#don’t know if I did a good job with the armor but fingers crossed I did!
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A Great View
WARNINGS: TBB S3 SPOILERS. 18+ MINORS DNI; Smut, fresher sex, possessive/jealous Crosshair, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex between partners (Wrap it up friends), p in v, maybe slight angst?
Summary: Crosshair gets jealous when Howzer flirts with you.
Pairing: Tbb s3!Crosshair x f!reader
WC: 2k
A/N: How GOOD were episodes 6 & 7?! SO GOOD right? I've missed this man so so so much. So excited for next week. When Cross said "Oh, I'm much worse." I couldn't BREATHE. And not to mention, seeing him in his old armor again???? Forever crying over him.
“Did you like the attention Howzer gave you?” Crosshair’s smoky voice is in your ear as he pushes you up against the fresher sink on the way back to Pabu so he can tend to your wounds.
Normally, this would be your job, tending to the batch’s wounds. And normally, if you had any wounds yourself, Tech would-
“No.” You shake your head.
He lets out a noncommittal grunt, his hand traveling up into your hair to move it out of the way so he can help clean the blood off your forehead. “Is that so?”
Crosshair was right earlier. He is worse than Hunter. But that’s what you love about him. Kriff, you’ve missed him so much…You flinch when he dabs at the cut.
He pulls his face back some and looks down at you with a raised eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. You’re telling the truth, though.
You tell him, firmly. “I just…”
“What is it? Tell me princess.” He hums, tilting your chin up toward him so he can search your eyes.
You can feel the other clones’ eyes on you as you sit with Omega, Wrecker, and Batcher at your feet. Howzer passes by, smirking. You look up at Crosshair, who’s suddenly more tense, and then look back down at your datapad. A few moments later, Howzer brings you a drink and you thank him.
“No problem. If you need… anything else… don’t hesitate to come find me.” He winks.
Oh. Uh oh.
You look up at Crosshair again, just knowing his eyes are on you at all times. He’s shooting Howzer a glare so hard you think it could usually break a normal person in half. Crosshair walks over to you, leaning against the table, next to you and then tilts your chin up toward him and kisses you so deeply, it makes your insides go warm and fuzzy with need.
You and Crosshair had been apart for so long, he wasn’t about to let anything get in his way again. When he pulls away, you feel slightly breathless, both yours and Crosshair’s pupils are blown and you think you may need to sneak away. Except Rex breaks up the moment, needing him and Hunter for something.
Howzer throws Crosshair his own glare and joins them, leaving you warm in the face, thinking about what you’re going to do to him tonight. Wrecker’s laugh snaps you back to reality, so you ignore him, going back to your datapad.
You look up at Crosshair, the burning need for him returning low in your stomach.
“I like when you’re jealous. It’s hot.” You smirk up at him as he puts a small bandage over the cut on your forehead.
Crosshair lets out a low chuckle, smirking. “I would say it’s more protective than anything.”
“Call it what you want, it was hot.” You shrug, running your hands across his stomach, landing on his waist, gripping his shirt.
He leans in close, his warm breath ghosting over your ear. “Yeah? You like when I let people know what’s mine?”
You nod. “Yes.”
He hums, kissing your neck and you let out a soft moan at the feel. He lifts you up, sitting you on the sink. This sink is bigger than the one on the Marauder, so there’s more room for him to stand between your legs without feeling cramped. Not that you mind the cramped feeling.
“You want me to take you right here? Remind you who you belong to?” Crosshair murmurs, squeezing your thighs.
“Yes, please.” You look up at him, eyes wide with need.
Crosshair crushes his lips to yours, finally, hands traveling to cup your neck so he can reach you better. A soft moan escapes your lips, traveling right to his, making him smirk.
The two of you had been together the entire war and then when he chose the Empire over the batch, over you, your heart shattered and you thought you’d never love again.
And then he got off that freighter with Omega and your heart soared. You belong to him, and he belongs to you. It’s the only thing that’s ever made sense in these dark times.
You and Crosshair have snuck away every chance you’ve gotten since he’s come home to you, making love, desperately and passionately. So this would come as a surprise to no one, being locked away in the fresher on Echo’s ship.
He pulls away to help you down off the sink and spins you so you’re facing the mirror. His lips turn up in a soft smirk.
“I look rough.” You notice.
Your hair is a mess, you’re caked in blood and dirt and desperately need a shower.
“Doesn’t matter.” He leans down and kisses your shoulder. “You’re still beautiful.”
You roll your eyes with a teasing smile. “If you say so.”
He starts to ease your pants down until they hit the floor, taking your underwear with them. “I do say so.”
And then he places a swift smack to your left cheek, causing you to let out a sharp gasp.
“Go on. Say it.” His smoky voice fills your ears and you close your eyes, savoring the sound of it as he rubs the spot on your cheek that he smacked.
“I’m beautiful even when I look like I had the shit beat out of me?” You tease.
He chuckles. “Brat.”
“You love me.” You open your eyes only to meet his own in the mirror.
“I do.” He nods.
It’s a promise.
He lifts your shirt up over your head, unsnapping your binder next, with slightly shaky fingers. You notice when he looks down, frustrated at his hand, so to distract him, you back up against his hardened length, making him groan softly. His hands fly to your hips, pushing you down over the sink.
“Tell me how bad you want it, princess. Go on.” He urges you, smirking down at your naked form.
You don’t think there are words to describe how badly you need him to fuck you right now.
“Fuck…” You whisper. “Please… I need it.”
“Didn’t tell you to beg. Told you to tell me how bad you want it.” He purrs, sliding two fingers through your already soaked folds.
“I- I need it.” You whimper. “So bad. Please Cross… I c- I can’t tell you how bad.”
His fingers find your clit and your back arches up as you moan and his grip on your hip tightens.
“What would you do if I just got down on my knees instead of fucking you?” He teases.
All you can do is whine.
“You really want me to fill your pussy that bad, huh?” You can hear him drop to his knees and you whine again.
“Hush.” He whispers. “Let me make you cum and then I promise I’ll fuck you as hard as you want me to. Deal?”
He knows that his voice alone is enough to make you fold. You’ve never been able to tell the man no. Not to anything.
“Deal…” You sigh.
“Thank you.” He places a quick kiss to your rear cheek.
The moment that you feel his hot tongue against your warmth, you have to put your hand over your mouth so that no one will hear you come apart above your partner. He licks stripe after stripe over your folds, getting you nice and wet for him. Your shaky breaths only spur him on.
Crosshair’s arms snake around your thighs, giving you extra security to keep you held up and you silently thank him. Unable to help yourself, though, you push back against his face, the stubble against his cheeks causing a delicious friction against your inner thighs.
Having Crosshair on his knees like this reminds you of the first night he was home. The two of you snuck away to the beach almost immediately. Hunter hadn’t been happy about it, but it was worth it. Cross had pushed you up against a rock, kissed you until both of you couldn’t breathe and then he dropped to his knees and ate your pussy for over an hour. You lost track of the amount of times he made you cum that night.
There hadn’t even been any apologies until after. The need for each other just… outweighed the bad.
And now, here he is, a couple weeks later and you have a lot of lost time to make up for.
“Fuck, right there.” You whisper.
He hums against your cunt and then sucks your sensitive clit between his teeth before latching his lips against it, making you smack your free hand against the mirror. He chuckles and pushes a finger into your tight warmth, making you groan against your palm.
“Yeah? You gonna cum on my face, cyar’ika?” He encourages you, thrusting his finger in and out of you.
You both know it’s not as good as his cock, but his long slender fingers have always been able to reach into you so perfectly.
“Mmhmmm.” You whine as he curls his finger against the spongy part inside of you, making that familiar warm feeling start to take over. “So good.”
The blinding white hot feeling rips through your body like a volcano, sending you over the edge, dripping down Crosshair’s face.
He stands up, gripping your hair and pulling back so that you’re forced to watch as he pushes his cock roughly into you, making both of you moan so loudly that he has to place his free hand over your mouth so you’ll be quieter. You don’t mind though because it brings you physically both closer. You make eye contact again in the mirror and he kisses your bare shoulder, thrusting roughly into you.
“Mm.” He sighs. “You know you’re mine, don’t you?”
You nod, mumbling around his hand, answering him.
“And you don’t mind if I make everyone else aware that you’re mine?” He whispers.
You shake your head.
“Good. Fuck… So good to me.” His thrusts become sharper, more purposeful as you clench around his cock.
You know you’re going to feel it later. But it’s alright because you know he’ll take care of you later.
“Where do you want my cum?” He grits between his teeth.
“Inside.” You mumble through his fingers.
He buries his face in your neck, biting back a growl the best he can as he empties himself inside of you, painting your walls with himself, just how you love it. Deep and rough. You’re sure to have bruises in the shape of long slender fingers on your hip in the morning, but you don’t mind.
“Shower.” You whisper.
“Shower.” He agrees. “But first…”
He spins you around to face him and kisses you again. This time, more gently, cupping your face so carefully, he almost seems afraid that you could break. His tongue slips past your lips, dancing along yours and you cling to him, wrapping your arms around him.
When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours. “Thank you.”
“For what?” You look up into amber brown eyes, confused.
“For taking me back, even when I didn’t deserve it.” He whispers.
You pull away, staring up into his eyes, your favorite eyes, holding his face so that he looks at you. “Listen to me, Cross… Everything you did… all the mistakes you made… they don’t define you. You have to let go of the past so that we can build our future. Okay?”
You’ve seen how much he’s changed. You see the way he is with Omega. How affectionate he is with Batcher. And more importantly, how he’s apologized to you and promised to be better. You believe him. You believe in him.
He nods, tears nearing the brim of his eyes, so you kiss him again.
“Speaking of our future…” You murmur softly, smiling against his lips. “A couple days ago, Shep showed me a house I thought could be perfect for us.”
“Oh yeah?” He guides you into the shower, starting the water.
“It’s got a great view.” You wiggle your eyebrows.
“Doesn’t every house on Pabu have a ‘great view’?” He raises a dark eyebrow.
“Yeah, but not every house in Pabu has you.” You shrug. For the first time, you think since before he left, he lets out a genuine laugh. It reaches your soul and you know you’ll do anything to hear that laugh for the rest of your life.
TAGS: @rebel-finn @rexandechosandwich @madameminor @dumfanting @corona-one @tecker @ladykatakuri @brynhildrmimi @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond @zoeykallus @maulslittlemeowmeow @littlemousedroid @arctrooper69 @rexxdjarin @padawancat97 @hated-by-me @sleepingsun501 @idledreams @redheadgirl @themcuwriter @ashotofspotchka @sunshinesdaydream @crosshairsimp73 @ariadnes-red-thread @rosmariner @heyitsaloy @starstofillmydream @high-ct5555 @echos-girlfriend @sleepywych @nekotaetae @justanothersadperson93 @aconstructofamind @book-of-baba-fett @chopper-base @palliateclaw @501st-rexster @dead-poolz @nahoney22 @where-is-my-mind-tho @jediknightjana @erishimoon @witching3 @queen-of-many-fandoms @wizardofrozz @burningfieldof-clover @rebelsriley
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Resident Evil: Merchant x Leon
For @x4ver1a via reblog request 👍
18+ MDNI🔞
~*~
Upon returning Ashley to her father, Leon found himself with plenty of time on his hands. Such an intense rescue mission made medical care, psych analysis, and time off mandatory for the agent. His body had been through hell the last couple weeks and the tests done to ensure his health and wellness meant more needle pokes, specimens, personal questions, and everything he didn’t want to do. However, he complied in order to get it over with sooner.
That Saturday morning, Leon found himself in his agency’s therapy office. He finally got to sleep in his apartment the previous night, shower alone, and brush away the bad taste from his teeth. Adding to the comfort, he allowed himself to laze in a worn pair of jeans and a slightly oversized t-shirt. Evanescence; he’d have to go back to one of her concerts.
Seated in the lobby, he hummed along to one of her songs, Bring Me To Life. Leon loved that entire album and nearly finished tapping his fingers to the song when his psychologist called for him.
“Have a seat on the couch please and I will try to make this session quick for you, Mr. Kennedy,” the psychologist said.
Leon sat back against the cool leather, crossing one leg over the other with some discomfort. His hip had been repositioned at the hospital, making it extremely sore to walk and sit with. Though he was too stubborn to use a cane, he did opt for a single crutch.
“So, Mr. Kennedy, I would like to give you a basic rundown of questions to see where we are at this moment, then you can talk about anything you need to. Are you okay with that?” The man asked, being as gentle as possible.
“Sure, you have my consent,” Leon relied.
The questions were entirely too basic. “How do these tasks make you feel based on this scale: 1-4.” Most of it he had answered with lies.
“Problems falling and staying asleep, or sleeping too much?”
Yes, I have nightmares every night. I don’t sleep anymore. Caffeine is my best friend.
“A one: not at all.”
“I get in a state of tension and develop stress over past, present, and future events.”
Constantly, especially since humans aren’t the only ones at the food chain anymore…
“It doesn’t go beyond the average work stress.”
“That’s good.”
The pen hitting the psych’s notebook was extremely loud within such a quiet room. They went at this for forty minutes, back and forth, until Leon was ready to fall back asleep in his chair.
“Instead of viewing your time on the island as a negative one, can we think of some positives?”
Leon blinked, clearly confused. “You’re serious? I nearly died every time I turned a corner and you want to slap a “good job” sticker on my memories?”
“No, I realize you have trauma by the way you lie. It’s all bleak, thought out as I know these types of visits have become routine. However, I want you leaving with something good on your mind.”
The blonde stayed silent.
“Please, just humor me on this.”
“Fine, whatever, just get me out of here sooner. There’s a Chinese buffet down the street that I haven’t had in a month, and it’s gonna taste so good with the Alien franchise on my couch.”
“Right, I will be quick. Name a unique and enjoyable moment in your journey to rescue Ashley. It can be big or small.”
Leon thought for a moment, trying to consider something worth describing, when it hit him. When he lost Ashley and began feeling the effects of La Plaga gripping his body. He needed the cure and the only person who had it was…
“Merchant.”
A real exterminator you are. And they had kissed. He tasted metallic: not of blood, but something medicinal, chemical. As for Leon, it was supposedly “raw eggs.” The comment tickled him at first, though not as much as Merchant’s fingers as they explored the man’s chest. They slid over his armor, removing it with various clicks and pulls until there was only his slick shirt underneath.
Merchant let out a slight moan, “this torso is hard as stone. Are you sure you aren’t made of marble? Possibly carved by a Greek god?”
Leon chuckled, “pretty sure I’m not, but I’m about as hard as marble right now.”
He was incredibly hard and Merchant could see the outline of his shaft in his trousers. Without much warning, the seller went for the goods, unbuckling Leon’s belt with eager hands. There had been no protest as his cock was freed. It was lengthy, blushing at the tip with veins leading from base to head. Each one pulsated the more Merchant stared at it.
“I don’t like when strangers lie to me.”
Once again, Leon was humored by the comments of this mysterious man. “Are you thirsty, Merchant?”
The seller gripped Leon’s cock, earning a gasp from those pretty lips. “Parched…”
“Mr. Kennedy?” The psych’s voice rang out.
Leon shook his head in protest of the images, the sensations, filling his head when suddenly he was in the therapist office again. His hands were gripping the arms of the chair, a few beads of sweat had ran down his forehead, and the psych appeared rather stunned at his patient.
“Good sex?” The psych finally muttered.
“Y-Yeah… the night before I left,” another detectable lie.
“Well,” the older man rose, “I’ll take it. Are they still present in your life?”
Leon shrugged, “no idea. Haven’t seen them since the mission- before the mission. At this point, I’m not sure they’re even alive.”
The older man could see the sudden realization on Leon’s face. This person meant something to this man and, for Leon, he was the best thing that happened to him that whole mission. Now that the clouds had parted, he was asking all the questions. Was he dead? Did Merchant survive the blast?
Leon lowered his head in defeat. “I don’t know.”
“Well, let’s spare ourselves the assumption of death. We don’t know if they’re still around, but who knows, maybe they are and they’re somewhere better than before. I’m sure there’s better places than that island.”
“You got a lot of faith in strangers, doc.”
“And so should you, Mr. Kennedy.”
#resident evil#resident evil 2#leon kennedy#merchant#leon x merchant#fanfiction#18+#mdni#therapy#memories#umbrella#raccoon city#leon smut#stranger#request#requested
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The Cruel Choice
The Master lumbers around like a shadow in the smoke as armed forces move further in while helicopters cover the skies. He doesn’t lift a finger as his own thralls are being fired upon, gravely wounding them all. Ruixiong receives a bullet to the neck while Abena gains two on her torso. Rashid, being the biggest target, has four on his back, forcing him to lower his shield around Phoebus as he falls forward, nearly dead.
And despite the rain of bullets, the Master does nothing but talk. He takes the time to speak to his thralls as the armed forces take cover briefly in case the Seven fire back, not knowing for sure what they were dealing with other than the fact they can clear an entire pier in such small numbers. Sorcery? Advanced weaponry? They don’t know, and they must be careful to act accordingly. And yet still, the Master speaks, unafraid of their approach as his thralls lay on the ground, bleeding and dying.
“Did you think anyone would just come here to thank you for saving lives when you destroyed others? Did you truly believe, for a moment, that anyone would look upon you favorably for discerning which souls to spare and which ones to take?”
The Master takes an unfallen chair and seats himself onto it, going as far as to cross his legs as he rests a hand on a knee.
“Your actions with those hostages proved nothing. Nothing but the very fact you will never be seen as anymore than murderers and monsters. Those hostages did not see human faces; they saw demons. They didn’t see hands, they saw fog and fire. They didn’t see eyes; they saw sin. Your sin. All of your sins.
“There was no righteousness in your actions. Only cowardice. You hide your deeds beneath the mask of goodwill for humanity. But such goodwill is false. You know it. You know there are consequences in defying me… me, who always knows what is best for you. Did I demand you finish the job out of sheer cruelty? Oh, my beloved children…
“I knew this would happen to you. Because this is what happened to you in Mactan. In Jeddah. In Beijing. And in Tortuga. You come in with good intentions, hoping to survive… only for you to die for doing the right thing.
“...But I am merciful, aren’t I? I gave you what you needed. And it seems, for all your hard work… I will have to step in again.” The Master raises his head as grenades are being ready while the armored trucks and helicopters close in…
“M-Master…”
“N-No….”
The Master turns his head towards Guy in particular. He smirks as he looks upon his leg in particular… the same leg that was wounded and introduced the fever that nearly killed him in 1521.
“Oh, Guy… how much you suffered this entire year. You only wished for it all to end. All because of some little words your brother said around this time last year.”
“...............”
“.......Would you ilke to know… the conditions of Phoebus’ Pact?”
“To… sell his soul…. To save my life…”
“...It was more than that.”
“......................”
“.....Phoebus the First. Son of Avignon. Child of the Persecuted by the Crown and the Cross.”
“................”
“Show them the true deliverer of all pain and suffering in the world. The true meaning of death.”
“..............”
“P-Phoebus…..”
Phoebus rises from the debris….
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
And says nothing. Nothing as the men, armored and armed, release their weapons to sip into a slumber.
First their eyes close.
Then their breath escapes their lips.
Then their eyes sink into their sockets. Their tongues roll back into their skulls. Their blood pools. Their skin tightens.
Then they rot. Then the flies and maggots die and rot. Any rat and roach that survived the chaos on the piers fell over and slept before fading away. Kelp that washed ashore curl and dry up even while the tides are still high. Seagulls and petrels lose strength mid flight. Foam and detritus containing dead fish form along the waves as everything dies.
Everything.
Even the drivers of the vehicles still going. The helicopters spin out of control and crash into the sea as well as the armored trucks, drowning anyone left who may have resisted Sloth’s slumber.
No words. No commands. Even the wind is dead. And nothing is left.
Only an eternal sleep.
Sloth.
#death tw#murder tw#violence tw#blood tw#guns tw#body horror tw#[The Cruel Choice]#[The Master]#[Captain Josep Frascona]#[Abena Frascona]#[Guy Duchamp]#[Phoebus Duchamp]
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At the End of Novore
an interactive fiction novel about a fun adventure, a dungeon delve, with bandits and greedy nobles, and a spice of romance- and is a peek into a world that will set the stage for a grander adventure in the future
*all of this is open to change as I get farther into the story*
Rating: 18+
Demo: TBA (Plan to release Chapter 1 by the end of the year- fingers crossed)
Story
You are retired. As retired as the House of Griffin’s sinner could get. When you left, you did so as completely as possible. You were done with being the bodyguard, the enforcer, the strongman of the Too-Noble House.
In Brightway, you are nothing but an old bear. In Brightway, they know not to ask questions of people. Normal, well sorted people with choices don’t choose Brightway, a place as pretty as it is isolated and difficult.
In Brightway you’ve made a living being useful, making your way through The Novore and gathering supplies, providing guidance through the ornery trees, and fending off a few creatures that got too close to the tree lines if need be. The people are appreciative, Novore less outright aggressive at your existance, and your partner makes things much easier.
But, perhaps, you got too good at your job- again. When a House of Fox’s vixen shows up at your door, you have to accept things are going to get a little out of hand.
