and Bucky wraps a protective arm around her. In her peripheral she sees a bounty hunter riding towards her on a motorcycle, guns blazing. She quickly wriggles out of Bucky’s grasp and sends a knife into the tire, throwing the hunter off of the vehicle and into the fire.

“Good aim.” He says, mouth agape in surprise.

“You just threw that dude into a fire!” Sam exclaims.

“Yeah, well, he was going to kill us.”

They continue to run through the maze of crates, turning corner after corner, dodging bullet after bullet.

As much as he hates to admit it, the sight of Angel in action, when her violence wasn’t directed towards him, sends a rush through his system.

Zemo speeds towards them in a convertible, signaling them to get in. Sam jumps in the passenger seat while Bucky and Angel sit in the back.

Her pupils are blown wide and Bucky swears he can feel the electricity radiating off of her. Without stopping to calm down, he grabs her face in his hand and presses a passionate kiss on her lips.

His heart skips a beat when she kisses him back, and in the corner of his eye, he spots Sharon giving either him or Angel, a thumbs up.

…

Bucky makes it a habit to call her Angel all the time. He likes the way it slips off his tongue. He likes the way her eyes seem to glimmer when he calls her that. It’s as if the more he calls her Angel, she seems to glow more and more.

He calls her Angel when they board the jet on the way to Latvia.

He calls her Angel when she sits down to change the gauze on her thigh.

He calls her Angel when they get to the Riga safe house.

The more time he spends with her, the more he notices the little things about her. He notices how her tongue sticks out a little when she does her eye makeup.

He notices how her head would bop along to music in her earbuds

He notices how she’ll curl up on the couch, tucking her knees close to her body, while she sketches.

He notices how she’ll mutter curses in different languages. Mandarin, French, Russian, Spanish just to name a few.

He notices how she took off her jewelry when she showers with the exception of a gold chain. A gold chain with a dangling pendant. A pendant of a little angel.

He notices how she uses apple cinnamon body wash. It made her smell warm. It made her smell like home.

She gets along with Sam. Even Zemo.

She talks about philosophy with Zemo and when she converses with Sam, they talk about music.

She’s a force to be reckoned with. Fiery. Just like Selby had said. A firebird.

And despite her cool, hardened front, there was a gentleness to her.

The jet had touched down in Latvia late and night and they collectively decided to get a good night’s rest before finding Karli.

He had woken up from a nightmare. Reliving the memory of killing Yori’s son.

He didn’t know what compelled him to do it, but he padded over to Angel, reading Anna Karenina. Glasses perched on her nose, hair loose and resting past her shoulders.

She looks up at him.

“Nightmare?”

Bucky nods, tears pricking are his eyes.

She places the book on the floor and stretches out on the couch.

“Come here.” She whispers arms open wider

She let him lay his head on her chest, nose pressed against her sternum. With gentle hands, she runs her fingers through his hair, slowing his rapid heartbeat.

The serum had made his hearing sharper and from his position between her breasts, he could hear the soft thumping of her heart. It calmed him.

“Can you sing to me?” He mumbles.

The hand playing with his hair stops.

“Sing to you?” She asks.

“Mhm.”

“I-“ she pauses “I don’t really-“

“Please.” He begs.

She’s quiet, just calmly stroking his hair, then she sighs.

“What do you want me to sing?”

“Anything. Just… please, I want you to sing for me.”

She ponders for a moment before she parts her lips, voice shaky and quiet.

When I was a child, I heard voices

Some would sing and some would scream

You soon find you have few choices

I learned the voices died with me

He closes his eyes and noses at her sternum.

When I was a child, I'd sit for hours

Staring into open flame

Something in it had a power

Could barely tear my eyes away

The song is unfamiliar. He didn’t listen to music all that much anymore. And even when he listens to music, it was mostly from the 40s.

All you have is your fire

And the place you need to reach

Don't you ever tame your demons

But always keep 'em on a leash

Her voice, still soft and quiet, is haunting. The way it wraps around the lyrics, warms his heart. He breathes in the smell of her apple cinnamon body wash.

When I was 16, my senses fooled me

Thought gasoline was on my clothes

I knew that something would always rule me

I knew the scent was mine alone

He loves the way he can feel her chest move up and down. The way her voice sounds so rich with his ear pressed against her chest, the music echoing within her ribs.

All you have is your fire

And the place you need to reach

Don't you ever tame your demons

But always keep 'em on a leash

He reaches his hand to play with the angel pendant on her necklace. Finger running over the grooves.

When I was a man I thought it ended

When I knew love's perfect ache

But my peace has always depended

On all the ashes in my wake

As he drifts off to sleep, he can hear the last lines of the song lingering on her lips. The images from war. The torture he endured, the people he’s killed, the amends he has yet to make, all temporarily fade from his mind.

All you have is your fire

And the place you need to reach

Don't you ever tame your demons

But always keep 'em on a leash

And for the first time since Steve left, Bucky was able to sleep without disturbance.

…

“You have a lovely voice.”

Angel was pulled from her sleep when she hears Zemo’s voice.

She glares at him and places a finger on her lips, shushing him. Bucky was still lying on top of her, still asleep and she didn’t want to wake him.

“My apologies.” He smiles.

“Were you watching us last night?” She interrogates quietly.

“No, but I do have a keen sense of hearing. I heard you singing to James.”

She turns her head to meet his eyes.

“He had a nightmare. It was the least I could do for him.”

“Understandable.” He nods. “My son used to have nightmares and my wife’s voice was the only thing that could put him to sleep.”

“I’m sorry.” She mumbles sympathetically. “About your family, I mean. I know you lost them a while ago.”

Her hand combs through Bucky’s hair.

“I understand how vengeance and anger overtook you. You needed your revenge. But don’t hurt him.”

“Hurt who? James?”

“Yes.” Her voice darkens. “If you lay a finger on him, I won’t hesitate to bury you.”

Zemo sighs.

“I have no intention of harming him. I see the way you look at him. It’s the same look I used to give my wife. You care for him dearly and given your line of work, I know you’d do anything to avenge the people who harm the ones you love.” He walks towards her and offers her a cookie. Angel takes it with a wary hand.

“You’ve got anything else you want to say?”

“I do have a question about that song. I knew that something would always rule me.” He quotes. “Was that about yourself, or James?”

She narrows her eyes.

“It was just a song.”

“Yet it implies that something will always have power, control, over the songwriter.” He tilts his head.

“What are you implying, Baron?”

“It’s not an implication. It’s an observation. You two share a common trait. For James, it’s his past. His time as the Winter Soldier looms over him. As for you, you seem to have this, how do I say it, a compulsion to kill. It will always stick to you.”

“Baron, I suggest you pick your next words very carefully.”

Bucky stirs and she lifts her hand from his head.

“Mmm. Good morning.” He mumbles, voice rough and heavy.

“Good morning to you too sleepyhead.” She coos, rubbing his cheek with her thumb. “Did you sleep well?”

“Mhm.” He hums.

She gives Zemo a look that says ��get out.’

Zemo gives her a smirk and walks away, leaving the two of them alone.

Bucky opens his eyes and Angel can feel her heart melt. He balances himself on his arm to press a kiss to her nose.

“You look cute with bed head.” He chuckles. “So pretty. I could just eat you up.”

“You look quite pretty when you sleep.” She giggles and rubs her nose against his.

He places his head back on her chest and they lie there for a while, listening to the sounds of the city.

Finally, she sighs.

“Alright, Bucky, I’m gonna go take a shower.”

He whines and wraps his arms around her.

“No, stay.”

“Bucky,” she says sternly, “I have to wash my hair, let go.”

With a huff, he sits up and lets her get off of the couch. As she stands she turns around spotting Bucky, arms crossed and a pout on his face.

“I never said you couldn’t join.”

Bucky jumps up and runs to her. He places his hands on her waist and turns her around, pressing a kiss to her lips. She links her fingers with his and he follows behind her towards the bathroom.

While they wait for the water to heat up, she reaches into her bag to pull out bottles of product.

He spots the shimmering bottle of apple cinnamon body wash and smiles.

“Apple cinnamon body wash.” He notes.

“Mhm. It's inexpensive but it smells nice.”

“It does.”

She places her hand under the stream of water and gets a feel for the temperature. The water is hot, just how she likes it. Her hands pull the t-shirt over her head and then her cotton underwear.

Bucky waits for her to step into the shower before he strips down and joins her.

A content smile crosses her face when the hot water hits her body but her peace is broken when she hears Bucky yelp.

“Why is the water so hot?”

“I like it hot.” She turns to face him and playfully pokes at his navel. “It’s relaxing.”

“You’re going to boil me alive.” He grumbles.

“If you don’t like the hot water,” She bluntly states, “then get out.”

She shampoos her hair, letting the bubbles froth around her fingers, and then she pours a bit into her hand and reaches up to massage it into Bucky’s hair.

He runs a metal finger down her sternum, collecting a bit of the bubbles that run down her body. When his finger reaches her scar, his touch lingers.

Seeing the guilt in his eyes, Angel places a finger underneath his chin and has him look into her eyes instead.

“Don’t.” She murmurs. “You’ll only torture yourself reminiscing on the past.” She pulls him under the stream, letting the water wash away the shampoo in their hair.

She’s got a meticulous shower routine, one that she likes to perform herself, yet she’s okay with Bucky standing next to her. When she combs the conditioner through her hair, she does the same for Bucky, knowing it would soften his hair even more and make it smell like vanilla and pomegranate.

She places a bit of the apple cinnamon body wash in her hands and rubs it onto his body. Her hands pay extra attention to the scar on his shoulder.

“It’s got vitamin E in it. Helps with scars.”

Bucky turns her around, making her face away from him.

She can’t see exactly what he’s doing, but she hums with relaxation when she feels his strong hands rub the body wash into her skin.

“You’ve got some knots in your shoulders.” He notes.

“I’m aware of that.”

“You’re stressed.”

“I am.”

When the water washes away the body wash, the shower is filled with the scent of apple cinnamon.

She’s surprised when she feels a kiss on the back of her shoulder but nevertheless, she enjoys it.

Bucky presses another kiss in the center of her shoulders and kisses her along the line of her back. He sinks to his knees and places a kiss onto the dimples of her back.

“Buck, what are you doing?” She smirks, turning around.

“I just wanna love on you.” He murmurs against her skin. “Can I?”

She blinks owlishly, then slowly nods her head.

“Y-yeah” she breathes.

Bucky places a kiss on her scar and runs his tongue over it, sending a fire through her.

“Open your legs for me, doll.”

She shyly parts her legs and Bucky smiles up at her.

He grabs her waist, hoisting her knees over his shoulders, pressing her back against the wall.

She lets out gaspy whines when he kisses and nips at her thighs, letting his stubble rub against the sensitive skin.

“Bucky,” she whimpers “we- we’re going to waste water.”

“Don’t worry about that, doll.” He murmurs. “Just let me make you feel good.”

He licks a stripe up her folds, causing her to gasp. She grabs onto his hair, pulling him closer.

“So sweet, baby. You taste so sweet.”

She doesn’t reply. She couldn’t. Not when he was making her feel so good.

She slaps her other hand onto the wall, trying to hold herself up. Bucky tightens his grip on her and leans in closer, continuously licking into her, making her head spin.

She tries to say something, tell him she’s close, tell him she’s going to cum quicker than she thought, but the only sounds that leave her mouth are breathy moans.

When he pulls away, she whines. He gives her a cocky grin.

“Wanna cum?”

She vigorously nods her head.

“That’s a shame.” He lets go of her legs, almost dropping her onto the tile, and wraps an arm around her waist to keep her steady. “We’ve got a big day ahead.” His tone is teasing, almost mean. “I’ll let you cum later.”

She’s left on the edge, and she’s angry. No, not angry. Frustrated. Frustrated and desperate.

“You’re mean.” She grumbles, shutting off the water.

“If you give me attitude, I won’t let you cum at all.” He chuckles.

She pushes him away and wraps a towel around her body.

“I don’t need you to cum anyways.” She grumbles under her breath.

As she walks away, he grabs her by the back of her neck and pulls her into his chest.

“If I were you,” He lowers his lips to her ear, “I’d behave. Now,” he releases his grip and gives her ass a smack. “Get dressed, we’ve got a lot to do today.”

She digs through her duffel to find a simple red jumpsuit. The neckline is low enough to be teasing, but it had enough support and pockets to be practical.

“Sounds like someone had a good morning.”

She turns around, a big grin stretching across her face when she sees Sam.

“Sam! Good morning!” She cheers.

“No need to good morning me when I woke up to the sound of fucking.” he grumbles, annoyance in his voice.

She chuckles as she buttons the front of her jumpsuit.

“So, Bucky tells me we have a lot going on today. What’s on the itinerary?”

“Hopefully, we can track down Karli and convince her to stop. At least that’s my plan.”

“Sounds good.”

He grabs his jacket from the chair. “I’m headed out to get something to eat. Do you want anything?”

“I’m okay.” She smiles at him. “Thanks for asking.”

Sam reaches the door and turns around.

“One more thing, you’ve got a great voice.”

“Was I that loud or did no one sleep at all last night?”

Sam chuckles.

“I think after the past few days, it’s hard for anyone to get a good night's sleep.” He looks down, fiddling with his fingers. “What you did… what you did for Bucky in Madripoor, when we were undercover…”

“What did I do?” She asks curiously.

“When Zemo had him go all Winter Soldier, you fought alongside him, you got to that first guy before Bucky did.”

Angel is quiet. She says nothing, looking down at her hands and picking at her cuticles.

“He might not say this to your face, but I’ve been around him long enough to know that he’s thankful. And so am I.”

She doesn’t know what to say. What would she even say?

“I can see now why he likes calling you Angel.”

With that, the door closes.

She walks over to the kitchen, looking through the cabinets. The shelves were fairly empty, mostly just tins of cookies and candy, and a box of cherry blossom tea. She huffs in frustration when her fingers brush over the tin of candy, barely moving it.

“Need some help, doll?”

Bucky grabs the tin and places it on the counter.

Her frustration is reignited at the sight of him in a tight, black t-shirt. She wants him to bend her over, fuck her until she sobs.

But she knows he won’t give her that.

Before she can grab it, Bucky holds it above his head.

“You’re evil.” She mutters. “Come on, give me it.”

“Nope!” He smirks.

“Go fu-“

She yelps when Bucky loops his thumb through the belt loop of her jumpsuit and pulls her close to him.

“Remember what I told you? Watch your language.”

“Give me the candy or you’re not getting head for a week.”

Bucky’s eyes widen and he hands her the box.

“Thank you.”

She presses a kiss to his nose and walks away with the box.

She knows what Bucky’s doing. He’s riling her up, teasing her.

But two can play that game.

She sits up on the counter and opens the tin.

Turkish Delight. Candy she used to eat as a child.

He’s staring at her. She can feel it. Her fingers pluck a candy from the box and hold it up.

“Want one?”

Bucky walks over to her and wedges himself between her thighs.

“Sure.”

She unwraps the candy and places a finger on his chin, beckoning him to open his mouth.

Her fingers place the treat on his tongue.

“Sweet, isn’t it?”

He kisses her and she can taste the sugar on his lips.

“Almost as sweet as you.”

She grabs another and hops off of the counter, humored by Bucky’s frustrated look.

“Sam probably wants everyone ready by the time he gets back. So, I don’t know.” She eyes him up and down, ready to drool at the sight of his arms. “Get dressed.”

“Oh doll, I’m already dressed.” He chuckles.

“Good. Then help me out.” Her fingers deftly unbutton the top of her jumpsuit, exposing her black sports bra. She reaches for her harness and shoves it in Bucky’s hands. “Buckle me in.”

…

Sex was the last thing on her mind when she’s face to face with the new Captain America.

“Karli Morganthau is too dangerous for you to be pulling this shit.” He yells.

Angel rolls her eyes at the sight of John Walker.

“How’d you find us now?” Bucky replies, voice full of annoyance.

“You think two Avengers can walk around Latvia without drawing attention?”

Angel’s seen his face in the news. Lemar, the better of America’s new dynamic duo.

“No more keeping us in the dark, and you can tell us why you broke him” John points to Zemo “out of prison.”

“He did that himself, technically.” Bucky answers.

“That is an unbelievable explanation! And who the hell are you?” He points to Angel.

“I’m a friend.” She grumbles, eyes narrowed.

“You have no business being here. And whatever you’re wearing, all you’re going to do is draw attention.”

“And your little Mr. America getup isn’t?”

“Why don’t you go back to working in European intelligence or whatever it is you do.”

“You better watch your mouth, Mr. Walker.” She snarls. “Is that really how you speak to a lady?”

“I know where Karli is.” Zemo interrupts their feud.

“Well, where?”

“All we know is,” Sam answers, “It’s a memorial. We’ll intercept her there.”

“That means civilians, high risk of casualties.” Lemar states.

“Alright good.” John schemes. “We’ll move in fast, take her by surprise.”

“Not a good idea, John.” Angel retorts. He halts in his steps and turns to her.

“You have no clue what you’re getting yourself into. This is an American situation.”

She leans in until she’s staring into his eyes. Rage broils inside of her.

“Let me tell you something John, I don’t care about your medals of honor. I don’t care that you’re wearing that red and blue suit. So I’ll tell you this once, and only once. If you dare speak to me like this again, I won’t hesitate to-“

Bucky pulls her back, giving her a stern look.

“Hey,” he rubs her shoulder, trying to settle her anger. “He’s not worth it.”

“Oh, so she’s your little girlfriend huh?”

Angel presses the tip of her knife against his chin and backs him into a wall.

“You stay out of Bucky’s business.” She seethes.

“Hey, hey, hey!”

This time, both Sam and Bucky had to pull her away, but she keeps her murderous glare trained on him.

“Jesus Christ, Barnes. Keep your little psycho under control.” John spits.

“Hey, don’t speak to her like that,” Sam demands. “Just because you don’t know her doesn’t give you an excuse to be rude.”

“Either you show her some respect,” Bucky says “or all of the help we have to offer is off of the table.”

Sam nods in agreement and eventually so does Zemo, who adds a small shrug.

“I wasn't actually going to kill him.” She mutters under her breath.

“We know.” Sam pulls her into a side hug. He directs his words back to John. “I want to talk to her alone.”

“I’m not losing her again.”

“Look, the person closest to her died. She’s vulnerable. If there’s any time to reason with her, it’s now.”

“What?” John halts in his steps. “No, wait stop. We are way past reasoning with her.”

“Sam,” Lemar states. “If you walk in there cold, you could die.”

“But if you walk in guns blazing, you could have the blood of hundreds of civilians on your hands.” Angel folds her arms. “Besides, if things go wrong, I’m trained in mixed martial arts.”

“You think a black belt will save you from a super-soldier?”

Angel snorts.

“It has before.”

Bucky looks down and stifles a laugh.

“I used to counsel soldiers dealing with trauma, okay?” Sam argues with John. “This is in my wheelhouse.”

They’re all silent, staring daggers at each other.

“John,” Lemar breaks the silence “If he can talk her down, it might be worth a try.” He gives Angel a kind smile. “And I think we give this girl a chance to show us what she’s got.”

“Thank you.” She smiles back.

“I’m sure this can all come to an agreeable conclusion.” Zemo points forward. “My associate is just up ahead.”

They watch as Zemo approaches a young girl, handing her some money. She beckons them to follow her down a cobblestone path, into a building, and through the boiler room.

“You’ve got ten minutes,” John states while handcuffing Zemo to a pipe. “Then we’re doing things my way.”

While they wait, Angel spends her time playing with her butterfly knife, spinning the handle around her fingers.

“How do you not cut yourself doing that?” Lemar asks.

She spins the knife closed.

“I have before, it’s just about practice and being careful. Here, I’ll show you.”

Bucky observes Angel showing off her knife tricks to Lemar.

Despite the stressful situation, he still felt a pang of possessiveness. She was his Angel. He gave her that name and when she said she’d accepted it. In a way, she was his and he was hers.

“What’s your name? I don’t think you’ve ever told me.”

He hears Lemar ask.

Angel giggles.

“It’s Artemis. Like the goddess.”

Artemis. It’s fitting, Bucky thinks. The goddess of the hunt.

“That’s really cool. Let me guess, your parents were huge mythology fans?”

“You can say that.” She chuckles.

His eyes narrow when she smiles at Lemar.

Their conversation continues and Bucky’s jealousy burns brighter when she places her fingers on the fabric of Lemar’s suit, giving him a comment on how she’s got an eye for fashion and how nice the fabric was. From his position by the door, he sees her turn to him and give him a wink.

Bucky scowls. That little minx.

John crosses his arms and stares daggers into her.

“What exactly do you do, anyway?” He scoffs. “Are you some kind of spy?”

Angel raises a brow.

“I’m not a spy. I’m just a problem solver.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” John shakes his head and secures the shield on his arm. “Nevermind. I’m going in.”

“Oh, come on John, it’s only been eight minutes.”

“No. Don’t do that. Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not-” Angel sighs and turns away, focusing her attention on pulling her hair back.

Bucky stops him before John can get through the doorway.

“It must be so easy for you.” John’s voice is full of malice. “All that serum running through your veins. Barnes, your partner needs backup. Do you really want his blood on your hands?”

Bucky can see Angel slowly shake her head, telling him not to give in to John’s words. But he can’t. He’s already done so much harm. He’s responsible for the deaths of so many people, he can’t let Sam become another.

So, he lets John walk past him, Lemar following along.

Angel runs up to him.

“Bucky, why’d you do that?”

“I can’t… I can’t risk it. I can’t risk losing him.”

She sighs and places a gentle hand on his cheek.

“I understand.” Her lips land a gentle kiss on his nose. “But don’t let his words get to you. Now,” She grins and lightly smacks his ass. “Go make sure he doesn’t kill anyone.”

With one final kiss, Bucky runs off.

She turns around to see the handcuffs dangling from the pole. Her blood runs cold. Zemo escaped and who knows what he’ll do.

She runs through the halls, boots quietly slapping on the concrete floors. From her left, she hears a series of loud gunshots and crunching glass.

Her feet lightly tread next to the walls, ears picking up every little sound.

She jumps, heartbeat pounding when the thump of a body falling to the ground meets her ears.

Did Zemo kill someone? Was it Karli? Another Flag-Smasher?

She runs through the door closest to her. From behind a table, she spots John staring at a small vial. A small vial of the serum. Before she can say anything, he runs away.

As she quietly walks into the room, she spots Zemo, lying on the ground, unconscious. No one else was here.

She crouches down next to him and gently shakes his shoulder.

“Baron? Zemo? Come on, wake up.”

He doesn’t move.

She picks up his wrist, pressing her pointer and middle fingers on the vein. A sigh of relief passes her lips at the feeling of a pulse.

Her hands shake his shoulder again, this time, with more vigor.

“Zemo!” She shouts.

His eyes snap open and he groans in pain.

“You passed out Baron.”

“I’m aware.” He grumbles. “John Walker threw the shield at me.”

“Of course he did.”

She offers him a hand and helps him stand up.

“Can you walk?” She asks.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be okay.”

The two make their way through the city until they reach Zemo’s apartment. Sam was already there, typing away on his computer.

Angel wets a towel in the kitchen and hands it to Zemo.

“Go, lie down. Put this over your eyes.”

She walks down the hall towards Bucky’s room. With a tired sigh, she removes her shoes, jumpsuit, and harness.

Her eyes close as she lies on the bed in her underwear. The sports bra felt much too tight but she didn’t care. She was tired. Her morning sexual frustration had caught up to her but she didn’t feel like doing anything about it.

Even though it was only seven in the evening, she just wanted to sleep.

Right when she’s drifting off to sleep, the slam of the bedroom door jolts her awake.

Bucky is standing in front of her, arms crossed, eyes filled with rage.

“Get off the bed.” He snarls.

She laughs and rolls over onto her stomach.

“No. If sex is what you want, let’s do it on the bed.”

She hears a sigh behind her and her eyes widen when she feels Bucky’s hands wrap around her ankles.

“Buck, what are you-”

Her words come to a halt when he pulls her off of the bed and onto her knees.

“You wanted me to fuck you?” He seethes. “Fuck you rough until you can’t speak?”

“That was the plan.” She smirks.

He twists a hand in her hair and pulls her head back. Her breath is shallow as she looks up, meeting Bucky’s angry eyes.

He’s mad. At the entire Karli situation, and maybe with her. But his anger towards her, she assumes, is fiery, lustful anger. Anger that she can have a lot of fun with.

“If you had let me cum earlier,” She snaps, “ maybe I wouldn’t have been such a brat.”

She rubs her thighs together, trying to alleviate the arousal burning through her. A whine leaves her lips when he kicks her legs apart.

He tightens his grip on her hair.

“You really need to learn some respect.”

Bucky places the toe of his boot on her back and pushes her face down onto the floor. She doesn’t resist, giving in to his dominance.

“Aww, look at you,” he mocks, “You were so bold earlier, my Angel. Where did that fire go?”

Her heart swells. He’s no longer calling her Angel. He’s called her his Angel. She was his.

Footsteps echo around her and she takes a shaky breath when his black boots come into view.

“Look at me, doll. I wanna see those pretty eyes.”

His voice is commanding, authoritative. It drew her in, made her head spin.

She looks up at him with wide eyes as he bends down on a knee.

“Were you trying to rile me up? Trying to make me angry?”

She nods.

Bucky roughly grabs her chin, cold metal digging into her cheeks.

“Use your words.”

“Y-yes Sergeant.” She squeaks.

He stares down at her, anger and lust in his eyes.

“Open your mouth.”

Her lips part and Bucky spits, letting his saliva pool on her tongue.

His fingers press on her chin, closing her mouth. She swallows, heat burning in her tummy.

“So now, you want to be a good girl, huh?”

He picks her up by her neck and shoves her face into the soft mattress. His fingers loop around the elastic waistband of her panties and pull, the fabric digging into her cunt.

“Yes, I’m your good girl.” She whines. “I’ll be good. Promise.”

He leans in close, his warm breath brushing over her ear.

“I don’t believe you.”

He rears his metal hand against her ass, leaving a red handprint of her skin.

A choked breath leaves her lips. She relishes in the pain and gives him a cocky smile.

“Is that all you got Sarge?”

He lands another hard smack, this time on her thigh. A whimper escapes her lips.

“Oh, you’re really asking for it, aren’t you?”

He shifts his hand on her neck, wrapping it around the front of her neck. She squeezes at the sides, slowing the circulation of blood to her head.

She opens her mouth to speak, but the hand on her throat stops the words from leaving her lips.

The clinking of his belt buckle sends a wave of lust through her.

She was finally getting what she wanted.

His hand on her neck is released and she takes in a sharp breath.

He pulls her panties down her legs and throws them to the side.

She gasps at the feeling of cold metal rubbing between her folds. Her fingers dig into the sheets, grabbing at the fabric.

“You’re practically dripping.” He muses, “Who knew you were such a masochist?”

“Only for you.” She keens.

“Only for me? Not for anyone else?”

“Yes! Yes! Only you!”

Bucky hums and lands another smack on her ass. She yelps and tears threaten to spill from her eyes.

He shoves two fingers inside of her and she gasps at the cool feeling of the metal.

She squirms around as he twists his fingers, pressing against that spot inside of her.

Hunger swarms her brain. She wanted, no, needed more.

What he’s doing is sadistic, she thinks. Constantly bringing her to the edge, but never letting her tip over.

He lets his thumb press against her clit and the tears she’s been trying to hold back spill over. She lets out a quiet sob into the sheets but Bucky doesn’t stop his movements.

“I need more.” She quietly whimpers.

“You think you have the right to beg?” He asks nonchalantly. “After that little show?”

“I’m sorry.” She cries.

Her eyes squeeze shut and she turns her head, letting her cheek rest on the bedsheets. When she glances up, she can see Bucky’s amused smirk.

She feels the tip of his cock pressing against her entrance and she holds her breath.

“Oh doll,” he coos, thumbing away her tears, “You’re so pretty when you cry.”

A sudden thrust of his hips buries his cock inside of her. Bucky clamps his hand over her lips, muffling her desperate cries.

“Shh, shh,” He whispers gently. “It’s okay, love. Be a good girl and take it.”

He starts moving, his hips slowly thrusting into her. The fire inside of her burns, hotter and hotter. Her head is reeling as she feels herself come closer to her impending orgasm. Despite how rough he is with her, she feels safe. Safe with him. She feels safe enough to fall into submission, open and pliant for him.

Her sobs against his hand become louder, more intense and he bends down to nip at her neck.

“Are you gonna cum, angel? Cum all over my cock?”

She nods, eyes squeezed shut.

“Do you think you deserve it?” He asks.

“No,” she mumbles against his hand. “But I want to.”

He brushes his fingers down the length of her back and she shivers.

“You wanna cum, doll? Ask nicely.”

He releases his hand and grabs her hip, pulling her deeper onto his cock.

“Please.” She gasps. “Please, let me cum!”

“You have to do better than that.”

“Please, I’ll be so good for you! I’ll never flirt with anyone again! Just please! Please, I wanna cum.”

He picks up his pace, and she finds it harder to stave off her orgasm.

“So polite.” He hums, “But not yet.”

She lets out a pathetic sob.

“Please.” She whimpers.

“Be patient. You’ll get to cum soon.”

Her breaths are shallow as she tries to keep herself from cumming. She bites down on her lower lip but the pain does little to help.

Relief washes over her when Bucky speaks again.

“You’ve been such a good girl for me. Come on angel, cum for me.”

Her teeth bite down on the sheets as she’s hurtles over the edge, her orgasm sending shockwaves through her body.

As her chest heaves and her mind becomes foggy, she can barely feel Bucky pull out and releases him cum on her back.

She lies there, upper half sprawled over the mattress, a dopey smile on her face. A hum of pleasure slips past her lips when Bucky wipes his cum away with a warm washcloth.

“You okay, doll?” He asks.

She nods her head.

The bed shifts as he sits on the bed and pulls her towards him.

“Come on,” He lies down and pulls her close to him. He noses at the back of her shoulder. “Get some rest.”

The sun was about to set, bathing their bodies in a golden glow. He runs his metal fingers over her bicep, cooling down her heated skin.

She’s tired, so tired. Yet she’s happy. The first time in a long time that she’s actually felt happy.

“Bucky?” She asks in a fucked out daze.

“Yes my angel?”

A moment of silence passes.

“You’re the only one who’s made me feel human.”

...

Once again, tysm @sojournmichael for reading over my little snippets of writing!

#bucky x female reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes smut #tfatws #bucky fanfic

84 notes · View notes

firstofficerwiggles · 3 years

Text

Only for You

Pairing: Mandalorian x female reader

Rating: G

Warnings: None

Summary: You like to sing and it ends up bringing you closer to the Mandalorian. Events take place sometime between Seasons 1 and 2. It’s pretty much fluff with a teeny bit of story.

Word Count: ~4600

Author’s Note: Inspired by the Adele version of Make You Feel My Love, I use several of the lyrics in the story but I did make one small change to make it fit the SW universe. Also in my SW universe, all Earth music is readily available by some magical means, don’t overthink it.

P.S. To everyone I tagged, I did a presumptive tag here since you were on my list for Dress Code and I thought maybe you’d enjoy reading this too? I’m sorry if you aren’t interested and just let me know if you don’t want to be tagged for any future works.

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

The soft sounds of you singing to the child drift through the Razor Crest up to the cockpit making Din smile under his helmet. Ever since you came aboard to be the caregiver for his little foundling, life has been filled with music and boisterous sounds. It’s a nice change from the lonely silences that previously filled his days. He never really listened to music when he was alone, it just wasn’t something he was used to, but now he knows he would miss it if you weren’t singing all the time.

“Heeey, hey baby, I wanna know-ow-ow, if you’ll be my guy.” You sing to the child causing him to giggle and coo at you. You swear he is even bopping his head along to the rhythm of the song. You’re preparing the evening meal, dancing around the Crest’s hull and singing to your little green charge as you do. Thank goodness Mando doesn’t mind how much you sing and generally create a ruckus in the ship. From outward appearances, your primary worry should have been Mando’s dangerous lifestyle and the bounty on the child, but honestly, when you first started this job, your primary concern was about being way too noisy for the taciturn bounty hunter. You feel like you can’t help it though because you were raised in a loud household with three brothers where everyone was always talking, laughing, shouting, and generally being rowdy. Later, you were away at school living with hundreds of other students constantly surrounded by racket, the perfect environment for your noisy nature. Not to mention, you’ve always loved to sing and were known for being that one (slightly annoying) friend that was always humming a tune or breaking out in song like you were in a musical.

You were fortunate to be sent to a school with a great arts program and you relished your music classes. You had dreamed of someday being able to have a career in music, but as the war grew closer to your corner of the galaxy, those aspirations quickly faded. By the time you left school, you were lucky to find the odd teaching job as a tutor and the closest you’d come to having any sort of musical profession was singing and playing the piano at the local cantina a few times a week for tips. It had been fun for a while, but it wasn’t how you had envisioned your life. Playing the same requested songs night after night while increasingly drunk men hit on you loses its charm real fast. When your older brother, another bounty hunter, had told you about Mando needing some help with childcare, you had jumped at the opportunity for something new. So far it was proving to be the most rewarding job you’d ever had. Not only was the child unbelievably adorable, you’d also had the opportunity to travel to many new places and gain experiences that would have been impossible back on your home world. And while caring for the special alien baby was your main task, you found yourself helping out his father as much as you could too whether it was simply cleaning up around the Crest or making sure that Mando ate something on a given day. You had seen that he frequently put everyone above himself, going for long stretches of time without seeing to his own personal needs. He seemed to appreciate everything that you did for him, always quick to thank you even for the smallest of tasks.

You checked the timer on the food and saw that there were just a few more minutes until it would be ready. To keep the baby from getting fussy, you pick him up and spin him around a bit singing to him again, “So won’t you, please, be my, be my, be my little baby, my one and only baby...” It’s silly but you love singing songs to him with the word “baby” in them even if they aren’t traditionally songs for children. You are mid twirl with the child when you realize the Mandalorian has come down from the cockpit and is watching your little performance. You feel your cheeks heat up, a bit embarrassed that he has caught you being such a dork, but then he puts you at ease when he chuckles, “You two look like you’re having fun.”

“Yes, time for dinner and a little dancing,” you reply with a smile, twirling the child one more time causing him to erupt in happy giggles.

“Good, I’m starved,” Mando wanders over to the food, “Smells delicious. You’re too good to us.”

You put the baby back down and turn back to the little stove to dish out the stew you’ve made. You try not to think about the fact that you made this particular dish because Mando seems to like it so much. You couldn’t be certain but it looked like he licked the bowl clean the last time you made it. Mando moves to take his bowl up to the cockpit so he can remove his helmet and eat in privacy, but then turns to you to say, “I’ll let you know when it’s ok to come up for lullaby time.”

Ah yes, lullaby time, as if you would ever forget. It is the highlight of your day, and you would love to imagine that the same is true for Mando even though he’s never given any indication of the kind. When you first started this job, you had tried to give the Mandalorian as much space as possible not wanting to pester him in any way. As much as you could, you had stayed out of the cockpit treating it as his own private domain. So the first few times you put the child to bed, you stayed down in the hull as you sang him a few songs to help ease the little womp rat into sleep. But, after a few evenings alone like that, Mando had managed to be downstairs, tinkering away at little odd jobs while you put the baby to bed. At first you didn’t really think he was paying much attention to your singing, but by about the fourth night you realized he had been cleaning the same blaster over and over, and you began to suspect that he was listening to you as intently as the child. A few days later, he suggested that you come up to the cockpit for the child’s nighttime routine, saying “Maybe looking out at the stars will help him feel sleepy.” You had agreed, but, you had to admit, that it was more because you were curious about spending more time with your employer than finding a way to help the little one fall asleep faster. Mando had been the one to coin the term “lullaby time” as a way to let you know that his helmet was back on and he was ready for company. Your heart almost melted the first time he said it, and now you lived to hear him call down to say “Ok, you two, it’s lullaby time.”

In the cockpit, Din is gulping down his dinner. He knows he should probably slow down, savor his food a bit more, but truthfully he’s eager to spend more time with you and the child. He’s thought about staying down below with you both when he eats, but tipping the helmet up each time he wants to take a bite of food or a sip of a drink is a pain and he can’t risk the chance that one of you will see too much of his face. Din would never admit it out loud, but lullaby time is his favorite part of the day. It’s the one time he gets to spend time with you and the child just relaxing and enjoying your presence. Plus the fact that he gets to listen to your beautiful voice is a special bonus. At first Din would just watch you hold the child and sing to him, but now he’s a more active participant, often taking the child into his arms, rocking him gently as you sing to the both of them. He’s even started to ask you more about the songs you sing and where you learned them. It’s been a nice way to start conversations with you, to know more about you, something else he is eager to do.

When Mando calls down to you, you beam down at the baby and tell him happily that it’s time to get ready for bed. Scooping him up, you climb the ladder to the cockpit and you can see Mando already holding out his arms for the little one. You adore how affection this hardened warrior can be with his adopted son. You settle in the co-pilot’s chair as you start to sing some of your favorite songs. They’re all love songs, not really lullabies, but they are soft and dreamy and create the right mood for the evening. You’ve sung about four songs when you notice the child’s eyes are closed and you can tell he’s almost asleep. You’re about ready to collect him from Mando so you can put him into his pram for the night, when Mando asks, “What’s that song you sing about feel my love?”

“Make You Feel My Love?” you ask, “Is that the one you mean?”

“Yeah,” he replies, “you didn’t sing it tonight.”

It’s not exactly a request, but you understand what he’s hinting at. He’s asked you the name before, so you suspect he remembers the song fairly well. Even though the child is practically asleep now, you sing it for Mando, feeling touched that he must enjoy this particular song to want to ask about it.

When the rain is blowing in your face

And the whole world is on your case

I could offer you a warm embrace

To make you feel my love

When the evening shadows and the stars appear

And there is no one there to dry your tears

I could hold you for a million years

To make you feel my love

Din listens to the beautiful words and the haunting melody as your voice sings to him about all the ways you would show him that you care. He watches your lovely face as you sing and he imagines that you really mean what you are singing, that you’re singing it just to him, that you really would do all of that for him. When you get to the line I could make you happy, make your dreams come true he feels his heart lurch at the truth in those words, knowing how much you already make him happy every day and acknowledging that if you were ever truly with him, it would be like a dream come true for him. As the song ends, he sighs, both contented at hearing it but also saddened to come back to reality. Din won’t let himself believe that a woman like you could ever really love him so unconditionally. His life is too turbulent, full of violence and hardship, and what woman would want to saddle herself with that?

Even though you’re not privy to Mando’s true feelings, you somehow feel that you could tell how much he enjoyed hearing that song and so after that evening, you are sure to sing it as the last song every night. Usually the child is already fast asleep when you sing it, so each time it becomes clearer to you that you really are singing it just for Mando. As the days and week progress, lullaby time has come to be followed by conversation time since you have taken to returning to the cockpit after putting the child to sleep in his pram. At first you mostly spoke about your own life, answering Mando’s questions about where you learned to sing, what else you learned at school, and what life was like with your three crazy brothers. Yet, little by little he has begun to tell you about his own past, sharing stories about his training in the Mandalorian fighting corps and his earlier years as a bounty hunter.

The more you find out about Mando, the more you’ve come to develop real feelings for him. So when you sing that there’s nothing that you wouldn’t do for him, that you want him to feel your love, you know you really mean it. If only you could bring yourself to tell him in your own words, and not only in the song. Nonetheless, if you’re honest with yourself, you have no indication that Mando shares your feelings even slightly. While he does seem to enjoy spending time with you, and clearly he likes Make You Feel My Love, truthfully he could be thinking about anyone when you sing it or it could be that he just likes the music and the company, it’s not like there’s someone else here. Sure he’s always polite and kind towards you, but he’s like that with lots of people, as long as they’re not a threat. You’ve seen how quickly he can make friends, despite being an intimidating wall of metal, his quiet charm and respectfulness draws people to him in an unassuming manner. Perhaps you’re simply another friendly admirer swept up by his intriguing aura. So you do your best to keep these feeling to yourself, maintaining as neutral an expression as you can when you sing to him and doing your utmost not to embarrass yourself by sharing too much and potentially ruining the friendly companionship you’ve managed to cultivate.

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

“I don’t think this will take too long, and you two can probably get something to eat while we’re here.” You and the child have accompanied Mando to a cantina on an icy planet where he has a meeting with a potential client. It was too cold to stay on the Razor Crest with its meager heating system, and thankfully this place is warm and doesn’t seem too seedy. The bar top looks well-polished and there’s even a piano in here, hinting at a nicer atmosphere than most of the hole-in-the wall joints you’ve been to with Mando. The only unsettling thing is how everyone in the cantina is staring at your odd little group, the silver warrior, the alien baby in his floating pram, and you, the woman looking about with curious eyes. You have never quite gotten used to the way that Mando can silence an entire room just by entering it, but he seems unperturbed by the stares. He spots his client, an older looking gentleman, and moves toward that direction, but a group of patrons have decided to intervene first.

“What’s your business here, Mandalorian?” A tall, florid-faced man demands. He seems to be the unofficial leader of the group, as the rest of them are looking to him as the voice of authority.

“It’s not with you.” Mando is never one to mince words.

“We don’t need you coming in here and causing trouble, I’ve seen how you Mandos get.” A much shorter man, with clearly a death wish, sticks his finger towards Mando’s chest plate almost poking him.

“Not here for trouble.” Mando’s voice sounds gruffer than usual and it sends a shiver down your spine.

“Well you Mandos never drink in public, so what are you doing in a cantina?” The short man sneers at him and ugh, the way he makes Mandos sound like a dirty word irritates you to no end.

Not one to be baited into confrontation, Mando says nothing in reply, but merely tilts his helmet at the man, and you can feel the annoyance in his gesture.

“This a decent place for decent people, so why don’t you just turn around and get out of here?” The tall man suggests with a malicious tone to his voice. This place might look at little nicer, but the patrons sure are nasty. You look around and see more men standing up, and the tension in the room is palpable. You know Mando could really use the work, but the last thing he needs is to get into a fight just trying to land the job.

You have no idea what possesses you, but before you know it you’re saying “But if we leave now, you won’t get to hear me sing!” And you stride confidently over to the piano, plop yourself down on the bench, and begin playing out a jaunty song, a popular tune from your cantina back home. Despite the fact that everyone is now staring at you like you have lost your mind, you press ahead and start singing as if this was always the point of being there. You smile brightly at the room as if you are having the time of your life performing for them. Magically, your ridiculous ploy works and the men back off, a bit startled at first by the abrupt change in energy in the room, but as they beginning listening to you sing their animosity seems to drain away. Several other patrons are nodding their heads along with the music and light conversation picks up again. Mando gives you a small nod before finally making his way over to the client. You let the music flow and continue on to another song, keeping everyone’s attention on you. By the third song you feel more relaxed and grateful that you’re able to help Mando out in this way. A waiter comes over from the bar with a drink for you as you end a song, “That was smooth, what you did,” he gives you a little wink.

“Hope your boss doesn’t mind,” you say with a smile.

“The drink’s from him, he said he didn’t realize I hired a singer for tonight, but he’s real pleased with you.” He gestures to the man tending bar.

“That’s good,” is all you can think to say in response.

“Do you know She’s Always a Woman?” he asks. You nod smoothly and start the song and you glance over at the bartender again and see that he’s smiling widely, must be a favorite of his.

After that, a tip jar finds its way over to the piano and patrons come up to add to it and make their own requests, even the tall man comes over to give you a few credits and ask for a song. His cronies are now back to their drinks and none of them even seem to register that Mando is still here. The more you sing, the more you get into the fun of performing for a crowd again, making them forget their troubles and letting them take some time to enjoy themselves. When you glimpse towards Mando and his client, they also seem to appreciate the music. The client has a happy smile on his face and while you obviously can’t see Mando’s expression, his relaxed posture indicates an improvement from earlier. He doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave for once either.

Looking at the pleased faces and jovial manner about the cantina now, Din is impressed with how you managed to transform this place from hostile to welcoming in a matter of minutes. The client appreciated your help too as he was worried about hiring a bounty hunter in the first place, never having had a need for such services before. Fortunately, the client’s explanation of the job was fairly straightforward and it looks to be an easy bounty. Din is careful to repeat back all of the pertinent details to the client and the man seems satisfied in his abilities to find the quarry, which is good because his usual laser-like focus has abandoned him and he can’t stop himself from glancing repeatedly over to the piano and you. Normally, Din wouldn’t hang around and socialize with the client, but the opportunity to see you perform like this is too good to pass up. He knew you were talented after hearing you sing for him and the baby for so many evenings, but seeing you shine like this is a luxury. Din watches keenly as different emotions play across your gorgeous face as you shift from happy, upbeat songs to the more expressive and dramatic love songs. You are always beautiful to Din, but seeing you like this is special, like you’re glowing from within and it makes you all the more precious to him. He’s not crazy about the fact that you’ve clearly captivated at least half of the men in the room with your beauty and talent, but he knows you’re leaving here with him and it makes him feel rather smug. As Din listens to you sing a love song about how you think about the man you love night and day, he indulges in a fantasy where the song is about the two of you, especially when you sing about spending your life making love to him. It’s easy to imagine especially when you keep looking over at him with such an outright flirtatious expression during the song.

Under the guise of performing, you let yourself look at Mando with all of the desire and love you’ve been keeping under wraps for so long now. You’re careful to let your eyes roam around the room, flirting with the other patrons too, but every time you turn back towards Mando you let your gaze soften a bit more. As the evening wears on, you let yourself sing all of your favorite love songs, telling Mando how you feel with each one, promising that you’ll love him forever, that you’ll never let him go, and how he’s the only one for you. You know you’re just pretending that he understands why you’re singing each one, that they’re all for him. The only song you can’t bring yourself to sing is Make You Feel My Love. It seems too personal, too private to perform in front of all these strangers.

The crowd at the cantina starts to thin out and you know you’ve been here much longer than Mando originally planned. You decide it’s time to bring this interlude to an end and thank your audience for their attention, playing one last song to say good night. When the music ends, you stand and take a small bow to the round of applause. You collect your tips and an additional unexpected payment from the bartender, along with several requests to come back again soon. Mando is back at your side and he places a hand at the small of your back guiding you out the door and into the snowy night. You expect him to pull away once you are out of the crowd, but he stays close to you.

“Thank you for that impromptu performance.” He deep voice rumbles in your ear as you head back to the Razor Crest, “It was a welcome distraction from those idiots and I appreciated not having to get into a bar brawl.”

“Anything to lend you a helping hand,” you reply warmly.

He nods, and then says, “You’re really very talented. You could do well for yourself, singing full time in a nice cantina or a casino somewhere.”

“Tonight was fun enough, but I’ve had my time singing in a cantina, it gets old faster than you think,” you tell him, “besides why would I give up the best job in the galaxy?”

“The best job in the galaxy?” Mando scoffs a little at that.

“Sure it is! I get to travel around all over seeing all kinds of planets and people, take care of the most adorable magic baby ever, and spend time with his amazing father.” Oops, did you just say that last part out loud?

Mando is quiet for a beat, but then he says, “You’re the amazing one.”

You’re too shocked to say anything more than a mumbled, “Thanks” and hurry towards the Crest.

Once aboard you check on the baby, but he’s already asleep, so all you do is tuck his blanket around him a little more and then climb up to the cockpit where Mando is readying the controls for take-off. Even though you’re still a bit embarrassed by your unplanned compliment earlier, his response has made you curious. You sit quietly as you leave the planet’s atmosphere and the ship makes the jump to hyperspace, the whole time racking your brain for the right words so that maybe you can finally give Mando a clue about your feelings. You’re about to give up, when he says, “You didn’t sing Make You Feel My Love tonight.”

“Ah, no, no I didn’t.” Maker, you want to tell him why, but the words are frozen in your throat.

“That’s my favorite song.” Mando finally admits to you.

“I thought it might be,” you say, “that’s why I sing it every night.”

“But not tonight?”

You take a deep breath. He’s giving you the perfect opportunity and you gather all your courage as you tell him, “It felt too personal to share such an intimate song with all of those people. When- when I sing that song, your song, it’s only for you.”

“My song?” You swear his voice gets deeper when he tries to clarify what you mean.

“Yes, that’s how I think of it now.” You look at his visor where you think his eyes must be, trying to silently confess to him what that song means to you.

“My song.” Mando repeats, before asking, “Do you know why it’s my favorite?”

“No, I- I really don’t. I just knew you liked it when you asked me about it a couple times.”

He’s quiet again for a moment and you wonder if he’s going to elaborate when he finally says, “It’s my favorite song because I imagine that you really mean what you’re singing, that you’re singing it to me for real.”

“I am singing it to you for real,” you finally confess, “I mean every word each time I sing it for you.”

“You are? And you do?” Mando seems genuinely surprised, “How- How is that possible?”

You smile at him and because you feel like you might as well go for it, you stand up coming closer to him and then you reach down and take his hands in yours, “It’s possible because you’re such a wonderful man, you treat me with respect, you’re kind, you let me be my annoying, loud self as much as I want--”

“I don’t think you’re annoying,” he interjects.

“And see, that, right there, you always make me feel good, you just make me glad to be around you, it’s one of the many reasons why I fell in love with you, why I am in love with you.” The words come tumbling out of your mouth and your chest feels tight, but then he squeezes your hands.