More Information
Features
Customizable 🐻 MC: looks, gender, some personality
Two ROS- The Fox’s Appearance is customizable (as her child takes after her greatly)
Light Hearted, shorter Adventure- no planned fail states at the moment
Fantasy World with magic, mythical creatures, demons, ghosts, and spirits
Free to Play (I reserve rights to put early access behind a paywall)
ROs
*as this is a shorter adventure planned, the romances aren’t written as True Love, or such but as the start of the relationships*
🐶 The Hound: Rollo
You did not expect to incure a life debt from a hound, no matter that you had saved him. It’s an old magic, traditional and dangerous and inescapable. So, here he is, a lithe man who is constantly masked, usually in full armor, who’s voice is a curse and the howls tell of prophecies and ends. A terror, a boogeyman to the people of the Stellar, and he makes you breakfast most mornings.
looking at somebody who has been around longer than not, it seems, and realizing how much more they could be
🦊 The Fox: Sybille
A vixen, a maiden, a Lady of the Teumessian, she is stunning and refined. There’s secrets behind her pretty eyes, dangers in her painted smiles, and confidence in her steps. Illusions and manipulations are her magic, the Foxes dangerous as they are alluring, but there is something desperate in her offer of employment to you, and Rollo.
passion and excitment, the joy of a new love, of maybe something more, maybe not- but the moment is good and the possibility is enticing
#at the end of novore#interactive fiction#take two! but I have lots of confidence after overcoming the hurdle that killed me last time#also even smaller project so that should make it easier#hopefully still an enjoyment to y'all
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Reflected Stars
Summary: After a long trip to Nevarro you and Mando get roped into working together to capture a new bounty
Warnings: none
Word Count: 1,692
Chapter 1 | chapter 3
Chapter 2: The Drop Off
You’re zoned out looking at the stars, it’s so beautiful in here. Quiet. The light harmonic hum of the engine and the melodic sounds of the control panel create a soothing symphony. The lights from the stars dance off the walls making the cold metal ship sparkle. Peaceful. The door's suddenly hiss open making you jump out of you seat. “Scare me half to death why don’t you!” you yell.
Mando moves alone through the doorway. You take him in for a moment, his gear is perfectly tailored to his body. He strides with confidence, fearlessness, and grace. He settles into his seat and starts to navigate the crest. He is silent, it feels like he’s completely oblivious to your presence.
"What happened?" Though you’re not sure you want to know.
"Carbonite." He responds.
You squirm a little in your seat. The reflecting colours of the controls off Mando’s helmet put you in a trance. You break your gaze and trail down his neck then to his shoulders. The wear and tear on his armor is evident. His shoulder plates pierced by bullets, a result of previous hunts. His chest plate was dented and painted over, his knee guards are scratched. He turns his chair around to face you and your eyes dart back up to his visor.
"How long have you been a bounty hunter?" He asks.
"Not long," you reply, as your gaze moves down his body. His broad, muscular legs fill every square inch of the chair as he sprawls out in it.
He scoffs, "makes sense."
Your gaze quickly moves to his visor. "What's that supposed to mean?"
He chuckles, "I mean, you're not a very good hunter."
You cross your arms as you slouch back in your chair. "I am a good hunter! I'll have you know, I use to hunt Nexu’s and Bark Rat's” you pout. He taps his gloved fingers against his thigh as if contemplating what to say next, "Plus, you're just mad I got him first." You chuckle. He makes the decision to remain silent and turn his chair around once more to continue navigating. "How much longer until landing?" You ask.
"Long." He sighs. You settle in your seat relaxing for the long journey. Closing your eyes, you let the hum of the ship lull you to sleep.
You wake up to the sudden jostle of the ships landing. "Graceful landing," you snort.
"Let's drop off the bounties for the payment and you're free to go," he says flatly.
It was strange entering the Cantina with Mando. You feel small and powerless beside him. Fearful and resentful looks were directed at him. all envious bounty hunters, you assume.
“Mando!” A man yells from his seat. We both turn to face Greef Karga.
Greef laughs, almost in awe, "never thought I'd see you two together." Mando is unmoving and appears to be paying no attention.
"He stole my bounty," you remark. Greef merely chuckles. You move towards his booth together as a pair. Mando moves aside so that you can take the first seat in the booth. He takes a seat next to you, leaving space between you two for your bag and his rifle. Credits are passed to Mando by Greef.
"As always, great work, Mando!” Greef cheers. Mando responds with a simple nod then hands you a few credits. You glance up at him in shock.
"She did catch the target first," Mando admits.
"That's not what we agreed on," you say, as you return the credits to him.
"Just take them, you'll have to leave this planet eventually," he argues, slipping the credits into your bag.
“Well,” Greef interrupts, “I’m assuming you both want more work.”
“Nothing small” Mando states.
“I do have one job. The price is very high” Mando puts his hand out in response, wanting a puck.
“No puck.” Greef responds, crossing his arms.
“Underworld?” Mando asks. Greef responds by pulling out a chit. Mando reaches over the table and Greef pulls it back.
“This job needs two” he says,
“I don’t work with others” Mando spits.
“You already worked with her; this is no different” Greef retorts.
You roll your eyes “we didn’t work together” you remind him.
“Well, you should. The client already has many hunters on the job and they’ll stop at nothing to get this bounty. This is a deep pocket commission. You both would be paid very well” he points out, looking at the both of us.
Mando sits up straight and lets out a sigh. "She's not a good hunter," he spits.
You turn your head to face him "I am a good hunter! I may be new, but I can assist; this will give me valuable experience!" You declare. "I'll take enough credits for rations, and you can have the rest." You bat your eyelashes, hoping to elicit sympathy. Without speaking, he returns the gaze. You stare into the visor's pitch-black depths, hoping he could see how much this experience would mean to you. He reaches across the table and snatches the chit from Greef. He grabs his rifle and rises from the booth. You turn to look at Greef with disappointment.
“You coming?” He asks.
You smile, jumping out of the booth “yes!”
You both descend a few allies to the client's location. Mando draws immediate attention from the public. How could he not? It's uncommon to see a Mandalorian, and he doesn't exactly blend in. You jog to catch up to his long strides, meeting him arm to arm.
"Everyone stares at you, wherever you are. Have you noticed?” You ask, looking up at him.
“No. If they are, they are most likely just curious," he responds, striding away. He stands at the client's door, beckoning you closer. You go inside the building behind him and proceed down the hall. When you turn the corner, two men are seated at a table.
"Greef Karga said you were coming," an older man greets, presenting himself to you both. As you walk through the door, storm troopers surround the two of you. You are immediately suffocated by fear, but rage grips you more tightly. Images of blaster fires and blood shed flash through your mind. The shrill of screams is all you can hear while the client speaks. This is not a normal client. You draw your blaster, ready to fire. You rather kill everyone in this room then take a job from them.
"Please lower your weapon!" the older man demands but you maintain yours. Your heart thumps in your ears drowning everyone out. Mando steps in front of you, making you snap back into reality. All you can do is focus on him, not daring to look at anyone else.
"What else did he say?" Mando inquires.
"He said you were the best in the parsec," the man replied, motioning to his colleague, "This is Doctor Pershing."
A storm trooper approaches you, quickly covering you in his shadow. "We have you four to two."
"I like those odds," Mando chances stepping up to the trooper to block him from you. You lower your blaster slowly, still holding it in case things get out of hand. Mando is then approached by the elderly man.
"He also said you were expensive... please sit," the storm troopers back off and you both walk over to sit at the table. The old man points to an item on the table.
"Beskar" Mando reveals reaching for it. He takes it in his gloved hands and examines it.
"This is just a deposit. I have a camtono of Beskar waiting for you upon delivery of the asset.” The man bargains.
"Alive." The doctor interrupts.
"I also have a lot of credits for you, miss." the older man says to you. He tosses over a pouch full on the table in front of you. “also a deposit” you can’t help but role your eyes.
“let’s see the puck” you demand.
“this is a less traditional agreement. We can only offer you a tracking fob” he answers, sliding it across the table.
“Chain code?” Mando asks.
“we can only offer you their age” the old man starts.
Mando interjects, “that’s it?”
“Yes, they’re fifty years old.” the older man informs. Mando rises and tilts his head towards the door signaling to leave and you join him. He pushes you to walk in front of him by placing his gloved hand in-between your shoulder blades. Your breath hitches at his touch. You both leave the building with what little information you have.
Your breath is finally released from your lungs as you leave that place behind. As you walk through the alleys toward town, Mando comes to a stop behind you. "Go back to the ship," he orders.
"Isn't that where we're going?" You answer, turning around to face him.
"Yes, but I need to take care of something before we leave," he responds.
"Well, I'll go with you," you counter, walking up to him to let him lead the way. Part of you is just curious to see what he was up to but the other part of you is scared to be alone at this moment. You’re still feeling uneasy about the encounter.
"No. I can't take you there," he says, ending the conversation.
"OK," you mutter, "but don't go without me." He nods and turns to leave, leaving you alone in the alley. It's unclear who this new coworker is. He hardly ever talks, and when he does, it's just a few words as though he's never engaged in a lengthy conversation. He exudes the scary qualities that a hunter should have. making you feel vulnerable in his company. Even when all of your instincts warn you to avoid him, his presence is also soothing and comforting. You feel safe with him. You pull your hood over your head and walk into the lively town. You approach a merchant and purchase some portions as well as some medical supplies. just in case. You pack it all in your bag and head off to the ship to await his arrival to begin your assignment.
#sw the mandalorian#din djarin x reader#din djarin x female reader#mandalorian fanfic#mandalorian#sw mandalorian#the mandolorian x reader#the mandalorian#star wars#din djarin#mando#mando x you
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A lovely anon suggested that I should write a Rebel reader x ROTJ-era Boba oneshot, and, well…I wrote it in one sitting 🤣 it was SUCH A GOOD IDEA I just had to! C’mon, forbidden love, romance, smut, angst…what more could I want??? I left this one a bit more open ended, buuuut we’ll see if I leave it like this lol.
Anyway, enjoy, this one does have smut: (piv, alight bondage elements, dom/sub dynamic) so minors beware!
Oneshot: Someday
You hated the lengths you had to go just to get some privacy.
Rebel bases, you found, were always overcrowded. It didn’t matter how many you’d been to, they all were the same. Granted, there was a sense of security and camaraderie in the closeness that helped boost morale, but you had a distinct feeling that upper leadership wouldn’t take kindly to your…partner.
If that was what you could call the person who had relentlessly hunted you down, and after a series of long, complicated events, became your lover.
You drove your speeder to the checkpoint, already ignoring your friend’s pointed look that rivaled the death star’s intensity.
“Let me guess, another ‘supply run’?” She crossed her arms, eyes flicking from you, to your speeder, then back at you. “It’s the second time this month.”
“I know, I won’t be long,” you shrugged, hoping she’d let you off the hook easy this time. “I’ll be safe. I promise.”
“You’re playing with fire, kid,” your friend pressed the button for the gate with a sigh, allowing you to pass. “It’ll only be so long until you get burned. Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”
-
You knew a thing or two about fire.
You adjusted the cloth wraps that hid the burn scars on your arms as you drove your speeder down the forested path that led away from the camp.
You knew she wasn’t fully wrong. You were all too aware that you were literally flirting with death, and yet, you’d found that death could be soft. Gentle, even. As well as incredibly passionate with hidden depths. Stars, you were sunk, and there wasn’t much you could do about it at this point. You had no idea how long the war would last, or if you’d even be alive tomorrow…so the thrill of excitement and danger was tempting. Too tempting.
It didn’t help that today was also an anniversary of sorts…one you didn’t look forward to.
You finally came upon the old abandoned farmhouse that you’d discovered on one of your first recon missions, wasting no time steering your speeder behind it and into the old shed that leaned just a tad too far to the left for your comfort. But at least no one else thought to look for you here.
No sooner then the moment you cut your speeder off, you felt the barrel of a blaster press to your temple.
Well, no one else…except for him.
“You shouldn’t lower your guard, little one,” a deep, familiar voice rumbled in your chest and sent chills down your spine. “You still flinch like a mouse.”
You turned in the direction of the voice, meeting the intimidating, helmeted gaze of none other than Boba Fett.
No matter how many times you’d seen him, your heart always skipped a beat, a wise mixture of fear and awe your initial reaction. How could you not? His armored figure stuck fear in hearts across the galaxy - and to make things even more lucrative, it was widely known that he did jobs for the Empire. That would not go well with your superiors…
And yet…
“How long did you wait here to jump me?” You crossed your arms and raised a brow, fearlessly staring into the black T-visor despite the tremor in your fingers. “That’s a lot of dedication.”
“I’m a patient hunter,” he finally moved the blaster, slipping it back to its holster with a practiced twirl. “Relax. I’m not turning you in today.”
“Pretty sure you’ve said that every time we meet,” you tilted your head to the side, giving him a small smirk. “Make sure to give me a warning if you change your mind so I can get a head’s start outta here.”
“Nice try,” his hands moved to your sides, lifting you from the speeder as if you weighed nothing. “But we both know how that would go.”
You didn’t fight him, allowing him to pin you against one of the wooden beams, able to see your flushed reflection in his visor. You wrapped your legs around his waist, daring to shoot him a smirk.
“It’s a shame you won’t give me any intel on the Empire,” you ground yourself against his codpiece, earning a stifled grunt. “I think I could make a rebel out of you, yet.”
“I don’t pick sides,” one of his hands curled into your hair, fingertips brushing against your throat. “They just pay more.”
“Some things are more important than money,” you reached for his helmet and he chuckled darkly, moving his fingers from your hair to intercept your hands, pinning them over your head.
You heard the snap of binders and flinched, despite knowing it was too late. If your time had come, there would be no escape. You’d come to terms with that months ago. You were entirely at his mercy, and while that terrified you, it was also exhilarating. He hooked your cuffed arms to one of the exposed nails overhead, freeing his hand long enough to rip off his helmet.
“On that, we agree,” Boba’s voice took a rough, ragged edge as his gloved hand dropped lower, stroking you through your clothing even as he closed in for a punishing kiss. “Thanks to your stunt, the Empire thinks you’re dead. So…you’re worth more to me alive. For now.”
There was a certain deadliness to his dark eyes, and yet it softened when he looked at you. You doubted many people knew how devastatingly handsome the best of the best was - and that was yet another secret you could pride yourself in.
“Hmm, sounds like such a bad deal,” your breath came in huffs as he rubbed tantalizingly gentle circles over your clothed clit, the anticipated pleasure already threatening to curl your toes. “You…you sure it’s worth it?”
He brought his fingers to your chin, lifting your gaze to meet his, a proud brow arched as if in appraisal.
“It means I have you all to myself,” he pressed a kiss to your exposed throat with a near growl. “Worth it to me.”
A thrill coursed through you at this words. Boba wasn’t one for verbal affection, instead opting for shorter, more literal phrases. Sometimes, your secret moments together were short and rushed, other times, you had several blissful hours spent together. However, every once and a while, he surprised you.
It was even more surprising when he opted to keep you pinned to the wall, your pants thrown carelessly to the ground, breath snagging in your throat as the head of his cock pressed against your entrance. And unlike some times in the past, he made sure you met his gaze - his dark, dangerous gaze, when he sank into you.
“Kriff, you’re tight,” he adjusted his angle to keep you supported as he split you apart, dirty little nothings slipping from his lips, some in Mando’a, which you still didn’t understand.
You couldn’t stop the moan from ripping from your throat when he sank further, striking that sweet spot that only he’d been able to reach. You felt something tickle your nose, and you opened your eyes long enough to realize that one of your arm wraps was slowly unraveling. Horror flooded through you, and you nearly choked, panic flooding your chest.
“What’s wrong? Are you in pain?” Surprisingly, his movements slowed nearly to a stop. “Talk to me.”
“N-no, it’s not you,” you felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment. You’d spent quite a few intimate times with Boba, but he’d never seen your arms bare. “My arms, they’re…”
His gaze flicked up, and understanding flashed in his eyes. He pulled away, leaving you whimpering at the loss of him within you, and you watched him gently free you from the binders, lowering you to the ground.
“Here,” he steadied you before handing you the edge of the cloth, pointedly turning his gaze away as you fastened it back in place.
For such a cold hearted bounty hunter, it always made your heart melt when he showed you more respect then anyone ever had. He didn’t ask questions, didn’t need an explanation - but kept coming back to you anyway.
“Sorry, I just…” you glanced down at your toes, sorrow hitting your chest like a punch. “I don’t mean to be off. Today’s…well, linked to a memory I’d rather forget.”
Boba, per usual, didn’t comment - he merely gathered your discarded clothing and handed it to you, helmet tucked under his arm.
“Why don’t we take this inside?” He gestured toward the old house, then at your pants with a smirk that made your knees go weak despite your steadily growing emotional distress. “Don’t bother with those, mesh’la, I’m not through with you.”
-
It wasn’t until Boba was buried back inside you, your back arched against his chest as he unraveled you bit by bit, that he asked you a question.
“What happened?” He curled an arm around around your chest, pebbling a nipple between his thick fingers. “It’s okay if you don’t wanna talk about it.”
You blinked, feeling a shudder ripple through you as his cock drug through your walls, breaking you further down.
“Oh stars, I…” you gasped, holding onto him tightly, squeezing your eyes shut, partially due to the building pleasure, but also the pain of memory. “I don’t talk about it. Ah - I just miss her.”
Boba didn’t ask who you were talking about. He didn’t even respond save for a deep hum, slowing his thrusts enough for you to be able to form concise thoughts.
“My best friend…she died when the Imperials set her house on fire.” Your gaze dropped to the ground, that ache once again battling the pleasure for dominance. “I tried to get her out…but…I failed. We were just kids, you know?”
He was silent for a moment, and you merely leaned against him, too world weary to move.
“Scars aren’t marks of failure,” he brushed your cheek with his fingertips, thumb trailing over your bottom lip before slowly trailing down your body, tracing patterns over your skin. “You did what you could. I doubt she’d want you to give up.”
You couldn’t say you’d had a million deep talks with the man currently railing you for all he was worth, but you sometimes wondered exactly what you meant to him. Perhaps you’d never know - but in this moment, you felt heard. And Maker, it was nice.
“Yeah…I know.” You swallowed hard, hand gripping his arm tighter. “It’s just a lot…the war, the pain, all of it.”
“Then right now, I need you to let go.” His tone turned commanding, deep and grounding. And damn, he hadn’t even asked to see your scars - didn’t try to impose on your safety. His fingers cupped your core, caressing your clit, and you whined, held securely in his arms. “Can you do that for me?”
“Mhm,” you nodded, and you felt his lips curve into a grin behind you, increasing the speed and intensity of his thrusts until you were putty in his hands.
You let go, alright. And stars, did Boba take care of you. He didn’t slow until your third orgasm ripped through you, and only then did he allow himself to follow, spilling inside you with a groan so sinful it nearly made you come again.
You both collapsed facing each other, sweating and out of breath, and you noticed that he hadn’t made a move to get up or say he had to leave. Something about it stuck you as odd, and you regarded him with a small frown.
“Boba?” You waited for him to open his eyes, noticing, once again, that he seemed almost hesitant. “What’s wrong?”
Once again, he fell silent. There was a storm brewing in his eyes, his mind…you could tell.
“You’re almost as perceptive as I am.” He chuckled, but there was less mirth this time. “It’s…going to be a while before my next visit, ad’ika.”
Ahh, there it was. The inevitable day you had always known would come. You would have been a fool, to think this would last forever. In fact, it had gone longer then you’d anticipated. But that didn’t make his words any easier to swallow.
“I’ll be here.” You kept your tone even, collected…at least, you tried. “Where to next, huh?”
“Tatooine,” he slid closer, his scarred tan skin catching the light of the setting sun through the broken window. “Jabba calls.”
Oh, you hated this. Facing the separation from the one person in the galaxy who made you feel safe. Even if no one else would understand. If you could only do something…
“Join us. The Rebellion, I mean,” your gaze dropped to your fingers, lightly laced with burn scars too, and his hand enveloped yours, caressing the marks with surprising gentleness. “I know we don’t pay as much. But you could be with me. I’d convince them to trust you, I know it. That way…”
You bit the inside of your lip with a curse. You knew that wouldn’t work. Even if he chose to stay, the others wouldn’t trust him. He wouldn’t be given a chance, not after the many rebels he’d personally sent to their deaths at the hands of the enemy.
“You have your fight. But I’ll be back for you.” Boba’s tone was soft when he finally spoke. “In a perfect world, I wouldn’t work for scuggholes. Maybe someday, I won’t have to.”
“Then here’s to someday,” you pressed a kiss to his cheek, and he chuckled, gathering you in his arms, pressing his lips to yours with aching desperation.
“Here’s to someday.”
#boba fett x f!reader#boba fett x female reader#boba fett x reader#boba fett fic#rotj boba fett#boba fett#boba fett fanfiction#boba fett x you#boba fett x fem!reader#star wars#acatalystrising writes#october writing challenge#oneshot prompts
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Chapter 20- Flirting With Death
Ship: Malcolm/Leandra
Words: 8546
Tw: torture, victim blaming, mentions of sexual assault
Carver added a hundred more lashes to Malcolm’s back as the whole Circle watched. Flogging was a ritual where attendance was mandatory to ensure each mage knew the punishment of stepping out of line. Malcolm’s back was already scarred with all the lessons he failed to learn.