“I’m in love with you too, have been for a while,” he says softly. Then he tugs you closer to him until you’re sitting in his lap with his arms around you. He holds you close to his chest, and you can’t imagine how this could be any better, until you hear his rich baritone voice sing the last lines of the song to you,

I could make you happy, make your dreams come true

Nothing that I wouldn’t do

Go to the ends of the universe for you

To make you feel my love

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

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it.

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged for any future fics!

Tag list: @sleepwithacommunist @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @rueblogsthings @mackycat11 @tv-zepeda @remmyswritings @mudhornchronicles @boomtownboy @mandosboobiez @hoodjarin @haley7242

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x female reader #din djarin #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x female reader

81 notes · View notes

forever-rogue · 4 years

Note

How about a fix where Mando fell in love with a princess that had a bounty on her. Reader can be badass like Leia (bless May Carrie Fisher Rest In Paradise)

Mandalorian Masterlist

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Did you really think you were just going to outrun me?” there was a tone of amusement in the bounty hunter’s voice as he loomed in front of you, leaving you trapped between him and the wall of the building. There were two options, you quickly realized, and neither of them were particularly good. One – you try and dash past him, ducking under one of his arms and hoping you’d outrun him this time, or two – you could surrender and turn yourself in and go with him. The second option definitely didn’t like fun, and the first was a risky option at best and most likely would fail. So, instead you remained in front of him, tilting your head to the side and giving him a smile you hoped was as sweet as honey.

“I mean yeah, that was the intended plan,” you admitted, shrugging innocently, “after all, what kind of bounty hunter goes after an innocent young lady?”

“You’re not so innocent, Princess,” he sighed at you and almost weren’t able to hold back the giggles that bubbled up. Up close and personal when he was like this, he didn’t seem so bad, not like the fearsome Mandalorian that you were told to expect. Maybe it was because you weren’t fighting him…you’d just run for life when he approached you. You’d managed to evade other bounty hunters for quite a while now and you knew it was only a matter of time before the best was sent after you, “you’ve got a handsome bounty on your head.”

“Oh? Is that so?” you feigned innocence, giving him the best doe eyes you could managed as you stared straight into the spot where his eyes would be, “you must have me mistaken for someone else. I’m just-”

“Save the speech,” he told you as the sound of approaching footfalls reached your ears. More. How many people did it take to bring in one of you? You hadn’t even done anything…not anything bad technically. A large looking thug started walking up behind the Mandalorian, blaster pointed at the two of, “I’m not mistaken. We both know I’m not.”

“Ugh, hate to cut you short, but there is a large and scary looking man coming up behind you,” you jerked your head in his direction, but the Mandalorian was unphased. There was a feeling in your gut that told you this guy wasn’t messing around, “look, I’m not trying to shake you or anything, but he looks pissed.”

He remained silent, crossing his arms over his chest as you started to panic. Almost without thinking, you reached for the blaster in his holster and grabbed it, aiming it over his shoulder. You had just enough him to shove him out of the way and dodge the blast that skimmed by your shoulder as you shot the incoming bounty hunter dead in his tracks. You let out a shaky breath as the blaster dropped from your hands and you leaned against the rough rock wall, your chest rising and falling rapidly. The Mandalorian had barely had time to process what had happened, reaching down and picking up the discarded blaster and looking between you and dead man.

“I told you I wasn’t lying,” you managed to let out between your rattled breathing, “have you considered getting your hearing checked?”

“Thank you,” was all he said as he reached for the cuffs in his pocket. You sighed and rolled your eyes at him, raising an eyebrow as if to say seriously? After a few moments when he didn’t budge you begrudgingly obliged, limply holding up your wrists. He slapped the cuffs on, leaving them loose enough to where if you really wanted to escape you could, “let’s go.”

“I think this is a little dramatic,” you groaned as he put a hand on your shoulder and started leading you away, “besides I just saved your life and this is how you repay me?”

“I have a job to do,” was all he said, a stoic tone creeping into his voice. The rest of the walk back to his ship was silent, but there was something about the way he gripped your shoulder. Tight, but not too tight…just right.

»»————-　♡　————-««

He presented to be an enigma; both gentle and kind and yet stoic and stern. He'd led you onto his ship with few words, bringing you into the cockpit with him and sitting you in the copilot's seat, silently removing the handcuffs. You thanked him quietly, pulling your knees up to your chest and resting your head on them. Part of you wanted to fight him, to try and escape but you knew it was useless. Your time was up and your fate was sealed.

He was quiet for a while, focused on the piloting the ship, but you could tell he was itching to say something. He stole glances at you every once in a while, thinking you wouldn't notice. But you did; you were hyper aware of everything at moment.

"You might as well spit it out," you finally said as you turned to him, playing with the a loose lock of hair that had escaped your bun, "we've got nothing else to do right now."

"The bounty on your head," he said as he turned to you, swiveling in chair and facing you, "why is it so large?"

"Don't you know?" you almost scoffed at him, wondering if he was honest or just trying to see if you'd lie.

"I never ask. I just do the job," he answered and you nodded. It made sense: less information was less attachment. It made the job easier.

"I ran away from home last year," you admitted, finding it hard to meet his helmeted gaze, "they've been looking for me since."

"You ran away from a life of privilege and leisure," he stated, not even asking as you rolled your eyes.

"It was hardly a life of pleasure," you sighed, "yes, I had the things I desired and needed, but that was it. I wasn't even a person to them, a commodity to be used however they wanted. My father was insistent on my marriage to a man twice my age, who only wanted me to bear him a son. He made it no secret, especially since he'd publicly disposed of and shamed several wives before me. My father didn't care, he wanted to secure trade."

"Oh," was the only response from the Mandalorian as he watched you, feeling a pang in his chest as you dabbed at your eyes with your sleeve. You bit your lip and nodded, raising an eyebrow, "so you left. You've learned to defend yourself well."

"Of course I left. I would rather die than be married to a man I do not love that only wants one thing. I will do no man's bidding," you explained, a hardened glint in your eye as he listened to every word intently, "things were better before my mother died. She loved me, tried to raise me to be my own person. She was a skilled warrior, taught me everything I know. She would have been horrified to know what was happening, but my father turned into."

"I lost my parents too," he said suddenly, surprising himself with how easily he trusted with such personal information, "it changes you."

"Yes," you agreed, just now noticing how close you were to him, his knees brushing against yours, "so I left and decided to do the one thing that makes me happy."

"Which is?" he was gentle now and for a few moments it almost didn't seem like he was hunter and you were prey, just two friends talking.

"Helping others," you gave him a smile small, "there's so many children without parents in the Outer Rim, so I've been helping at places that take them in. It's not much but its something. My mother always told me it was important for us to give back...why should we have everything and they have nothing? It never seemed fair, so when I left I knew what I had to do."

"I think that's a very noble thing to do," the pang in his chest was followed by a weird feeling in his stomach. Were those butterflies? He wasn't sure what it was, but there was something about you that he was inexplicably drawn to.

"It doesn't matter anymore," you shrugged at him before standing up and turning to leave. He stopped you by ending grabbing your wrist in a gloved hand, his touch more gentle than you would have imagined, "what is it?"

"If you could go anywhere in the galaxy where would you go?" he asked, surprising you as you turned to him with a curious expression on your face.

"I've always wanted to see Naboo," you admitted, "I've heard its beautiful there."

"Set back down, Rebel Princess," you could tell there was a smile in his voice as he turned his head towards the seat next to him.

"What!?"

"We'll go on an adventure," he stated simply and you plopped back down into the seat.

"Before I go to my doom?"

"No," he promised, watching as the smile spread across your face. He already knew he was never going to get tired of seeing that, "you're not going back."

"They'll put a bounty on your head too," you told him, making sure he was fully aware of the choice he was making.

"I can handle it," he promised as you relaxed in the seat, staring at the stars outside.

"Why?" you asked as you turned back to him, "I'm just...me. One insignificant person."

"I don't know," he admitted, turning to you, "but you are definitely not insignificant. Everyone matters."

"As do you," you reminded me, reaching over and giving his forearm a light touch, "thank you. Seriously."

"There's nothing to thank me for, Princess," he said as he watched your hand, partly wishing you wouldn't remove it.

"Y/N. Please just call me Y/N," you insisted, "and should I call you Mando then? Everyone seems keen on calling you that."

"Din," he responded quietly, almost finding it weird to say his own name out loud. He hadn't shared it with anyone else in a long time, but he felt compelled to tell you, he knew you were trustworthy, "Din Djarin."

"Thank you for saving me Din Djarin. You were my only hope. My savior."

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #star wars #din djarin #din djarin x reader #dyn jarren #dyn jarren x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader

623 notes · View notes

adventuresloane · 3 years

Text

The Wanted (Revised Hurloane Fic) -- Ch. 7

“They had nearly as many names as they had stories told about them. Ram. Raven. Red. Devil. Deputy. Outlaw. Short ‘n Long. Ghosts of the Rapids.”

Hurley’s a bounty hunter, the Raven is an outlaw, and the desert is a lonely place.

(The 50k+ Old West Hurloane AU Where Hurley Becomes A Thief Too that no one asked for. Updates every Friday. Edited and reposted from an old version of the story–more significant changes to come in later chapters. T for non-graphic violence and discussions of death/injury/trauma.)

Read on AO3

Other Chapters

Both of them reached town by the following night, after seeing the steady approach of the buildings in front of them for hours. They all looked the same. It seemed, somehow, that they should have changed, since everything else had in the meantime.

Hurley had told her that they had some supplies they could give her before they left, if she wanted them. It sort of shocked them when she agreed to wait. Nobody's around, she'd said, and even if they were, there aren't many who'd know me at a glance without the mask on. If you can sneak me in, I'm there.

Nevertheless, she insisted on waiting right inside their little house while they gathered the stuff, presumably so she could ensure that they wouldn’t sneak out and call on anybody to come and catch her. They couldn’t expect a complete lack of doubt, after all.

When they had everything, they came out to find Sloane with her hands tucked beneath her arms, shifting on her feet. "Hi. Are you feeling okay?"

"Good as I can be, I'd say. This is sort of a den of vipers I'm in here." She grinned at her laconic way, but her gaze kept flicking to the windows like a trapped insect flying into the glass. Even in the poor light, they shone, alert. She was ready to bolt into the night and evaporate into the blackness outside, if needed.

"You're gonna be alright. No one's even around this time of night, usually."

"Yeah. I mean, it's fine, it's not like I'm..." Sloane trailed off as she looked into the pouch that Hurley had passed her. "Holy shit, how much did you give me?"

"Kind of a lot. I hope you can carry it all."

She pulled out the lantern by its heavy metal ring to look at it, wide-eyed. "I can't take all this. It's yours, isn't it?"

Hurley shrugged. "I got my house here. And the general store and even my neighbors. I can get whatever I need. You're gonna be out in the middle of nowhere for gods-know-how-long. I want you to be ready."

With a scoff, she said, "I've been alright out there with far less, believe me." She looked down, in thought. Suddenly she appeared still, really still, rather than simply poised to flee. Then she turned to Hurley, and there was that soft glance again. She looked bared. "But...but thank you. And hey, something to remember you by, yeah?"

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" they asked with a smirk.

"Well, truth be told, I'm not sure I could make myself forget any of this if I wanted to."

"I don't think I want to. I'll..." They rubbed their neck. It wouldn't do either of them any good to say they would miss her. Thrusting their regrets out into the open would change nothing. "I just hope you're going to be alright out there."

"Desert's where I've always done best," she said with a small shrug. "I'd rather be out there than in a town that wants me dead."

"Right. You sure I can't...put you up somehow? I could hide you at my place for a couple days. Just to recover, after the time we've had."

"Nah, much too risky." Her chest heaved with a breath, and then suddenly her grin returned. "But hey, that truce of ours can only last so long, huh? Might run into you again one of these days when you're trying to catch me."

"Oh, so you're scared of me now?"

"Given that you're almost the only one who's managed to lasso me so far? Think I have a right to be."

Hurley chuckled, then bit their lip. "I mean, I hope at this point you know I wouldn't do that to you again. I...the truce doesn't have an expiration date, you know?"

"Well, we'll see."

For another moment, they stared at her solemn profile, turned toward the outside. Soft streaks of bright moonlight touched the smooth curves of her cheekbones and prominent nose. It softened her edges, made them vague. It seemed that at any moment her form could fade from view altogether, become just as intangible as the light. All of her was precious, something Hurley hardly ever had a hope of seeing again in their lifetime. The thought made them weak in the way that hunger made them weak, a scraping at the lining of their belly from the inside.

Before they could dwell on the feeling, she took one step forward. Hurley waited. They felt like they might frighten her off if they made a move. Sure enough, when she didn't see them move, she raised her hand in the air, then brought it down gently onto their shoulder.

Nothing happened.

After several moments of silence, they finally cocked an eyebrow at her. She said, "Um." They felt increasingly hot despite the falling evening temperature as she gave them a couple little pats on the shoulder. "Take...take care of yourself, alright?"

They laughed lightly. "Oh, Sloane..." They paused, then put their hand over hers and squeezed lightly. "I wish nothing but the best for you, you know that?"

"Yeah, alright." Her mouth was practically pressed into her shoulder. "So...bye, then?"

"Yes."

Both of them stood there.

After a beat, Sloane seemed to remember something suddenly and pulled her hand away. "Right, uh, I'll just--"

It didn't happen grandly. There was just the unassuming sound of pebbles in the street skittering under the leather of a shoe, hardly louder than a whisper. It would have been wholly unremarkable were it not the only sound aside from that of their own voices. They whipped around and took a moment to comprehend the situation now in front of them, materialized out of the darkened alleyway. There was a slight figure, and his gun was pointed Hurley's way, and they were almost startled for their own sake before they realized that he was aiming high.

Lil' Jerry looked at Sloane like a kid would look at some fantastic zoo animal.

"Geez," he said slowly. His nasal voice was full of the same wonder that they saw in his eyes. "I heard you were pretty bold, Raven, but coming back here is so stupid I've gotta be impressed."

Sloane's hands scraped against the wooden wall at her back. It seemed that she intended to claw into it, searching for a way to secure herself to the hard facade. The muscles in her jaw moved and bulged. She said nothing. There was that same look in her eye from a few weeks and a world ago, when she was a different person to them and they were a different person to themself. She looked as she had when they had first caught her, in the raw moment when she was open as a new wound before hardening. She was made of fear, as, they now knew, she had been then.

Jerry flicked his head toward Hurley, then, as though they had just popped into existence in front of him. "You're alive?"

That was a good question. Was this really happening? Judging by the way their hot heart was trying to drill its way straight out of their ribcage, it seemed so.

"You know, you could've just brought her to the jail," he said, sounding irritated. "I dunno how the hell you managed to drag her back here, but you might quit playing the hero now and trying to do everything yourself. You know, I wouldn't have even come to help if I hadn't seen the lamp on in your win--"

"What are you doing here?" they blurted. "How did you even...did Bane come back with--"

"Bane? You know as well as I do that that man's got a hide like an elephant. Nothing could kill him, hardly." He shook his head. "You know, he wanted to go back and look for you after that storm. We managed to convince him he was crazy, given he could hardly breathe after we got caught out in it." As if on cue, he coughed.

"He's alive," Hurley whispered, thinking it was to themself. "He's here." Then, quickly, they looked over at Sloane and found her looking right back at them, taking her eyes off the gun for the first time.

"He is, no thanks to you." He had already grown bored with Hurley, it seemed. He was turned away from them again, and the curl came back to his lip. He took a few steps toward Sloane. "Listen, I'll make you a deal. I let you have all the credit for bringing her back, so long as Bane knows I'm the one who actually brought her to the jail." He was right up against her now, and it was with a relaxed slowness that he pressed the barrel of his revolver up into the soft flesh just behind her chin, underneath the tongue. Her head tilted up until her neck was fully exposed and she looked down at him like a frantic mustang, flaring nostrils, white-eyed. She looked all around for an exit route but kept bringing her gaze back to the gun. They could feel the ice of the metal on their own skin like a phantom pain.

He pulled cuffs out from the back of his belt and the jangle of them was like frantic bells and this wasn't how it was supposed to go. The two of them hadn't traveled this far for it to end like this, and it would not, could not.

"S..." They started speaking before they knew what they were saying. Rattle of metal in their ears. "Stop it. Stop it!"

Then there was a single great bang and, next to Jerry's feet, a hole in the floor with a starburst of black around its edges. Sulphur-scented smoke got in their eyes.

She was staring at them. They tried not to look back. They focused on their line of sight as they stared down the barrel of their pistol at the man in front of them.

"Hi, Jerry," they said politely. "Yes, I'm alive alright. Do me a favor and drop that weapon, okay?"

He blinked. He blinked again. They couldn't really blame him. "What're you--"

"It's gonna be fine. Just back away from her."

"Why..." He looked between them and Sloane. They saw him thinking about turning the gun on them.

"Jerry," they said with a sigh, "don't. You know I'm quicker."

He did know. He shook his head fast to try and dislodge the knowledge. "You wouldn't--"

"I wouldn't?" They took one measured stride forward. Of course they wouldn't. It was all bluff. But all they needed was for him to believe it.

He didn't seem to, entirely. But there was more of fear than suspicion in him, more of an instinct to quit while he was ahead. That was one of the few things they'd always liked about him. It took him only half a second more to drop the gun and raise his hands.

"Thank you." They turned to her then. "Sloane, come here."

She took another slack-jawed moment to react, looked at him once, and then went over to Hurley. They pressed the grip of the gun into her hand. Her fingers were loose, and she nearly dropped it before pointing it at Jerry. Her form was terrible. They bound his wrists as she held the revolver on him.

They thought about dropping him inside their house, then thought better of it. They had to be sure someone would find him in the morning--they wouldn't have left him tied for days. So they dragged him the extra feet to the sheriff's office, where, amidst his cursing, they threatened some and apologized more and ultimately left him locked in a utility closet. Then they walked away so fast they might as well have been jogging, blew right past a waiting Sloane outside, and pressed their forehead against an outside wall in an attempt to cool it, wondering exactly what it was that they had just done.

"Hurley." Sloane's whisper was loud, full of urgency. "What was that? Why did you do that?"

"I don't know," they said from inside their hands. This was the aftermath of a dynamite blast. It had happened in a moment, and now there was no way to retrieve the fragments that had been scattered to the winds. No fixing this.

"You don't know?!" Sloane let out an incredulous huff. "Hurley, do you have any idea what you just did? To your whole life? Come sun-up, it's open season on you. Fuck, they even know what you look like." The longer she went on, the more she sounded almost angry. She kept making sweeping gestures with her hand at nothing in particular, at everything, at where "they" lurked. "Gods almighty, Hurley, they're gonna hunt you! They'll come after you with--with dogs--"

"I'm aware, Sloane!" they snapped back. "I've been 'them,' in case you forgot. I'm not an idiot."

"Well, shit, then what were you thinking?!"

"I..." They stopped. They hadn't thought, really. It had been like pulling their hand from a hot fire. There was no time to think about why they did it. They just knew they had to. It felt like self-preservation, even though it hadn't been themself they were protecting back there. "I guess I just got to liking you when you weren't in chains, and I didn't like the idea of you being back in them."

She visibly jolted, took a step back.

For awhile, neither of them said anything. Finally, they shrugged. "I just did what I thought was right."

Even her steps were hushed and gentle as she padded back over to them. She looked at them a long time. "You really did do that for me, didn't you?"

They chuckled a little ruefully. "Well, yeah. I don't think it's going to benefit me a whole lot, at least."

They saw the corner of her mouth lift by degrees. It was far more than her usual, tight-lipped, mischievous grin. She was open-mouthed and open. They had indeed done what they felt was right.

It lasted only a moment. She cleared her throat and said, "We've got to get you out of here."

"'We?'"

She had half-turned around, but paused to look back. "Well...if you're willing to come." More assertively, she went on, "Just so you could lie low for awhile, until the fuss around here dies down, and then, I don't know, figure out what to do as you go, I guess. Seems like kind of your M.O. Anyway, I got a bit of experience running from authorities, as you might recall, and my assumption is you could use some help with--"

"Sloane?"

"Yeah?"

They snorted, blinked away the hot prick in their eyes. "Of course. If you'll have me, of course." They went up to her, then stopped short. "Can I hug you?"

"Oh...fine, but fast. I want to move."

They did, and her arms stiffened as she wrapped theirs around her. But only a little.

She slid out of their grip before long. "I'm going to get ready to leave,” she muttered. “You get what you need. I’ll be back soon.”

"Sloane?" Hurley went to grab her hand as she turned away, but pulled back at the last minute, only brushing the thin fingers. "Be careful, alright?"

There was a snort in response. "You got a lot of fuckin' nerve telling me that, after that stunt of yours." But she could be seen smiling through the night.

What she had commanded them to do was easier said than done. They had a lifetime and then some of trinkets and heirlooms that they had brought back from their first home. None of them had value, because back then, right before they'd left, anything worth anything had had to be sold. Only the priceless things had been left untouched. These were what they had carried with them where they went, despite their weight.

They didn’t know how to prioritise. Everything was of equal worth to them. When they imagined leaving something behind, choosing their sister’s old doll over the tin-type of their mother, they imagined erasing the memory attached to the abandoned item. They couldn’t possibly prioritise their memories.

But Sloane would tell them that they couldn’t take all of it regardless. Sloane traveled light.

They came outside, bag full and eyes wet, to see her creeping their way with an already saddled horse.

"Did you steal that?"

"No, I wished upon a star."

"She's so pretty!" Hurley let the horse smell their hand and rubbed under her chin. "What's her name?"

"I tend not to name them. Sometimes I have to leave them behind with no notice. I don’t like getting attached.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway, you ready? Or do you need to do anything else?"

“I…” They gripped the strap of their bag until their knuckles hurt. “No. No, we have to leave.”

They were hardly on the horse’s back before Sloane started off. They went and went.

It astounded them when their head began to nod forward, at least as much as a person half-asleep was capable of being astounded. Being bounced in the saddle by the horse's trotting underneath them, with the thoughts of what they had just done nipping at their heels, they would have thought that the adrenaline would make them immune to exhaustion. But after maybe an hour of riding, the town that had been receding from them all this time had fallen off the edge of the earth, disappearing from the precipice of the horizon, so that they could believe it had never existed at all. They felt the swirl of thoughts in their mind finally condense and settle into something thick and heavy at the base of their skull, weighing them down. The dull thudding of hooves in the sand had the effect of waves washing up repeatedly, endlessly.

They must have begun to slump noticeably, because the horse's hoofbeats slowed and quieted. "You tired?" Sloane asked.

They barely bothered opening their mouth to slur, "A little." They were leaning back in their seat. Idly, they realized that they were warm, and that that, more than likely, was why they were able to sleep.

The horse stopped. Behind them, Sloane shifted and moved away a little as she shuffled around, and suddenly their makeshift backrest was gone. They caught themself before they could fall all the way backward. "I kept telling you not to keep watch the whole night and let me have a turn," she muttered as she reached for a rope at her side. "No wonder you're exhausted now."

They watched her hands slip under their arms and loop the rope around their waist. "What are you doing?"

"That's so you don't fall off." She passed the cord behind her back and knotted it in front of their belly, binding them quite literally at the hip. "You ever slept on the go before?"

"No, not really."

"Well, try it. I'm gonna keep riding through the night. You can just rest."

"What about you?" they asked around a yawn. "You're gonna get tired."

"I'll be alright. I've slept fine the past couple nights. Anyway, I've got to stay up. I'm the one who actually knows where to go." Out here, without fire, there was no light. They could not see the face of the woman inches from them as she craned her neck towards the squat mountains to the east, with a silhouette blacker against the black sky. As their eyelids drooped, everything blurred. They became unaware of where she ended and the sky began.

Then she turned toward them and got huffy. "Sleep, dammit."

"Okay," they mumbled, and fell back again but did not hit anything hard.

Hurley could not be sure how long the pause was before they felt her exhale into their thick hair. She gave a soft, short "Hyup" to the horse, and the rhythm began again, as fast and steady as before. They faded quickly.

#taz #the adventure zone #taz fanfic #taz balance #hurloane #sloane #hurley #the wanted

9 notes · View notes

aenwoedbeannaa · 4 years

Text

Forest Fires || Geralt x Reader || Pt. 8

Summary: Now that you’ve made it to the Temple of Melitele, the hunt for the Princess Cirilla begins—with an unlikely team at its head: A Witcher, two and a half sorceresses, one Huntress, and a Priestess of Melitele.

Word Count: 2,645

Warning(s): None for this chapter.

A/N: Alright, so I know this chapter is a lot of setting up for the next few chapters, but I actually really had fun writing it, so I hope you all enjoy it!

If you enjoy my work and want to check out more of it, you can check out my masterlist, and if you’d like to be added to any of my taglists, comment or message me and I would be happy to add you 😊. Also, I do have a ko-fi page now, and I would really appreciate if anyone is able to give a little; it would really help me out with this whole transitioning careers and still pay off medical bills thing. But of course, the best way y’all support me is just by reading and sharing my work. I appreciate it more than I can say.

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7

The Hunt Begins

You are surprised when you wake up to early morning light filtering through the windows; it had been afternoon. You don’t even remember the last time you’d slept so long. There was always so much to do back at the cottage—there was never time. Well, that, and the fact that even hunting all day and then taking care of everything else when you got home was less exhausting than opening one single damn portal. All those years of being a sorceress—of it being your entire identity—and you’d still forgotten how damn exhausting using magic truly is.

You sigh, kicking back the covers. Even with the evening damp still lingering in the air, you feel too warm. The Witcher laying beside you is likely contributing to that factor, but you wouldn’t dream of kicking him away. For some reason, you are surprised that he is there, even though you realistically shouldn’t be. Perhaps you just imagined him staying up all night planning things while you were lazily sleeping away, but you are happy to see that he is sleeping. You have no idea what the future will bring, but you are certain that you’ll all need the rest.

“Good morning.” The Witcher’s soft, low morning voice pulls you from your thoughts. You smile slightly, turning to look at him, eyes drinking in the familiar sight of the white haired Geralt of Rivia. His hair is pulled loose, and his eyes are heavy-lidded and sleepy. You’ll never get enough of the sight, you’ve decided.

“Morning,” you mumble back. You are frustrated at the way your voice sounds; all tired and scratchy and haggard. While you certainly feel much better than you did the previous day, your body is still catching up.

“Did you sleep well?” Geralt asks, his amber eyes all warm and full of concern. You are simultaneously touched and annoyed by it. Though, you suppose, there are worse things than someone being concerned for you.

You nod, blinking slowly. “Yes. I hardly remember falling asleep at all.” You’ll have to remember to thank Yennefer later. The tea must have worked wonders. You don’t remember waking up covered in sweat, trapped within a nightmare, either. Finally, you ask, “What time did you go to sleep, Witcher?”

“Late,” he grumbles a response. You raise your eyebrows in a question, which he picks up on right away. “We’re not the only ones trying to track down the girl.” Obviously.

The girl. You sigh at the use of the phrase, even though you couldn’t bring yourself to call her anything else.

“Do we know who else?” You ask, pushing yourself up into a sitting position but making no move to actually get out of bed. But you’re already prattling off possibilities before he can answer you, “Nilfgaard, obviously. And I bet the bounty on her head is pretty high. I’m sure the elves are looking, too. Lara Dorren’s blood and all that.”

Geralt just nods gravely, confirming your suspicions. “There’s also a mage,” he adds, “Vigelfortz.” You don’t bother to ask how he is certain of this specific information. Yennefer would know, you suppose, even if she had turned away from the Brotherhood years ago like you had.

“Nilfgaard wants a marriage with the blood heir to the Cintran throne. The bounty hunters just want money from the highest bidder—which I’m guessing is also Nilfgaard. The elves want Dol Blathanna back the way it was… So who is this mage working for?” Honestly, it was too early to be having this conversation, but you brain won’t let you focus on anything else.

“That’s the thing,” Geralt mutters, lifting a hand to play with the ends of your hair idly as he continues, “Seems like he’s working for himself. Yennefer is with the Brotherhood—Vigelfortz cut ties a few weeks before Nilfgaard sacked Cintra.”

You can already feel a headache coming on. None of it makes any sense—you only remember Vigelfortz from your late days at Aretuza. He hadn’t stood out much then. He was just another mage—not even a court mage, if you remember correctly. You look at Geralt, “He used to study antiquities, old civilizations and buried secrets or whatever.”

“Buried secrets?” Geralt asks, propping himself up on his elbows. Your eyes scan his scarred chest for a moment before finally meeting his eyes.

Definitely not the right time, you tell yourself.

“Yeah—he’d work on archeological digs and things.” The memories start to flow back faster than you expected them to. “And he taught at Ban Ard,” you add. “Probably about the same subjects.” Your mind is spinning at a dizzying speed. What the hell would a scholar want with the girl?

And then it snaps into place.

“The gir—Cirilla is supposed to have the blood of Lara Dorren.” Geralt looks at you, confused, as if he is still trying to catch up. “An ancient bloodline that supposedly possesses great power.” To be honest, you’d thought the whole thing was bullshit; some made up fairy tale. It might be just that; but to someone like Vigelfortz, you are certain that it isn’t.

You watch Geralt’s face harden as realization washes over him, “So he’s just trying to collect another ancient secret.” His words are tinged with the same disgust that you feel. It hurts, thinking about the young girl being pursued by several parties, all wanting someone from her—wanting something she may or may not have and certainly didn’t ask for.

“Fucking mages,” you hiss, voice dripping with venom. Granted, this was just one mage and however many worked with him. Though, you are certain the Brotherhood has its own reasons for hunting down the girl. If you know one thing, it is that the Brotherhood hardly does anything out of good will.

“Treating a human like a fucking old vase,” the Witcher’s warm amber eyes have turned cold as he stares off toward the window.

Silence settles over the two of you for a moment, broken only by the sounds of people speaking outside and the wind blowing through the open windows. When you saved the Witcher’s life in the woods that day, you had not expected this—some crazy suicide mission across the Continent to find a missing princess and, what, save her from the grasps of evil?

“Maybe Yenna’s found something,” you say, mostly just to fill the empty space. If the woman you reunited with yesterday is anything like her past self at Aretuza, it was unlikely she’d slept at all. Once she was focused on something, there was no deterring her for any reason. “She’d know more about Vigelfortz than me. I haven’t had contact with the Brotherhood since before I left Nilfgaard.”

And now, the thought of facing them again filled you with dread. You’d failed your duties as a court mage, failed to protect the girl when you had the chance, and failed to report to the Brotherhood about any of it—letting them think you were dead for the last eleven years.

You stand up and stretch, grimacing at how sore your muscles are for no particular reason, and also at the fact that you are still wearing yesterday’s clothes. “Before we go ask, though, I need to bathe.”

“No time,” Geralt grumbles, glancing out the window at the sky. “We’re to meet down in the hall at seven.”

You huff, running a hand through your tangled hair and looking down at your filthy clothes.

“They brought up clean clothes.” Geralt points to a neat little pile folded atop one of the old dressers. You sigh, as you pad over to the dresser, wishing you’d have woken up an hour earlier. You’d like nothing more than to scrub all of the last few days off of you. But, you suppose, clean clothes will have to do for now. Thankfully, upon further observation you see that they are not much different from the clothes you were already wearing.

You’re the soft material of a shirt rumple in your fingertips, studying it for a moment before offering Geralt a small smile “At least they aren’t making me dress like a nun.”

You are shocked by the soft seriousness in Geralt’s gaze as he looks at you for a moment before finally saying, “You’d look beautiful in anything.”

Despite the circumstances, the response still makes color rise in your cheeks. You offer him a soft smile, before deciding to finally slip out of your clothes and pull them on. You don’t bother to go behind the dressing screen—it’s not as if Geralt hasn’t seen all of you already.

Just as you are tucking the loose tunic into the high waisted, you feel Geralt creep up behind you, wrapping a strong arm around your middle. You sigh, tilting your head back to rest against his shoulder as he presses his lips to the place where your shoulder meets your neck. The kiss is slow and careful, as if the two of you have all the time in the world to just stay in this room with one another.

Unfortunately, you don’t.

Geralt gives you a small squeeze as he presses his lips to the side of your forehead with gentleness that conveys an unspoken promise—everything will be okay. We’ll figure this out. We’ll do what must be done. We’ll live.

At least, those are the thoughts that flood your mind, even if you don’t quite believe them. It seems a little foolish for the two of you, Yennefer, and whoever else is involved in this particular search party to go up against all of those others; especially the Nilfgaardian Empire. It seems stupid for anyone to go after Nilfgaard—and yet here you are.

***

Despite the fact that hunger had been absolutely clawing at your stomach for some time now, you are finding it difficult to make yourself do something as mundane as chew and swallow. The food looks and smells delicious, but everything seems to turn to ash in your mouth.

The table, though quite large, is empty save for yourself, Geralt, Yennefer, and the woman that you’d been introduced to a half hour before—Mother Nenneke. You can’t help but feel dread creep up on you even stronger as you pick up the mug of hot coffee with fresh cream and swallow it down. There are entire armies looking for Cirilla—not to mention scary mages and at least a few bounty hunters. All of those people, and four of you.

“Triss Merrigold has also promised aid,” Yennefer says, cutting into the silence. You catch yourself wondering at how it was as if she’d read your thoughts for more than a few seconds before you remember that she likely is.

You’d read Geralt’s mind yesterday, for only a moment, and yet you’d forgotten that many sorceresses did that all the time. You didn’t tend to do so much—mostly because you were afraid of what you’d find in those thoughts. It wasn’t as if you were well-respected in any circles; you’d rather not hear about it.

Mechanically, you put up the magical barriers they’d taught you about all those years ago, a wall around your thoughts. And yet, when you do, you do not feel anything pushing against the barrier. Perhaps she hadn’t been reading your mind, after all.

“So that brings the grand total to five.” The worried words slip out of your mouth before you can stop them, drawing three pairs of eyes to you. You chew on your bottom lip nervously.

“Less people means less of a chance of someone turning on us or letting something slip,” Geralt points out, in the middle of devouring some sort of omelet.

“Exactly,” Yennefer remarks.

“Three sorceresses, a Priestess, and a Witcher—seems like a find team to me.” Mother Nenneke is much warmer than you’d imagined. She even says the words with a small grin. It just… was not how you imagined a Priestess to be.

“Two and a half sorceresses,” you mumble, taking another large sip of your coffee.

Yennefer laughs, tilting her head back as she does so. “Oh, Y/N, you act as if you’d really died.”

You find yourself smiling lightly as you look back at the raven-haired sorceress, shrugging. “I may not have died, but I certainly haven’t used magic,” you sigh. Brief flashes of the previous afternoon threaten to bubble to the surface of your mind, but you push the thoughts down.

“Alright, then we’ve got two and a half sorceresses, one archer, a Priestess, and Witcher,” Geralt says, a sly grin also appearing on his face. “Even better.”

You suppose it is true—you learned to hunt silently and efficiently. Though the thought makes your stomach turn, you suppose those skills would be equally useful against people… And perhaps better. As evidenced by the fact that you literally had everyone convinced you were dead, it was a lot less… attention grabbing.

Despite feeling relatively reassured by this, you still find yourself anxiously drumming your fingers on the table.

“But how do we even know where to start?”

At least you are feeling more comfortable, so talking doesn’t make your throat want to close anymore.

Your eyes land on Yenna first, for some reason expecting that she was the one who had the answer—but it is Mother Nenneke that smiles. A slow, almost mischievous smile that has you watching with bated breath, waiting to hear what she is about to say. You can tell by the gleam in her eye that it is important.

“We ask Iola the First.”

Geralt’s eyebrows tick up in recognition, and Yennefer nods gravely. You, on the other hand, have no idea who this, apparently very impressive, woman is. That fact is evident on your face, but the other simply carry on with their conversation, earning an annoyed glance in Geralt’s direction from you.

“Doesn’t she need something that belongs to Princess Cirilla? If she’s going to… you know?” Geralt asks, eyes narrowed in thought as he looks intently at Mother Nenneke.

“Yes,” Yennefer cuts in, “And we’ve got it.”

“What is it?” You are surprised at how quickly the words slip out, and how eager you are to learn exactly what it is. Some of your annoyance has melted away, as you’ve figured out at least something about the mysterious Iola the First. She must have some sort of visions—you’ve heard stories of Priestesses being gifted with things like this. Though, you have to admit, you thought it was mostly bullshit. But if Yennefer and Geralt both trust her, you are suddenly finding yourself putting more stock into the rumors.

Yennefer turns, gingerly pickup up a green cloak that you hadn’t noticed draped over the high back of the chair next to her. You don’t bother to ask how they know its hers—you suppose that isn’t important, but Geralt seems more curious than you yourself are, because he asks precisely that.

“She was seen at two refugee camps following the attack on Cintra, always wearing this cloak.” You can’t seem to take your eyes from it, extremely drawn to the clearly very expensive and well-made cloak.

“The cloak was found in the forest, just outside of Brokolin,” Yen continues, “And Triss confirmed with the dryads that Cirilla had been there and stayed with them for a time.”

Everyone at the table has their eyes thoroughly fixated on the cloak in Yennefer’s hands, likely all thinking the same thing—there is no sign of blood on the cloak, meaning the chance that she is alive is quite likely. Though, the thought that the girl is now out wandering without even a cloak to keep her warm makes your chest tighten uncomfortably.

It is Geralt who finally breaks the silence, turning his attention to Mother Nenneke.

“Right,” he clears his throat, “Let’s go speak with Iola.”

***

To be continued.

Taglist: @fairytale07 @geeksareunique @jesseswartzwelder @haru-ririchiyo @unnamedmaincharacter @lazilyscentedwerewolf @valkyriepuff @dark-night-sky-99 @pantrashtic @lilred254 @cilorawr@blackravena @keithseabrook27 @danielarlington @salmonbutter @godsaverosemary @little-miss-emmalie @hookahpop @ayamenimthiriel @toenailclippingz @ultrahviolent @afterthenightprevails @kathhdd @squirrel-saloli @afittingdistraction @holyhumorliteraturelight @curlyhairedandconfused @nikolanna @dontforgetthepieh @superconfusedandreadytorumble @keithseabrook27 @p3nny4urth0ught5 @sinnamon-bunn @sallyp-53 @superconfusedandreadytorumble

#geralt x reader #geralt imagine #geralt fic series #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia #fanfiction #geralt fanfiction #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #series: forest fires

83 notes · View notes

amarabliss · 4 years

Text

Oaths and Hearts - 11 (Ignis Scientia/Reader)

So this is a crossover between FFXV and Dragon Age Inquisition.

You fell through a rift into the fade fighting the demons you swore to protect your world from. When you popped out you were no longer in the lands of Ferelden instead trapped in Insomnia. The gracious king allowed you to say recognizing power when he saw it. One thing led to another and now you were part of the procession of the prince to his wedding years later. Before the final battle, after years of fighting, losses, and love…your friend…your king…Noctis has asked you to change it all…

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

You sat with your eyes closed against the steel of the airship. You didn’t like it. Flying that is…there was no connection to anything, and it made you feel off balance.

You focused on feeling the cold steel imagining it was earth…perhaps a mountain…you had traveled enough of them in the last few months to remember how the cool stone felt at night. It helped a little…but turbulence was a cruel bitch…

“Dammit…” You muttered wiping a hand over your face before opening your eyes.

“You know…mediation works better when you’re calm.” Your eyes snapped up at the white-haired man sitting across from you. He stared back unapologetically.

“Fuck. You.” You growled at him.

“Language…you call yourself a lady…” Ravus smirked as he pulled out an apple, something that had been making your stomach churn daily, and took a big juicy bite out of it.

You stood to your feet clenching your fists at your sides as you opened your mouth to speak, however, you didn’t get the chance to as Aranea stepped, “Alright…calm down. One lightening storm was enough in this rig. Ravus, take yourself and the fruit to the cockpit.”

“Happily…” He stood up taking another obnoxious bite.

You growled again stepping toward him, but Aranea stepped in your path, “Let it go…”

“He does it on purpose!” You snapped at her, “He knows exactly how I feel about the smell!”

“I know, and I will talk to him, but I can’t have you blowing a gasket when we’re 20,000 feet in the air again.” She told you sympathetically, “And it’s not good for you or you baby to get so worked up.”

You clenched your jaw a hand went reflexively to your belly. Six months pregnant…almost…you had been on the run for four months and you were losing count between getting sick and moving around so much. Never staying in one place for too long for fear of being noticed.

Four months of small check ins from the man you loved. No conversations, just account transfers to take care of you, while he helped Noct get the rest of the royal armory and blessings of gods. You felt so alone among soldiers who only wanted to protect you for the profit it gave them…mostly.

You took a deep breath trying to relax, “…please tell me we can call him, even just a word…”

Aranea frowned shaking her head, “No…they’re supposed to be reaching the capitol in the next week or so. They had to take a few pit stops along the way…I wouldn’t want to risk alerting the empire to their location, when they are this close.”

“I’m sick of waiting around…” You shut your eyes making a face a wave of pain erupted in your back, “There has to be something to do.”

“What is it?” The Commodore stepped closer to you concern evident in her posture.

“He’s kicking a lot today…I don’t think he likes being this high up.” You leaned against the wall making a face.

“You should sit…I’ll get Wedge to come take a look at you and we’ll figure out where we can land…” Aranea told you as she stepped away, “I’ll get you some tea too…”

“No! No tea! Your tea is…gross…” You called after her as you stepped toward the chairs.

You made a face taking a deep breath as you stopped halfway shutting your eyes tightly putting a hand on your side, “Dammit…buddy come on…you gotta give me a break.”

“Give me your hand…” You opened your eyes seeing Ravus holding a hand out to you.

“Why would I give my hand to you?” You took a deep breath in through your nose as another wave of kicking ensued.

He stared at you for a moment before stepping toward you. You stepped out of his way only to see him follow you. You glared and then tensed as his hand found your back as he scolded, “Quit…dancing around and let me help you.”

“Ravus…you have never once offered to help me…” You stared up into his eyes standing firmly in your spot as Ulric began kick boxing with your kidney, “And despite you volunteering to be an escort because you feel you owe me in someway for helping your sister…we aren’t friends…”

“No, we’re not, but…” He sighed helping you over to the chairs, “I remember when my mother was pregnant with Luna. She would have the most painful expressions sometimes, when Luna started to kick. I promised if I ever had a child, I would make sure the mother would not be alone during such times…”

“This is not your child…” You eased yourself down before you looked at him taking a seat next to you.

“No…” He shook his head a little before he hesitantly began rubbing your back with his one hand. Warmth spread through tense and sore areas, you had forgotten how good touch felt, “but I don’t see myself ever having the chance…so I will amend my promise to the situation at hand to alleviate you of your pain.”

You shut your eyes hanging your head a little as his one hand moved up to your shoulders, “I…I’m sorry…I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“Don’t be…” Ravus shook his head smiling a little, “All my life people have made assumptions about me. Shouldn’t expect anything different from you.”

You laughed a little letting your eyes meet his, “I know what that’s like.”

“I find that hard to believe. You have an air about you that yells ‘straightforward.’” He sniped back at you.

“Quite the opposite…Where I’m from everyone expected me to be a deranged mage hell-bent on world domination, raging and bringing forth demons to destroy everything.” You looked at him frowning as a heavy weight fell on your shoulders. You had always felt like you left Thedas vulnerable by leaving it, “But…the reality of it…I just wanted to be free…I just wanted to there to be peace, and I sacrificed everything to make sure the world was safe.”

Ravus stared at you a long time before he spoke again, “The burden of leadership.”

“Yes…it was…in the end, I don’t even know if I made a difference…there was still so much dissent against people like me.” You stared off as if trying to remember it all at once, “But I know that I left my home in good hands. I know they won’t let it fall back into the way things were.”

He stopped rubbing your shoulders letting out a sigh, “Sounds like you’ve done more then any of us here.”

You let out a sad laugh, “Oh you know just a small rebellion turned into saving the world...just an average day back home…”

“Maybe one day you can tell me more about it? Hell, maybe you can help me lead a rebellion of my own. I wouldn’t mind not being railroaded by the empire anymore.” He stood up as Wedge came over with Aranea, “If you’ll excuse me.”

You watched him walk away slowly as Wedge began asking you questions. The cogs began turning in your head. It was so simple, and it could actually work. Wedge cleared you and began putting his devices back into his medical bag away.

“…Aranea…” You stood up looking at her, “How easy is it for you to find someone?”

“Depends on the person, but I usually can find anyone with a few calls.” She eyed you carefully, “I already know where your boy toy is…and I already told-”

“I don’t want to find Ignis.” Your face hardened as you crossed your arms, “I want to find Cor Leonis.”

Her eyes narrowed on you, “Why do you want to find the Immortal?”

“I’m tired of sitting on the sidelines…” You told her before you smiled, “I need to help Ignis and Noct somehow, and I think I just figured out how.”

You sat on at a table a few days later looking out toward the meteor, no longer ignited, but still a sight to behold. This place was something else. You could not think of any other like it. No matter what was going on, Lestallum felt alive.

And hot…You hated that you had to wear this giant thick cape to hide yourself, rather…hide your baby…

“Lady Trevelyan?” You looked back seeing Cor walking up to you. He smiled when you stood up taking your extended hand, “I thought you would be with the boys. When I got your message, I half expected them to be here.”

“Yeah, no, um…” You swallowed staring at him. The way he held himself told you that he wasn’t informed on the recent events. A soldier of his caliber wouldn’t be so relaxed, “I take it you haven’t heard about the bounty on my head…”

“Bounty? On you?” He waved his arm to have you sit down again as his demeanor changed. There was the commander you knew, “But you’re unreasonably nice to people.”

“Where have you been recently? For that matter the last half a year?” You watched him sit down, “At least tell me you know everything went sideways in Altissia?”

“It’s a long story…” He sighed scratching the back of his head, “And I had heard that Noctis and Luna did get married…I was sorry I couldn’t attend.”

“Well, if you tell me your story…I’ll tell you mine.” You grunted as you threw the front of the cape over your shoulders to give you some relief. His eyes immediately focused in on your stomach, “I’ll get to him in a minute, tell me what you’ve been up to?”

You sat and listened and everything he said was exactly what you needed to hear. After he left Caem he returned to the hunters where he met up with some former Glaive. After hearing their stories he felt it was imperative that they find as many Glaive and Crownsguard as he could to be ready for their king’s return.

“So I have been managing them. Training new recruits and protecting people along the away.” Cor watched as you pulled the spoon from your mouth returning it to the large bowl of ice cream, “We’re ready to return and take back our home when Noctis orders it.”

“That is wonderful to hear.” You smiled at him before shoving the spoon in your mouth again.

He smiled shaking his head a little, “So…you’re turn. Why is there a bounty on your head?”

“Oh, I shoved the chancellor of Neifilheim into a rift hopefully to never return again. He was a deamon and creepy…” You rattled off scraping the bottom of the bowl, “Then…there’s some stuff about time travel, it gets really complicated, but the main thing is I killed Ardyn Izunia.”

He stared at you a long time before clearing his throat, “That’s…Uh…”

“Hard to believe, I know, but it’s the truth. I’m sure you’ve heard rumors at least of my sudden appearance back then...” You told him quietly, “All of which I’m happy to explain to you, but I’m hoping we can do it at a different time.”

“Alright. You called me for a reason.” He nodded leaning forward, “What is it you want from me?”

You set the bowl down looking into his blue determined eyes, “I want to take back Insomnia.”

“We all do.” He chuckled sitting back.

“I want to take it back now.” You watched as his face went blank, “If we do it, we divide their attention. Maybe enough to give the boys time to get the crystal and get out of the empire…”

“…forgive me your ladyship, but…there are at least a thousand strong in the city of Insomnia that are soldiers…that doesn’t include the MTs or their machinery.” Cor leaned forward again looking around, “I’m not saying it can’t be done, but…it will be awfully hard.”

“That’s why I’ve come to you.” You told him quietly, “I’ve experience with this type of thing as well…maybe together we can figure this out. The Immortal and the Inquisitor.”

He stared at you again before shaking his head, “You sure have a brass pair.”

“I’m protective of my family…and I’m tired of being apart from them.” You swallowed looking away as fleeting thoughts of Ignis floated through your mind.

“Okay…I’m in…” He nodded slowly, “I’m sure everyone will be onboard.”

You cleared your throat, “Good…reach out to Aranea and we’ll get things rolling.”

“Now hold on…” He watched you stand up, “You told me why you have a bounty on your head and why you called me…but you never explained…your condition.”

You smiled at him putting a hand on your belly, “Does it really matter?”

“Call it curiosity.” He smirked up to you. It was no wonder why everyone in the citadel swooned over him with that charm.

“Well…it’s not all the exciting. It happened the normal way when a man and woman…” You watched him roll his eyes and you laughed a little. It was nice to do so. You’d been around so many stiff people the last few months it was nice to tease again.

“Who’s the father, is the question I’m begging you to answer…” He stared up at you as you adjusted the cape again to cover yourself.

“…Ignis.” You watched as his posture changed and his face became very serious, “Cor…what’s wrong?”

“You’re sure Ignis is the father?” He stood up speaking in a hushed tone.

“What do you take me for?” You glared at him a little, “Of course I’m sure it’s Ignis…”

“You’re coming with me.” He began looking around as if he was on a detail.

“Cor, what is going on?” You pulled your arm back when he tried to take it.

He looked into your eyes as he spoke quietly, “Your child is currently second in line for the throne of Lucis.”

“No…how?” You took a step away from him as a sinking feeling seeped into your shoulders.