Taylor held Isaac in her arms as he sobbed, begging Carver to stop, flinching with Malcolm at every blow but Carver could not hold back. If he did, another eager volunteer would take his place, and they would only make this moment crueler.
Carver tried to persuade the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter to be merciful. He emphasized that Malcolm had been sexually assaulted, but that didn’t seem to matter to either of them. Malcolm had cost them a deal worth hundreds of thousands of sovereigns, and they were going to make him pay for every copper.
After the lashing was done, Carver helped Malcolm to his feet, ignoring the glare of his colleagues as he let Malcolm lean on him for support.
Malcolm shoved Carver away with the grit of his teeth, standing tall on his own two feet, his gaze hard and pointed forward. The mages parted for Malcolm, not daring to look in his eyes as he and Carver proceeded into the hall alone.
Carver was forced to send him to a magically warded cell with no healing. Malcolm was doing a good job of masking his pain but Carver could still hear his labored breathing and could see the stiffness in how he walked. Fresh new lesions bled from his bare back. Carver tried to make the moment quick, but he could see that he had left new scars upon the marks of the old ones.
Malcolm dutifully laid down on the cold hard stone floor, saying nothing.
The keys jangled in Carver’s hand. He felt reluctant to lock Malcolm in. “Malcolm… don’t make this worse by breaking out again. I know it’s hard being locked in here, but the Knight-Commander was so close to Tranquilizing you.”
Malcolm laughed bitterly, his voice echoing off the runes of the barren cell. “Dude, I’ve been skirting that line for so long, I don’t know how I haven’t crossed it.”
Carver gritted his teeth, annoyance breaking through his pity. “It was me, Malcolm. I’m how you haven’t crossed it. And Maker damn it you don’t make yourself easy to defend.”
Malcolm glared at him, his golden eyes glowing in the dark. “Why should I? Why should I make any of this easy?” Malcolm spat some blood at Carver’s feet. “I played good mage. I kept my head down, did my homework, kissed the First Enchanter’s ass, but what did that get me? Flogged and jailed for rejecting a horny old toad! What’s the fucking point?!”
Carver looked down at his feet, not able to say anything.
Malcolm let out a fractured sigh. “I’m ragged, man.”
Carver could hear it in Malcolm’s voice. Malcolm wasn’t just bleeding from his wounds but from his soul.
Malcolm didn’t even try to hide how broken he felt. He curled up into a ball on his side facing away from Carver, his voice quiet. “I can’t do this anymore.”
Carver squeezed his eyes shut, not able to stand the guilt of knowing his hands caused this. He felt ashamed for even feeling guilty, knowing Malcolm was undeniably feeling worse. Carver’s fingers trembled, still remembering each lash. In truth, he knew he had no idea what Malcolm was going through and didn’t know how to comfort him. “I’m sorry. That’s what I should have said in the first place.”
Malcolm laughed, the odd and jagged sound piercing Carver’s heart. “Why are you sorry? It’s your job.”
Carver grimaced. “It shouldn’t be.” He then sighed, dropping his shoulders, suddenly heavy in his armor. “I’ll sneak you something from outside. What do you want?”
“Elfroot,” Malcolm said immediately, a little perk back in his voice. “And burgers and fries. Maybe a milkshake, too.” Malcolm was milking him, but Carver would let him.
“You’ll have to be happy with edibles. I can’t risk the smell.” Carver sighed, rolling his stiff neck. “I’ll bring it tonight between guard rotations.”
“Whatever, dude, just get me fed and stoned. I have a lot of time to think in here.”
Carver gritted his teeth. “Not if I can help it.”
The door creaked shut. The keys jangled as he locked it. With anti-magic wards, most Templars assumed that mages were helpless, but Carver knew that Malcolm had his ways, and he prayed Malcolm would listen to him and stay put.
Carver made his way back to the forensics lab with a kink in his neck, and guilt eating his gut. His mind burned, lack of sleep from exhaustively scouring the Circle trying to find the abomination. So far every brain scan reading they did on the mages came back clean. Technology was supposed to give them a sense of security, but knowing there were flaws in the system made for a disturbing reality.
As Carver stepped into the forensics lab, he could smell the nauseating aroma of preservatives. Matthew’s body was left displayed out on the table as respectfully as they could manage. But he was just skin, bone, and bits of shredded organs, barely anything left to him, and they covered him with a crisp white sheet to spare looking at his contorted look of horror.
Doctor Akel’s rich ocher skin made a striking contrast against her white lab coat. She had blue plastic gloves on her hands, and a long apron which was slightly bloody. Her shiny long black hair was tied back in a ponytail. When she heard Carver come in, she peeled off her goggles and turned her dark eyes at him. “I got the lab results back.”
Carver’s eyebrows shot up. “That was quick.”
“Had to be. Didn’t want this thing chomping on me next.” She pulled a beige folder from her desk and handed Carver the file. “You were right. Saliva in the wounds, but so far we don’t have a DNA match for anyone in the Circle save for Templar-Recruit Schmidt, which we can safely rule out.”
Carver sighed bitterly. He should have known they wouldn’t get that lucky. “Does that mean the culprit is not from the Circle?” He opened up the file skimming the report. The only organ left intact was Matthew’s brain, which at least narrowed down the search by a few dozen species.
Doctor Akel peeled off her gloves with a snap. “Not sure. Demonic transformations can change the genetic makeup of a person, so I wouldn’t rule it out yet. The DNA we were able to gather was definitely not human or elven. There were trace elements of sulfur mixed in.”
Carver’s lips pursed, knowing that would be the case. “So what do we know?”
Doctor Akel flipped the page in Carver’s hand and pointed to some blown up pictures of microscopic cell samples, but there was definitely something wrong with them. The redness of the cells had turned grey and dull. “There weren’t a lot of blood or organs left in Matthew’s body, but the blood we did collect seemed to have their minerals and nutrients stripped from them. Something’s definitely feasting, but because Hunger abominations are so common, it’s going to be hard to narrow down what kind we’re dealing with.”
“Do you have any guesses?”
“It’s not a vampire since the organs were removed. It’s not a ghoul since the blood was drained. The victimology is wrong for a penanngal. It could be a pischaca since the energy has been stripped from the cells but it’s too early to make the official call. It could easily be a species of aswang and you know how many there are.”
Carver sighed. They were a little closer to the answer, but he knew that if Matthew’s body wasn’t contaminated they might have already found their monster by now and know what signs to look for. “Well, garlic and salt are at least common allergens for Hunger demons. The Knight-Commander already had the chefs add generous amounts to the mages' meals so, if we get any sudden illnesses, we might get lucky and catch our demon.”
“Yum,” Doctor Akel said in a monotone voice.
Carver rolled his neck again, a kink forming. His energy was flagging. He’d need to grab a nap somewhere between shifts eventually. “If you find anything else, Doctor, let me know right away.”
Doctor Akel saluted. “Will, do Captain.”
Carver gathered the report and started making his way back to his office. He planned to add the details to his notes and reconsider all the evidence he had managed to gather. The mages in the hallways shirked away from Carver, which made him grit his teeth in regret. It was always that way after a flogging, anxious mages jumping whenever a Templar moved too quickly in their direction. Carver knew he couldn’t help the distrust. He had tried his best to foster goodwill, but floggings were always a reminder of how easily that trust could be broken.
It was hard enough to keep his Templars in line. They were all spooked, afraid of being the next kill. Carver had to lecture several juniors for manhandling their charges, Meredith being the worst offender. He couldn’t blame his subordinates, even if they should know better. Matt’s death was gruesome. Every Templar casualty was a reminder that, despite their rigorous training, none of them were invincible, and the grisly reminder was unwelcome.
When Carver got to the Courtyard, he heard the sound of irate yelling. Several of his Templar-Recruits were gathered near the train entrance, blocking someone from coming through.
“Messere, the Circle is in lockdown. We must insist that you go back to the mainland and call to make a request for an appointment to see the Knight-Captain. He’s very busy with the murder investigation.”
“Do you know who I am? I demand to be taken to the Carver, right now. He and I have business to discuss.”
When Carver got closer he saw that the man yelling was Gamlen. It had been clear that he had been drinking. His suit was disheveled, his tie falling out lopsided, brown stains on his crisp white shirt. His black usually neat straight hair was a frazzled mess and his blue eyes were wild with fury.
Now, what business did Gamlen possibly have with Carver? Carver had only talked to the other noble once, and didn’t remember having anything important to say to him. Carver tucked the file under his arm and approached the scene burning with curiosity.
“Lord Amell,” he called out politely with an extended hand in greeting. “What brings you to the Gallows?”
As soon as Gamlen saw Carver approaching, his shoulders snapped back. “You!” he growled and shoved the Templars out of the way. He ran up to Carver and split his lips with his fist, knocking Carver backward. The forensics report dropped to the ground, and sensitive documents scattered everywhere.
Gamlen attempted a second punch but Carver caught it with his armored hand. Carver spat blood at Gamlen’s feet. “Alright, you got one free punch, but that’s all I’m gonna give you. Can I ask what I did to deserve that?”
Gamlen snarled. “As if you don’t know!” Gamlen then brought out a gun from his belt and pointed it at Carver.
As soon as Carver saw the glint of metal, he reacted on instinct. He dove forward, disarming Gamlen with a twist of his wrist. The gun dropped to the floor and fired, making a hole in the column past Carver. Carver twisted Gamlen’s arm behind his back and pushed it upwards, threatening to break it. “Don’t make me hurt you,” Carver said, his voice dangerously low and quiet.
“You asshole! I’m going to kill you! You hear that!” Gamlen snapped savagely trying to break out of Carver’s grip, but Carver was not only bigger but had the advantage of wearing all his riot gear.
With quick precise movements, Carver yanked Gamlen’s arms together, cuffed Gamlen’s hands behind him, and stepped on his back, forcing Gamlen to his knees. Carver yanked Gamlen’s arms upwards, shoving Gamlen’s head down to the ground. “Now let’s take a breath and calm down for a moment, Lord Amell. I have no quarrel with you and, as far as I know, you shouldn’t have a quarrel with me. Let’s talk this out.”
Carver’s subordinates watched with uncertain eyes as Carver manhandled Gamlen, uncertain of what to do or what was even going on.
Gamlen seethed as he wriggled. “Fuck you, you puffed up prick! Don’t act all high and mighty! You stole my girl and knocked her up! And I’m going to fucking murder you and piss on your ashes for ruining my life!”
Carver blinked, not sure he heard right. “I did what?”
His subordinates all dropped their jaws and looked wide-eyed at each other in shock. Carver was aware that there was a growing crowd watching in the Courtyard, Isaac’s wide fearful eyes among them.
The cuffs jangled as Gamlen strained against them, unshed tears in his eyes. “You heard me, asshole! That was going to be my wife! The mother of my children! And you ruined everything and if you don’t kill me right now, I swear on my life I will find a way to ruin you!”
Mara had claimed Carver was the father of her child. To what end? Carver was so surprised by this news, he was at a loss for words and completely forgot that he was holding a struggling Gamlen.
Gamlen was spiraling, a few tears running down his cheeks as he drunkenly ranted on. “We were supposed to grow old together. We were supposed to stick together through thick and thin, good times and bad. She was my everything and you ruined her!”
Carver’s eyes narrowed as he huffed. “A woman like Mara could never be ruined.”
Gamlen sniffled, throwing his head back yelling, “Just kill me, you bastard! Get it over with! Put me out of my fucking misery!”
Carver sighed, a stress headache piercing him from the cacophonous noise. “I’m not going to do that, Lord Amell. Please calm down.”
Gamlen sobbed pitifully, broken and defeated, banging his head to the ground as the sun began to set in the west, turning the sky pink and orange.
Carver looked up at the passing clouds as he considered his options. Sure, he could tell the truth, deny everything, but then he wouldn’t be able to ask the question: why did Mara choose him to be the stand-in father in the first place?
Carver turned to his subordinates, as he lifted his foot off of Gamlen’s back, leaving a dirt impression of his steel toed boots. “Please take Lord Amell back to the mainland, gently.”
The Templars looked at Gamlen, snot running down his nose, blubbering as he curled into a fetal position.
“Do you want us to call the Guard to press assault charges?”
Carver's lips thinned, considering the idea for a moment before dismissing it. “No need. It seems like I provoked the man. He’s also clearly drunk and not in his best state of mind.” Carver was never one to rub salt in someone’s wounds, even with a man as foul as Gamlen.
Two of his subordinates took Gamlen by the arms, and this time Gamlen didn’t fight. They led him, still cuffed, back into the train shuttle.
Carver rubbed his lip, still tasting blood in his mouth, very aware that all the mages and Templars present were currently whispering gossip about what they had just witnessed. Carver’s eyes met Isaac’s, and the boy ran off back towards the apprentice quarters.
Carver couldn’t blame Isaac as much as it hurt to be feared. The boy had seen nothing but violence from him lately. Carver sighed bitterly, and started picking up the report scattered on the ground.
Carver was baffled by this turn of events, but there was part of him that was pleased. That Mara chose him for her lie meant she was thinking of him, and the thought thrilled him.
He knew Matthew’s murder was more pressing, but he couldn’t help but be filled with thoughts of longing and hope. He didn’t know what any of this meant yet, but his mind swirled with the possibilities.
Carver’s heart pounded at the thought of seeing Mara again. He shivered at the thought of those dark cat eyes glimmering in mischief as those delicious lips playfully called him ‘Officer.’ The primal urge that stirred in him, though he kept it locked away for no one to see.
He quickly chastised himself for getting too eager. He didn’t even know if Mara felt the same way. For all he knew, he was just a convenient cover, a name she picked at random.
But why would his name hurt Gamlen so badly? Was he imagining the hunger in her gaze the last time they met? He ached to know what he meant to her.
An eager smile found Carver’s lips. “I guess I have to ask.”
——
“Sinag, wake up! Please wake up!” Leandra sobbed as she held Malcolm’s broken body in her arms. He was bleeding from every orifice on his face and his chest was still, devoid of life, his dark freckled skin cold.
Leandra’s throat was hoarse as she clutched Malcolm’s corpse, trying her best to shock life back into his heart with her hands. He jerked and convulsed under her electric touch, but his eyes refused to open.
With a tear-blinded gaze, she glared at her parents. They were wearing clothes she didn’t recognize, intricate robes with red and gold thread and pointed hoods, not in any current Kirkwall style. They frowned at Leandra with the same withering disappointment she had come to remember.
“We tried to warn you,” her father said with glassy blue eyes.
“Why?” Leandra sobbed, her throat raw. “Sinag was my heart! My soul! You’ve destroyed me!”
“Don’t be so dramatic, Dalisay.” Her mother tucked a smooth black hair back into place. “He was a slave. Replaceable. You are not. You forced our hand when you tried to marry him. Now you have no choice.”
Leandra snarled, pulling out a dagger from her belt. “There’s always a choice.” Then she stabbed herself in her heart. She could feel the jagged edge of the dagger pierce her chest and she coughed up blood, dark power coming from the pain. With her dying breaths, she gasped, “I curse the Amell's! May misfortune shadow all your footsteps! Your descendants will fall into ruin until your line ceases to exist if you do not learn from your pride!”
A deep malevolent purple aura surrounded Leandra’s body as a voice from the dark depths of the Fade answered her summons. “Your curse is a gift to me, Dalisay. With my power, I will end your bloodline.”
Leandra could feel herself smile as she plunged into darkness.
Then she woke up with tears in her eyes.
Leandra didn’t know what the dream meant, who Dalisay or Sinag was, or why this kept happening, but she was sick of having dreams of Malcolm. Sleep used to be a comfort, and now it was just a cruel reminder of everything she lost.
She looked at the time, 5:07. Her crying-induced nap had made her sleep in. She was meeting Jaheem for dinner at six and she wasn’t even showered or dressed yet.
Despite being late, Leandra was reluctant to get ready. She had agreed to this dinner rather impulsively, and she found nervous butterflies in her stomach. She told herself that this was good, the kind of feeling that came with new love, but the sinking pit in her gut told her differently.
She shaved rather quickly, only focusing on her calves, and stared at her reflection as she blow-dried her hair, which felt dry and dull. It had been apparent that she had been crying from the redness in her eyes.
Her last meeting with Malcolm had left her so confused and angry. He’d protected Colette without thought, and yet Leandra he’d manhandled. He’d pinned her to the ground and scared her half to death. She couldn’t help but feel violated and betrayed by her own body. She remembered how Malcolm’s touch had made her melt and just how little in control she’d felt in his intoxicating presence. When he was near, all sanity went out the window and, while that once excited her, now it terrified her.
She didn’t know how far he would have gone at that moment at Colette’s party. She didn’t know how far she wanted him to. She was too conflicted about her feelings to sort them out. She hated him. She wanted him. He was impossible to live with. But living without him proved harder than she’d thought. No matter how Leandra tried to get Malcolm off her mind and focus on her date, he came creeping back in, like a cockroach crawling under the door. She had to resist banging her head against the wall in an attempt to knock him out of her head.
Mara spotted a new dress for Leandra’s date, while they were shopping for Mara’s maternity clothes. It was a flowy red fabric cut open in the back and was ruffled so it hung loosely above the knee. Her waist was cinched tight with a statement belt, Mara’s idea. She had matching red pumps that were rather high and, for a moment, Leandra’s heart panged as she thought of how she would miss teasing Malcolm in these.
As she painted on her makeup she couldn’t help but notice how dry her skin had gotten, and how her eyeliner didn’t cover how red-rimmed her eyes were. Not even her foundation could mask the evidence of her irritated skin.
She felt so depressed, it was hard to convince herself not to text Jaheem to cancel. She dreaded leaving Mara’s house, but she told herself that going out with Jaheem would be fun. She reminded herself of all the things she liked about him: how handsome and ambitious he was, and how kind and gentle he always seemed to be. His job was something to be admired, and he had the moral compass to match. He was perfect.
And yet her heart yearned for Malcolm. Even with Malcolm’s laundry lists of faults. Even with his insufferable arrogance and broken promises and lies.
It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense.
She cursed the Maker for sending Malcolm into her life.
As she walked into the living room, Mara and Harvel looked up from the evening news channel they were watching and nodded to her. The red-headed anchor stared at the screen grimly as a picture of a pale bald man posing in his Templar service uniform hovered above her head.
“The city is on high alert now that Knight-Templar Matthew Marks was found brutally murdered on the job. While authorities have not released any details, witness testimony suspects blood magic, or worse, an abomination. At the advice of the Knight-Commander, Viscount Perrin Threnhold has issued a mandatory curfew effective immediately.”
“Terrible business. Maker save us.” Harvel grimaced, changing the channel to a sitcom where a father was lecturing his son for elfroot found in his room.
Mara smiled at Leandra. She was wearing her new nightgown, a loose ruffled powder blue dress meant to accommodate her growing body. “Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Mara winked at her. “How do you feel?”
Leandra huffed, her bangs ruffling off her forehead. “Ask me later tonight.”
Mara made an ‘o’ with her mouth. “Dreamed of the asshole, again?”
“Language,” Lolo reminded Mara, his eyes transfixed on the TV.
Leandra threw her head back on the couch. “I’ve been having the same weird dream since Malcolm and I broke up. I wonder what it means.”
“It means you should move on and focus on the handsome man who’s taking you out tonight.” Mara put a hand on Leandra’s knee. “I know it hurts right now, but try to remember to have fun. This’ll be good for you.”
Leandra looked at Mara through her lashes. “Even though it’s the day after the end of my engagement?” She felt like she should be more broken up about that, but she was just relieved that it was done and in the past. She hoped Guillaume could find it in her heart to talk to her one day, but she wouldn’t blame him if he never did.
Mara patted her knee. “Guillaume’s a big boy. He’ll move on. So should you.”
Leandra nodded, trying to erase the gnawing in her gut.
Soon enough there was a knock at the door. Leandra glanced at the time and it was still five minutes until six. Leandra was panicking, not realizing how much she needed those five minutes to prepare.
Mara gleamed her eyes mischievously. “That must be him. I’m going to do some sussing.”
Leandra widened her eyes, opening her mouth to stop Mara, but Mara was already rushing to the door and pulling it open.
Jaheem was standing in an ocean blue silk suit with a sash that wrapped around him and draped loosely off his large frame. He had the same golden jewelry studding his face, gleaming and shiny. There were two new notches shaved into his right eyebrow, a curious intriguing look. His flat top was more relaxed today and the designs sheared into the sides of his head were freshly cut. He had a bouquet of pink lilies in his large hands.
Mara craned her neck up to Jaheem’s towering height, her eyebrows raising to the top of her forehead as her mouth fell open. “Do you have a brother?”
Jaheem laughed good-naturedly, “I’m afraid I don’t, but I do have a sister.”
Mara quirked an eyebrow, smirking as she fanned herself. “If she’s as hot as you then go ahead and give me her number.”
Jaheem laughed again, his deep timber voice warm and bright as he extended his hand in greeting. “You must be Mara. Leandra told me about you. You’re everything she said you were.”
Mara took his hand and shook it firmly. “Better take care of my girl tonight. I’m putting a lot of trust in you.”
Jaheem did a playful salute. “Definitely don’t want to disappoint, ma’am.”
Mara giggled, pushing him flirtatiously. “Oooh, ma’am. I like that.”
“Mara,” Leandra tapped her foot impatiently behind her.
Mara put an innocent hand on her chest. “What? I’m being good. This is me on my best behavior.”
Jaheem smiled. “Would hate to see you at your worst then.”
Mara waggled her eyebrows. “I dunno, maybe you would.”
Leandra felt she should be more horrified by Mara’s blatant flirting, but she just was relieved that she didn’t have to talk yet. Even so, as Jaheem talked to Mara, his cocoa eyes never left Leandra. She didn’t realize how nervous she was, and she found sweat running down her back. Was this attraction jitters? Her stomach did flutter under that intense gaze, but she had a sinking feeling in her heart at the thought of being alone with him. What if he wanted to kiss her? Would she want him to? Was she even ready to?
Harvel rose from his seat and reached out his hand to greet Jaheem. “I heard you’re helping dear Revka. Awfully good of you, Messere. I know our Leandra’s very grateful.”
Jaheem took Harvel’s hand and shook it firmly. “I’m only doing my job, Ser. No need to thank me.”
Harvel looked at Leandra with a sparkle in his leaf green eyes. “I like this one better.”
Leandra’s cheeks flamed as she found a flustered warble in her throat. She grabbed the flowers from Jaheem’s arms. “Thank you, these are lovely.”
Jaheem smiled. “I wasn’t sure what you liked, but lilies seemed to suit you.”
She smiled, inhaling the fresh scent before placing them in an empty vase. She grabbed Jaheem’s hand and started leading him out the door, hoping to avoid more of Harvel’s and Mara’s interrogation. “We’ll be late for our reservation if we don’t hurry, yes?”
Jaheem chuckled, letting himself be pulled. “I’m sure they’ll save our spot.”
Harvel followed them out onto the porch. “There’s a curfew now with that abomination out! Bring Leandra back before they shut down the streets.”
Jaheem saluted again more formally this time. “I’ll have her back early, Ser, I promise.”
It was clear that Jaheem had come from money. He had a sleek dark blue Antivan Mercado Benz. It seemed to fit the more serious side of his personality, but he had a bobblehead of the Rivaini Tigers Wallop team mascot on his dash that made Leandra smile with warmth, despite her hesitancy about this date.
Jaheem helped Leandra into the front seat, taking care to help her buckle in. His long legs quickly walked around to the other side, where he slid into the driver’s seat and put his keys into the ignition. The engine purred smoothly, barely audible.
Jaheem’s cocoa eyes bored into her. A nervous flutter was back in Leandra’s stomach.
“Are you alright?” he asked with such tenderness, Leandra’s heart skipped.
Was her grief so clear on her face? “I haven’t been sleeping well,” Leandra confessed, her eyes falling to her lap.
Jaheem nodded. “Want to tell me about it?” He offered as he pulled away from the lot.
Leandra couldn’t confess she was dreaming about another man so she said, “Just silly things. Nonsense dreams.”
“You know my mother was a Rivaini Seer. I know a bit about interpreting dreams.”
Leandra looked at him, true curiosity burning in her. “What’s a Seer?”
Jaheem’s smile dropped and he was suddenly serious. The streetlights reflected bright highlights on his deep skin. “Well, they’re not exactly Chantry sanctioned mages. My mother has always been close to the Spirits, and she must commune with them to know how to balance the energy of the land and impart their will.” He glanced at her, nervousness in his tone. “I know it’s not exactly teachings of the Chantry, and we do believe in the Maker, but the Spirits are also of His creation, as is the Fade.”
Leandra had never thought of it that way. Sure the Fade was thought of as the Maker’s domain, but it was always a thing to be feared. “How do they view magic in Rivain? The things you say, and this petition you’re building… it seems so different than what I was taught.”
Jaheem smiled, though it seemed strained. “Well, Rivain wasn’t always ruled by the Chantry. I wouldn’t admit this to just anyone, but a lot of us still worship the Gods of old along with the Maker: the Spider-Trickster and Savior Anaanse, He Who Does Not Speak but Knows Everything Nyumee, Goddess of the Land Asaasse Afua who blesses both earth and wombs with life. I guess there are many others but I won’t bore you with those details.”
“So you don’t believe in the Maker?” Leandra raised an eyebrow. She wasn’t sure how to reconcile this new information with her beliefs.
“We do,” Jaheem said quickly. “The Maker just became part of our tapestry of Gods, no higher or lower than any of the others. Without His Sun to guide us, we would forever be in the dark.”
Leandra furrowed her eyebrows, at a loss. “But you worship other Gods along with the Maker? He is the Creator.”
“Or a Creator,” Jaheem countered. “The Spirits themselves are acts of Creation. And man takes place in Creation all the time with art, music, literature, and architecture, sparking the Divine within us. The Divine is all around us if we know where to look for it.”
Leandra suddenly felt uneasy. She wasn’t sure she could accept any Gods other than the Maker, and she wasn’t sure she see herself long-term with a man who saw the Maker as just another God. She could already see arguments about how they would raise their children, but she stopped herself from that line of thought, telling herself they weren’t even close to that part of their relationship.
Leandra didn’t want to be rude about Jaheem’s culture, so she changed the subject. “How does one interpret dreams?”
Jaheem didn’t seem to mind the change in topic. “Well, every dream is a message from the Gods. Sometimes their message is hard to understand, so they might send it again and again. My mother taught me to look for reoccurring patterns and symbols that might hold meaning. Sometimes dreams are memories of past lives, and the Gods give us a glimpse of that knowledge in times of need.”
Leandra let her frown show at last. “That’s ridiculous. We have only one life. That’s why we need to make it count.”
Jaheem laughed, taking her dismissal in stride. “Perhaps. But in Rivain we believe sometimes the Maker sends back the lives with the most misfortune and gives them a second chance at life. Those who died too young, those who never tasted happiness, those who died with deep regrets. It is said love at first sight is the souls of doomed lovers recognizing each other from a past life.”
Leandra considered her dream in that light for a second. It would make sense, but she couldn’t accept that explanation. She still didn’t want anything to do with Malcolm and to think her fate was tied to him in some way just made her angry. “I don’t believe in love at first sight,” Leandra stared out the window, bitterness lacing her voice. “Lust at first sight, maybe, but love at first sight is too ridiculous to be true.”
Jaheem’s cocoa eyes sparkled as he looked at her. “I wouldn’t count it out just yet, my Lady. Life might surprise you.”
Soon enough they pulled into a Branding Iron Steakhouse in Hightown, a rather busy spot on a Sunday night. Jaheem escorted her out of the car and gave her his arm for her to take.
She slipped her hand into the crook of Jaheem’s arm, feeling the hard muscle there. She blushed, wondering if she would actually like those arms wrapped around her.
They stepped into the restaurant and there was a buzz in the atmosphere. The air smelled thick with meat and perfume. Leandra didn’t actually feel hungry, but she followed Jaheem to the waiter’s greeting line.
Jaheem nodded with a brilliant smile. “Reservation for Jaheem Omenma.”
The waiter pulled two menus aside and bowed. “We have your usual table in the back, Messere.”
Jaheem pulled Leandra forward to a cozy reserved spot with candles. White cloth was spread across the table and more pink lilies were set in a vase in the center.
Jaheem pulled the seat out for Leandra. “My lady.”
She blushed and sat down, feeling his strong arms scoot her chair in.
Then he sat down across from her, turned to the waiter, and without looking at the menu said, “Can you bring a bottle of the Rivaini Bloodspice Carbernet Sauvignon?”
The waiter bowed. “We’ve had a bottle ripening since the Storm Age. I’ll have it right out.”
Leandra raised her eyebrow uneasy again. “Bloodspice?”
Jaheem’s smile was mischevious. “Just a drop of wyvern blood. It really gives it a robust flavor.”
Leandra gulped nervously, not sure if she would really like it, but she didn’t argue.
She felt Jaheem’s eyes on her as she tried to study her menu. She felt like she should just get a salad, but she wasn’t sure if she was actually in the mood for one.
It seemed like he already knew what he wanted and had his menu set aside as he waited patiently for her to look.
Leandra felt overwhelmed by the options. How could there be so many ways to cook a steak? She even saw lobster, veal, and scampi on the menu, but it all sounded so filling and her stomach was still felt uneasy. “I’m not really sure what I want. Do you have any recommendations?”
“Well, I’m partial to their filet mignon, myself.”
Leandra didn’t want to actually make a decision so she said, “I guess I’ll get that, too.” And she set aside her menu, keeping her eyes on her empty plate.
Soon the waiter came and poured the Bloodspice wine into their glasses and Jaheem quickly gave their orders.
The waiter was gone just as quickly and the awkward silence was back. Leandra had no idea what she wanted to talk about and it seemed like Jaheem was politely waiting for her to say something.
But Leandra’s brain was blank. It was like all her conversational skills had gone out the window. She was alone with a man that wasn’t Guillaume or Malcolm, and her stomach was doing flips at the guilt.
Jaheem sipped his wine and cleared his throat. “I admit, my Lady, I’d very much like to get to know you, but I’m afraid I’m so nervous I don’t know where to start.”
Leandra widened her eyes in surprise. Jaheem’s posture oozed with confidence. It would have never occurred to her that he was just as nervous as her.
“I’m an open book.” Leandra picked up the wine and took a tentative sip. It was definitely spicy, leaving her tongue tingling, but it was much tastier than she expected. “What would you like to know?”
Jaheem traced the rim of his wine glass with his large finger. For a moment she let herself imagine that finger tracing her skin. Would that tingling feeling come back? But his question soon startled her out of her thoughts.
“Well, let’s start with the basics I guess. What’s your favorite color?”
Leandra found her breath stutter in her throat, suddenly caught in a memory.
She remembered when Malcolm and she were first still getting to know each other, asking these types of questions. It was late at night and she was lying on her bed, spread out on her many many pillows, phone to her ear with just Malcolm’s voice as company. At that point she was still wondering what it would be like to lay next to him, what it would be like to feel his touch, to taste his lips.
It was she who first asked him that question.
“Black,” Malcolm had said without thinking. “Definitely black.”
“Black’s not a color,” Leandra had argued with a giggle. “It’s the absence of light.”
“Sure black’s a color. It’s a crayon, isn’t it?”
Leandra had rolled her eyes, even though Malcolm couldn’t see it. “It’s so boring, though. Couldn’t you choose something interesting?”
“Black’s plenty interesting. It’s the color of your eyes and I can stare at them for hours.”
She remembered how hot her face had gotten, how badly she’d wanted to reach through the phone and kiss him.
“Besides, black is the color of night and night is freedom. Night is when I can hear your voice. Come see you.”
Leandra had looked down at her hands, wishing she could hold Malcolm’s. “Well, I happen to like all the colors. I don’t discriminate.”
Malcolm had laughed brightly. “Sure you do. Your favorite’s pink.”
Leandra still remembered being baffled by his arrogant proclamation. “It is not! I like all the colors! I do!”
She’d heard the smugness in his smile. “I’m sure you like all the colors, but your lipstick’s pink, your purse is pink, your cellphone’s pink, your nails are pink, hell, even your nightgown is pink.”
Leandra had stared down at her nightgown and nails and sure enough, he was right. “How do you know what my nightgown looks like? Are you stalking me?”
Malcolm had laughed again. “Just a lucky guess.”
Leandra didn’t realize that she had been so caught in the memory that she hadn’t answered Jaheem.
Jaheem raised an eyebrow. “Are you alright, my Lady?”
Leandra’s cheeks grew hot. She cast her eyes down into her wine glass and took another tasty sip, letting the alcohol give her some confidence. “My favorite color’s pink,” she said reluctantly.
She didn’t want to admit she was fighting tears. Malcolm was infuriatingly arrogant at the best of times, but he had a way of pointing out things she didn’t even notice about herself. Could call out the lies she was telling herself, and at that moment she missed that about him.
Jaheem grinned. “I should have known, considering that’s the color you’ve been wearing the last two times I saw you. I’m glad I guessed right with the flowers.”
Leandra blushed as she stared at the lilies at the center of the table. So he had noticed that about her as well. Perhaps she could let herself fall for him, and he could make her forget all the pain she was feeling.
“What’s your favorite color?” she asked back politely, even if she found herself disinterested in the answer.
“It’s hard to say. Every color has its charm, but I’m quite partial to blue. It makes me think of the sky touching the sea.” He had a fond smile on his face, as if he was reliving a good memory.
Leandra had to admit that the ocean blue suit did look stunning against his dark skin, the contrast making the colors seem more vibrant.
Jaheem asked her other basic questions: how many siblings she had, about her aunt’s family, what kind of music she liked, and what her job was. Leandra made every effort to be engaged, but her mind kept wandering back to Malcolm, his presence like an annoying gnat in her ear.
Soon their steaks were delivered and Leandra was relieved to pause the conversation to focus on eating. The food was unexpectedly delicious, and she did feel a little perkier as the night went on.
After a while, Jaheem said, “I don’t mean to be rude but I’m surprised you’re not living at your estate.”
Leandra blinked, not sure if she should admit the truth to Jaheem, but she couldn’t find a reason to lie. “My parents and I aren’t on speaking terms at the moment… In fact, I’ve resigned from being their heir.”
Jaheem raised his thick eyebrows in surprise. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up a sore subject.”
“It’s not a sore subject,” she lied, cutting a delicate piece off of her filet mignon. She tried to think of a diplomatic way to respond. “My parents and I… fundamentally disagree on terms of morality.”
Jaheem nodded. “Oh, they disagree with your signing the petition?”
Leandra’s shoulders dropped. Certainly if her parents had found out about that, it would just be another item on their laundry list of things to lecture her about. Usually, she would talk about these things with Mara and, at one time, Malcolm. She wasn’t sure she wanted Jaheem’s ear on this subject, but she told herself she should give him a chance. “What do you know about the Council of Five?”
Jaheem cocked his head as he picked up his wine glass. “This is my first time hearing about this council.”
Leandra stopped cutting into her steak. “I’m not surprised. It’s Kirkwall’s dirtiest secret.”
Jaheem raised an eyebrow, sipped his wine, and waited for her to continue.
Leandra set down her knife and fork and looked at him with seriousness. “The Council of Five is the true power in Kirkwall and runs an underground slaving network. My family is actually in huge debt. My parents have been selling criminals and homeless people on behalf of this Council of Five.” She dropped her eyes back to her plate. “I found out only a short time ago, and I… couldn’t be a part of that.”
Jaheem’s eyes were so wide she thought they would fall out. He squared his shoulders and set his glass down, discomfort clear on his face. “That’s quite a confession, my Lady. I’m so sorry. You must be devastated.”
Leandra lowered her head, refusing to show the tears that she was fighting. “I need to tell everyone the truth about my family, but I admit I really don’t know who to go to. If this Council truly runs everything, then whoever I tell might be in danger. I fear I might have endangered you just by telling you.”
Jaheem put a hand over his heart. “You don’t need to worry about my safety. I'm a lawyer, and I know my way around a battle, legal or otherwise.” He ruffled into his front pocket where he had a stack of business cards. “I have a friend I can introduce you to that does investigative journalism. He might be interested in this story. I’ll let him know to expect your call.”
Leandra took the card from his hand. The name ‘Brett Bauer’ was imprinted in bold letters with his number and the title, Lead Investigative Reporter for the Kirkwall Times.
Leandra’s eyes raised back to Jaheem. “I can’t express how much this means to me. I didn’t even know where to start.”
Jaheem shrugged nonchalantly, stabbing a sprig of asparagus. “Well, I’m very happy to help, my Lady. I’d like to be someone you can rely on.”
Leandra found a blush bloom on her cheeks, and she found herself enjoying the feeling. Jaheem really was a reliable man. Maybe she could let herself lean on him.
The dinner continued more pleasantly, and Leandra was able to forget about Malcolm for a few moments. But then it was time for the check and to go to the museum, and Leandra found her stomach sinking once more.
She felt shy again, not able to bring herself to touch Jaheem. Her hands hovered near her hips, unsure what to do with them.
The sun had set behind the Hightown buildings by the time they left the restaurant. Jaheem walked beside Leandra as they headed to the museum down the block, keeping a respectable distance, but he kept glancing at her, mischievousness in his smile.
Finally, he reached out to Leandra. “May I be so bold as to ask to hold your hand?”
Leandra stared at his hand for a moment, his palms paler than the rest of him. It did look warm and inviting, so she wrapped her fingers in his.
She smiled shyly, his hand unexpectedly pleasant. He felt so foreign and big, a little rough but still comforting. They strolled down the quiet street, enjoying each other’s company in silence.
Jaheem looked down at Leandra, his full lips pulled into a bright white smile. “I know the night is still not over, but there’s a new Opera opening next weekend. I don’t suppose you’d be interested in going.”
“Les Larmes du Créateur?” Leandra found her smile widening. “I'm the first chair in the symphony, so I’ll already be there.”
Jaheem’s cocoa eyes glimmered in the dark. “Well then I certainly can’t miss it.” He brought her hand to his full lips and placed a soft kiss that made her stomach flutter.
“You look incredible in this dress.” Jaheem’s eyes fell admiringly on her open back, making Leandra’s cheeks hot. Then with a soft hand he turned her face up to him, tracing her jaw.
Leandra held her breath. It felt unexpectedly good, not the electric rush she was used to feeling with Malcolm, but pleasant and warm.
Jaheem’s cocoa eyes darkened as his eyes hooded. “May I kiss you, my Lady? I admit I’ve been wanting to all night.”
Leandra’s heart pounded in her ears. His spicy citrus scent was lulling her but her heart lurched, unsure if she could handle the disappointment if his kiss didn’t set her ablaze like Malcolm’s did.
But she remembered Mara’s words and she stepped a little closer, biting her bottom lip. “I think I would like that.” Would she? Was she lying to him or to herself?
He smiled and cupped her face, bringing his head down to hers. She closed her eyes and let herself be surrounded by him. She held her breath as his lips brushed hers.
And then suddenly a man in a ski mask jumped out of an alley and pulled a gun on Jaheem. “Give me your wallets, right now!”
Leandra was frozen, terror caught in her throat. Her hands were shaking so bad she couldn’t even reach for her purse.
Jaheem protectively pushed Leandra behind him, his other hand in the air. “No need for any violence. I’ll give you what you want.” He slowly started reaching for his front pocket.
The thug clicked the safety off and aimed it at Jaheem’s head. “Not fast enough.”
Leandra screamed as the gun banged and a deafening crack rang through the air.
Jaheem moved lightning quick, closing the distance with his long arms, and knocked the gun aside, the fatal shot whizzing past his ear. The gun bounced into the street, another shot firing into a nearby car window, shattering glass. Jaheem twisted his fingers around the thug’s wrist, and then pulled him forward and kneed him in the head. There was a sickening crack. Blood spurted from his nose and mouth as the robber fell to the ground with a slump, knocked clean out.
Leandra’s heart was beating in her ears. It was over so fast, it took her a moment to register she was no longer in danger.
Jaheem rolled the man over onto his back, pulling off his mask. He had a blond crew cut that looked military, his nose and mouth bleeding profusely.
“Funny, he didn’t seem to want my money.” Jaheem started rifling through the man’s jacket pockets where he pulled out a picture with Jaheem’s face crossed out in red. Jaheem sighed. “These assassins are getting sloppier,” he said in a tired tone that told her that this wasn’t the first time this had happened.
“Who would want you dead?” Leandra asked in a horrified tone.
Jaheem rolled his neck, cracking it as he rose to his feet. “Well when you have politics like mine, you tend to make a lot of enemies.” He turned his photo around to the backside where there was an inverted triangle symbol made up of five thick lines. “Strange. I don’t recognize this symbol.”
But Leandra did. Her breath caught in her throat. “That’s the Council of Five.”
Jaheem hummed as he stared at the symbol as if trying to burn it into memory. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out his razor black cell phone. “I’m sorry to cut the evening short, my Lady, but it seems that I have some investigating of myself to do. Will you be alright taking a cab home?”
Leandra could only say she was relieved. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
Jaheem’s eyes crinkled into a smile. “It was certainly a memorable night out. I hope we’ll have another soon, though, perhaps we could skip the assassination attempts.”
In spite of the pounding fear in Leandra’s heart, she found that tonight wasn’t as bad as she thought it would be. She allowed Jaheem to kiss her knuckles, feeling a pleasant warmness flooding her. “Yes.” Her lips curled up hopefully. “I look forward to it.”
#malcolm x leandra#malcolm hawke#leandra hawke#leandra amell#poor Malcolm has been put through the wringer and Leandra is lying to herself still#nobody is having a good time except maybe Jaheem
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Armor Champions - Season 4 - The Cale Saga - Episode 191 (Do Not Copy)
The blond youth Billy flew as quickly as he could until he landed on the soft driveway that led to Brief Enterprises. He soon walked inside and hurried to the basement downstairs. And he was reunited with his team along with Albatross Zane.
The worried Carla of the Golden Grail ran to Billy and hugged him while asking "Are you alright?"
"Yeah," Billy told her. "You should know that I'm not easy to kill."
Carla lowered her head as she gave a relieved smile.
"Billy!" cried Jede. "Don't you ever follow anybody without taking another with you! You could have been killed by those people!"
"Are you kidding me?" yelled Relena. "You shouldn't do stuff like that!"
Billy gave a soft laugh and informed everyone "Whatever! I followed that android to his base!"
"You did find the hideout?" asked Jede.
"Good job!"
Albatross hurried to him and asked Billy "Where is the lair located?"
Billy reported "It's on a large mountain not far from here. The base is a wooden house with no windows. You can find it easily."