“Ignis…” Cor stepped with you suddenly becoming extremely overprotective of his charge in front of him, “is Noct’s older, half-brother.”

Your eyes widened as you suddenly became very light head, “…wha…”

He caught you as began to fall helping you back to the table you had been sitting at, “Take a second…”

“Does he know? Do they all know?” You stared into his eyes as mild panic began to set in.

“No.” He shook his head taking your hands in his, “No one knows. Regis only told Clarus and myself. The information would have passed to Gladio and I’m certain Noct and Ignis when the time deemed it…necessary.”

“Necessary…why? How?” You suddenly began to feel sick, “This…why?”

“Regis and Aulea were having trouble conceiving a child. They worried enough that…” He sighed hanging his head, “That they invoked an old tradition where they ask their closest retainers…to bear a child of Lucian line.”

“Regis…and Ignis’ mother….” You frowned a little, “Oh my god…”

“It sounds bad…but it was considered an honor and with the medical advances we have now it’s much less intimate and more a duty…” Cor looked at you sympathetically, “It was close to Ignis’ first birthday when Aulea reported that she was pregnant. Regis knew what it meant. He had two heirs. Regis waited until Aulea was sure the pregnancy took then reached out the Scientias… At which point Roderick Scientia, Ignis’ father, vowed to raise Ignis as his own and everyone was sworn to never speak of it unless it was necessary.”

“And what makes it necessary now? Noct is fine…he’s going to be king…He and Luna…” You rambled quickly as you began hyperventilating.

“It’s only fine if they have a child…one day Noct will have to fulfill his duty as the chosen. He knows what that means.” Cor spoke realistically, “If there is no direct heir from him…the responsibility will fall to Ignis…to your child.”

He put his hands on your arms giving you a squeeze to try and help calm you down. “Y/N, I’m going to protect you and your child, but I’m not sure we can risk…”

“No.” You shook your head as a tear fell down your face. Finding out your child was heir to the throne was overwhelming, but it didn’t change what needed to be done, “No…we have to go to Insomnia. We have to help them…so they can come home.”

Cor let out a long heavy sigh before he stood up holding his hand out to you, “Then I suppose you’ll have to meet your soldiers. Think your crew can give me ride?”

39 notes · View notes

nelllraiser · 4 years

Text

blood is thicker than...blood? | bea & nell

LOCATION: the vural house. TIMING: directly after devil’s gullet exploded. TRIGGERS: emotional sisters. :/ (and brief vomit mention - not graphic) PARTIES: @beatrice-blaze

Nell knew she had made a mistake. That much was obvious what with...the giant erupting volcano of blood, guts, and...whoever it had been that was spewed out. Though she’d been relatively calm in the moment, not one to panic when things went sideways, the walk home gave some time for reflection. More than anything she felt bad for Blanche. She’d dragged her friend into this only to have said friend lose her lunch, and possibly her emotional stability. Already she was thinking about how she could possibly make it up to Blanche. As she neared her and her sister’s house though, she checked her watch, having to wipe a bit of blood off it first. Penelope wanted to make sure that neither of her sisters were home, knowing they’d have plenty of things to say to her in this state. So she didn’t bother with trying to be quiet as she came in the front door, still absolutely drenched in blood, and making her way to the shower. She could clean herself with magic, sure. But there was something nice and methodical about the warm water washing over her. Next she knew, though, a sound was coming from the kitchen. Nell froze, hoping that it had been a fluke rather than one of her sisters being home.

There were a few things Bea did that she considered a hobby and soapmaking happened to be one of them. She enjoyed how relaxing the process was and even more so enjoyed giving away her soaps after she was done making them. This batch was for Nell. She had had a little bit of rosemary oil left and knew that that mixed citrus well. She needed to order more online, but after her last drunk spending spree she was trying to cut back on random purchases. She hoped that Nell would like the smell, because rosemary had so many benefits for soreness and she was sure her little sister’s job would make her sore. If the job didn’t, Bea had a feeling Nell would find a way to work her muscles. Hearing the door open, Bea smiled and shouted out from the kitchen,“Nellie! Come here. I want you to smell this soap I’m making. It’s going to help you when you’re all sore!”

Penelope practically groaned as it was Bea’s voice that wafted through the house. Abby would have been much easier to handle in a situation such as this. Nevertheless, a bit of the warmth in Bea’s voice tickled her bones. She did love her sister’s soap, and it was always sweet how excited Bea seemed to be when she made it for the people she cared about. Even more than that, Bea had made her soap for when she was sore— no doubt because of her new job as a ‘bounty hunter.’ Still...she couldn’t help but feel dread knotting in her stomach should Bea see her like...this. Coming home covered in blood hadn’t been all that irregular when Nell was travelling and picking off monsters, but no doubt it’d be a bit of a shock for Bea to see. “Uhh- thanks Bea! Is it alright if I smell in a bit? I just have to put down...these bags in my room!” It was the first thing she could think of.

Bea put down the little spatula she had been mixing the soaps with. She was rather intune with how her sisters sounded, or she at least liked to think she was, and Nellie didn’t seem like normal. She knew her little sister had her issues with her, but the younger woman always seemed like when she made her soaps. Her hands hovered over the ties of her apron, hesitating to go over there and see Nellie herself. She knew her sister found her annoying and if she went over now, she was sure Nellie would find it even more reason to compare her to their mother. “The soap is going to harden if you go upstairs, I was just about to pour it,” She replied back, hoping that she didn’t seem too different from before. She wanted Nellie to come over on her own, but now she was worried.

It wasn’t that Penelope didn’t like her sister. She loved her sister. But it was a little difficult to live with the actual definition of perfection, and not feel threatened, especially when she knew her mother would rather have another daughter like Bea rather than...well...what she had. It just didn’t help when it felt like she was always disappointing Bea as well whenever she’d get lectured. Thus was the reason for her sometimes irritable or avoiding attitude. This time though it wasn’t just about the lecture. She didn’t want to worry her sister either. “I- I can be quick!” she tried to convince. “I really do want to smell it!” Nell didn’t want Bea to think she was avoiding her as a whole.

There was little doubt in Bea’s mind that her mother had projected a lot of her goals on her eldest daughter. She had been pushed since the first time she ever showed magical talent, which was the young age of five. She frowned, but tried to push down the urge to go and confront her sister. “Fine,” She didn’t want to sound disappointed but she could hear her mother’s voice come out of her body. “I’ll pour it and you’ll have to smell it from the mold.” An idea hit her that automatically had her perking up,“If you’re really fast you can put the decorations on top with me!”

Even though Bea’s tone was similar to their mother’s, Nell felt a sigh of relief make its way through her body, shoulders relaxing as it seemed that her sister had thought better of coming to check on her. “That’ll be perfect! I can’t wait to smell!” Then she was sprinting up the stairs, not entirely trusting that Bea wouldn’t come out to check anyway. As she closed her door to change she yelled down to the kitchen, “Wouldn’t miss it for the world!” Only half joking. She did love putting the decorations on. Nell wanted to soak in the shower, but instead she had to take a quick one, wanting to get down for those decorations. Not five minutes later she was coming into the kitchen with wet hair and a smile. “Okay! I’m ready for soaping. Let’s do it.” She moved greedily towards the racks.

Bea tried to keep her soap pouring slow so Nell had more time to catch up, but ended up taking so long that she had to reheat some of the soap she had already melted in her double boiler before this. She waited until she heard Nell coming down the stairs to begin pouring the soup into the second batch of molds. “I thought you said you were just putting your bags down, not showering,” Bea asked, feeling more and more suspicious of what her sister had actually been doing. “Put an apron on first! You don’t want mica all over your shirt,” She reminded her sister before holding out the little jug of soap she had,“Smell first anyway.”

Nell had done her best to take a quick shower, but apparently Bea hadn’t thought it was quick enough. She shrugged, knowing Bea was probably still suspect after he strange behavior in the entryway. “I smelled so- consider it a favor for you,” she teased, giving her sister the smallest of hip checks, though she was careful not to mess up the soaps in the process. She only barely subdued an eyeroll as Nell insisted on an apron. “I put on a shirt I don’t care about.” But she tied the apron around her waist if only to please Bea and hopefully make her stop digging after what Nell had been doing. She leaned forwards over the soap, smelling carefully. “Ohhhh, yes I love that. That’s very nice.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, stinky,” Bea replied back with a little tease. She liked when they were good, but it wasn’t as often as the woman wished. It was hard to connect with her sister even more now than it had been when she left to travel the world. She had five years alone and Bea wasn’t used to the adult version of her sister, even if the adult version of her wasn’t that mature. “Like I said good for muscles.” Placing the soap jug down for a second, Bea went to pass the little embeds she made for the soap to Nell. However, when her sister reached out to grab them from her, Bea’s other hand grabbed her’s. “Is that blood? Are you cut somewhere?”

“You’re the stinky,” Nell teased back a little lamely. “I smell like roses. And your soap.” It was true that Nell had changed in her time abroad, and she liked to think that she had more layers now rather than just loud and immature little sister. But she was beginning to think Bea would never be able to see that, only seeing what had stood in her place before. She was about to give Bea a smile of thanks for the consideration when it came to her muscles when instead...she froze as her sister grabbed her. “What? No- I mean, well- yes but- I was just practicing magic. You know- of the blood variety. Must have missed some.”

There was a time that the idea of Nell practicing blood magic would have made Bea’s blood run cold, but now the flash of anger she felt was followed by a sense of understanding. “Why are you hiding that from me? You’ve never tried to hide it before.” Nell had always been distinctly herself and she hadn’t seen her little sister try to hide things like this for a long time. “Which I know you were doing. You weren’t being subtle in the hallway,” She told her with a deep frown.

Whenever Penelope did try to hide something from Bea, it was generally because she was avoiding a lecture. How did Bea even have any right to lecture her? She wasn’t even that much older. But it never seemed to deter her older sister. “I’m not hiding it,” she said while wiping the blood away. “And maybe I have and you just don’t know.” Her own frown grew longer before she continued on. “I wasn’t trying to be anything in the hallway. Can we just make soap?” It was going to be a nice moment before Bea started asking questions.

It was always hard for Bea to know when she should lecture her sisters or not. Sometimes it felt like her parents only cared if they were messing up really badly and otherwise wouldn’t teach the girls that something wasn’t right if they didn’t deem it an issue to the family reputation. She was trying not to be annoying, it was her new year’s resolution and everything, but Nell already seemed annoyed. “I just want to look out for you,” She told her honestly. “Especially with how it’s even weirder in town right now.” Her sisters got to leave through all the bad things that have happened in White Crest, but Bea hadn’t left. She’d seen it all. Her shoulders slumped a bit,“Fine. We can just make soap. Sorry for worrying about you, I guess.”

Nell appreciated that Bea cared, but sometimes she could just be a bit suffocating. “I know that,” she said neutrally, not wanting to make Bea feel bad. But it seemed the damage was already done as she recognized curt answer and tone. “Don’t be like that. You just worrying isn’t what bothers me.” She was going to continue that train of thought, but just then the newscaster seemed to gain new vigor, and apparent urgent report coming on. “This just in- Devil’s Gullet has erupted in what appears to be...blood and other bodily items. A body was found at the scene, but has yet to be identified by police. Please be advised that the following footage contains graphic imagery.”

The urgency of the newcaster’s voice drew Bea’s attention, eyes finding the screen they had in the living room. Her jaw set and she turned back to Nellie. “Seems like I was right to worry about you. You had something to do with that, didn’t you?” If she did, and Bea was rather sure she did, that meant that Nell hadn’t only done something idiotic, but she blatantly lied to Bea’s face. Bea had given her a place to stay with very little rules and even before then had been sending her money she had saved up multiple times a year and this was how she was being thanked. “Blood magic. What a good lie, Penelope, and you did it without even blinking an eye, huh?”

Nell would know that disapproving and judgmental look anywhere. Instantly she was growing even more defensive, her arms going to cross over her chest. “Why do you always assume it was me?” she asked loudly. Even if Bea was right, it was infuriating that she just always seemed to be waiting for Penelope to mess up— that any little thing that went wrong was Nell’s fault. “Don’t ‘Penelope’ me, Beatrice,” she shot back. Apparently the age old power struggle was still alive and kicking. “But maybe I wouldn’t have to lie to you if you weren’t just always ready to tell me what I did wrong.”

Bea turned away from her sister and began to clean the kitchen counter of the soaps and decorations. She was in no mood to continue with that. Even if it did lead to some of it being wasted… “You came in cagey, refused to see me before you showered, and had blood on your hands, what else am I supposed to think in this situation?” She asked, frustrated. There was nothing Bea could do right when it came to her little sister and she couldn’t understand how she was meant to deal with her when Nell never told her what she was actually dealing with. She let out a deep breath, frustrated tears welling, not that she showed that to Nell. “You know, it’s really hard to ever think you’re right when you constantly pin me as the bitchy sister who has fun yelling at you.”

Nell’s face fell for a moment as Bea went to clean up her soaps and things. She had been looking forward to doing that with her sister. But by the time her older sister looked again, her stubborn jaw was back in place, defensive once more. “Maybe I wouldn’t be cagey if you weren’t always just waiting for me to do something wrong so you can call me out on it,” she accused once again, not exactly sure how else to respond. It’s what she always got from the family, with the exception of their dad, at times. He understood the restlessness Nell got. After all, she’d inherited it from him. “I didn’t say you’re bitchy,” Penelope hesitated, not trying to hurt her sister’s feelings, and not wanting to. “I just want my sister. Not a mom.”

Seeing Nell’s jaw lock into place had Bea struggling to not roll her eyes. Her little sister had always made that face at her, even as a small child. Sighing deeply from her chest, Bea lifted up her hands in defeat,“You know what I don’t understand - why you decided to move in with me when you seem to be constantly disappointed in how I deal with things. And I don’t wait for you to fail, but you never let me see the things you succeed at, so I have nothing to praise you about.” Bea couldn’t understand why Nellie was always angry with her, all she did was care for the girl. It made her want to stop trying to care, but that didn’t seem fair to her little sister either. She was slightly stung by her sister’s words. “Unfortunately for you, we can’t pick our personalities, so this is who you’re stuck with.”

Nell’s frown deepened, sadness setting in that this was their nice sister time was going to be ending. “I moved in because I like being around my sister when she’s not trying to tell me how to handle my life.” The words weren’t meant to be hurtful, and had more of a downtrodden tone to them, as if Penelope was disappointed in the fact that this was the truth, and wished it could be different. But she flinched back as Bea’s words about praising her sunk in, her sister having hit a very sore spot. She knew she was a fucking disappointment, and she’d built herself up to make sure she’d live life as large as she could being that disappointment. If none of her family was going to be proud of her, she was going to have damn fun with her existence. “Well guess there’s just nothing to praise,” she said defensively, turning her back so her sister wouldn’t be able to see how much her words had affected her. “I like your personality. Just not the part where you act like my mom rather than a sister. There’s sister caring, and then there’s mom caring.”

“You never see things from my point of view, do you? You twist what I do to make me some villain, when all I’m trying to do is make sure you don’t die!” Bea exclaimed, hands raised in frustration. She understood that her sister had her moments of restlessness but sometimes she thought her little sister did things just to get attention. “I want to be there to praise you, I want to be a part of your life, but I am shut out all the time, Nellie. I get that Mom disappointed you but I am not an exact copy of her. You don’t have to act out to get my attention. I just want to be there.” It had always felt like Nellie hated her for being so close to their mother when it was clear that Bea was her favorite. Bea hadn’t wanted to disappoint her sisters while she becoming perfect for their mother, but she guessed it happened anyway. “Well, I can’t exactly change how I care. I don’t just have an off switch.”

A sound of pure frustration worked its way past Nell’s lips, feeling like she was ready to pull her hair at at how they just kept going in circles. “I’m not trying to twist it! I’m just saying how I feel! I was on my own for five years, Bea! Out there in the world! I’m not a child! I’m not mad at you for not wanting me to die, I just don’t need you doubting me every step of the way!” Nell had absolutely gone through the phase of doing things for her parents attention when younger, but had more recently fallen into simply doing things for her own joy, rather than seeking their approval. Still...wouldn’t it be nice if she could have it? But as Bea got a little too close to the subject for comfort, Nell turned away, hating the way her bottom lip was beginning to quiver. She wasn’t going to cry. She never cried. “I don’t wanna talk about this anymore right now,” she said quietly, sadly. Penelope made her way to the stairs, pausing at the foot of them before speaking once more. “I don’t want to turn you off.” It was all she could think to say anymore before she padded up to her room.

#sad time ://#i am sad #ch:Bea #chatzy #wickedswriting #blood is thicker than...blood?

10 notes · View notes

ashen-star-mage · 5 years

Text

Mental illness representation in Star Wars

Trigger warning: Abuse, suicide

So if I asked who most people relate to the most in Star Wars, my guess would be Luke Skywalker. He starts off an ordinary farmer (with powers he doesn��t know about), unaware of what’s going on in the galaxy at large. He’s essentially the everyman (minus the overpowered force powers part but he doesn’t know about that until later and neither does the audience). I definitely relate to him in being a ‘normal’ in a huge galaxy. I’m sure people want to be Han Solo, but probably can’t relate as much. I mean he has his own ship, he’s pretty ruthless when it comes to dealing with bounty hunters, stuff like that. And Princess Leia is a key rebel leader and hardened veteran of multiple battles. The argument can be made that female fans may relate to her more than Luke on account of her being one of the few named original trilogy characters.

For me though, I relate most to Anakin Skywalker and Kylo Ren. Both of these characters have a significant ‘dark side’ and struggle with it, even succumbing to it for long periods of time. Luke had his moments like when he attacked Vader at the end of Return of the Jedi in rage but he quickly returned to the light. Sure Anakin was able to return to the light after going on a Tusken Raider killing spree, but he ultimately fell to the dark side. Sure Luke redeemed him, but that took a lot of effort and time and force power to do so. I consider myself having a rather large dark side that I’m constantly fighting to keep at bay, and at times my efforts don’t work so well, just like for them. There have been slip ups (not violent ones) but yeah.

Then there’s the issue of anger. Luke has anger, that’s true, but his instances of using it are few and far between. Anakin uses his anger far more often and to great effect, so much so that Palpatine points out that anger gives him strength and focus. Of course this was part of tempting him to the dark side, but anger did give Anakin strength. Kylo Ren also has definite anger issues. He’s destroyed plenty of First Order equipment with his lightsaber or just his fists to get out his frustration at his bad situation (no real friends in the First Order, dysfunctional family that doesn’t get him, creepy old alien guy peeping into his mind since he was little). I have very bad anger issues. I have a very short fuse when it comes to getting angry and I get really angry when I get angry. Like Kylo Ren, I resort to smashing or destroying things in anger, and it’s hard to stop, so there’s something special about seeing someone on screen struggling with the same issues.

Both these character have serious insecurity issues and attachment/relationship issues too. In Anakin’s case, he wants to protect his mother and Padme at all costs, and his nightmares about losing Padme spur him to do some rather extreme things. Anakin always seems to be seeking approval from those he values (like Obi Wan Kenobi or Yoda). The only one who really sees his insecurity and gives him the approval he seeks is Palpatine. In reality this is Palpatine being manipulative, but it shows just how insecure Anakin is. Kylo Ren didn’t have a great childhood, just like his grandfather Anakin. He wasn’t a slave, but he had Snoke invading his mind from an early age, a mother with other obligations to fulfill (fighting the First Order, duties to the New Republic), and a father who would run off as a result of conflicts with Leia. The fact that Han and Leia clashed personality wise probably didn’t help Kylo Ren much either. It’s not that surprising that he decided to side with Snoke, given Snoke’s manipulative efforts which probably included some validation/approval. Also Kylo Ren says he wants to be free of the pain he’s feeling at the end of The Force Awakens. He desperately wants his father’s help, but it’s hard to accept it after years of unstable relationships with family. I definitely have similar issues to both of them. Divorced parents, highly abusive father who remarried to evil incarnate. Never fit in while at school and never had many friends. I was always seeking approval from teachers by doing A grade work back then.

I definitely relate a lot to these two character. They feel like some of the most human characters because they have to deal with their own fear, insecurities, relationship issues, anger, and many other things. I’m almost certain I have Borderline Personality Disorder, and I’m pretty certain both these characters have the same condition as well, so that’s more of a formal connection than anything. While it’s not to say other character don’t have their own struggles, Anakin and Kylo Ren have struggles I can really relate to on many levels. I’ve been so angry I’ve wanted to cut down my dad with a lightsaber as a kid. He was that awful. I really give both these characters credit for not trying to take their own lives since they have a lot going on mentally and emotionally, on top of the galactic turmoil they have to deal with as well.

#Star Wars #mental health #mental illness #luke skywalker #han solo #princess leia #leia organa #anakin skywalker #kylo ren #palpatine #first order #padme #obi wan kenobi #yoda #snoke #new republic #The Force Awakens #borderline personality disorder #BPD

11 notes · View notes

darkarfs · 5 years

Text

Street Hunter

A film so mired in obscurity it doesn't even have a Wikipedia page. One of several films I own that never even got a bootleg DVD release, and you can probably only watch it if you find a Portuguese subtitled version on Dailymotion, or own the VHS and requisite VCR. Before we dive into this film, I should mention that the only reason I own this movie in the first place is that, around 2010-2011 (a simpler time, really) I became stone-cold obsessed with the career of one Reb Brown. Reb, for the MST3K set, played David Ryder in the South African railing-kill-fest that was Space Mutiny. You know, that guy. Tall, beefy, had all the acting range of an airhorn, looked kind of like a retired football player? He's actually had a storied, odd career, one that traverses a lot of genres and a lot of roles. Mostly, he did Italian knock-offs of movies like Terminator, Predator, Rambo, that sort of thing. A lot, and I mean a LOT of war movies, mostly ones taking place during Vietnam. But then he was also in things like Uncommon Valor with Gene Hackman, the Howling 2: Stirba Werewolf Bitch with Christopher Lee and Sybil Danning, and was actually the first ever Captain America, even before that really goofy one with Matt Salinger in 1990. And for some reason, I was more than entertained by watching him do what he does, and what he tends to do more often than not is...well, yell and fire machine guns into the jungle. He does that...a LOT. And he's in this film! But first, if I may reflect for just a moment. As soon as I put this into the VCR, it gave me the sneak previews of other movies made by the same distributor. I'm not a nostalgia sucker, I don't agree with things being better in the old days. But I genuinely, truly miss these. The previews on DVDs are always for the big blockbuster releases, but the ones on VHS? Who fucking KNEW what you were getting! The previews on B-movie VHS tapes are often how I found the next movie I was gonna watch! Turns out, tho, that the first preview was for the aforementioned 1990 Captain America with Matt Salinger. The 2nd was for a movie I really wanna check out now, though, and it's a ream of unconnected nonsense called the House of Usher, with Oliver Reed! This was before bad movies became that self-aware kind of bad. As a friend of mine once said; anyone can knowingly shit their pants, that's not funny. A person *not realizing* they shit their pants...that's comedy. The hero's name is Logan Blade, a name up there with Snake Plissken and John Matrix for "most action-hero name of all time." Not played by Reb (he's actually the weird, semi-warped villain in this piece), but instead by the late Steve James, who usually ended up playing the hero's sidekick in a lot of movies like this one. And you'd probably recognize ol' Frank Vincent, aka the White-Haired Guy with the Black Eyebrows in Every Movie About the Mafia. The movie starts with a bunch of heavily-armed garbage men raiding a gravesite to steal a mountain of cocaine from a guy’s casket. And they’re led by...John Leguizamo?? Yeahp. That’s him.

The guys kick over a tombstone that is 100% made of styrofoam...(one guy’s foot is all it takes, and I wish I could gif it, because it bounces)

and then are suddenly flanked by a bunch of Italian mobsters. Turns out Leguizamo’s gang are Colombian drug lords, and they’re here to steal the mob’s cocaine from this grave. The Italians have them surrounded, until Luigi’s group is flanked by 7 more dudes, led by...

Ah! There’s my dude. He immediately shouts and he and the goons shoot them all dead. THEN Logan Blade shows up, and I gotta admit, he looks like a seriously legit, badass dude.

You know, you’re kind of destined to become a renegade cop or bounty hunter with a name like Logan Blade. You don’t run into many wedding photographers with that name. He takes out all of Luigi’s goons and takes him in alive, and then maybe the weirdest, most sincerely funny thing about this film to me.