"Great work," said Joey.
"Now we can stop this Trey guy from doing any more damage," implied Relena.
Then Rico informed Billy "You should stay here where it's safe."
"You're kidding, right?" questioned Billy.
"The detective is right," Albatross replied. "Trey is after you. The best plan is for you to stay hidden."
"And who the hell is this?" yelled Billy.
"This is not the time to explain," Jede told him. "Please remain here. If Trey has you in his clutches, this battle will end in chaos."
Desoto lowered himself to his brother and yelled "Cam! Ya stayin' too!"
"But Big Bro!" cried Camerion.
"Don't ya dare!" Desoto told him. "Ya stayin' here and dat's dat!"
"I'll stay and protect them," Albatross told everyone.
Aaron shook his head and answered "Do what you can to protect my brother and Camerion."
Albatross placed his right hand forward and the pair shook each other's hand.
"I will," Albatross told him. "You have my word."
"Alright," Jede told the others. "Let us travel to where Billy directed."
Aaron shook his head once again and informed his leader "I know where exactly we're going. So I'll be your guide."
"Very well," said Jede.
The others began to walk off. But a concerned Desoto faced Billy.
"Billy!" He called.
Billy turned to him and Desoto cried "Don't ya flip out when yer protectin' my little bro!"
And the determined cowboy hurried off as a calm Billy shook his head.
"Desoto," Billy thought. "Your brother... He'll be safe. I'll see to that."
Armor Champions Season 4 -- Episode 191: Under Siege; Capturing the Key
A few minutes later, the other champions led by Aaron of the Silver Light flew toward the large mountain and spotted the wooden house where Trey had stayed.
One group of the team -- Jede, Relena, Rico, Desoto, and Aaron -- went on into the house as the others -- Carla, Kody, and Joey -- remained outside.
Jede of the Cosmic Fire and his group crept through the stairway and found the entrance to the basement. They finally walked inside and found the android called Cale standing at the left side of a large metal disk before them.
"It appears..." claimed an excited Cale. "...that we have guests ready to die."
The two champions -- Jede and Relena -- hurried forward and attacked the enemy. Relena blew a large wave of pink fire from her left point-finger. Meanwhile, Jede summoned a large cabinet of red fire between his palms and blew it forward.
"Sniping Rose!" yelled Relena.
"Great Demon Roar!" called Jede.
Both flames flew to Cale as the others attacked as well.
Aaron formed a medium globe of silver energy around each hand. Then he threw his fists forward which released a barrage of small silver balls.
A calm Rico crossed his arms as a circle of green water emerged around him from the ground. He soon thrust his palms forward. And the circle of water formed into a long wave of green energy which blew to his target.
Desoto formed the fingers from both hands into a circular pattern. Purple energy appeared in the circle which emitted blue electricity. And the cowboy blew out a small wave of the energy.
"Great Heaven's Wrath!" called Aaron.
"Oceans of Avalon!" yelled Rico.
"Popcorn Impact!" yelled Desoto.
Cale flung his hands forward. And all projectiles from the champions were destroyed by a large sphere of purple light that quickly gathered around the android.
Inside the basement at Brief Enterprises, the watchful Albatross stood near the emotionless Billy Williamson who watched Camerion playing on a small black tablet while sitting by his left side.
And Albatross asked Billy "So you are the brother Aaron was talking about long ago? The one who Aaron's mother gave away?"
"Look!" Billy informed him. "We may share the same blood. But I will never view Aaron as my brother."
A smiling Albatross lowered his head and he said "Ever since we were very little, Aaron has always talked about having a little brother. I'm sure he was overjoyed when he found you in the past."
Billy turned his face to the left side and asked "Did you know him? Aeriko Murashin?"
Albatross shook his head and answered "He was around when Aaron and I were still toddlers. He was a stern individual. He was someone that you shouldn't get angry or feel around with."
Then Billy turned forward and implied "That's practically the same thing Aaron said along with emotionally unstable."
"Yeah," claimed Albatross. "He was definitely someone you shouldn't mess with."
Suddenly, the large metallic door at the other side of them had somehow unhooked from its hinges. Then the door was pushed to the wall by them as the three youths stood up in shock.
"What the hell?" cried Billy.
And another person floated into the room.
It was the calm doctor named Trey Chaolan. He wore a black outfit with long sleeves. He also had on a pair of short black boots. And a long pale-blue scarf was wrapped around his neck.
"Oh no!" cried Albatross. "He found us!"
Billy called "It's him! Trey Chaolan!"
The form of Albatross's body quickly became more muscular as the color of his eyes had turned green. Meanwhile, his hair spiked up as its color changed to gold. And golden energy began flying from his body.
His body remained away as Trey found Albatross preparing himself as a Super Kainobi.
"So," Trey implied. "This must be the transformation known simply as Super Kainobi."
First, Albatross walked a few steps away from the other two as he gave a welcoming smile.
"I never thought I'd see you on the battlefield," implied Albatross. "I figured you would stay behind the scenes while others do the job for you."
Trey greeted with a strong grin and commented "I like to freelance every now and then. Boredom is not one of the things I like."
Second, the golden-haired warrior thrust his palms forward and a large ball of red energy formed before him.
"Now that you're here," implied Albatross. "I can end this right here."
Then he shot his large wave.
"Fire Release!" called Albatross. "Scarlet Storm!"
Once the large projectile flew closer to him, Trey slowly threw his right point-finger forward.
"Magnet Release!" He whispered. "Frozen Space!"
The large projectile from Albatross froze before him once gray enemy formed around it.
"What?" cried Albatross.
Trey soon commanded "Push!"
The projectile was forced back to its creator. And Albatross was pushed away by the attack.
After Albatross was pushed to the wall across the room, he fell unconscious as Billy transformed into a Super Kainobi.
Trey lowered his hand as he spotted Billy who was surrounded by rising golden energy. Meanwhile, Little Camerion hid behind a table of computers behind the golden-haired warrior.
"You must be Billy," implied Trey. "You were known as the Blue Ice Kainobi throughout parts of the galaxy. Those who are anybody including myself know what great power you have. In fact, I can feel the cold but deadly power coming from you right now."
Billy blew his palms forward and informed him "I don't care who you are, or whose friend you use to be. But I'm gonna put you down."
He fired a barrage of small balls made of yellow energy as he yelled "Spider Force!"
Trey placed the fingers from his left hand forward as the storm of energy flew closer.
"Black Void!" He softly called.
And a large void of black energy formed in front of Trey which negated every projectile thrown by a shocked Billy.
"What the hell?" cried Billy.
Then Billy flew toward his enemy as he yelled "Damn you!"
After that, Trey pushed the palm of his left hand forward. The body of Billy froze in the air as gray energy gathered.
"What?" cried Billy. "What the hell is this? Some sort of Telekinesis?"
Trey lowered his hand as the body of Billy stood straight before him.
And the young villain walked toward him as Billy yelled "Let go, Bastard!"
"This isn't Telekinesis at all," Trey informed him. "I am simply controlling your body using Magnet Release. But this is quite similar to moving or freezing an object using only your mind. I must focus to control whatever I want using Magnetism."
Billy quickly returned to his regular form. Then Trey continued.
"This is not a common ability. Only I know how to control Magnet Release in this fashion. There are not many weaknesses."
Billy slowly looked forward at Trey and told him "I know you came to get me. So I'll let you take me if you leave all my friends alone."
A puzzled Trey thought for a moment.
He soon asked "What would make you think I was coming for you?"
Billy slowly turned his head to Camerion who hid behind the table of computers behind him.
"CAMERION!" He shouted. "RUN!"
Camerion slowly backed away as he heard Billy cry "GO! GET OUT OF HERE!"
After that, Camerion rushed upstairs and made his way out from the front door.
As soon as he hid behind trees nearby, the body of Camerion froze while gray energy gathered around him. And Trey slowly floated toward the boy while a soft smile on his face.
Albatross ran out of the building and found the wicked Trey flying off along with a forced Camerion following him.
"No way!" shouted Albatross. "He has the kid! But why?"
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an actual hero
pairing: bucky barnes x reader (little bit of biker!bucky)
summary: you’ve been john walker’s girlfriend since high school. he’s the only man you’ve ever loved, but that may change when a certain serum causes him to risk your life.
word count: 1.9k
warnings: tfatws spoilers, violence, choking (in a violent, not sexual manner), concussion, passing out, john walker going on a rampage
You saw the news and you were instantly worried. There was a big fight going down with the Flag-smashers. Then you saw him.
John.
Your boyfriend since high school.
Your second half.
He was there, fighting against the Flag-smashers. You both had butted heads over the Flag-smashers issue. You agreed with their goals, but just thought they were approaching it the wrong way. John disagreed. He hated them, truly hated them.
You didn’t blame him after what happened to Lemar, but you had never seen this kind of rage in him. He was consumed by it. You assumed that Lemar’s death and the pressure to be a good Captain America were taking a toll on him.
You knew you had to stop him. The news showed him fighting with the kind of rage that made your skin crawl. You knew you had stop him before he made an irreversible mistake.
You raced down there as fast as you could. You found John instantly. He grabbed one of the Flag-smashers by the neck and held them up against the wall. His feet dangled helplessly below them. John held him up in the air with virtually no effort. He seemed strong, too strong.
“John! You have to stop this” you yelled at him, trying to deescalate the situation. He was shocked to hear your voice. He dropped his grip and turned to face you.
By now, you had gained the attention of Sam and Bucky, who were confused about the mysterious woman who had just appeared.
You hoped he would turn to see you and recognize that he had gone too far. Instead, you only saw anger in his eyes when he looked at you. The Flag-smasher ran away from John, past you. “You’re letting him get away” John said, trying to run past you.
You stepped into his path, putting your hands on his chest. “Please, John. You’re taking this too far” you begged him to stop. You didn’t see any sign of hesitance in his eyes before he shoved you into the road.
You fell to your knees on the rough pavement. You could already tell that you had cut up your hands as you tried to soften your fall. You quickly stood up, not wanting to be in the road when a car drove by.
You still had Bucky’s attention. He was still confused about how you knew John. Him and Sam both watched as you picked yourself up off the ground.
Then, you were blinded by a pair of headlights. One of the armored trucks was coming straight for you. You froze.
You felt every muscle in your body go still. You fought to get your legs to move, so you could run away. Your body stayed firm in its place.
“She’s not moving” Bucky mumbled, before running towards you. His whole body slammed into you, as he pushed you out of the street. You got the wind knocked out of you, and you landed flat on your back on the hard concrete.
Bucky came crashing down on top of you. It took you a few seconds to realize what had just happened. Your senses were on overdrive.
You looked at the unfamiliar man above you who was staring straight back at you. You knew him from the news, but you had never met him. “Are you okay?” He asked you, carefully. You were still in shock, so you nodded your head.
“You just saved my life” you said, breathlessly. He just gave you a small smile, before rolling himself off of you. He winced and got up on his feet. You felt him grab your hands as he helped you stand up.
You felt light-headed as soon as you stood up; you felt a throbbing pain in the back of your head. “Wait...my head kind of—” you started to say before you blacked out.
Bucky panicked as he watched you start to go limp. He quickly wrapped his arms around you, holding you up. He swept his arm under your legs, picking you up bridal style.
When you opened your eyes again, you realized you were on a stretcher inside of an ambulance. You looked around, trying to take in your surroundings.
The ambulance wasn’t moving, and the back doors were open. You saw a paramedic sitting next to you; they were taking notes on a clipboard. Then, you saw Bucky on your other side. He wore a concerned expression.
“You’re awake” he said, softly as his eyes met yours. He seemed slightly less concerned. “I don’t understand. What happened?” You asked, confused.
He noticed your panicked look and took your hand in his. “Do you remember the truck in the street?” He asked you, slowly. You nodded your head, bits and pieces starting to come back to you. “When I pushed you out of the way, you hit your head on the sidewalk. You got a concussion, and then you passed out” he told you.
His thumb subconsciously started to rub back and forth on the back of your hand. Both your eyes went to your hand in his, but neither of you made an effort to move your hands away.
The paramedic turned her attention towards you. “I completed a test, and you’re fine. You have a concussion. Just make sure you get some rest and drink lots of water. You’re good to go” she told you, giving you a polite smile.
“Here let me help” Bucky said, helping you sit up on the stretcher. He kept his hands on yours as you carefully stepped out of the ambulance. “I’m Bucky, by the way” he said, smiling at you.
You felt a school-girl smile appear on your face. “I’m Y/N. Thanks for saving my life” you said, bashfully. Then, another man walked up towards the two of you. You recognized him as Sam.
“Y/N, this is Sam” Bucky said, introducing the two of you. You smiled at him and shook his hand. “Are you okay? I saw Walker push you in the way of that truck. How do you know him anyway?” Sam asked you, curiously.
You noticed he was wearing his Captain America suit. You had only ever seen him in the Falcon suit before. You wouldn’t have admitted it out loud, but you knew he was a better fit for the job than John.
“I’m fine; it’s just a concussion. John is my boyfriend or was my boyfriend. Risking my life might just be a small dealbreaker” you joked, trying to lighten the situation. In reality, you wanted to punch John in the face. You had stood my his side for years, and this is how he repaid you.
They both lightly chuckled at your joke. Then, as if on cue, John came marching over. “There you are. We’re going home” he said, grabbing your arm. You struggled to pull your arm away. He had always been strong, but he was stronger now.
“Get your hands off of me” you said, trying to pull your arm out of his grasp. Within a second, Bucky had pried John’s fingers off of you. “She told you to keep your hands to yourself” Bucky said, bending his fingers backwards until he winced.
Then, he finally let go. He put his hand on your forearm. “You okay?” He asked you, softly. You just nodded your head, too scared to say a word in front of John.
“What the hell is going on here? You think you can just swoop in and steal my girl?” John asked, starting to walk towards you and Bucky. Sam quickly got between John and you.
“We fought you once, and you lost. You want to try again?” Sam taunted. John crossed his arms. “This is between me and my girlfriend” he snarled.
Bucky also shielded you from John. “I’m pretty sure that girls don’t stay with boyfriends who almost get them killed” Bucky said, keeping one hand on yours.
You felt safe behind Bucky. You had just met him, but he was very protective. You knew that he wouldn’t let John anywhere near you.
John huffed, his telltale sign that he was giving up. He walked away from the three of you. “Why did you ever stay with a guy like that? He’s kind of awful” Sam asked you. You shook your head. “He didn’t use to be like that. He used to care” you told them, watching as John walked away.
“Why is he...so strong?” You asked, barely able to find the words. It was the thing you had been struggling with since you saw him fighting that Flag-smasher. Something didn’t feel right. “They took a blood sample and found out he took the serum” Bucky told you.
You were stunned. “Like the super-soldier serum?” You asked, still in shock. They both nodded.
You scoffed to yourself. “He used to talk about much he hated super soldiers. He said real heroes didn’t need a special potion to make them strong” you said, only now seeing his hypocritical nature.
“You should get some rest. Do you need a ride?” Bucky offered. You ignored the smirk that Sam sent his way. “That would be great” you said, smiling.
Bucky hugged Sam and then walked past him. “The suit looks great, Cap” you said, as you walked past him. Bucky led you over to a motorcycle.
“Why am I not surprised?” You asked, giggling. He turned around to face you, and pretended to be offended. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked, smirking at you. You shrugged. “You have the whole biker aesthetic: the leather jacket, the boots, the withering stare” you teased.
He chuckled as he picked the helmet up off the seat. “Here. No more concussions” he said, tightening the strap once he put it on your head. You told him the name of your apartment building. He nodded before you even told him the address.
“I grew up in Brooklyn. I know where it is” he said, getting on his bike. He patted the seat behind him and you swung your leg over the back. You instinctively wrapped your arms around his waist, and rested your head on his back.
He turned on the ignition, and it roared to life. You gave him a thumbs up to tell him you were ready. Soon, you were driving down the streets of Brooklyn.
You expected it to be fast and daring, but instead, it was peaceful. You watched the city whipping past you: the taxi cabs, the street performers, and the illuminated billboards.
He pulled up to your apartment in a matter of minutes. He helped you off the bike and took the helmet off your head. You shoved your hands in your pockets because you didn’t really know what else to do with them.
“Thank you—for everything, I mean” you said, shyly. Bucky hesitated. You could tell he wanted to say something, but you couldn’t tell what it was.
He fiddled with the straps of his leather jacket, nervously toying with them. “I know we just met, but would you like go get dinner sometime?” Bucky asked you. The smile on your face grew ten times bigger. “I’d really like that” you said, cupping his face and pulling him into a kiss.
He was shocked, but eventually kissed you back. He lips tasted like cinnamon. You could feel him smiling as you kissed him. His fingers hooked in your belt loops and pulled you closer to him.
You both pulled away with smiles on your face. He gave you a small piece of paper with his phone number on it.
As he drove away on his motorcycle with you waving from the sidewalk, he couldn’t help but want to thank Dr. Raynor for encouraging him to let people into his life.
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request please? lately i have been having a lot abandonment anxiety when it comes to friendships and i was wondering how you think javi or din might help someone with an anxious attachment style? thank you lovely 🥰
Irrational (Din Djarin x f!Reader)
Summary: above ^^
W/C: 2.8k
Warnings: language; talk of fighting and weapons, reader has a panic attack PLEASE be aware that it’s coming and somewhat descriptive.
A/N: I really really love this! I hope you guys do too :) as always, thanks to my beta reading babes!
Din Djarin has been abandoned before. Often on a mission, sometimes on a lone planet with no credits or ways out. He always survives, of course, and vengeance is taken. One thing he absolutely can’t fathom is abandoning someone he loves, or more specifically someone who loves him.
Abandonment isn’t an issue when you’ve never had someone to be attached to. Din spent many many years with absolutely no one. When his parents died, it felt like he was abandoned, sure, but it was clearly not their decision to leave him. When he was taken in by the Mandalorians, they kept him at an arm’s length. He was a foundling; they cared for him well, taught him The Way and The Creed, fed him well. But he was never adopted into a specific clan, rather passed around the covert like the communal task each family had an obligation to fulfill.
Then he became a bounty hunter. The life was solitary and lonely, cold and bleak. It was rare that Din would team up with other bounty hunters, really only when forced to. The Razor Crest became his baby, his only possession and love besides his blasters and beskar. The thing was a piece of bantha shit, but he kept it in good shape.
Then came the kid. Din knew it was wrong. Bounties are to be turned in and paid for, then you forget the job happened. But when that little green thing stared up at Din, the big brown eyes seeming to stare through the dark black of his visor, he knew he couldn’t. This was a child, a baby with no family and no way to protect itself. He certainly couldn’t turn it over to the hands of the ex-Imperials.
Din experienced his first real attachment with the child. He cares for that little thing more than he’s ever cared about anything. He’d cross galaxies, kill and maim and injure for the sake of the little green baby.
Oh Maker, then he met you.
Din had never seen anything like you. You were playing with the kids in the marketplace, laughing as they ran and played around you, before you squealed in delight at the sight of a little green toddler wandering up to you. He’d climbed in your lap, looked up at you with those big eyes, massive ears twitching. You’d stroked his head and cooed to him before you looked up to find his father; subsequently, you felt your heart fall into your stomach at the sight of the Mandalorian man.
“You’re good with kids.”
Well no shit. You nodded. “Yes. I love them. Is this your son?” you ask, looking back down at the three green fingers wrapped around your thumb.
He nods. “He is a foundling under my care.” He watched as the baby grabbed at the golden armband encircling your bicep. You’re absolutely gorgeous. The armband glows against your skin, your beautiful body evident even through the loose and flowing clothing you wear. “Do you take care of these children as a job?”
You shook your head. “No. We don’t have jobs here, necessarily. They just wanted me to play.” You scanned the man, searching for skin. You found none. “Are you green under there too?”
The Mandalorian did not answer. “I’m looking for a caretaker for the child while I hunt bounties. You’d stay in my ship and care for him. I pay well and you’d get to travel the galaxy.”
“You barely know me,” you laughed, removing the little green baby’s fingers from their tight grip on the gold band on your arm.
He gave a half shrug. “He likes you.”
And you’d agreed. And it’s been almost a full cycle now, a cycle of living in the beat-up ship and caring for the little green baby. You’ve seen the most beautiful and the ugliest of planets, experienced extreme heat and extreme cold. You’ve been to beautiful cities, unique jungles and forests and ice planets.
In that time, you got to know the Mandalorian too. It took quite some time to crack his beskar shell. He hardly talked to you in the first month. Then your persistence had loosened him a little, then a little more, then just enough.
You know more of him than any other living being does. He’s told you his name: Din Djarin, a name that flows and stops and radiates the power of the bounty hunter. He told you the story of his childhood, of hunts gone wrong and hunts gone right.
You love listening as he tells you and the child the story of the child’s rescue from the ex-Imperials. The baby snuggles against your lap as his father regales the two of you with the epic battles, the fights Din went through for this little child. You both applaud at the end, and put the baby to bed with a kiss between those big brown eyes.
He’s a wonderful man. You’ve formed an easy friendship with him, one that has honestly progressed on your end. At night, you find yourself fantasizing about what he looks like beneath his armor, how the muscles of his broad shoulders move when he climbs the ladder to the cockpit or lifts the child. You like to think he may feel the same for you, but you don’t push it. You don’t want to push him away.