An 80s action movie where the police chief and the renegade bounty hunter...get along great! Like, uncharacteristically well! “Dammit, Blade! The mayor’s been all over my ass about those 6 bodies you left in the cemetery! You’re making my WHOLE department look great! You keep this up, and I’ll promote your ass to lieutenant so fast it’ll make your head spin!” Then we meet Blade’s friend, an avuncular grey-haired guy who may as well say “I’ve reunited with with my wife after 3 years and the guys at the precinct are throwing me a giant retirement party tomorrow” for how quickly and seamlessly he telegraphs the fact that he’s next to die. He calls Blade “paranoid” and insists that he “worries too much.” Gets shot in the next scene, and frees Leguizamo’s character (named Angel, should have mentioned that.) Reb cautions Angel that he should “always follow orders.” Y’see, Reb his basically a mercenary who stone-facedly pines for the days of the greatest generals, your Alexander the Great, your Genghis Khan, your Napoleon. He even tells Angel that “you should be as Philotas was to me, Alexander the Great.” (Alexander the Great had Philotas falsely accused of an assassination attempt and then had him beat to death with fucking rocks. Your references won’t get past me, movie!) Then we get to maybe my favorite scene in the entire movie. The Diablo gang send a crew of 3 guys to assassinate Blade’s girlfriend, which will either make him surrender in terror, or drive him into an insane murder fury. Now, I have real issues with this in films, when someone kills the girl to get to the guy. Happens in all the big action films where the good guy is muscling in on the rival gangs or the mob or whoever. She’s being held by one guy, and defiantly spits in his friends’ face. My face fell the first time. “Oh, no.” I thought.

He goes to slash her face with a switchblade...

...she ducks, and he accidentally slits the other guy’s throat. She then takes out the one guy with a candle holder, and the third...well, thank God she was using a cast-iron pan to cook...something...when they show up. She throws the hot food in his face and then bashes his head in with the pan. ...my man Reb has not trained these men well. But it turns out, a cop was on the mafia’s take! (This guy was in one scene, eating a donut, not a single line. You’d never have guessed a man you’d assumed an extra would be working for Don Hermano!)

So they take his girlfriend, and then Blade gives chase...

...in what looks like a 1979 Ford Econoline. Not exactly great for catching bad guys.

...unless he had a fucking HYPERDRIVE installed. What?! Yeah, okay, I’m on board! Blade closes in on the corrupt cop and Reb, who are...where else? A warehouse on the outside of town. Blade brings his dog, a nameless Doberman (he never calls it anything but “boy”) to help the fact that he’s outnumbered. Reb then tells one of the bad guys to “shoot that mutt!” I again braced myself to be disappointed and sad. The bad guy fires three shots and misses with all three as the dog runs away. He turns to Reb. “Sorry, jefe,” he says.

Reb immediately shoots him in the head. Got a genuine laugh out of me. A thing used by the villain 3 times in Sudden Death as a punchline just made me sad. Here, actual laugh. Dunno how these things work, but I imagine it’s a matter of tone. There’s some weird, “what we saw in ‘Nam” undercurrent through the whole movie. It’s what hardened Blade and made him a bounty hunter, but also what made Reb the general-worshipping lunatic merc he ends up being. It’s not but touched on, but I guess it’s as good a theme as any for a hero and a villain in one of these movies. The problem I have with this now...is that the movie ends really anticlimactically. Blade disposes of the goombas and the diablos in basically one fell swoop, and then challenges Reb to a one-on-one fight. He handily whoops Reb’s ass (a little disappointing, seeing how all he does is talk a great big heaping game about how the generals inspired his military tactics and how he fights) and then...leaves. No, really. Blade wins the fight and then leaves Reb behind. Reb goes to find him, but it turns out Blade has, for no reason, a block of C-4. Dunn where he got it. Reb trips over it, and it literally makes a squib-like “PUFF!”

and he falls through what amounts to a perfect square hole he was standing on. Blade essentially set up a trap door for him, and then Reb just stepped on it. Blade punches Angel, restrains him, and then...the movie just kind of ends.

A movie with a lot of promise, but with an ending I couldn’t help but find flat. But they used by boy Reb real well, and that’s got to account for something.

3 notes · View notes

mercurialsmile · 5 years

Text

okay so i’m not writing new billdip stuff anymore ofc and my stance hasnt changed bUT i just remembered this GREAT AU I made YEARS ago that I r r liked but never did anything with??

I’m not r that caught up on the GF EU stuff sadly but the AU was focused on time travel and the future!Dippers. Mainly “Farther in the Future!Dipper.”

Okay so like. The premise of the AU was based on the Farther in the Future!Dipper who was pretty creepy sounding in the book he was featured in. Idk if anyone remembers the art that came out from that but it was some GOOD SHIT and I was INSPIRED

SO the AU is basically that Young Adult Dipper got caught up in some severe time travel. How, I never really figured out completely. I wanted him to fuck up something big in a big way and getting stuck far into the future, perhaps even in Time Jail for a while? The point is, he is a bounty hunter and a cat bugler. The beginnings are super fuzzy and I never really thought them out. However, by now, Dipper has hardened up due to this and ends up making a deal with a severely weakened Bill Cipher, who was defeated by the Time Baby sometime in the past. Bill Cipher needs someone to collect certain McGuffins to power up some device that will help him regain his powers and get him to full power to defeat Time Baby and take over the world. Cool, right? Idk. I thought it was.

Anyways, Farther in the Future!Dipper makes the deal, gets broke out of prison or whatever whatever, and travels thru time to get these McGuffins. However, he ends up running into his past self multiple times... which is dangerous. If he fucks up the past too much, then he may destroy his own existence. Think Back to the Future, I guess.

Anyways, in this AU Dipper ends up worshipping Bill like a god bc he is fully blown crazy ngl. Bill is... using him, esp as a puppet, but is entertained and enjoys his company. It wasn’t supposed to be a super shippy AU... Bill isn’t a human, doesn’t even really have a true human form, and thus there would be no s/mu/t or anything like that. Their bond was to be.... a wholly weird one that only makes sense to one another.

Tbh? I still love this AU and this idea. Although, what I REALLY like about it is the idea to write from the bad guy’s side about time travel while also combining heavy sci-fi elements with fantasy.

I will prob never write this as an AU although I wanted to in the past. However, stripping it down and reworking it into an original story may be pretty fun?

If I did, I would change a lot tho since I have new and better ideas than the original AU. The Future Main Character would probably not remember his past and I would cut the idea that he broke out of jail himself to become a criminal. Instead, he’s arrested for stealing a time device to travel back in time to learn about his past. He’s thrown in jail where he is hardened up. He thinks he will die, but ends up having visions from some divine being... or perhaps the being will be a demon? Not sure yet. Either way, said being breaks him out, and he ends up making a deal with the being for doing so. In being able to hunt the McGuffins, he will also be able to find the secrets to his past and family.... and will probably end up being torn between the being and his lost family or smth smth like that?

Yeah, ik there are a TON of gaps but I think it could be interesting? Also, I actually don’t know if I’ll write the MC as a male, female, or perhaps even non-binary? Idk. Same with the being, if I am being honest.

Thing is, I am already working on a TON of shit that I don’t need more. On the other hand.... characters and stuff like this is fun to make and I have no control over myself. Oops.

I’m also nervous doing so bc I don’t want ppl to be like “well you get all ur ideas from AUs they’re not original and blah blah blah”

Idk, man, idk. It’s kinda true but also, I have plenty of stories and characters I have crafted/am crafting that aren’t og from some unwritten ff idea but what do I know ya know??

#shutuplanx #my writing #also give me ur thoughts on these ideas pls perhaps??

1 note · View note

shewhohangsoutincemeteries · 6 years

Text

florence frickin’ nightingale

Rocket Raccoon x Reader

Summary: bedridden and miserable, you’re stuck on the milano when it reaches port. quill, anxious to avoid contracting the same virus, leaves you in rocket’s slightly less than willing care.

Characters/Pairings: rocket x reader, peter quill, baby groot

Warnings: minor swearing

Word Count: 2,619

MARVEL MASTERLIST

“Why have I gotta be the one to take care of her?” Rocket growled, flinging a socket wrench towards his tool hit a few feet away. It hit the side and bounced to the floor with an echoing clatter, and you grimaced as the sound bounced through your skull. “Look at her, she’s disgusting!”

“Thanks, buddy.” You said weakly, wiping at your sweat-sheened forehead with the back of your sleeve, despite the fact that you were shivering. You’d spent the last three days hugging the toilet, emptying your stomach into the bowl or dry-heaving every fifteen minutes or so. You were pale, shaking, with chapped lips and swaddled in about three different blankets, damp hair sticking to your forehead. A bucket sat in standby next to your seat.

“Look, man, Drax and Gamora have got shit to do at this port, and I can’t stay with her.” Peter said, standing as far away from you as he physically could. He’d practically thrown himself out of his chair the first time you’d thrown up, and he’d spent the last three days avoiding you like the plague. It would have been hilarious – it had been to Rocket and Drax – the big, bad Star Lord falling on his ass, if you hadn’t been too busy tossing your cookies into the kitchen sink. “I’m the only one who can get sick from what she’s got. Do you really want two of us walking around looking like that?”

“Still here, Quill. And my ears work fine,” you grumbled. “You guys are really doing wonders for my self-esteem.”

Between them and Drax’s constant, thoughtless comments about your current appearance, and the frequency at which you threw up, you’d spent the first night sleeping fitfully on the bathroom floor, and last night had been spent curled up in the chair you sat in now rather than in the bunk you shared with Drax and Gamora. She’d surprised you the first night; after it became apparent you weren’t leaving the bathroom, she’d brought you the pillow and a blanket from your bunk. She’d still been reluctant to come near you, but her concern had touched you all the same.

You felt a tug at the hem of your blanket, and you smiled. Ignoring the way your stomach lurched and your head throbbed as you moved, you bent down to scoop Groot into your lap. He had dragged a picture-book bigger than him along with him, and you brought that up too.

Peter spared you an apologetic glance, but backed up slightly when you gagged, hand wavering towards the bucket. “See, Groot’s not grossed out.”

“Groot would sit on the lap of an A’askvariian if it meant gettin’ a story out of it.” Rocket argued, and you threw your pillow at him. It fell short, and he looked from it to you with an unimpressed arch of his furry brow. “What if she gets him sick?”

“He’s a tree, Rocket.” Peter replied drily. “He’ll be fine.”

“I can look after myself, Quill.” You assured him, irritated. Ever since you’d joined the Guardians on the Milano, you’d made it a point to carry your own weight, especially when Rocket had insisted to Quill that they didn’t need any “dead weight takin’ up space”. You’d proved yourself an asset enough times for the team to accept you, and your independent streak, quick wit and the way Groot had taken to you so quickly had actually made you one of Rocket’s favorite members of the crew. Not that he’d ever say it out loud.

“You can barely move.”

“So?” You shrugged. “Hand me a blaster and I’ll shoot anyone who comes in. They gotta get past me to steal the ship anyway.”

Rocket snickered. “You ain’t exactly formidable lookin’ in that get-up, doll.”

You frowned down at your old shorts and oversized tee-shirt. Between them, your blanket-cocoon and greasy hair, he probably had a point. “Then hand me a bomb.”

Now, he laughed.

“See, you guys are getting along great. You’ll be fine!” Peter said, gesturing between the two of you.

“I told you, I can look after myself.” You repeated. “It’s just a stomach bug. Although if someone cou-could exp—” your stomach heaved, and you grabbed for the bucket, almost knocking Groot off your lap as you clutched it to your chest. After a few minutes, you’d brought up nothing but bile, and you set it aside, wiping your mouth. Both Quill and Rocket looked repulsed. “…could explain how I ended up with a Terran virus in outer-frickin’-space, that would be great.”

“I am Groot.” Came the affronted response, and you grimaced, patting him gently on the head.

“Sorry, sprout.”

Peter pointed at you. “See? Terran! I’m the most at risk of getting sick! And I’m the only one who knows what to get her to help her get better. So, I gotta go.” He started backing towards the cargo bay. “And you gotta stay. Sorry, man.”

“Quill—!” Rocket shouted.

“I’ll be back later, bye!” He called out behind him.

“Asshole,” Rocket muttered, shaking his head. He tossed another tool towards the box, and you winced as it hit the floor. His ear flicked at your sharp intake of breath, and he turned his eyes to you with a sigh. “You alright, humie?”

You shrugged but otherwise ignored him. Rocket thinking you couldn’t take care of yourself was the last thing you needed. Instead, you lifted Groot carefully from your lap and set him on the table in front of you. “I’ll read to you later, okay, buddy?”

“I am Groot?”

“Promise.” You held out your pinkie finger, and he wrapped his whole tiny fist around it. You shook it up and down gently, and he grinned.

“I am Groot!” He jumped from the table to the chair, and then down to the floor, running to join Rocket on the other side of the room. You watched him go with the beginnings of an affectionate smile on your lips. Even when you’re feeling like shit, there was nothing that little plant could do that wouldn’t make you smile.

“Yeah, I heard what she said,” Rocket snapped back at him, but there was no venom in his tone. “I’m standing right here; I ain’t deaf.”

You snickered, and Rocket cast you another glance. “Just get Rocket to bring the book in later, okay, sprout?”

“I am Groot!”

Rocket grunted in response, turning his back to you and rifling through a box of spare parts as you headed to your bunk, blankets around your shoulders and bucket in hand.

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

Any hope for sleep was lost when your stomach refused to settle, so you just squeezed your eyes shut and curled yourself into the fetal position. You were lying there for maybe an hour or so before you heard the door of your bunk slide open and the scurry of tiny wooden footsteps across the floor.

“See, she’s sleepin’.” Rocket said quietly. “I told you, she’s gonna be fine, can we go?”

“Rocket?” you asked quietly, voice drowsy. You opened your eyes blearily, and the room shifts, your stomach rolling with it. You swallowed thickly. “What are you doing in here?”

A tug at the blankets announced Groot’s appearance on your bed, his tiny frame barely making a dent in the mattress as he clambered over your hip to stand by your face. He pet your cheek to ensure he had your attention, and you blew a puff of air at him, making him laugh.

“I am Groot.”

“She’s tryin’ to sleep, Groot. You woke her up.”

“No, no it’s fine.” You replied. “I heard sleep-deprivation is actually great for your mental health.”

You struggled to sit up, and frowned when Rocket hit the lights, and he quickly returned the room to relative darkness. Enough light came from the corridor for you to see the two of them, and you knew with Rocket’s superior eyesight, it made no difference.

“Thanks.”

“You slept at all the last few days?”

You shrugged. “A few minutes, here and there. Blood sugar is low, so I don’t really have the energy for anything else.”

“Are you…” Rocket cleared his throat, his voice uncertain. “How you feelin’?”

You looked up in surprise as Groot settled himself between your legs. “Huh?”

“I mean, if you feel like you’re gonna hurl again, I’ll get Groot outta the way.”

You coughed a laugh. “Thanks for the concern. It’s okay. I haven’t eaten in like, two days, so there’s nothing to come up anyhow.”

Rocket frowned. “Right.”

“I am Groot!”

You raised a brow at the tiny plant in your lap. “Really? How’d he know that, Groot?”

“I am Groot.”

“He’s been keeping an eye on me, huh?” You turned your eyes on Rocket, and he rolled his eyes.

“One day you’re gonna tell me why the little snitch always picks your side.” He groused, holding out a bottle of water and a clear sleeve of crackers. “I just figured, it’d help you feel better. Quicker that happens, the quicker I don’t have to play babysitter anymore.”

“How touching.” You said snidely as you held out your hands for them.

Rocket moved to the edge of the bed, pushing them almost impatiently into your hands. “It’s not a big deal. It’s the same crap Quill eats whenever he’s hungover.”

You took a tentative sip of water, and when your belly didn’t protest, you gulped down another mouthful. “Oh, it’s a big deal. Rocket, the hardened bounty-hunter bringing me crackers to help settle my stomach? You’re like Florence frickin’ Nightingale, you big softie.”

“Bite me, Y/N.”

You snickered, stopping when he turned away. “Sorry. Seriously, Rocket. Thanks.”

“Hey, I wouldn’t even be in here if Groot didn’t want his damn story.”

“I am Groot.”

“It was not my idea!”

“I am Groot.”

“I did not say I was worried, I—”

“Rocket?”

He looked up at you, ears twitching. “What?”

“Thank you.”

You could see the hint of a smile catch at the side of his mouth for a moment, but he shrugged, huffing a sigh and dropping the picture book in your lap in front of Groot. “’s nothing. You just, uh… you just send Groot out if you need anything else. Or if he’s buggin’ ya.”

“Will do.” A shiver wracked your body, and you pulled the blankets tighter around you, careful not to unseat Groot. You stomach swirled suddenly, and you groaned. You managed to get the bucket under your mouth just as the water came up again. “Damn it.”

“You okay?”

You sighed, lying back down and closing your eyes. “I feel like shit.”

“No offence, humie, but you look like shit.”

“Cheers.”

He chuckled, and with the greatest of hesitations, he stepped forward and touched a tentative paw to your cheek. Your eyes snapped open. Rocket didn’t touch. He didn’t touch anyone, save for Groot. He drew his paw away quickly when he saw your eyes on him. “Sorry, I just… you’re burnin’ up.”

“’s okay. You’re really warm.” You mumbled, turning on your side. Groot scrambled out of the way, coming to sit on your pillow. He, copying Rocket, touched your cheek.

“I am Groot?”

“Because I feel cold, Groot.” You told him, tugging the blankets higher. “That’s what happens when Terrans get sick. They feel hot to touch, but it’s like they’ve been sitting in the snow for an hour. ‘s called a fever.”

“Quill said somethin’ ‘bout that. You’re not supposed to bundle up.”

“This ship is freezing,” you mumble, hands tightening on the blanket’s edge. “I’ll die.”

“You won’t die.” Rocket said with an eye-roll, tugging at the blankets. “God, are all you humies this dramatic?”

“Most of us, yeah. Just be grateful it’s me and not Quill.” You pointed out, pouting as he pulled them out of your grasp and onto the floor. You curled back up into a loose fetal position. “He’d be bitching and moaning so much none of us would have gotten any sleep the last few days.”

Rocket frowned as you began to shiver. “You really are cold, aren’t ya?”

“What was your first hint?” You asked through chattering teeth.

“God, you humies are a frickin’ pain.” He muttered. He sighed, waving a paw at you. “Move over.”

“What?”

“Just do it, will ya? Before I change my mind.”

Confused, you shuffled back awkwardly, careful not to touch the cool metal wall behind you. Rocket waited for you to settle again before removing his toolbelt.

“You breathe a word of this to any of the crew and I’ll shoot you.” He warned, climbing up onto the mattress beside you. He curled up beside you, his body conforming to the curve of yours. His back pressed against your stomach and your thighs, his head settling under the pillow where Groot sat. “That means you too, little man.” He huffed.

“I am Groot.”

“Yeah, yeah. You keep your opinions to yourself.”

Already you could feel the heat of his body warming your own, better than the blankets had. You reached out to gently stroke your fingers through the fur behind his ears. He tensed for a moment, before you felt him relax under your touch. He sighed lightly, and you continued, slowly.

“And don’t go gettin’ any ideas either. This is a one-time deal.”

“Rocket, you sweet-talker.”

“Hilarious, you are.”

You closed your eyes. “That’s why you love me.”

The scoff he let out came out more as a puff. “Keep dreamin’, humie.”

“Don’t worry,” you whispered, lulled by his rhythmic breathing against your belly. You felt Groot settle himself by your chest, his hand gripping the collar of your shirt. “It’s our little secret. Promise.”

“Just shut up and sleep, will you?” His voice was quiet, and despite his words, his tone sounded more amused than annoyed.

“’Kay.”

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

You woke up a couple of hours later to the sound of Drax’s booming voice announcing the others’ return to the ship. You jolted slightly, your fingers still buried in the fur of Rocket’s neck. He jerked up immediately, reminding you of a dog that had heard an intruder. Ears upright, his lips pulled back in the smallest of snarls before he remembered where he was. Shaking himself, he pulled away from you, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. You could see where his fur was damp from your sweat, and he ran his paws through the fur at the side of his face to straighten it.

He paused when he cast a glance back at you and saw you watching.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” he replied, his voice was hoarse, like he’d fallen asleep too, and he cleared his throat. “You feelin’ better?”

You nodded, sitting up. You scooped the still-sleeping Groot up against your chest as you did. His hand was still affixed to your shirt. “A little. I should probably try to eat something.”

He nodded, ears twitching again. He could hear the others. “I should, uh… Quill’s gonna need a hand takin’ off. Can barely handle this thing without me.”

You smirked, rolling your eyes. “Amazing how he managed to keep it one piece all those years before you showed up.”

“Luck.” Rocket shot back as he jumped to the floor, and you laughed. He smiled back at you, scratching at the back of his head. “A real laugh. You must be feelin’ better.”

“Yeah,” you assured him, nodding. “Thank you, Rocket.”

“’s nothin’.”

You shook your head, leaning over to scratch behind his ear again. Gentle, but quick. He leaned his head into your palm slightly as you did. “It’s not nothing. Thank you.”

He nodded awkwardly, still smiling. “You’re welcome, Y/N.”

#marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel x reader #rocket raccoon x reader #rocket raccoon x you #marvel imagine #gotg imagine #guardians of the galaxy imagine #mine: fanfic #rocket raccoon imagine #baby groot #rocket raccoon #baby groot imagine #rocket raccoon fanfic #rocket raccoon fanfiction #gotg fanfic #gotg fanfiction

259 notes · View notes

mercurytail · 6 years

Text

Shifting Sands Chapter 4

:D I proudly present Chapter four! Thanks to @the-hallowed-lady for betaing.

Please be aware that this chapter contains Sexual content.

Please Leave comments they keep me going <3 I Love you all!

Enjoy!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15223778/chapters/35309981

Shifting Sands Chapter 4

(Important: The weapon later in the story used by the bounty hunter in Mexico is a modified bolo tie, it is made of wire and the pendant is a heating fixture, it enables the tie to decapitate and cauterize when cinched.)

McCree stirs just as the first light kisses the horizon, turning the sky into an array of blazing orange, vermillion, and lavender; the shy blue basking amongst them. McCree stands and looks to the other room, Hanzo lies on the bed, chest rising and falling steadily. He turns to the cabinet and grabs a bottle of painkillers; god knows he’ll need um. ‘So much for a ‘good night’s sleep’’, He downs four pills with a glass of water.

He peels off his shirt and leans over the sink to wash his hair. He then cleans up his face in the mirror. Satisfied with his priming, he briefly considers grabbing a clean shirt but decides against it so as not to awaken Hanzo. He tosses his old shirt in the corner with the rest of his dirty clothes. He peels off the gauze from his wound and treats it, then dresses it with clean dressings.

When finished, he stows the kit away and returns to the kitchen. He doesn’t have much in the ways of food, but with the rye bread, dried heirloom beans, bacon, leftover avocado and peach preserves, there is the makings of a decent meal in his opinion. He sets his beans to soak and looks over the route they’ll take to his supplier in Santa Fe.

He occupies himself while the beans soak with a cigarillo outside. A couple hours pass and he walks back in. He heats a pan and cooks up the bacon, while two slices of bread tick away in the toaster. He takes the beans from the water and fries them in the leftover bacon grease. Once they're cooked to his liking he mashes them and smears some on half a slice of toast, he lays avocado over them. He spoons a dollop of peach preserves on the side and calls it good.

*grunt*

McCree hears Hanzo stir in the other room. He smirks to himself and scoops up the plates.

***

Hanzo wakes to the sunlight streaming from under the door, he sits up with a groan. The smell of bacon wafts through the air. Hanzo turns and places his feet on the floor, but before he can stand the door opens.

“Mornin’” McCree greets him. Shirtless.

“Good Morning,” Hanzo nods briefly stunned by the man’s soft-toned muscular chest. A water droplet glides down McCree’s chest from his still slightly damp hair.

“Figured’ you’d be mighty famished, what with the day you had yesterday,” He places the plate down on Hanzo’s lap. Then quickly returns with two glasses of water. He sits down on the floor across from Hanzo with his own plate in hand.

Hanzo’s takes in the meal on his lap. The golden preserves are nestled up against the glistening crispy bacon. Hanzo soon realizes just how starved he feels with the pain that blossoms in his gut, he drools slightly. He snaps from his trance and wipes the drool on the back of his hand. He picks up a strip of bacon and scoops up the sweet preserves onto it. The sweet and salty flavor is heavenly in his mouth.

He notices McCree waits kindly till he’s nearly done with his beans on toast to speak.

“So, if you were headed to Gibraltar, How’d you end up here?” McCree says as he finishes chewing a strip of bacon and reaches for his water glass.

Hanzo takes a strip of avocado, chews and swallows it before answering. “As I stated before, I do not know. I had been on a job in Germany when they double-crossed me, I was forced to flee and the last I remember is being confronted with a bomb. I destroyed it. After the explosion, I found myself here.”

“Did you use your lightning to destroy it?” McCree inquires.

“Yes…” Hanzo now finished eating, sips at his water.

“Sounds to me like you might a’ made a rift, what with all that energy being concentrated in one place.” McCree shrugs.

“Rift? Like a kind of space rift?” Hanzo furrows his brow in ah that McCree would have this type of knowledge.

“Yeah, had it happen to me once back in my service days. One second, I was facin’ off against some baddies in Russia, the next, I’m laid out on my ass in the middle a flock of sheep in New Zealand. Helluv’ a ride. Took Winston two weeks to figure out what had happened.” McCree stands and motions for Hanzo’s plate.

“I see…” Hanzo hands the plate over and leans back on his arms on the bed. “By any means, the coincidence of my appearance here was a blessing in disguise for the both of us it seems.” McCree flashes him a wide smile and walks to the kitchen. Hanzo follows.

McCree places the plates in the sink and gives them a quick rinse. “I’m assumin’ you’ll want to shower before we head out. Imma’ pack up some things and get my bike ready.” McCree walks into the bedroom, Hanzo hears him rustling around. The man returns carrying a bundle of clothes and a sleek grey duffle bag. “Help yourself to anything ya’ see.” McCree motions to the soaps near the shower and then proceeds to exit the shack leaving Hanzo to himself.

Hanzo looks at the door for a short moment, He then walks over to his bag and pulls out his comb, razor, and tea soup bar. He lays them on the floor by the wall mirror. He peels off his remaining clothes and folds them individually, laying them over the back of the leather recliner. Lastly, he pulls the yellow silk tie from his hair; it cascades over his shoulders. He reaches up and runs his fingers over his scalp, savouring the release. He turns the knob and allows it to heat up before stepping under the spray.

Hanzo’s sharp cheekbones glisten in the light. He scrubs his hands over the hardened edge of his abs and hip bone. His hard-toned body feels good under is touch. He takes his razor and runs over every inch of himself; he trims up his unruly lower bush, and then trims his beard. He washes his face and hair then rinses off. He towels off and wrings out his hair, then ties it into a high ponytail, his hair and silken ribbon drape down his back. He slips on a black cut-out tank and his Aztec designed pants and puts his gear over top, he then sits in the leather chair to lace and buckle up his boots.

He moves over to his bag and checks its contents. He will need to replace his missing knife, as well as a heady set of arrows and arrowheads. He reaches for Storm bow and gives it an once-over. His bow could use tuning when there was time for it. He repacks then straps on his bag and quiver and places Storm bow over his shoulder.

He then walks out into the morning sun. It’s not hot quite yet but Hanzo senses that will soon change. He talks off his jacket and ties it around his waist. He then turns and makes his way to the back of the shed, where he hears McCree scuffling about.

***

McCree walks around to the back of the shed and opens the hatch. He climbs down into the basement and walks over to his workbench. He places the duffle bag and change of clothes down. He turns and strips, then slips on the clean Shirt and brown suede pants, he rolls up the bottom a couple loops. He folds and places the dirty clothes in the duffle.

He then takes his chest armour off the wall and straps it on. He turns back and takes the chaps off the wall from where they’re hanging and folds them; placing them in the duffle. He takes his holster and straps it on placing Peacekeeper in her place. He unzips a side pocket of the duffle and places spare bullets and flash bangs in it, as well as essentials such as painkillers, sterile wrap, a flashlight, granola bars, and a tin for water.

He places the packed duffle in the saddle bag of the Atlas and buckles it. He slips his switch knife and the bike keys in his pocket, then wraps on his serape; topping it all off with his beloved hat. He takes his bike and pulls it up out onto the packed desert clay then closes and latches the hatch.

Hanzo walks around the corner.

“All packed and ready to go.” McCree tips his hat at Hanzo and winks. “You look refreshed.”

Hanzo ignores the gesture, “The shower was agreeable. Is this the only mode of transportation you have?” Hanzo motions to the Atlas, less than pleased.

McCree cocks his head and looks from the bike to Hanzo and back. “If you’re hatin’ on her, you can just walk. Or we could travel by Sand,” McCree looks Hanzo in the eye. “Or lightning in your case.”

Hanzo bristles, “That would be unsafe and impractical for energy conservation.”

To that McCree moves to the bike and mounts it. He turns and pats the back seat, grinning at Hanzo. Hanzo walks over and saddles the bike behind McCree.

McCree starts the bike and looks back at Hanzo. “Hold on Darlin’,” McCree kicks the bike to life and guns off. Hanzo flails back but finds his hands soon clasp securely around McCree’s waist. He frowns slightly to himself from how much he likes it more than he should. McCree grins to himself all the while. They fall into a comfortable silence.

***

They make it to the supplier in Santa Fe by the late afternoon.

McCree pulls into the alleyway and knocks on the side door of a redbrick apartment building in a rundown part of town. Hanzo stands beside him. A cat walks out from behind a dumpster, completely black all over except for two small white dots just above its brow arches. “You have horns, my friend.” It mewls at him; Hanzo bends down and calmly strokes it. The small hatch at eye level on the door slides open and McCree exchanges words with the man.

Soon the door swings open and they are let inside. The cat follows. The room inside is small, each wall of redbrick possess a fluorescent bar light. The wall across from the door has a waist-high counter, above that are bars to protect the seller; flaking green paint hanging from them. On the left wall is a pair of Iron doors, their glass windows fogged with years of grime. One door is cracked, showing a training mat and small target range inside. The cat leaps up onto the counter and squeezes under the bars, there is a small red pillow on a stool on the opposite side, it jumps up and rolls over on the pillow, all four paws in the air stretching languidly. The man who opened the door seals it and sits down on a padded chair in the corner. He picks up his newspapers and resumes reading it. He’s bulky but seemingly unarmed. But they all know that is a lie.

McCree makes his way up to the counter and knocks on it. “Melanie, you here?”

“Jesse, what brings your sorry ass to my shop?” A thin woman with bright purple shoulder length hair and a septum piercing walks out from the shadows among rows of shelves, she’s tan with black lipstick; a small gold chain hangs around her neck. She wears all skin-tight white clothes. “Oh! And you’ve brought company.” Her eye peruses Hanzo, “Mmmmm, and what fine company it is.”

“Don’t you got a man back home Mel?” McCree raises a brow.

“Just because a girl’s on a diet doesn’t mean she can’t browse the menu, and maybe taste test a little. Now, are you here for business? Or pleasure?” She places her hand on the counter and leans toward Hanzo accentuating her chest.

Hanzo sneers disinterestedly and looks to McCree.

“Sorry Mel, we’re here on pure business. I need a case of bullets and a bottle of gun oil. Also, whatever he needs.” McCree motions with his thumb back at Hanzo.

Hanzo moves forward, “I require a set of arrows, arrowheads, and a serrated pocket knife.”

“’humph’, aren’t you both needy.” She grins at them, “give me an hour and I’ll have it ready for you.” She waves them off and disappears back amongst the shelves, her bladed heels clicking in the darkness.

McCree turns to Hanzo, “you wanna’ spar to pass the time?”

Hanzo huffs amusedly, “I doubt you will present much of a challenge.”

McCree grins wickedly, “Hey now, don’t knock me till you try me.” He flicks his nose with his thumb and saunters into the training room. He removes his armor, hat, serape, and boots. Hanzo follows and removes his arm guard, bag, and boots. They both face each other on the mat and Hanzo bows then ready himself. “Now Darlin’ don’t you feel you have to take it easy on me.” McCree brings his fists up.

McCree swings forward with his left hand. Like a whip, Hanzo flashes out grabs McCree’s arm, curls into him and flips him over his shoulder onto the mat. “I never take it easy.”

McCree grunts on the mat, he rolls over and stands back up. He looks up at Hanzo with a wolfish grin. “Again.”

They ready themselves once more. Hanzo strikes out, going yet again for a disarm and takedown. McCree responds my fanning away. He surges back with a fake left jab when Hanzo responds he then glides his right arm around Hanzo’s head and pulls it back straight against his spine and forces him to the floor. Hanzo collapses and stares up at McCree standing smugly over him. He gets up and readies himself once more.

The next hour consists of both men equally being thrown, pulled, flipped, and driven into the mat. Both with a permanent grin on their face.

A bell rings from the other room. “’Ahem’ Gentlemen I hate to interrupt your date, but I have your items ready.” Melanie spouts from the other room. Hanzo scoffs and walks over to his things to redress. McCree grins and does the same. They both walk out and pay for their items. “Farewell, my dears!” She waves goodbye from her side of the counter. They walk to the door and out into the alley. McCree packs away his items and Hanzo stashes his things in his quiver bag.

“Do you want to stop for the night?” McCree flashes a raised eyebrow to Hanzo.

“That might be wise.” Hanzo joins McCree on the bike and they ride off.

Soon they pull up in front of a rather nice-looking hotel. McCree parks and turns to his duffle. He takes off his hat, and slicks back his hair. He removes his serape and folds it into the duffle. He straightens the wrinkles from his shirt; buttons it completely and tucks it in his pants. He pulls out a pair of thin frame glasses from his bag and places them low on his face. He then places the grey duffle on his shoulder and motions for Hanzo to follow. They make their way inside and to the front desk.

“Hello, a double king suit please, if you don’t mind.” McCree flashes a bright smile with a cheer Hanzo has yet to see from the man. His accent is completely different, and he exudes an arrogant energy.

“Of course, sir, May I have the name and duration of stay?” The receptionist chirps back typing away at the holoscreen.

“Joel Morricone for a single night.” McCree takes out his wallet and pulls out a credit card. It reads Joel J Morricone in the name slot. They pay and are given a room number. In the elevator, McCree is eerily quiet. Once they are in their room McCree shakes out his hair, takes off the glasses and returns them to their case in the duffle. “Which bed you want?” he asks as he simultaneously lays down on one of the two.

Hanzo lays his bag against the wall; he then smirks at McCree who has one eye open at him. “I will use the bathroom first.” Hanzo proceeds to grab an undershirt and a pair of sweatpants from his bag and locks the door to the bathroom behind him.

McCree rolls over and strips down to his underwear, taking a pair of sweatpants from his bag and slips them on. He lies down on the bed and tucks under the top downy comforter.

He smiles to himself. A feeling of fondness blooms in his chest. Not having to explain Joel to Hanzo was comforting. Hanzo knew the need of such alter egos, the requirement to be a different person when the time called for it. He turned over on his side and closed his eyes.

McCree was asleep when Hanzo came out of the bathroom. He pulled back the layers of his bed and crawled in. He turned off the shared porcelain lamp and folded into himself. His breath slowed gradually as he drifted off.

***

They wake at sunrise and travel all morning, they make it to a small Texas town about six hours from Dallas by lunchtime and they decide to stop and eat. Hanzo picks a classic looking diner. McCree comments that it looks a lot like the panorama Diner from back home. “Let’s hope the coffee’s at least drinkable.” They walk in and are seated into a red faux leather booth.

They are both given menus, McCree orders coffee and a glass of water, Hanzo requests mineral water. “I’ll get your drinks and you can order with me when you’re ready” chirps the waitress. She returns with their drinks and they shoo her off till later.

McCree looks over to Hanzo and seems about to say something when a ring echoes out from his pocket. McCree retrieves his communicator and looks at the ID. He furrows his brow and answers.

“Hello Mrs. Shewmore, I’m afraid I ain’t home right now so if you need help….” McCree pauses, his eyes widen. He takes the earpiece out from the communicator and hands it to Hanzo. Hanzo places it in his ear.

“Jesse, I needed to tell you. There was a man that came to my home searching for you.”

“Are you alr...?” McCree starts.

“I am fine, a bit worse for wear but alive, Son I need to know your safe. Ease this old lady’s heart.” She interrupts him and pleads.

“I am fine Mrs. I am off pretty far with a friend,” McCree says with a soft voice.

“Good.” She seems soothed.

“Can you tell us what happened?” McCree ducks his head into his hand propped on the table.

***

A knock sounds from the front step. Mrs. Shewmore scuffles to the screen and raises her eyes, her smiles drops. A Large hulking man stands on the other side. His skin is dark, presumably of mixed descent, freckles scatter across his face. His short, auburn red hair is shaved short. He wears a black short sleeve jacket with a white chest plate over it, military-grade pants with several large pockets adorn his legs; mid-calf boots on his feet.

“Hello Ma’am,” The man pushes open the screen door and forces his way in, “I’m looking for a man by the name of Jesse McCree. I hear tell you might know where he is.” He leans forward a bit casting a shadow over her.

“I am sorry but, I must ask you to leave.” She moves around him and toward the door. The man spins and grabs her by the throat thrusting her up against the wall. He continues normally. “You see, he took something real’ important from me. An’ I plan to make him pay for it.” Mrs. Shewmore grabs the vase on the side table near her and attempts to smash it over his head. The man grabs her arm however and bends it back, breaking it with a sickening snap. She screams out in pain. “Now, you either tell me where his little shithole is in this godforsaken dead land, or I can drag you around behind my truck with me till I find it.” He reaches into one of his pockets and pulls out a large chain.

***

A Shadow busts in the door of McCree’s shack. No one is home. The man angrily kicks the side table; it shatters into pieces against the opposite wall. A glare of light catches his eye. He walks over the holoscreen and presses it on. The figure smiles viciously. “Don’t you worry Sammy, I got him.”

***

“After that, I gave him the coordinates of your shack and prayed for your safety. I know you can handle yourself Jesse, but I still worry.” Mrs. Shewmore quips.

“Thank you kindly for the warning Ma’am, I’ll keep a sharp eye out. You get yourself to the hospital now you hear me?” McCree says his pleasantries and hangs up.

He looks at Hanzo as a mixture of emotions crosses his face. Anger, yes, but fear too. Soon, they all melt away and a solemn mask takes their place. “We might have company.”

Hanzo nods, “Do you know if the hunter that made an attempt on your life two days ago worked alone?”

McCree gives him a quizzical eye. “I don’t rightly know.”

They finish their meal and rent a motel for the night. All afternoon they spend researching If Sammy had any recorded partners. Only when searching through a deleted social media page do they find a single name that catches McCree’s eye. Garrett Hazel. The profile shows a single picture of Sammy and Garrett kissing with a caption at the bottom that reads: “To the love of my life, I am hopeful for our bright future.” beside it there’s a wedding ban emoji. Hanzo finds an article on him, “Garrett Peter Hazel, ex-military SEP soldier, he turned to bounty hunting after the programs fall out. His success rate is 96%”

They decide to rest and rise early. They leave in the morning before the suns first rays taint the black sky. They make it to the station before the sun even separates from the horizon. The train is due to depart later in the morning. McCree stows his bike in a garage. They board the train from the back and sneak into the rearmost cabin. Not until the train finally starts to excel down the rail does either man relax. McCree sits back and takes a nap as the train crosses state after state. Hanzo busies himself with his holopad.

“Dear passengers, we will be making our planned stop at Charlotte in ten minutes. Please buckle and have a wonderful day.” The intercom announces overhead. They pull into the station and come to a halt.

McCree stands, “Imma’ take a leak.” He opens the door to their booth and stops when he enters the hall.

Their car is strangely quiet.

McCree reaches for Peacekeeper but has no time to draw before a black bulk slams into him. Garrett nails him in the jaw with a flying punch and knocks him to the floor. Peacekeeper flies down the hall. He pulls a heavy chain from his pocket and goes to wrap it around McCree’s neck.

Hanzo reacts instantly; he lunges forward and grapples around his neck, slinging his legs up over his shoulder and pulling Garrett to the floor. He gets to McCree and pulls him to his feet, but Garrett recovers and grabs for McCree’s ankle, “So weak you can’t even take me alone? Gotta’ have a bodyguard?” Garrett taunts. McCree kicks at his face bending it obscenely back breaking his nose, blood runs down over his lips. Hanzo gets him to his feet as the train is beginning to move again. McCree grabs Peacekeeper from the floor. They make it to the door of the car and attempt to move to the next car up when Garrett catches McCree’s serape and nearly pulls him over the side of the now blindingly fast speeding train. Hanzo scales the train to the roof and pulls McCree up. Garrett soon follows.

“Nowhere to run now,” Garrett whips out his chain and stalks forward. The train is extremely unsteady. They are forced to near crawl to keep footing as they move toward the engine.

McCree turns to Hanzo, “I can’t use my sand at this high a speed, I’ll get ripped away, and Peacekeepers out of commission if I can’t aim.

Hanzo nods and quickly unleashes an arrow into the behemoth of a man. It lands solidly in his shoulder, but the man doesn’t falter. Hanzo releases another, it lands in his neck and still, the man does not slow. His eyes are bloodshot and he’s breathing heavily, seemingly running off pure fury and adrenaline.

Garret roars at the two men, now gating toward them as they clamber up the train. “My arrows have no effect!” Hanzo yells.

McCree looks back at Garret now merely two meters away. “Use your lightning!” McCree shouts.

Hanzo stares at McCree and hesitates. “I can’t”.

McCree looks at him confused, “Why not?!” at this moment Garret closes the distance and throws himself into McCree. They roll, violently trading blows. They topple over the edge and McCree catches the rail bar just barely, Garret clings to him.

Hanzo moves swiftly to the edge and grabs a hold of McCree’s hand. “You are coming with me, you son of a bitch!” Garret bellows from below.

“Hanzo! Use it!” McCree pleads. Their grip slips just a bit.

“He’s too close to you - if I do you’ll get hit by the current!” Hanzo exclaims.

Times stills when Hanzo catches the smiles on McCree’s face, “I trust you.”

Hanzo stares at him for mere seconds, a searing white light lifts from his tattoo and his eyes sprout small arks of electric blue. A bolt lifts from his back and strikes Garrett in the chest, sending a current ripping through his body. Both men scream in agony. Garrett slumps and falls from McCree, His body hits the fast-moving earth below soon out of sight and sooner forgotten.

Hanzo immediately pulls McCree back up on the car. He’s unconscious. Hanzo moves them both back to their cabin and lays McCree down on the floor. There’s no pulse. Hanzo tries CPR on him to no avail.

He screams. Lightning shatters off of him, shattering the glass around them. McCree convulses when he’s hit. Hanzo’s eyes widen with an idea. He grabs for McCree’s prosthetic and grips it tightly. Hanzo sends a shock through it, nothing. He tries again, McCree sucks in a gasp of air. Hanzo feels for a pulse, it’s erratic but most definitely there. Hanzo breathes a sigh of relief and slumps back against the seat.

When the Train reaches the New York station the sun is nearly gone. McCree is awake when they arrive; they exit the train and find an old abandoned apartment building to hold up in. They both feel safer in a no-name place like this. Hanzo moves a heavy desk in front of the door. The only pieces of furniture in the dilapidated studio apartment are a mattress in the corner and industrial spool meant to as a table. Hanzo helps McCree lay down on the mattress.

It’s quiet; aside from the club music weakly bubbling in through the crack in the window.

“Thank you,” McCree breaks the silence.

“I nearly killed you.” Hanzo is facing away from him. He isn’t angry with McCree but feels the need to distance himself. If the man harbors any ill-will toward him, he will bare it. He deserves it.

“Yeah, but you also saved me….twice.” McCree sits up. “Look, Hanzo I know what it’s like to be scared. To not want to use a part of yourself.”

Hanzo whips around staring daggers at him. “How would you know? Sand is slow and child’s play compared to lightning. Do you have any idea how much constant focus I am forced to maintain to keep the lightning contained? To keep it from destroying everything around me? To keep it…from hurting anyone..,” ‘From hurting you’. Hanzo curls in on himself. His lightning has always been unruly, even as a child he excelled at everything else. The elders would prod him, cajole him to master it, he had tried. When he was told to confront Genji…things had gone too far…he had only meant to use it to hinder him…but… Hanzo crouches; he cups his head between his hands making him look even smaller.

“Hanzo,” McCree crawls off the mattress and over to him, “Hanzo, you don’ have to…you don’t. Gaw!” He holds his prosthetic out in front of him, “you see this?” Hanzo nods. “It was about two years after I’d left Overwatch; I got caught by a hunter down in Mexico. Back then I was still green around the edges, still used to being taken care of, I had a hold on my sands but I thought I was untouchable. All I’d ever really used em’ for was to dodge bullets and Deadeye. He caught me real close, and it came to blows real’ quick. We were tradin’ punches left and right when the guy got his weird bolo wrapped around my arm. I turned to sand to try and slip out of it but it hurt so damn bad I couldn’t see straight. Next thing I know I’m lyin’ there bleeding out with my arm turnin' to dust on the ground in front of me. I managed to slither away but when I tried to reattach my arm I couldn’t. It was like it wasn’t a part of me anymore. I passed out in an alley and woke up in a kind old ladies house two days later.

“After that I got scared. Nearly died countless times taking bullets I could a’ dodged because I was too afraid to use my sands again, scared I might lose something else. It was one night at a bar, I was drunk and rambling on, that I met this old man. I don’t even know his name. He told me; “Sounds to me like you’re just waitin’ to die. If you can do something, why don’t you do?” After that I realized I’d given up on myself, I decided I’d learn my sands all over again find my limits and what I was capable of. I started using them every day. I got better; I found my strengths and my weaknesses. I also became deadlier because of it.” McCree leans into Hanzo and wraps his arms around the man. “Look, I’m not saying you have to like it, but caging it’s only gonna’ make it worst, you already know that. You got to find your limits and learn um.” McCree pauses and looks down at Hanzo, a single tear runs down his cheek, he’s staring at the cement below. McCree huffs dismissively.

He stands up “Get up,” he looks down at Hanzo offering his hand.

Hanzo looks up at him, looking to his face then his hand, a confused look on his face.

“This kind a’ sorrow is enough to kill a man… an’ I ain’t gonna’ let that happen tonight.” McCree reasserts his hand. Hanzo slowly stands, placing his hand in McCree’s.

McCree then steps into his space; he holds their hands out to the side and wraps his other arm around Hanzo’s waist. He begins to pull Hanzo along, making small circles around the room. Soon a waltz forms from the slow movements.

Neither man says anything as they continue to make sweeping motions. A slow hypnotizing beat drifts in through the window from the nightclub below. At some point they slow, their breathing is thick between them.

Hanzo gradually lifts his head. McCree surges in to meet him, Lips tangling, its intense as each man tries to soak into the other, both men finally allowing themselves to have what they’ve both yearned for, for so long. Each man needing the intimacy far longer than they’ve even known one another. Their lives don’t leave room for pleasures like this.

****Smut start****

McCree’s hands begin to explore Hanzo’s frame, lightly tracing over his waist and abs. Hanzo reaches up and pulls his hands down McCree’s back savoring the dense muscle underneath. They walk backwards and collapse onto the mattress. Hanzo crowds into the space between McCree’s legs. He slowly lifts McCree’s shirt and follows it with his lips, trailing soft kisses and licks all the way up until they meet in a soft kiss. McCree tugs at Hanzo’s jacket and it is soon gone along with his shirt. They barely break long enough for Hanzo to get it over his head. Their shoes come off somewhere along the way.

Hanzo sucks McCree’s earlobe and traces his teeth down McCree’s throat where he nips. Hanzo suckles one nipple in his mouth, drawing a deep moan out of the man below him. He fondles the other pebble nipple. McCree tangles his hands into his hair, pulling the tie loose. Hanzo grazes his teeth over the nipple as he switches.

After a bit, McCree shivers and sets up pushing Hanzo over to his back. Hanzo goes willingly. McCree crawls over him leaving bites up one arm, across his shoulders, neck, and chest then down the other arm. He squeezes Hanzo’s ass firmly. They kiss once more, tongues sliding deliciously. Hanzo tastes sweet. McCree tastes earthy. McCree reaches for Hanzo’s belt cautiously; Hanzo nods and breathes a silent ‘yes’. Both move to lick and nibble at the other's neck as McCree slides off Hanzo’s pants, underwear coming with them. Hanzo fumbles with McCree’s waistband. McCree chuckles and releases the ridiculous buckle for him, his pants and boxers slide off easily. Their thighs glide over each other as they slide closer. McCree grasps his hands and pins them above his head as they drown in the sensation of skin against warm skin

When they finally touch the friction draws a brisk inhale from both men. Hanzo fumbles for his bag and pulls out a small bottle of lube. McCree raises a brow, “Mighty prepared.”

The corner of Hanzo’s mouth tilt up, “A man has his needs.” He pops open the top and squeezes a bit onto his hand. He warms it a bit before he takes them both in hand, gliding his thumb over their heads. Their breathing hitches. “Han,” McCree slips his hands into his hair. Neither man is anywhere near small, McCree is just a bit longer than Hanzo, while Hanzo hangs thicker. McCree leans in close and bites into the muscles of Hanzo’s shoulder a deep, rumbling moan leaks through. Hanzo arches back and cries out in the mix of pain and pleasure. Hanzo sets a punishingly slow rhythm. Lips connect again in a hot embrace, as both men rut into Hanzo’s tight slick tunnel. Each pull sending heat up their spines.