Din has been away for far too long. He always highballs the dates he gives you, saying that an assignment will take three days when he knows it will only take two or a week when it will only be five days. This is a pattern you’ve come to notice; Din is alway back “early”, but now he is late. Really late.
Before he left, Din had opened your bunk compartment, causing you to groan at the light filtering in. You’ve been sleeping since the Crest made a rocky landing on Nevarro a few hours earlier. “Cyare,” he’d murmured, a rare ungloved hand warm on your bare arm, contact broken by your metal armband. You don’t know what the word means. You hope it’s something good.
“What is it?” You groaned, rolling onto your back to look at him. “Leaving?”
He nodded, the silhouette of his helmet-covered head against the soft light of the hull. “Leaving. I’ll be back in four days at the most.”
You offered him a sleepy smile, one that he could see in the warm glow of the lights you’d installed in the ship to navigate easier at night. “Good luck. May the Force be with you,” you teased, making the normally stoic man chuckle a little.
“Go back to sleep. I’ll see you soon.”
You didn’t protest, rolling over and letting the heaviness of sleep drag you back under.
Now, you really wish you’d have talked with him more then. You’re almost certain you’ll never see him again.
You’re not exactly sure what it was in your brain that triggered the thought. Maybe Din just actually took the amount of time he’d said for once, you thought on the fourth day. But now it’s been eight days, double the amount that he’d told you he’d be gone, and you’re stressed.
He always makes good on his word. He should be back by now. He always does. Did he get injured or killed, maybe captured by the bounty he was stalking? You ponder your ideas aloud as you pace back and forth in the hull of the Razor Crest, the little green baby tucked in his soundproof pram to sleep.
There’s likely a rational explanation. You’re sure there is. Maybe the bounty jumped ship, completely threw Din off of his tracks. Maybe the bounty is more clever than anticipated and Din is working extra just to find them. There’s surely a reason, but a little nagging voice in your head says that something is wrong.
In the first few days following Din’s date to return, your primary worry is that he’s hurt or dead somewhere on this barren planet. There are many other bounty hunters here, in this haven for Guild workers. What if one of them discovered Din still has the baby? What if they were coming for you here next?
Maybe you should go look for him. Maybe he’s injured and needs your help. He could be held by another hunter, or by the ex-Imperials- you can’t even bear to think of them harming Din for taking their precious cargo back. The thought makes you squeeze the little green baby tighter to your chest, even after he gives a whine of annoyance at the pressure.
But Din would never forgive you if you put yourself in harm’s way for him. This planet is dangerous, full of bad people who will do what it takes to get their credits. Most importantly, you can’t leave this ship with the kid. Certainly people here are looking for him. Someone would spot him and you’d be in for disaster.
The anxiety fills your days and even seeps into your dreams, making you sleep less and more fitfully. On the eighth day, perhaps the most terrifying idea strikes you: what if Din just... left you?
Of course, there are plenty of signs why he hasn’t. The ship is one of his rare material possessions. He’d never give up the machine that’s been a home to him for the last however many years. Weapons are part of his religion, and he only took a sparse amount with him for this hunt. His prized pulse rifle still hangs in his armory, with an abundance of whistling birds he didn’t take either.
Most importantly, you’re still here with the kid. The baby is practically Din’s son. He adores him… but what if it’s all too much? You’ve become like a little family. That may be too domestic for him. Maybe he’s sick of the responsibility, of caring for two beings when so much of his life has been solitary. Even worse, maybe he’s just sick of you.
There are plenty of rational explanations. You know it. The baby can sense your anxiety, can feel the tension running through the air surrounding you, and he feels it too. He’s fussy, requiring more snacks and more attention. He tugs far too much on your armband and it pinches now, his little claws getting too long. You don’t mind- it’s a distraction, really- but your mind is never fully on feeding the baby, rather hyper analyzing Din’s mind as you know it and hoping he’ll return.
The hours pass. Din doesn’t return. You become more and more certain that he’s abandoned you for good. He isn’t coming back, ever, because he hates you. He was nice to you as a courtesy, nothing more, only as a protector of his child. This type of family is too much for the lone-wolf style man. He can’t do it anymore. You’re on your own.
In your head, the thought of him abandoning you is too much. It weighs heavily on your self-esteem, convincing you that this is all your fault and you’ve done too much, or not enough, or something wrong in general that sent Din packing and gone. He did it because you’re annoying, because he’s sick of you.
Rational thoughts are pushed to the furthest corner of your mind. Your brain is occupied by self hatred, by terror, by a sickening buzzing feeling in your head and chest that feels like a parasite eating you from the inside out.
It’s too much. You fall to the floor, sliding your back down the metal wall. Your rear contacts the floor as the tears fall from your face, your emotions drowning out your senses. You can’t use any of your senses, just think and process the agony your brain is putting you through.
Burying your face in your hands, you finally allow the tears you’ve been holding in all week to flow. It’s a relief, the hot tears streaming down your equally hot face, blood rushing to the surface. The anxiety buzzing in your head has reached a breaking point; you’re sure the tension is boiling your brains, making it bubble and roil as the thoughts pull you down and down so far you feel you’ve fallen through the floor of the Crest and into the dry Nevarro dirt.
You nearly wail, wheezing in air only to expel it in harsh sobs as the fear wraps your body and constricts it. You’re enveloped by it, trapped in a coffin mixed with a tornado mixed with a firestorm and a hurricane.
Then it all stops. The heat is broken by something cold- beskar. You force your eyes to see and they finally perceive that Din is in front of you. Then you feel again, feel the chilled metal all over your skin as he wraps his arms around you. You smell him, his faded soap from whenever he bathed last, his sweat and the smell of the Nevarro dust. You can taste your salty tears. The last sense to come back puts you most at ease: his voice. “Talk to me, please,” Din asks of you.
You nod and try to speak, but you’re still gasping for air, your lungs unable to fill. When you slow down and make yourself breathe, you’re finally able to manage words. “Thought you were gone forever. Thought you left because of me.”
The beskar helmet tilts to the side, taking you in. You’re sure you’re a mess; eyes bloodshot, face tearstained, snot probably all over you as well. Din’s quiet for a moment. “Why would you think that?”
“You said four days. You always come back early, but you were gone for eight days.”
His chest rises and falls slowly beneath the beskar plate. “I know. I’m sorry. But why would you think I’d leave you?”
The tears return. “I don’t know, Din, I-”
“No, shh,” Din murmurs and wipes your face. “No more tears. I’m here.”
Din stands and takes you with him, his arms wrapped tight around your body to bring you to your feet. He walks you to the edge of the bunk and hands you a canteen of water to drink. You look at him and he looks back. There’s a silence and an unspoken battle between the two of you over who will break it.
Din breaks first. “I got the bounty easily. I was late because of… something else.”
Your face falls into a frown. “You took double the amount of time and didn’t tell me? Whatever this ‘something else’ is, it better be worth it.”
Din breathes in and out deeply before producing a soft fabric bag. “I didn’t leave you. I’m back. And… I got you something to show that I’ll never leave you.”
From the bag, his leather-covered hand produces something silver. Your eyes, blurry with tears, take a moment to perceive it: an armband of some silver material- oh, it’s beskar. It’s cold to the touch but you take it from him to admire it and find it is emblazoned with an insignia: a mudhorn. “The symbol of Clan Djarin,” he says gently, though he’s sure you know. It’s on his pauldron. It’s on the baby’s necklace. “We… are a family, aren’t we?”
You don’t respond; rather, you throw your arms around his neck and the tears return, but happily. “We are,” you whimper, your throat constricted by a sob. You cry into his neck, staining the fabric of his cowl and cape with your tears.
He understands they’re good tears, and so he lets them flow. His arms wrap around you and rest on your back, gently rubbing it as you cry into him. As the sobs calm, the tears end, you remain in his arms. Din holds you tight against his chest. “I’ve never made a better decision than hiring you. It was supposed to just be a babysitting job, but… I fell in love.”
Your heart stops and you pull back. “You’re in love? With me?”
Din nods. “I… yes. I am.”
A smile crosses your face, the joy emphasized by how wide your smile is in the presence of your tears. “I love you too,” you manage before your throat squeezes off your words, making you cry happily and hug him yet again.
With your face buried in his neck, you nuzzle your face in and are rewarded with a soft patch of stubbled skin beneath the tip of your nose. You can feel his throat vibrate when he speaks again. “We are a clan of three now. I promise you, I will never leave you. Don’t even entertain the thought again. Understand?”
You nod, not wanting to move your face and lose contact with this intimate spot of him, the first humanness you’ve been able to get beneath the beskar. You kiss the skin there softly. Din knows it’s your answer: understood. I love you.
-
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#din djarin x reader#din djarin#din djarin headcanons#din djarin x you#the mandalorian fanfic#the mandalorian headcanons#the mandalorian fic#the mandalorian fanfiction#the mandalorian#the mandalorian x reader#mando#mando x reader#pedro pascal#jose pedro balmaceda pascal#pedro pascal x reader#tw anxiety#tw anxiety attack#tw panic attack
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I absolutely love your fics!!! Thank you for sharing your talent with the world. If you're interested, do you think you could write a fic where Finn gets injured in a game against Tampa? O'Hara brothers ftw ♥️♥️♥️
Ohohohoho yes. It's 'missing your big brother so you write siblings' hours, and all of you are trapped in here with me. Combined with prompts for cubs hurt comfort/ poly love (@hi-im-phoenix) and distraction hurt/ comfort for AJ. Sorry about your manager <3 SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!
TW for bone inJuries
The crowd was roaring. Finn couldn’t catch his breath. His arm was on fire.
Something like a sob broke free in his chest, but he could do little more than hiccup in pain and fear from his place laying flat on his back atop the unforgiving ice. He couldn’t move his fingers. His elbow throbbed. Everything in between just hurt.
“—fuck is wrong with you?” an angry voice shouted, followed by a flash of blue and white shoving at the man whose late hit had left him suspended in shock. Finn didn’t know if it had been on purpose, but he didn’t really care anymore as a tear tracked down to his ear. He couldn’t pull his eyes away from the bright lights overhead.
A hand cradled one side of his jaw, warm and clammy on his cold skin. “Talk to me, mon amour, what’s wrong?”
“Lo,” he croaked, swallowing hard. “I’m okay. ‘m okay, promise. I’m okay.”
“Out of my way!” The blue and white blob pushed closer before kneeling next to him. A helmet hit the ice, followed by a glove; heavy hands settled on his shoulders, and the one on his face disappeared. “Finn? Finn, look at me.”
Finn’s chest hitched once, twice, hard. His head was pounding, and everything hurt. He may have been able to reassure Logan, but he had never been able to hide from his brother. “Alex.”
“Hey, buddy,” he soothed as Finn finally regained enough breath to gasp around his tears. “No, no, shhh. You’re gonna be just fine, yeah? Can you tell me what happened?”
“Hurts,” he choked out, squeezing his eyes shut. The pain had reached his shoulder and every movement was agony. “It hurts, it hurts—Alex, it hurts.”
“What hurts?”
He could hear people calling for medics. His friends, his family. But Alex stayed right there next to him, holding his good hand and brushing his tears away. “My arm,” Finn said, feeling as pathetic as he ever had. “Alex, it hurts so bad.”
“Can you wiggle your fingers for me?” Finn sobbed again as he shook his head and saw the encouraging smile slide of Alex’s face. “That’s alright, buddy, just take some deep breaths.”
“I don’t wanna be out,” Finn blubbered. “I gotta play.”
Alex gave his hand a light squeeze. “It’s not that bad, Fish. Deep breaths.”
He managed a handful—and admittedly felt a little better—but the alarms in his head were still blaring when Remus arrived with the medic, all but carrying him across the ice to get to Finn. He had a smudge of a bruise beneath his eye, but the worry creasing his brow overtook anything else. “I’m good, Loops,” Finn panted as the medic sat next to him. “Totally cool.”
“28, I’m going to need you to make some room,” the medic ordered. Fear spiked in Finn’s heart when he met Alex’s gaze, but he found only determination looking back.
“I’m not leaving,” Alex said simply.
The medic glanced down. “Can you stand?”
“I think so?” Finn said hesitantly, trying to get cool air back into his lungs. “It’s—I think I broke my arm. Everything else is okay.”
“What’s your pain level?”
“Eight. And a half,” he added. Alex frowned.
“Let’s get you off this ice, yeah?” The medic patted him gently on the shoulder. “O’Hara, can you get him up?”
“Keep that one close,” Alex murmured, sliding his arm under Finn’s shoulders. He clenched his teeth around a cry of pain as his bad arm was jostled, but Alex was strong and steady, and within a few seconds he was on his feet. “Easy does it, bud. I’ve got you.”
“Fucking shit,” Finn wheezed as he tried to close his hand. The fear and adrenaline had faded, but involuntary tears sprang to his eyes anyway. Alex held him upright without faltering despite his wobbly legs; they made it to the bench in a blur of movement that made Finn dizzy.
“We can take him from here,” the medic said to Alex.
“I’ll be fine,” Finn said, cutting him off just as he opened his mouth. “Go play. Your boys need you.”
Alex pressed his lips together in obvious frustration, but tapped their helmets together and skated back to his own bench. Finn let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes for a moment. “O’Hara?”
“I’m good,” he assured the medic.
“If you feel like you need to throw up, let me know.”
“No. No, I’m good. Just hurts.”
He caught a glimpse of the clock as they headed down the tunnel—ten minutes left in the period. Finn steeled himself for a long stretch of being alone in a medical room and tried to focus on something over than the unbearable heat and throbbing in his arm.
--------------
Leo traced the edge of the splint with a deep-set frown, but said nothing. His other thumb ran in gentle lines up and down Finn’s waist, kept there by Logan’s side pressing close. “You’re sure you’re alright?” Logan asked softly as he placed a kiss on the corner of Finn’s mouth.
“I promise.” They had barely traded ten words—both had shown up the second the game ended, stripping off their pads and skates in the entrance to the medical room before sandwiching Finn between them. Leo had been unusually quiet. They had won the game; from what Finn saw on the television in the corner of the room, Alex had reamed out the guy that hit Finn with a vengeance. Tampa had been disjointed, and the Lions swept in as a cohesive pack, out for blood.
“I was worried about you,” Leo said at last, resting his temple on Finn’s shoulder. He sighed, then shifted impossibly closer. “Couldn’t get through the crowd.”
“I thought Talker and Loops were gonna kill that guy after he hit you,” Logan said with a shake of his head. “Looks like Alex did it for him.”
“What, you didn’t get into your shining armor for me?” Finn teased, nuzzling his nose against Logan’s cheek to draw even a slight smile from him.
“Maybe next time.”
“No,” Leo mumbled, linking his fingers with Finn’s purple ones and lifting them to his lips for a brief kiss. It was a clean break, but would still take weeks to heal. Big blue eyes landed on him, melting his heart like they always did. “No ‘next times’, okay?”
“Aw, Knutty,” Finn said, barely above a whisper. He wrapped one arm around each of them and held them tight, soaking in the feeling of having both crushed against him. “I’m sorry I worried you.”
Logan tucked his face into Finn’s neck. “Nothing to be sorry for, mon rouge. We’re just glad you’re alright.”
“Sorry to interrupt,” a voice said from the door. Alex shifted his weight back and forth, twisting his baseball cap in his hands like he always did when he was nervous. Finn didn’t hesitate before extracting himself from the cuddle pile and crossing the room; Alex met him halfway and engulfed him in a hug. A shudder ran through him under Finn’s palms. “Jesus, Finn, you scared the hell out of me.”
“Sorry,” Finn mumbled into his hoodie, letting himself be cocooned by distilled safety. Even out of his skates, Alex had a good two inches on him, and he had always been the broader of the two—Finn suddenly felt about six years old, as if he had just skinned his knee on the sidewalk.
“What’s the diagnosis?”
“Closed break, clean fracture. I’ll be out for a month or two.” He stepped back and swiped a hand under his nose, then tilted his head toward Leo and Logan with a wry smile. “But I’ve got these two to look after me.”
Alex scanned his face for a moment; his mouth dipped on one side. “I called mom and dad, told ‘em you’re okay. You should tell them yourself, though. They were freaking out.”
“I will,” Finn promised.
The worry creasing his brow didn’t diminish as he wrapped Finn in his arms again, holding him tight. “Keep me updated, yeah? If I don’t hear from you, I’ll get the captain on your ass, and he won’t be as nice about it as I will.”
“Deal.”
“Knutty, Lo, drive safe. If he tries to pull some stupid shit, I’m counting on your survival skills to stop it.”
“Survival skills?” Leo half-laughed.
Alex pulled away and raised his eyebrows. “They don’t call me Hurricane O’Hara for nothing.”
His eyes flickered back to Finn, who was horrified to see slight redness around the rims despite the teasing in his voice. “Alex,” he said softly. “I’m okay, I swear.”
“I know.” His voice was gruff, but it poorly hid a sniffle as he bumped their foreheads together. “But I’m your brother. It’s my job to worry about you. I hate that one of my guys was at fault here.”
Finn tried for a smile, socking him on the arm. “Six weeks, and I’ll be good as new.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” With a final survey of his face and a kiss to the top of his head, Alex headed back out into the hall with his shoulders up near his ears. Finn sighed; he hated it when Alex was upset, and even more when there was nothing he could do to fix it except wait. He didn’t know what he’d do if one of his teammates broke his brother.
“Fish?” Leo was smiling when he turned around. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”
“What kind?”
“The kind where I pull out all the sob story pity points on Cap’s soft heart and get us babysitting privileges for his incredibly fluffy dog after three months of constant begging.”
Finn’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding.”
“Make sure you look extra sad when we leave,” Logan advised. “We can’t lose this opportunity because you were too perky about a broken arm.”
“Quick, someone make me cry.”
Leo’s grin turned to horror. “What?”
“No!” Logan said at the same time.
“You guys are killing me here,” Finn groaned. “Just, like, hit me in the arm or something.”
“No!” they shouted in unison.
“You said I need to look sad!”
“I meant pout and sigh!” Logan pulled him over by the hem of his shirt in clear distress. “You’ve already cried too much tonight. No more.”
“Alright,” Finn agreed, already wracking his brain for any smidgen of drama skills he might have acquired over the years. Younger siblings were always the best actors, of course—he had given some Oscar-worthy performances to his mom when Alex got on his nerves as a kid—but Sirius was tough to fool. Maybe if he stayed quiet and didn’t risk opening his mouth they would get away with it.
Leo let out a slow exhale against his chest and snuggled closer before standing. “Come on, darlin,” he said with a kiss to Finn’s forehead. “Let’s get you settled. We’ll take a shower, have some dinner, and then we can put a movie on.”
“Mighty Ducks?” Finn asked hopefully.
Logan rolled his eyes. “Of course.”
#finn ohara#logan tremblay#alex ohara#leo knut#oknutzy#cubs#hurt/comfort#sweater weather#vaincre#my fic#fanfic#brothers#broken bones
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I Don’t Need a Mechanic
Overwatch: Dva and Brigitte (a few others make appearances)
Word count: ~5500
My take on when Dva meets Brigitte and the first month or so of them getting to know each other on base.
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Six months Hana Song had been a part of Overwatch, and during that time she set a very strict precedent that no one, not even Winston or Athena the AI was allowed to touch her mech, Tokki. So seeing the back of someone inside the cockpit as she entered the Watchpoint Gibraltar hangar made her blood boil.
“Excuse me!! What the hell are you doing??”
The person’s body jerked, their head banging against the low roof of the cockpit ceiling they wedged their torso inside. Hana heard a short mumble of something incomprehensible and a long, thick ponytail of red hair retreated from the mech in a hurry. A very tall, buff young woman around Hana’s age emerged blushing with a sheepish grin.
“Ah! I’m so sorry, I couldn't help myself. I’ve always wondered what these Korean models looked like up close. But in hindsight I really should have asked first.”
Her accent was European, but it was hard for Hana to place with any real certainty. Could have been Scandinavian, remembering some of the players from Finland she competed against back in her pro days.
“Yeah, you should have fucking asked.”
The crimson hue on the tall, possibly Finnish trespasser’s cheeks faded and she held her ground, not scared off yet by D.va’s harsh tone.
“Right. Won’t happen again, I promise,” she said.
Dva scoffed a bit and pushed past the buff intruder to look inside the mech to inspect if anything was out of place. A moment of stuffy silence passed between the two and Hana hoped the other girl would get the message and leave.
“I’m Brigitte Lindholm by the way.”
Hana let out an audible huff as a familiar freckled face appeared looking through the glass on the other side of her heads up display.
“Oh. Yeah, Fareeha warned me a new girl was joining,” Hana replied from inside the cockpit while she busied herself checking Tokki’s systems.
“And you’re Hana Song, right?” Brigitte continued lightly, clearly unperturbed.
“Or do you prefer to go by D.va?”
Hana paused at the mention of her gamer tag turned call sign.
“It’s Lieutenant Song, actually.”
Brigitte raised an eyebrow at the curt reply, her smile fading to a neutral expression. It only dipped for a moment though as she extended her hand.
It was an awkward gesture to shake hands from inside the mech, even though the front of the cockpit was partially open near the joysticks. Hana looked at Brigitte’s outstretched hand and gentle smile on the other side of the glass. Was this a joke? She pursed her lips and sized Brigitte up for a few tense seconds before reaching out. The grip was firm and Hana’s hand practically disappeared in Brigitte’s large palm.
“Lieutenant Song. It’s an honor to meet you.”
Hana sighed and rolled her eyes, a little of the bluster going out of her at the sincerity in Brigitte’s tone. Satisfied that no harm had come to the mech, she backed out of the cockpit.
“Just call me Hana. That rank doesn’t really mean anything here anyway. Lena will probably make fun of me if she hears you calling me Lieutenant.”
Brigitte walked back around Tokki to join her, a lingering hand tracing over the pink exoskeleton as she moved. “I’m surprised she doesn’t make you call her Captain.”
“Oh, she’s tried.”
Brigitte laughed.
“Sounds about right.”
D.Va chuckled for a moment, briefly disarmed by the new stranger, before she remembered how this person was rudely poking around her stuff only moments before, and snapped back into her gruff demeanor.
“Lindholm, you said? Like Torbjörn Lindholm?”
Brigitte sighed, clearly used to this connection.
“Yes. Genius engineer of Overwatch 1.0, founder of Ironclad Industries, husband to Ingrid, and father of way too many children, including yours truly.”
“So, you grew up in an Overwatch family?” Hana asked as her full attention focused on Brigitte for the first time in their conversation.
“You could say that,” Brigitte said. She picked up a silver ratchet resting on a nearby worktable, spinning the head around between her fingers and levering the handle back and forth, testing the weight distribution of the tool in her hand.
Hana could tell there was more to the story than her new teammate seemed willing to let on. She found it interesting that Brigitte, who had been all candid smiles a moment ago when she was caught somewhere she shouldn’t be and oversharing to someone she just met, was now hand waving around the subject.
Overwatch kids are pretty up their own asses about 1.0 normally. Wonder what her deal is...
This was what Hana was known for back in her pro days. Seeing a flaw in an opponent’s defense and breaking it wide open. But she needed to remember she only just met this girl, who would soon be her teammate. Maybe save that for another day.
“Well, Lindholm. As long as you stay clear of my mech, I don’t see a reason we should have problems working together. What’s your specialty?”
Brigitte perked up at the change of subject.
“Support. Both base level engineering support and in the field. I've got my bachelor’s degree in mechanical engineering, and I’ve been working on Reinhardt’s gear for over a year now. Angela - I mean, Dr. Ziegler, is training me to be certified as a field medic.”
“Tough job. Think you can handle the gore?”
A wry smile pulled at Brigitte’s lips, her head shaking back and forth in a small, bemused gesture as she placed her hands on her hips.
“You don’t pull any punches do you, Lieutenant Song?”
D.Va crossed her arms, holding eye contact with Brigitte who matched her gaze with amusement.
“The best shot caller in the world is just a loud piece of shit if her team isn’t up to the same standard. So yeah, I like to know who has my back and if she can handle herself.”
Brigitte regarded D.Va for a moment, her jaw working back and forth as if chewing on the approach she wanted to take in response.
“I’ve been patching up Reinhardt for a while now. If I’m honest though, I’m scared it’s not going to be enough one day. But that’s not what I need to focus on, and instead I’ll do the best I can to support the people here.”
The plain way Brigitte shared her apprehensions left Hana uncomfortable. She couldn’t imagine telling someone out loud she was afraid, especially on her first day. Though in truth, she herself felt scared shitless half the time while doing this work.
Brigitte’s smile was back. Did it ever leave that pretty face? It did suit her though, framed by the freckles and warm brown eyes. If this girl wasn’t built like a literal tank of 6 foot something muscle, Hana might have more apprehension about sending her out to fight Omnics and Talon.
“Well Lieutenant Song, I think I’ve taken up enough of your time with my intrusion. Fareeha and Winston will be missing me very shortly for the rest of their planned orientation schedule,” Brigitte said as she carefully placed the ratchet she previously picked up back on the workstation, breaking the spell of awkward silence.
D.Va smirked, feeling tension leave her shoulders to match Brigitte’s playful demeanor.
“Mmm, well now I understand why you were hiding down here.”
“Yes they are indeed quite enthusiastic and thorough with their material.”
She gave a wink and started to walk away, turning briefly to call over her shoulder.
“I noticed there was a small coolant leak under the left fusion cannon. Might get a bit sticky on the left hand.”
“Bye Brigitte, enjoy your 300 page orientation manual quiz.”
Brigitte waved once more and turned around, already so sure and familiar with the layout of the hangar and the base.
She’s just another Overwatch kid, and just another nosey engineer trying to get in my mech.
Hana lingered by her workstation, picking up the ratchet Brigitte had been fiddling with and thinking over their brief encounter again.
Would this girl be a liability on the battlefield? Brigitte looked strong on the exterior, but then, so did Tokki. If you took away the mecha armor, inside was just a squishy human target bullets and fire could cut through like paper the second she was exposed and vulnerable.
Hana took a deep breath.
She walked around to the left fusion cannon and did indeed see the signs that a coolant leak was backing up inside the casing. Pretty subtle to spot with minimal visible damage to the exterior.
Not bad, Lindholm.
D.Va pulled her headphones on, turning to her latest loop of pop songs to blast while she went to work removing the panels on the cannon to replace the broken coolant line. The task felt good, and helped her mind drift to thoughts other than her conversation in the hangar.
---
Hana didn’t see much of Brigitte the next few weeks. The new recruit was busy with training and learning mission protocols expected of field agents in addition to shifts with Mercy in the clinic to fulfill the certifications Brigitte was required to complete. Hana would see her sometimes at dinner, often in a spirited conversation with Reinhardt or Lena. It seemed to take Brigitte no time at all to fit in amongst the old guard, but it seemed that’s what being the favorite niece of pretty much every person here would get you.
Hana would half listen to their stories, always feeling awkward and out of place amongst their banter. Overwatch was like a family, but she was more like the stranger invited as someone’s plus one. Everyone seemed to have an ingrained familiarity with each other. A single word could trigger a whole series of anecdotes every person around had some personal insight to add on to.
Remember this!
Oh how is so and so?
Damn, that was 5 years ago already?
Even on her squad in Korea, she never had what they people here seemed to have. Dae-hyun was a close childhood friend and followed her into the MEKA squad, but the other pilots were a different story. There was always a bit of friction and distance with the rest of her teammates because of their history as pro-gamer competitors forced into an arrangement as teammates. It never really gelled beyond cordial coworker relationships. Hana’s celebrity status didn’t help either, only adding another barrier between herself and the others. The fame of D.Va closed her off in access to most people unless they were on the other side of a screen, and then they only saw a polished up version of herself.
Not exactly the best way to get close to people.
Sometimes she was curious to learn more when she heard the Overwatch stories, but she always stopped herself before saying anything. It was easier to pull out her phone and queue up a game. Easy to pull back and ignore them, and usually they left her alone to do it.
She was okay with that. She was okay with keeping Hana and D.Va separate. She was okay with only polite greetings and trite platitudes. She didn’t need to know about the times from before, or what her Overwatch teammates did on the weekends. She just needed them to listen to her in the field and leave her room to make her plays. Like every time she started a new game, she didn’t have to focus on the past, or what others thought, she just had to focus on the objective in front of her. It’s what got the job done and what kept her alive.
---
Brigitte kept her word to stay out of Hana’s mech. She set up her own work station on the other side of the hangar where she worked on Reinhardt’s gear as well as her own. Hana would sometimes see the blue flash of a shield out of the corner of her eye over the hum of diagnostic scans or smell the burn of sparks from welding.
One day curiosity got the best of her when she heard the loud, repetitive pounding of a hammer on metal and she wandered across the hangar.
“You’re doing that by hand?”
Brigitte stopped working when she heard the voice behind her, the deafening echo silenced on the metal shoulder guard she was beating against.
“On this armor I do. Reinhardt’s gear is special from the time it was made. It has to be maintained with some older techniques.”
“Why?”
Brigitte looked at her surprised for a moment then laughed, loud and warm.
“You know, I wondered the same at first. It’s a bit of the way this armor is made, modern techniques can be too harsh on it, interestingly enough. Too precise and it becomes too fragile.”
“That doesn’t sound true,” D.va said.
“Oh, questioning my methods huh? Well, maybe the truth is more I didn’t originally have the right gear out in the field, and Reinhardt didn’t have much modern tech either, so the only way to do it was by hand. But it’s nice actually to keep doing it this way, I like getting my hands dirty with it. Helps me relax.”
“See that I believe.”
“Well, I’m glad I have your approval, Lieutenant Song.”
D.Va rolled her eyes, but smiled a little.
“I told you before, you can just call me Hana. Although, I do like the respect of authority.”
“Lieutenant suits you.”
Hana smirked a little at the complement, turning to pick something up on a nearby table. She picked up one of Brigitte’s gauntlets, slipping it on her hand. Her arm sagged under the weight, the glove coming up well above her elbow.
“Is it exhausting wearing all this armor? How do you run around with it on? I can barely lift this thing.”
“There’s movement assist when the unit is turned on. But I mean, I think I can handle it.”
Brigitte smirked as she made a show of flexing her well defined arms, and Hana couldn’t help but gawk a bit before she turned back to fiddling with the glove.
“Um, yeah I uh, noticed you seem to be in good shape.”
“Oh yeah?” Brigitte was smirking, clearly enjoying the slight fluster she was causing in her new teammate. Hana put the glove back on the table and gave Brigitte a light shove on the arm.
“Oh give me a break, you know you’re buff. Do you even own a shirt with sleeves?”
“I’m very familiar with OW 2.0’s handbook, and the dress code is quite lax about on-base personal attire. But, mostly I just like hearing you complement me.”
Hana rolled her eyes. “Well, I’m glad you’re strong enough to move your ass around in this armor so you can protect my blindspots while I’m doing all the real heavy lifting.”
Brigitte laughed again. Hana couldn’t help but smile too at the warm sound. Brigitte’s whole face lit up, and her eyes crinkled around the edges. No wonder she was the favorite niece.
“Fair. I’ve seen your battle footage and some news clips when you were back in Korea. You’re so strong, I doubt you even need me.”
“Ah, another fan of D.Va. Well, who can blame you,” Hana said with a flick of her hair. She continued to walk around Brigitte’s workstation, picking up random pieces of armor. Brigitte didn’t seem to mind.
“Actually Reinhardt was the real die hard D.Va fan. We used to always have a stash of the instant noodles with your face on them in our rig. Great shelf life. I’m surprised he hasn’t asked you for an autograph yet.”
“Well he’s one to talk! Did you know, when I was a kid there was a Reinhardt special edition line of noodles? I remember I tried them once and they had such a weird flavor. It was like ketchup and curry powder or something. He had a pretty big fanbase in Korea actually.”
“Hah! I didn’t know that, but I’d believe it. There’s been so much Overwatch merchandise over the years, I’ve lost track. They were such celebrities back in the day.”
“Yeah.”
Hana knew a thing or two about having her image used for propaganda. She wondered for a moment what it was like for Brigitte, growing up amongst the same environment, but removed from the center of it. An image of her laughing in the cafeteria with the old guard flashed through her mind. She decided it must have not been too bad, and refrained from asking the question.
“Okay well, I’ll leave you to your meditative, hammer time. I need to get back to my mech anyway, I’ve got a mission tomorrow morning,” Hana said, turning to leave.
Brigitte let out a long sigh, slumping into a chair.
“Oh, it must be nice to leave the base.”
Hana stopped in her tracks, curious again, hearing such an outburst from Brigitte. She turned around and poked one of Brigitte’s large muscles near her shoulder.
“Oh come on, don’t be dramatic. You’ll be done with your training block soon. Fareeha is just, really particular before she lets anyone out on a mission. It took almost two months, and me breaking every score in the simulators for her to let me out in the field.”
“I know, I know. It just sucks sometimes feeling like everyone is being overprotective of me. I can handle myself, I’m not a little kid.”
Hana couldn’t help but give a little hmphf sound, her lips pulling down at the corners.
“Yeah, I get that feeling. You can’t speed up time though, you just have to grind it out.”
Hana wasn’t normally one for listening to whining, but she thought Brigitte looked quite cute while she pouted, her arms crossed tight against her torso and her lip jutted out. It was hard not to laugh at the sight a bit, but Hana held her tongue. She really did know how it felt to want to prove yourself.
“Hey come on, there’s plenty of work you’re doing here that’s valuable. And when you’re ready, you’ll get called up and out there with the rest of us.”
Brigitte took a deep breath, seeming to blow out the negative feelings in one dramatic sigh. When she straightened up in her chair she seemed to be in better spirits, smiling at Hana again.
“You probably know better than anyone how to do that. Thanks Lieutenant, I’ll try. Let me know if my hammering gets too distracting. I can always go find something else to do.”
“It’s fine. I hardly noticed.”
“Well in that case, I’ll just be over here until dinner time.”
---
A few days later Hana almost threw her computer across the hangar.
“Why is this piece of shit so useless!”
The MEKA diagnostic program she used to keep Tokki up to date was crashing every five minutes when she tried to run a scan of the system. It had slowly been degrading the last few weeks and after the latest mission it apparently decided it had enough. She tried every trick she knew, both from working on the mech for years and everything she could think of on her personal gaming rig, but she only had rudimentary coding skills and was vastly out of her depth.
“Everything okay?”
Brigitte’s gentle voice called out from a few feet away as she had stopped her own work to come see D.Va’s meltdown.
“Everything’s fine. Except I’m going to have to go throw this piece of crap, and then myself, in the ocean.”
“Sounds like a costly solution. What’s going on?”
“It’s fine. I’m fine, I don’t need anyone’s help.”
She could feel Brigitte’s sympathetic look burning into her cheek and hated it.
“Okay no problem. I’m around though, just let me know if you want an extra set of eyes.”
Hana stared at the email she had sent to Dae-Hyun the day before that still had no response. She knew her mech’s hardware inside and out, but he was the one who really handled all the intense computer program internals. She was out of her depth here and needed him to call her so she could get this thing working again, but he wasn’t answering. Maybe he was deployed somewhere or too busy with a social life now that she was gone.
She had decided to come here for Overwatch. So maybe she should trust Overwatch.
“Brigitte, wait a minute.”
The other girl paused and turned, only having walked a few feet away from D.Va’s workstation.
“I could probably use some help here, if you’re still offering?”
Brigitte smiled, but it was more muted than her usual mega watt grin. Hana appreciated that she wasn’t making a big deal about it.
God, why is this girl so nice.
“Definitely.”
Brigitte walked around the workbench where Hana set up her computer station and listened to the general description of the problems. As Hana started clicking through screens to show the protocol she usual ran, Brigitte held up a hand to make her stop.
“I understand what you’re saying, but looking at the text, I can’t read Korean. Does it have a translation setting?”
“I doubt it. This thing was only meant to be used by the Korean MEKA squad.” Hana felt her stomach drop at how quick her hopes of getting this programming running were already dashed.
“Well lucky for us, Overwatch has some very robust translation tech we can utilize.”
“Really? It’s not the AI is it? I’ve been so resistant to letting her in my computer.”
“That would be one possibility, but there are some more localized options we have. I’ve had to do this once or twice on one of my papa’s projects.”
“How long will it take?”
“Don’t know! Could take a while, I’m not going to lie to you, especially with your program already acting buggy. But don’t worry Lieutenant, we’ll sort you out.”
Hana groaned, already having major doubts about letting Brigitte mess with her tech. But she didn’t have a lot of options, and this was probably the least embarrassing choice on the table at the moment.
Brigitte moved back and forth between D.Va’s workstation and her own across the hangar, gathering cables and a laptop she would use to debug the system. Hana watched over Brigitte’s shoulder for a while, monitoring her work to get the translation program working on the MEKA diagnostic software.
“Where’d you learn to do this type of thing?”
“Back in college. I had to learn a certain amount of coding for my major, but I helped out Winston some in his lab on campus and he taught me a lot of tricks too.”
“Jesus, is there literally anyone on this fucking base you don’t have some personal connection with?”
Hana stepped away from the computer and dropped down into an empty chair with a huff, spinning the chair on its axis in erratic circles.
Brigitte stopped typing and watched Hana’s tantrum. “It bothers you that I’ve got a close connection to Overwatch?”
Hana did not reply, but crossed her arms and let out a frustrated sigh. Brigitte’s gaze held her for a moment but eventually shifted back to the computer screen as she seemed to weigh her thoughts on how to respond.
“Why did you leave the MEKA squad to join Overwatch?” she asked finally. “It doesn’t have the best history as an organization, you know.”
Hana stopped spinning to look at the side of Brigitte’s face, who’s eyes were still trained on the laptop screen. “Well it’s better to actually be in a fight than on the sidelines.”
Brigitte stopped what she was doing and turned to face D.va. “You’re the best pilot in the MEKA program. Why would you be sidelined?”
Hana let out a bitter laugh. “Best pilot? I was more than that. I was the face of the fucking Korean army! Which eventually meant I was too valuable to be an actual soldier.” Hana stood up walking to the end of the workbench, reaching out to touch one of her mecha’s guns. She couldn’t see Brigitte, but she could feel the other girl watching her.
“I got real banged up in a fight with the Gwishin. Like, probably should have died kind of banged up. I was out of action for months. After that, the army realized they couldn’t let the poster girl for their success stories die in an actual fight. So they moved me off the Busan base and deployed me to lead baby fights happening inland, but whose sole purpose was really just a photo op.”
Hana balled her fist in anger at her side, remembering how awful it hurt seeing images of herself on television in all those epic battle sequences, reporters singing praises of heroism, only to know the real truth that it was all a fabricated lie. She couldn’t stand it.
“So when Winston and Lena came to my apartment and asked me to join the new Overwatch, it was a no brainer. My piloting skills are too valuable to just be sidelined in a studio with a green screen.”
The MEKA squad team was fairly understanding when she told them. The same couldn’t be said for her commanding officers, but as D.Va, the amount of influence and money at her disposal proved sufficient for a smooth enough transition.
“I believed this was my shot to get back in the fight. So even if there’s some bad history there, this is a new chance for me, and I am ready to deal with any fallout.”
Text whizzed by in the background of the computer screen as the console spat out a continuous stream of logs from the program Brigitte fired off as she listened in silence.
“I never liked Overwatch. I still don’t,” Brigitte finally said.
Hana turned to face her, very confused.
“Really? But, you’re like, one of the legacy kids.”
“All that means is I know more of the gritty details and seen firsthand the way people I love were chewed up by this place.”
Hana’s brow furrowed in thought, crossing her arms as she focused on Brigitte. Hana had been so taken in by all the happy scenes in the mess hall and around the base, she hadn’t even thought about the implications and complications that must have been a part of Brigitte’s life. She was so good at always putting on a bright face, how could she have known?
Brigitte took a deep breath, looking weary as she took a moment to gather her thoughts.
“When I was a kid, it was like I was one of those audience members you talked about. I was told all the best stories about heroes and villains, and it so happened that my family were literally starring as those heroes. But when I was a little older, I started learning more about history, and the other side of things. The PETRAS act. In fighting and war crimes. Blackwatch. Angela’s medical tech weaponized against her wishes, by my own father it turns out. Winston and Tracer buried under so much red tape, I’m honestly surprised they were ever allowed to leave a military base of their own free will. And Reinhardt... He’s a lot like you, I think. Brave, loyal, too stubborn to be just the face of a movement without putting his own skin on the line. Not when there’s something bigger than himself he believes in.”
A deep sigh, and an almost painful expression crossed her face.
“So no, I don’t like Overwatch. But I also can’t sit on the sidelines while they risk their lives, knowing I can help them. They’re my family. So here I am. Family can be complicated, ya know?”
Before Hana could come up with something to say, the computer dinged behind them. Brigitte tapped on the keys, reading quickly when a smile crossed her lips.
“Look at that, perfectly legible Swedish.”
“It’s fixed?” Hana hurried over to look at the computer screen.
“Well, the translation program is running. Now I need to actually debug your diagnostics program.”
“Ughhhh, I’m never going to leave this place.”
Brigitte chuckled. “Don’t worry, we’ll get it done. Feel free to go get some dinner if you want. This will take a while.”
“No way I’m going to leave you here all alone!”
“I promise I won’t touch Tokki.”
“It’s not...it’s not that, Brigitte. I just don’t feel right strolling off to dinner while you’re stuck here fixing my shit.”
Brigitte smiled.
“Okay. I definitely don’t mind the company.”
---
Hana tried to keep up with what Brigitte was talking about as she debugged the code. And she could follow along, for a while. Eventually she was way too lost to feel useful, and didn’t want to distract Brigitte while she was fixing the issues, so she retreated to a nearby futon against a wall. It was well past midnight, and Hana’s eyes were starting to droop. Brigitte drank one of the Dva branded nano cola energy drinks a while ago and seemed to be completely in the zone.
The next thing Hana knew there was a strip of bright light in her eyes as the sun started to stream in through a window in the hangar. Hana stretched to pull out the discomfort her back protested with from not being in her bed, but it was really not that unfamiliar, considering some of the positions she’d fallen asleep at her gaming computer before. A blanket was draped across her body she didn’t remember picking up when laid down on the futon. She was all alone in the hangar and her watch told her it was just after 5am.
“Brigitte?”
No one answered.
She sat up, noticing an unopened water bottle and energy bar laid out on the ground beside her futon with a little sticky note.