Soon McCree breaks for air. He pulls back to look at Hanzo and briefly looks away. “Can I…?” McCree doesn’t finish because Hanzo takes his fingers and trails them over his puckered hole. McCree exhales and reaches for the lube with his other hand. Hanzo releases him and he crawls down to mouth at his thighs. He coats his fingers with lube and slides them over Hanzo’s entrance.

Hanzo’s sharply inhales from the chill but soon relaxes as McCree presses in the first thick digit. As McCree works him open, he breathes heavily. Each stroke delicious against his walls. McCree trails light nips and suckles over the skin, leaving marks over his thighs. He soon presses in a second finger and begins to scissor in him. McCree presses into the soft tuft of hair around Hanzo’s length and inhales. He trails his tongue over each ball rolling them one at a time. He curves up his fingers and circles that bundle of nerves over and over that leaves Hanzo a sweating, gasping mess.

“Let me hear you,” McCree whispers, he licks up from base to tip and suckles the head. He takes Hanzo in his mouth all the way down, only gagging once. He works in a third digit and spreads experimentally. He pulls off and pants, “I can’t…can I...” he begs.

Hanzo leans up and grabs McCree’s hair pulling him up for an open mouth kiss. He grimaces at the loss of fullness. He nods vigorously and wraps his ankles around McCree’s thighs coaxing him closer.

McCree lines himself up with Hanzo’s slickened hole and presses in. Hanzo savors the stretch. It takes a few patient thrusts for McCree to sink fully into Hanzo.

McCree kisses him, “Tch’ you feel so good, so hot, so tight around me.” He pulls out and back in just a bit; both men breathing heavily.

Hanzo tightens around him, “Get moving.” He smirks.

Without warning, McCree pulls all the way out to the tip and slams back into him, Hanzo claws into his back and curses. McCree looks more than pleased with himself.

McCree sets a fast and deep pace. Each thrust deeper than the last, Hanzo cants his hips up to meet McCree.

Both men quickly building to their end sooner than either would admit.

“I’m close,” Hanzo’s exhales, to that McCree takes a knee in each hand and bends him over almost in half and pounds into him. Each thrust strikes Hanzo’s prostate; it only takes a handful of strokes to send him careening over the edge streaking white over his chest and stomach. As he cums, he constricts around McCree inside him and the man spills inside Hanzo. “Fuck, Hanzo.”

McCree pulls out and falls onto the mattress beside Hanzo his arm resting over Hanzo’s chest. Both bask in the post-coital high.

After some time, McCree grabs his shirt to wipe them both off and lays down into Hanzo’s arms.

****Smut End****

As He slowly drifts off into a peaceful sleep he hears Hanzo whisper in his ear.

“Thank you.”

NOTES

(The song that plays while they are dancing is Martin Garrix Ocean. And the song earlier is The Weeknd’s Call out my name, and Martin Garrix/David Guetta’s So far Away)

(Hanzo’s outfit from after his shower: https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQXCyj74kfv3gaoRQJK7JtAySlna_2WWIlldJMLntddXH4MFtFg

https://gloimg.rowcdn.com/ROSE/pdm-product-pic/Clothing/2016/03/22/source-img/20160322103105_32428.jpg )

(McCree’s outfit: https://smhttp-ssl-33667.nexcesscdn.net/manual/wp-content/uploads/2016/10/loose-style-long-sleeve-denim-shirts-men-washed-vintage-men-s-casual-jean-shirts-summer-lightweight.jpg

http://www.kinnaird-guesthouse.co.uk/images/large/bblnet/ByH2F8uANfccccceeeee_LRG.jpg )

#shifting sands #mchanzo #mchanzo au #hanzo #hanzo shimada #jesse mccree #mccree #smut #my writing

11 notes · View notes

grimlegate · 7 years

Text

Different

It had crept up on the man. No material thing, no beast, nor man; but a song. A song, that in moments like these, filled his head and brought unease and dread bubbling to the surface because his own doubt could not take it. A small song—that had started out with a reserved laugh that had escaped curt and cold lips, now? Now, it almost was too loud to bear. It was a melody; of drafts cutting through the uninsulated boards, the apartment settling into pops and groans, two sets of breaths still desperate to catch themselves, all of the notes soured by his uncertainty. It was a song of Home, or however close he could come to that.

Home scared him. The idea of settling down in a place enough to call it your own, to be surrounded by people to claim as your own as well terrified him. Fear ran rampant through his mind, counting down the days until something bad happened, until something drove him from his momentary comfort and he was back to being a termite-eaten, rotten rung above a hired assassin.

The record was getting higher and higher each day.

The hand that was trailing at his hip, falling towards his thigh with every exhalation drew his gaze downward, the sight burning his eyes. Not because of the tattoos that glowed a soft ivory in the darkness brought on with night spreading her inky gaze over the world, but because of the stark contrast between the two. Vennec’s skin was nearly indistinguishable from the inky blackness of the room around them, the lantern hanging by the door having fizzled out shortly after the end of their ‘nightly activities’. But, Lysandros’? His alabaster skin glowed in what little light was filtered in from the moon, on top of the markings set into his skin.

Their differences fascinated him, and scared him at the same time, worrying that the other would see the man’s tarnished being and dump him. Ly? The man was something; a gemstone in the rough. Not particularly stunning at first glance, but with a great deal of worth beneath its surface. He had all the qualities that would make him a great partner, if one took the time to get to know him.

But, Ven? He felt as though all he was good for was a dispensary of snide comments and bad luck. He was simply a curious stone, picked up and carried for a distance, and then cast aside with the realization that for its interesting look, it was nothing more than hardened earth. He had no idea what the other saw in him, what benefit that he offered the other that kept him hanging on to him. He wondered if it was the protection from the law, that because of his bounty hunter occupation, that it kept Lysandros from feeling the brunt of the consequences from his criminal activity. It made the man feel slightly ill, that he was being taken advantage of—the possibility that the amorous cries that had rung out not even half an hour prior being a front made his heart twist sharply in his chest.

The sweet cricketsong and the shuffling of the subject of his tormented thoughts brought him back to the present, Vennec watching as the kor shifted in his sleep, turning to face the tiefling. Vennec’s uncertainty came crashing down on top of him, and he almost fled the warmth of the bed for the couch he knew was waiting for him just down the hall. He wanted to escape before the intimacy threatened to choke him, drown him, overwhelm him and his emotions until he cracked. But the tiniest noise from his side stopped him.

Ven felt the hand at his hip curl ever so slightly, grasping tighter at the ebony flesh there, the man shuddering at the feeling of the warm fingers. The breathy sigh that escaped the other’s lips as he settled gave the other pause, golden eyes sliding over to the man’s face. Ly’s features hadn’t changed much from his waking hours, even now he had the small quirk to his lips that proved insufferable enough when the man was hounding him about one thing or another. His lips were parted just barely, the quiet rasp of a snore reaching Vennec’s ears. The hand at his hip once more tightened its hold, lightly squeezing the ebony flesh between alabaster fingers.

“You’re so handsy.” The man softly murmured, letting his lids lower, the hand not trapped beneath him trailing upwards, movement stiff and hesitant. Pitch fingers hovered over the pale cheek, a shudder gripping the appendage as he laid there, trying to convince himself that it was a bad idea. He thought about leaving while he could, before he was in too deep. Leaving then might be better, he thought, because if he stayed any longer…

Vennec didn’t think he would be able to bring himself to leave.

The tiefling let out a slow sigh, letting his hand fall against Lysandros’ cheek, shaking his head, looking more like a man who had been sentenced to the gallows than one who was enjoying the warmth of his lover beside him. Vennec liked to think he could have left, cutting the man away before he could get hurt, before it was too late—but that time had come and passed. He knew he wouldn’t be able to leave now, now that he had the love, the care, that he had craved since a child. He had a home, and as terrifying as a thought that was, when he had first called it that, his heart had grown lighter, and a joy had rocked him to his core, driving tears into his eyes.

His reverie was broken, Lysandros’ eyes fluttering open to peer at Vennec, holding his breath, afraid that he would spook the man, ruining the moment. “Ven? S’something wrong?” He yawned, asking in a quiet voice, regarding the man in front of him. The tiefling lightly shook his head, pausing half-way through before blurting out in a tiny voice.

“I love you. I… I just want you to know that.” Ven looked away from Ly’s face, squeezing his eyes shut, fear of proper rejection now that all had calmed down bubbling back up to the surface. But, instead, the reaction he got?

He opened his eyes at the soft chuckle, gaze trailing back to the man in front of him, heart throbbing at the sight of the hair framing his face. He felt the hand on his hip shift higher, settling on the small of his back, the kor shifting forward to press the two together. The smaller man’s sight was filled with that pale skin he was so afraid of tainting, looking up slowly to avoid hitting the man’s chin. Ly simply stared down at him, flashing him a sleepy smile.

“Aren’t you affectionate tonight? You’re not being curt… You’re not being distant… Literally and figuratively.” He murmured, and Deadeye felt his heart sink, chest squeezing as the thought that the other was using him came right back to the front of his mind. But, it was chased away as soon as it came, Ly embracing the other in a tight squeeze before relaxing, laying his head against the other’s.

“I love you, too… It’s so strange to be saying that, isn’t it? It’s not bad, just… Different.” He murmured, and Vennec felt a warmth spreading from where Ly touched, his fears chased away by the feeling of content settling in his bones.

“Different… Is good.” He murmured, laying his head against the kor’s chest, thinking of the times that he had fantasized about this; not with Ly—not until recently; but as a child wondering who would love him enough to stick with him through the pain that undoubtedly would come. And after seventeen years of the same fear keeping him from any sort of intimacy?

Yeah. Different was good.

#dnd #d&d #kor #tiefling #romance #self-doubt #angst #i just wanted to write me and my friends dumb lovers #more to follow #Lysandros Sasha #Deadeye #Vennec Jackis

1 note · View note

miitgaanar · 7 years

Text

First Impressions

“Theron, I need you to take that new shipment of daggers and set them up on the rack. You can have your pick of them at the end of the day.”

“Are they those new Delta Daggers?”

A pause. “Possibly.”

“What if I were to…accidentally forget to put out a pair?”

The arms vendor didn’t look up from the inventory listing, but she could hear the smile in his voice. “What I don’t know won’t hurt me.”

Cassie Theron grinned as she pried open the wooden crate, sending strips of shredded newspaper tumbling along the cobblestone streets. The morning sunlight glinted off of the brand new steel blades, their pristine surface practically begging for the taste of a local monster or two.

But that was for after business hours.

Lifting the crate, Cassie brought the shipment closer to the display racks, but not before stashing a pair of the knives for herself behind the counter. Being a hunter in Lucis was neither the safest nor cheapest profession to be had. Hunters were lost daily to marks that were more than they bargained for, drawn in by the four or five digit reward scrawled under the ads. Meanwhile, the supplies and armaments that ensured you wouldn’t become another statistic could easily cost you three jobs worth of gil.

Well, if you didn’t connect yourself with the right people, at least.

Propping up the last set of daggers, Cassie wiped a thin sheen of sweat from her brow before turning to her boss, his eyes still glued to his inventory checklist, double and triple checking that everything he ordered had gotten there safely and in one piece. All too often their shipments were lost or damaged due to stray monster and daemon attacks en route, and sometimes the courier tried to hide the damages in order to avoid a pay cut. Aelan had learned the hard way to make sure the merchandise was there himself.

He was an older man with a clean shaven head and a light, gray scruff on his jaw, his hands long since hardened over with calluses from his younger years as a hunter. When Cassie had approached him for employment, he had been more than happy to oblige, explaining that it was getting harder to run the shop on his own as he got older. He couldn’t afford to pay her as much as he wanted, so he offered her half off all weapons in his shop in addition to her salary.

“The least I can do is make sure the next generation of hunters is well equipped,” Aelan had said with a smile.

If she was being honest, his supplies had saved her ass more times than she bothered to count.

“So then, Mister Boss-man,” Cassie called to him, brushing sawdust from the inside of the crates off of her dark blue jeans. “What else you got?”

“Hm?” Aelan looked up from his list with a start, as if just remembering she was there. “Oh, there should be one more crate with a Kite Shield in it. Just bring it out front.” A teasing smile. “Unless, of course, you want that, too.”

Cassie placed a hand over her heart, feigning shock. “Have you seen those things? It’d take two of me just to hold it up! I’m probably gonna have to drag it out front on an old towel as it is.”

Aelan’s chuckle followed her as she headed to the back, struggling for more than a few minutes with getting the shield out of the large wooden crate, and then another few minutes finding a way to heft the large shield comfortably onto her back to avoid dragging it along the floorboards. Despite her joking, there were, unfortunately, no old towels to be found. She’d have to talk to Aelan about that later.

By the time she got back out front, she could hear Aelan’s deep voice amicably chatting up some customers. She did her best to make as little noise as possible, not wanting to be caught struggling with the weight of the shield slung over her shoulder. The last thing she wanted to do was give any local hunters the idea that she was ‘too weak’ for the profession. That was the easiest way to have good bounties snatched out from under you.

Easing the shield off her back with only a dull thump to be heard, Cassie arranged the shield as neatly as she could manage next to the other heavy weapons. Cassie wiped at the sweat on her brow, her auburn bangs already sticking to her forehead in the Lestallum heat. It was times like these she missed the much cooler climate of Insomnia.

She frowned. Even the mere thought of her old home caused a dull ache in her chest.

“You boys are sure packin’ heavy for a bunch of novice hunters.” Aelan’s voice cut through her morbid thoughts. Curiosity piqued, Cassie glanced around the display rack.

Aelan was talking to a young man, probably around her age, who seemed to have an affinity for the color black. He had a slight, but strong build, his dark hair shielding his eyes from her.

She really hoped he was going to take that jacket off soon if he was going to be in Lestallum for long.

“Yeah, well,” another voice piped up from the back of the store, this voice light and cheery. “We have a bit of a habit of running into trouble.” Nervous laughter. “Right, Noct?” Cassie craned her neck to catch a glimpse of a tuft of blonde hair on a wiry frame.

The boy with Aelan, Noct, spoke up, sounding exasperated, “At this point, I think trouble just follows us.”

“Which is why we’re here,” a third voice boomed from the doorway, heavy footfalls on the shop’s floorboards signaling the newcomer’s entrance. A large man with shoulder length, dark hair walked up behind Noct, clapping him so hard on the shoulder the smaller boy lurched forward slightly. “We need to upgrade our weapon’s cache to keep said trouble off our asses.”

Cassie stood there with her mouth agape, unable to tear her gaze from him. Out of the three of them, he most definitely had the look of a real hunter about him. He had a strong, solid looking frame, and had at least a foot on her mere five foot height. His muscular arms had an elaborate tattoo running up to his shoulders and seemed to extend under the sleeveless, fitted shirt and down his back. Tearing her gaze away from the rippling muscles of his back, she spied a scar running down the left side of his handsome face, right over his eye. Cassie couldn’t help but wince. That had probably been a nasty cut.

Noct rubbed at his shoulder, lightheartedly shoving the larger man. All it earned him was a deep, hearty chuckle.

Cassie bit her lip, whispering, “Holy shit.”

The man looked up. Right at her.

Well, at least she thought she whispered it. A cold panic gripped at her belly. Fuck.

She could see the ghost of a self-satisfied smirk appear on the man’s lips, and she felt her face grow hot. He took a half a step in her direction and she was already headed out the back door yelling, “I’m taking my lunch now, Aelan! See you in thirty!”

—————————---

Cassie crouched in the brush, the small, sharp branches digging into the exposed skin of her forearms. She had spent the last few hours tracking her target to this clearing, heaving a grateful sigh upon seeing it was alone. It was a lone Spiracorn that had been wreaking havoc on local farms and rest stops. A few of the more superstitious folk were afraid it had been possessed by a daemon so it could come out during the day. Just from observing its behavior, it seemed more likely to Cassie that it was just overcompensating for not having a herd of its own, being overly aggressive to keep predators and some of the more dangerous grazers at bay. She felt a bit guilty for having to take out this obviously lonely and scared creature, but, unfortunately, the moment it killed a well-known old farmer was the day its fate was sealed.

Besides, there was a hefty price on it head.

A light breeze rustled the leaves on the tall, green trees. She was downwind, for now, but that could change at any moment if the gray storm clouds to the southwest were any indication. She couldn’t wait much longer. Slowly, carefully, Cassie reached down toward her hip where her new Delta Daggers were sheathed. Ordinarily, she would have brought along her larger, more efficient Durandal blade, but this job clearly called for her to be fast and precise.

Watching as the Spiracorn ripped the leaves off a nearby tree, munching loud enough for her to hear the crunch of twigs in its mighty molars, Cassie went over her plan of action once more. She knew the creature had a major artery that ran from the inside of its leg up into its shoulder. If she could sever it with a quick slice of one blade, and then slice at the tendon in the calf with the other, the Spiracorn would be immobilized and bleed out in a matter of minutes. All she had to do was be quick about it and avoid the panicked stomping of its three other hooves.

She swallowed hard, a bead of sweat running down the tip of her nose. Yeah, piece of cake.

With slow, calculated movements, Cassie unsheathed her brand new blades, briefly admiring their weight in her hands. The ribbed hilt, even through her well-worn leather gloves, left her feeling secure. Her erratic, nervous heartbeat slowed, her breathing evened out, and her vision focused sharply.

It was now or never.

Cassie flipped the blade in her right hand so the blade faced downward, the serrated edge out, and was about to ease her way out of the underbrush when a loud, guttural yell pierced the clearing.

She froze, eyes wide. What the fuck?

Her rhetorical question was promptly answered as a man wielding a large Greatsword came barreling out of the foliage on the opposite side of the clearing. With a single, downward swing toward the great creature’s neck, the sword wedged itself into its armored hide. With a pained, piercing whinny, the Spiracorn thrashed, desperate to get away from the threat. The man managed to dislodge his weapon, standing tall before the frightened creature with his sword slung over his shoulder.

A soft curse fell from Cassie’s lips, deciding to stay put. Her entire plan relied on the element of surprise, she was not at all equipped for a head on assault. This fool was on his own.

The Spiracorn charged, its mighty head dipped downward as it attempted to impale its assailant on its massive horns.

Cassie held her breath.

The man merely barrel rolled out of the way, surprisingly agile considering both his size and the size of his weapon. The Spiracorn stumbled and crashed into a large tree, its horns wedged into a thick tree trunk. As its panicked cry penetrated the still air of the clearing, the man took advantage of its vulnerability. Charging forward, his large Greatsword at the ready, the man let out a deep, powerful yell, the sword slicing into the soft, unarmored underbelly of the beast, spilling its innards across the pristine green grass of the field as he dragged its sharp edge from navel to sternum.

With a desperate, powerful tug of its head, the beast dislodged itself from the tree trunk, only to slip on the grass now slippery and saturated with its own blood. It fell to the earth with a thunderous crash, the ground beneath Cassie’s feet shaking with the impact. A final, strangled whiny echoed throughout the clearing as the creature finally drew its last breath, a deafening silence filling the area.

At least, until Cassie burst through the foliage.

“Hey, asshole!” The man turned toward the sound of her voice. He pointed innocently at himself. Cute. “Yeah! You! You took my mark, dickhead!”

As Cassie stomped closer, she began to feel like she had seen this man somewhere before. Something about his posture seemed familiar. He had a strong, confident air about him, his powerful frame showing off years of conditioning beneath a flimsy, sleeveless shirt. An elaborate tattoo ran up his arms, over his shoulders, and disappeared down his back.

Cassie stopped in her tracks. Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

The man she had narrowly escaped after shamelessly ogling him back at the shop a few days ago now stood before her, drenched in sweat and the blood of her target.

There was a weird, ironic karma here that Cassie did not particularly care for.

With a swift, strong swing, the man embedded his Greatsword into the earth. Now that she was closer, Cassie could see that the sword was easily about a foot and a half taller than her, as well as slightly wider than her.

Oh, this is not helping.

“Uh, sorry.” He began to approach her, his hand reaching up and rubbing sheepishly at the back of his neck. Cassie prayed she looked like hell after an entire day of tracking and was completely unrecognizable. “My friends and I had stopped by a rest stop down the road and they asked if we could take care of this thing that had been causing trouble. Didn’t know there was an actual bounty on it.”

Cassie resisted the urge to bite her lip, forcing herself to keep eye contact. She blew a stray strand of hair out of her face. “So you just take it upon yourselves to kill every creature you come across around here?”

He winced at the bite in her voice and held up his hands, like an animal tamer trying to keep his beast under control. “No, no! Of course not! We were just…trying to help.”

Goddamnit, why did he have to be nice? That made it impossible to stay mad. It also made it harder to ignore the now drying Spiracorn blood splattered across his chest and forearms.

“Well, thank you for your service,” she spat. “All of Lucis thanks you. Now, excuse me while I go comfort my bank account.” She turned to leave, relieved that he didn’t recognize her, only to be stopped by a large, strong hand on her shoulder. She quickly jerked out of its hold, her hand on the hilt of her dagger as she took a large step back. He realized his mistake, holding his hands out in front of him again as he himself took a step back.

“Hold on!” His voice was deep, but it took on a softer, more formal inflection. Vastly different from the voice she had heard in the shop. “You can still take credit for the kill! It’s not like it’s not dead. No one would know the difference.”

She scoffed, removing her hand from the dagger’s hilt as her palm came to rest on her hip, staring up at him indignantly. “I would know. I don’t feel right about taking credit for someone else’s kill, whether or not they took it from me.”

The hard lines of his brow softened and the corner of his mouth twitched upward. He was fighting back a smile. Cassie remembered that self-satisfied smirk she had glimpsed back at the shop. Her face went red.

The man’s brow shot upward, his head tilting slightly. “Have we met?”

“No.” Fuck. She answered too quickly.

The man chuckled. The same deep, hearty chuckle she had heard back at the shop. She looked somewhere off to the side. “I thought I recognized you. You were that girl from Aelan’s shop, weren’t you?”

Her eyes went wide in panic. “I-I don’t think so…” Maybe if she ran now she could make it back to Lestallum before the sun set…

Another amused laugh, he took a step closer, his strong arms folded over his broad chest, the muscles flexing and showcasing the designs of his elaborate tattoo. Now that she got a better look, they looked like feathered wings. “Oh, but I do. I’d recognize those eyes anywhere.” Her gaze immediately flicked back to his, her brow arching in curiosity. He didn’t miss a beat. “It was real rude of you to just take off like that. Didn’t even get your name. And after that nice show I put on for you.”

A wide, cocky grin broke out across his face. It infuriated her more than embarrassed her. But only by a slight margin. She turned on her heel to storm away, red in the face.

“Gladio!” She paused, turning back to look at him. His grin was still in place, but it had lost a touch of its confident edge. “The name’s Gladio.”

Her face still felt hot, and she had no doubt he could see the flush under the dirt and grime that had accumulated throughout the day, but still she stalked back toward him, holding out her hand for him to take. “Cassie.”

He accepted it gladly, his large hand easily encompassing the whole of her much smaller one. She absently noted the hard, callused surface of his palm and fingers. “Nice to finally put a name to the face.” She looked up at him questioningly, the implications of the simple statement not lost on her.

He held her hand a moment longer than was customary, causing the heat in her face to reach the tips of her ears. When he released her, she crossed her arms over her chest, feeling the need to make herself smaller. She cleared her throat awkwardly. “Well, Gladio, it’s been fun, but my entire day was wasted and I have nothing to show for it. I’d better get going if I don’t want to run into the things that go bump in the night around here.”

He looked up at the sky, already red with the setting sun. “All the way back to Lestallum? You’ll never make it there before sundown.”

She shrugged. “Maybe I can scrounge together whatever money I have left to rent a caravan for the night.”

A guilty wince flashed across Gladio’s face. “Look, my friends and I have a campsite nearby. If you won’t take the credit for the kill, at least stay the night with us.” She stared blankly at him. “It’s the least I can do. I can’t possibly let you risk yourself to find somewhere safe to spend the night, not after I royally fucked up your day.”

“You expect me to spend the night with three guys I don’t know in the middle of the forest?” she deadpanned.

“Uh, four guys.”

“Oh, even better. Four guys. Might as well put the missing person fliers up now.”

Gladio chuckled despite himself. “I promise you’ll be safe. Certainly safer than you would be on your own at night.”

Cassie gave him an uncertain hand motion accompanied by an ‘eh’ noise before looking up at the reddening sky. He was right, the sun was clearly beginning to set. She talked a big game, but even she knew that her chances of surviving the night were slim to none, and the emptiness of her purse weighed more heavily than any of her weapons.

She sighed. “You can see I’m packing, right?”

Gladio grinned. “Yes, ma’am. And some damn fine daggers they are, too.”

“They have yet to taste blood, bud. Don’t make yours have to be the first.”

He extended his arm in front of him, gesturing for her to follow him through the trees. “Wouldn’t dream of it, darlin’.”

#writings from mandalore #welcome to the trash bin gladio #otp: Candyman

5 notes · View notes