“Give it a go, Lt - Brig”
Hana scooped up the rations and dropped in front of the dark screen of her laptop. When she started up the terminal screen, her diagnostic programming kicked off like it normally did. All in Korean.
The screen showed exactly where an electric circuit was tripping in the defense matrix grid of the mech, which had been glitching in the field the last few days. Hana noticed the parts and tools needed to complete the fix laid out on the workbench neatly, but when she poked her head in the mech, it remained untouched.
She smiled to herself.
“Kept her word to stay out of Tokki. These Overwatch kids are too much sometimes.”
D.Va pulled the panel off her mech and got to work.
----
At dinner that night, Hana spotted Brigitte in the mess hall with Reinhardt, Tracer and Winston. Brigitte gave her a wink when she noticed her. Hana got her meal and sat beside her, leaving her phone in her pocket for once.
“Thanks for the help with Tokki, Brigitte. Works like a charm now.”
“It was my pleasure, Lieutenant Song.” Brigitte’s smile was kind, her expression gentle and warm. Hana noticed this close up Brigitte’s eyes were lighter around the edges, and she had a few more freckles on her left cheek than the right.
“Did I just ‘ear you call ‘ana Lieutenant?” Lena cut in. “She’s ‘Lieutenant’, but I can’ get none of you to call me Captain? Double standards round ‘ere, I tell ya what.”.
“Well, Hana was a more recent officer in her respective position, while you have been discharged from the RAF for several years now.”
“Who’s side you on Win!? Those ranks don’t expire!”
Brigitte chuckled, whipping her head around to look at Tracer’s shaking her hand dramatically in the air, eyes downcast in an over acted, scandalized look. Hana also let out a small giggle.
“Your rank on the flight simulator scoreboard sure did,” Hana said, poking her tongue out with a playful smirk at Tracer. Brigitte, Reinhardt and Winston all laughed.
“She’s got you there, Lena,” Brigitte said.
“The youth of today. Ruthless.” Tracer grabbed a fist over her heart as if shot in the chest by a bullet.
“You know, back in my days of Overwatch…”
Reinhardt started in on one of his specially tailored stories for whatever situation was at hand, this case a very detailed recount of the first time he granted a field promotion in the Crusaders. Brigitte sighed, correcting inaccuracies she heard along the way, giving a wink to Hana when Brigitte’s presence in the story was pulled into the story much later on.
Lena took up the torch after that, remembering a time she accidentally flew into restricted airspace and managed to sweet talk her way out of being shot down. They all took turns sharing more elaborate one ups from their time before Overwatch. Hana even volunteered a story, sharing the time she convinced Dae-hyun to set Tokki up to stream a battle with the omnics. She broke her single day subscriber count in under one hour.
They all laughed well into the night, and for the first time Hana really started to feel like part of the team.
---
Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment if you enjoyed!
#overwatch#mekamechanic#dva#brigitte lindholm#laura writes#man I've been poking at this for ever finally time to just put it out in the world so I can think about something new ahaha#hope you like!#hana song#(also there was no 300 page onboarding manual until Pharah wrote it)
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Hello, darling! I was wondering if you could right some Bucky x reader, where the reader worked along Sharon during Civil War and she meets Bucky. Then she runs always with Sharon and meets Bucky again in Madripoor and continue their story. I hope that makes sense. Thank yooouuuu✨✨✨
hey babes!! yes i absolutely can! i kind of gave more background than i meant to making it way longer, but i hope you enjoy it anyway! i do want to continue this story and most definitely will be so be on the lookout for the other parts of it lovie <3. i hope you still enjoy it even though it isn’t quite what you asked for yet :)
A Friend of Yours
FATWS SPOILERS
warnings: not much, canon lvl violence, some suggestive stuff closer towards to end, language, i think that’s it
word count: 6140 i went a bit overboard, it’s fine i’m totally fine
a/n: i got this request and then didn’t stop writing all day. i didn’t get anything else done all day. i got home at like seven-ish? and i’ve been sitting on the floor of my bedroom just writing this fic (for context it is now 12:47 pm where i’m at)
check out A Friend of Yours - pt. 2 and A Friend of Yours - pt. 3
p.s.: this is the first fic that i’m writing with an actual ‘x reader’ i’m so proud
xoxo ray
ray’s m.list
******************************
You grew up with Sharon, the two of you were best friends from birth it seemed. Honestly, Peggy raised you more than your own parents did. When Aunt Peggy got Sharon her first thigh holster, she got you one too. You enlisted together, moved up the ranks together, everything. So, it was of no shock to anyone that after the fall of SHIELD, you both moved together into the CIA’s Joint Terrorism Task Force.
You were inside the hotel with Sharon, Steve and Sam when the bombing on the UN took place. The look of unbridled fear that fell over Steve’s face as they announced Barnes as the primary suspect was heart wrenching. You weren’t able to watch it for long because your phone was already ringing off the hook.
“Look, you need to get me more information, and now.” You gritted into your phone speaker before quickly hanging up the phone and turning to a crestfallen Steve who was still watching the news casting. Sharon ended her phone call and turned to you.
“We have to go to work.” A few short hours on a jet later, you and Sharon were coordinating the operation. Close by, Steve and Sam were awaiting new information. Steve had this insane plan to find Barnes before the whole rest of the world did. Like that’s going to happen, it took the world 70 years to find Barnes. Of course, Steve and Sam are going to find him in about half that time.
You followed the blonde woman into a busy coffee shop and up to the counter. She slid a manila folder over to a well disguised Captain America. “Tips have been pouring in since that footage went public. Everyone thinks the Winter Soldier goes to their gym. Most of it’s just noise, except this.” Sharon was talking quietly, trying to not draw attention to the fact that she was committing a serious offense.
“We have to give the briefing, like now Shar, so we have to go.” The two of you pushed off the counter and you turned quickly to say one last thing. “And you better hurry. They’ve given the order to shoot on site.”
You left the shop quickly and made your way back to the white tent, passing the redheaded spy who was watching you like a hawk. A look of understanding crossed her features as you kept a calm facade. She fucking knows, how the hell could she read you that easily?
*********************************
The next time you saw any of them, they were exiting the back of an armored prison van. It was no surprise that his eyes flitted over to his best friend from childhood. You glanced over at Barnes, who was strapped in all different ways, and your heart hurt for him. You tried not to pity him, you know you would’ve gotten a slap on the wrist from Aunt Peggy about it.
Bucky must’ve felt you looking at him because his steel blue eyes locked with your pair. This was the first time that you’ve ever actually seen the man in person. It was startling, in a good way. You grew up going to the Smithsonian and hearing Aunt Peggy’s stories about the great James Buchanan Barnes. You never thought that you’d get the chance to meet the man you did a history report on your freshman year of high school.
“Y/N?” Sharon’s voice cut through your thoughts, recalling you to reality and out of your past. “We have to go. We’ve been assigned to monitor Steve and Sam while they’re here.” Sharon was clearly not a fan of this, which made you laugh loudly.
“Oh, score! We get to babysit Captain America and the Falcon!” You spoke in an unnecessarily upbeat voice and then clapped your hands together. “Our dream job! Let’s go, Shar!” She stared at you for a millisecond before slapping a hand on your shoulder.
“Let’s go, you fucking dork.” You followed her through the office building into the control room where you observed Tony talking to Steve. Apparently, the conversation was not going well because both their faces held angry glares. Eventually, Tony left the room, leaving Steve alone with his thoughts and that can never be good.
“How you doing, Cap?” You asked as you less-than-gracefully plopped yourself into the chair across from him. He looked over at me and released a heavy sigh.
“Honestly, Y/N, not that great at the moment.” He looked at you with his iconic mom Steve stare. Wow, so that’s what it’s like to be on the receiving end of that. Sam walked in and sat next to you. You drowned out their conversation as your gaze focused on screens outside of the glass office.
The video feed of Barnes in his metal cage was displayed on a TV screen. How is this considered humane? Obviously you knew that the CIA had pushed boundaries in the past, but this was just insane. “Are those restraints really necessary?” Sam seemed to be just voicing his thoughts, not expecting a response back.
“Well, he is considered an international terrorist, so yeah, they’re kind of necessary.” You said quickly and then muttered under your breath, “No matter who thinks that it’s excessive.” Steve’s gaze met yours and he was about to speak when Sharon walked in and dropped a paper in front of Sam.
“The receipt for your gear.” A scoff sounded from Sam as he glared at Sharon.
“‘Bird costume’? Come on.” Always quick to defend your best friend.
“Hey, we didn’t write it up.” It came off snappier than you had meant it. Sharon shot you a look, signaling you to back off. You raised a brow at her as she leaned over the table to the intercom buttons.
The audio from Barnes’ evaluation echoed through the glass room. Everyone around you was unsuspecting the four of you listened in. The psychologist was talking to Barnes, who seemed incredibly closed off. Who could blame the guy though?
“I’m not here to judge you. I just want to ask a few questions. Do you know where you are, James?” The psychologist paused for a second, looking down and off to the side. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me, James.” The caged man spoke for the first time.
“My name is Bucky.” His voice was rough from not being used. A look crossed Steve’s face and he turned to Sharon.
“Why would the Task Force release that photo to begin with?” Sharon’s body turned to face the man speaking to her. Her brows furrowed while she answered.
“Get the word out, involve as many eyes as we can?” Your head tilted, trying to follow Steve’s train of thought.
“Right. Good way to flush a guy out of hiding. Set off a bomb, get your picture taken. Get seven billion people looking for the Winter Soldier.” Oh shit.
“You’re saying someone framed him?” You wanted to believe it with every fiber in your being.
“Steve, we looked for the guy for two years and found nothing.” Sam reminded in a calm tone.
“Yeah, you didn’t bomb the UN though. That turns quite a few heads. Especially if prominent people like King T’Chaka end up dead because of it.” You made a good point, but there were still pieces missing.
“That doesn’t guarantee that they would find him. It guaranteed that we would.” Sharon and Steve began examining the room around them. Your attention returned to the audio emitting from the intercom.
“You fear that,“ the doctor paused, “if you open your mouth, the horrors might never stop. Don’t worry.” He glanced down again and moved his hand to swipe something away.
“Guys?” You pointed to the screen as the doctor held up his pointer finger.
“We only have to talk about one.” All of the sudden, the screens went dark and the lights flickered off. Secretary Ross was yelling at technicians to get his video back. Tony was speaking to his AI, Friday, about locating the source of the outage. Steve and Sam tensed at the thought of what could be going on with Barnes.
“Sub-level five, east wing.” was all Sharon said as the pair ran off. You looked at her and threw your hands in the air.
“What the hell do we do now, Shar?” She glared at you as she started reasoning with you.
“They’re stronger than we are. If they can contain whatever the hell is happening down there then great. In the event that they can’t, we’ll be up here with Natasha and Tony to deal with it.” You nodded quickly as you both ran out of the room.
You quickly followed Natasha, Tony and Sharon to the main level of the building. Clearly Steve and Sam were unsuccessful in containing the situation because Barnes could be seen through the glass, fighting his way to his destination.
Tony stunned Barnes with a previously concealed Iron Man glove. Barnes started towards Tony and quickly attacked. After Barnes bested Tony, it wasn’t long before Natasha rushed the man alongside Sharon. It wasn’t hard for Barnes to throw Sharon across the room. Natasha took the opportunity to launch herself onto his shoulders, which caused Barnes to slam her into a table with his metal hand wrapped around her neck.
She mumbled something to him as you kicked his ribs, releasing his chokehold on her. He stumbled backwards, his hard gaze landed on yours as he approached. Your eyes locked on his as the two of you traded blows.
They weren’t the same eyes as before. Those eyes were soft and remorseful, these were hard and unattached. There was no emotion behind the pair staring at you. The fraction of a second that you were analyzing his eyes in your head was enough for him to catch you off guard. His metal fist landed in your rib cage. The opposite hand jabbed at your face, busting your lip and sending you flying backwards.
You hit your head on the concrete below, making your eyes roll back. The wind left your lungs and you gasped to get it back as Barnes and T’Challa fought in the background. It was a few minutes later that a concerned Sharon made her way over to you.
“Are you okay?” You looked her over as she did you, checking for any severe injuries. You offered a small nod, not wanting to shake your head too much in fear of a concussion. “Let’s go check in with Ross.”
******************
“And how the hell did Rogers and Wilson even know where to find Barnes?” Ross’ voice boomed through the office. No one said anything, not wanting to incur the wrath of Secretary Ross. “I’ve already allowed Stark 36 hours to find them and bring them back here.” Ross turned to you and Sharon standing in the corner of the room. “If they contact any of you, report it immediately.” Rounds of ‘yes, sirs’ bounced around the room, then chaos ensued as everyone got back to trying to clean up this mess.
“Carter. Y/L/N. Elevator now.” He raised two fingers to point toward the elevators before walking into one. It was just the three of you in the enclosed space. He clicked the button for the ground floor. “I know you have some kind of connection to Rogers but do not let that cloud your judgement. The both of you are CIA agents first.”
“We understand, Secretary.” The elevator doors opened again and you went to step out when Ross stopped you again.
“I mean it, girls. This is your job on the line here.” You and Sharon shared a look before continuing walking. Did he just call us girls?
“Do you think that was supposed to be intimidating?” You laughed under your breath as you went out to the parking lot. Sharon sighed and shrugged her shoulders.
“Probably.” She looked at you over the top of her car. “You don’t have to come with me.”
“Where do we start?”
****************************
Getting that fucking shield and bird suit wasn’t easy. They had moved it from the Joint Counter Terrorist Centre to the US Embassy to await transport back to the States. It made it easier but still damn near impossible to get. Thankfully, you and Sharon are good liars. Skills of a misspent youth.
The two of you walked in the front door and displayed your badges. “We’re here to pick up Captain America and the Falcon’s effects.” The man behind the counter didn’t even question it. Man, they need better people at the Embassy.
“You’ll have to sign some paperwork saying you picked it up.” There it is. You both flicked a brow and Sharon held her hand out for the clipboard. Small scratches from the pen in her hand were echoing throughout the empty building.
She handed the clipboard back to the man behind the counter. “Okie dokie, just pull your car around to the side of the building and we’ll get you loaded up.” He shot them a small smile and turned around to file the papers.
“That was easy enough.” You whispered to Sharon as you left, not wanting your voice to carry. You walked to your car that was parked in front of the iron wrought gate. Pulling your car around to the side of the building, you popped the trunk. The gear clad Embassy soldier carelessly tossed Sam’s suit inside before gently placing the shield on top of it.
“Hey, if there’s a scratch on that suit, it’s coming out of your paycheck buddy.” You held your pointer finger up to the man’s unimpressed face.
“Y/N, let’s go. We’ve got to get these to the jet or Ross will have our heads. Remember it’s our job on the line here.” What Sharon said made you laugh big while hauling yourself back into the driver’s seat of the car. As you pulled out into the street, Sharon was typing away on her phone and pushing it to her ear.
“This is a secure line but I don’t know for how long, so don’t talk just listen.” She took a deep breath and then continued. “We want to help. Meet us under the bridge on Route 6. We’ll be there in two hours.” She ended the call quickly and threw the phone outside the car. Glancing over at you, she nodded and sighed again.
“We’ve gotten this far.” You had one question burning in your throat that you were afraid to ask.
“Where do we go after they’ve gone?” She looked at you and she was biting her lip, something she only did when she was incredibly stressed.
“I don’t know yet. Do you have any ideas?” You smiled and thought of the one place that you wouldn’t be followed.
“Yeah, I’ve got one, but it’s rough.”
***************************
The drive to the underpass wasn’t a hard one. You had beat the boys there so you and Sharon were sitting in the car. You had the radio playing softly in the background.
“Who the hell do you know in Madripoor?” You laughed and shrugged.
“I’m supposed to tell you all my secrets for free?” You shook your head and shifted in your seat to face her fully. “I was tasked with tracking some artwork down there. One of my assignments when we went through initiation for the Agency.” You picked at the holes in your jeans. “I thought it was just all fake stuff, but I researched it more and more. Turns out, the underground artwork dealing is really lucrative over there.”
Sharon stared at you in amazement. “What did you do, Y/N?” You smirked.
“I haven’t done anything.” You held her gaze, “Yet.” She released a small laugh and her mouth hung open a bit. “I may have a warehouse out there.” You squinted one of your eyes, and leaned forward. “And the apartment above it.” She was going to say something when an old ass blue Beetle pulled up behind you.
“Now how the fuck did they all fit in that tiny ass car?” You both laughed as you stepped out of the car with big smiles on your faces.
“Not sure you understand the concept of a getaway car.” Steve walked up to Sharon and they began talking as she popped the trunk, revealing their gear. Your attention was on the men in the car behind them. Barnes was stuck in the back away from cameras and Sam was lounging in the passenger seat. Your eyes met Barnes’ again, they were back to the remorseful pair you saw the first time.
“You know he kind of tried to kill us.” You waved your hand in gesture to the man in the car.
“Sorry, I’ll put it on the list too.” He glanced back down at Sharon, who had migrated closer to him. “They’re going to come looking for you.”
She nodded, “I know.” Then the most awkward kiss in all of kissing history took place. Your brows shot up then furrowed quickly, a small wince overtaking your face. They pulled apart and traded more words. Sharon began walking back to the passenger side of the car.
Steve turned around and you looked back at the two men in the car. Both of them were wearing proud, smug grins. Steve threw his head back as if he was berating them.
“About damn time, Cap! She’s been pining over you for God knows how long now.” The windows were down in the Beetle so the other two heard you shouting at their friend.
“Y/N!” Sharon was a bit embarrassed.
“What? It’s the truth, Shar!” The two of you began bickering like an old married couple as you started the car again. Steve got all he needed from the trunk and shut it quickly, slapping it twice. You began driving off with Sharon giving you directions to an airport on the opposite side of the country.
***********************
That was the last time you saw Steve. Last time you saw anyone for a while. You had been dusted in the Blip. Sharon had followed you to your apartment in Madripoor. The two of you were able to figure the city out pretty quickly. Learning the ins and outs of the island, where to go, who to sell to. One afternoon, you and Sharon had been surveying a Van Gogh piece for your gallery when you flew away. In the middle of a fucking deal, what perfect timing.
Five years later, you were reunited with an even more successful Sharon. “I kept your room the way you left it.” She said as she led you through your shared home. “I figured that you’d be back and you’d be pissed off if I fucked with anything.”
You smiled at the woman gratefully and hugged her. Neither of you let go for a while. When you did, she started filling you in on everything. She had continued to split all her profits and had been depositing the money into your account. “Even if you didn’t come back, I could’ve used it if I needed to bug out. Win-win.” She explained with a smile.
The two of you had about six months of getting back into the groove of things. It was quickly cut off by a ping of your phones one day. A look of confusion and anger crossed her face, “Are you fucking kidding me?” She locked eyes with you and told you to get your gear.
“Where are we going?” She threw her phone at you and you looked at the screen. As soon as you read the notification at the top of it you understood. Repeating your question from before, you tied the knots on your Converse. You followed Sharon to the Low Town side of the island.
“Now what the fuck are they doing here, do you think?” The two of you camped outside of the Brass Monkey nightclub, ready for whatever came your way. Deciding that you were too visible to everyone else, you moved to the building across from the club. Something is bound to go wrong and the first place they're going to get ran to is this dead end alley.
Sure enough, not even ten minutes later, Sam, Barnes, and Zemo got cornered in the alleyway. Sharon had decided to stay on the ground floor next to the door. You shot two of the assassins following the group of three and Sharon took out the final one.
You made your way back down to Sharon, who was still holding her gun up. “You cost me everything.” She focused her gun on Zemo.
“Sharon, wait. Someone recreated the super soldier serum and Zemo had a lead.” Sam remarked calmly, trying to diffuse the situation.
“Explains why you guys are here and Selby’s dead.” Your brows shot up at that, must of been new information that she got while you were upstairs.
“Why are you here, Sharon?” Sam questioned.
“She was one of the ones who stole Steve’s shield, remember?” You stepped forward, raising your gun to gesture to the men in front of you. “And the wings, so your ass,” you waved at Sam, “could save his ass,” at Barnes, “from his ass.” You lowered your gun and stepped in front of Zemo, staring the man down. Your fist balled and you launched it at Zemo, landing a solid hit to his cheekbone.
Barnes grabbed your hand, twisting your body to slot against his with your arm bent behind your back. He leaned close to your ear, breath making shivers trickle down your spine. “I only let you do that because I’ve wanted to for a while now, so don’t get any more ideas.” Your breath hitched because of the proximity of the man behind you.
“Alright, give me my Y/N back.” Sharon said, lowering her gun to holster it. Bucky held onto you for a few more seconds than necessary and then pushed you towards Sharon as he released you. You scoffed, then shoved your gun into the waistband of your jeans. Sam and Sharon had already started their own conversation by the time you calmed down enough to face Barnes.
Sharon bobbed her head to you, an unspoken language between the two of you. After bringing them into your home, Sam began admiring the artwork in the first floor gallery. “Looks like breaking the law is treating you two well.”
“Before even graduating into the Agency, I had a place over here. Never had any intention on using it, but here we are.” You started, “Then, after having to flee Berlin, for you,” You shot a look at Bucky, “we figured if we had to hustle, might as well enjoy the good life. Do you know how much we can get for a real Monet?”
“Deactivate your hustle mode. You sell fake Monet’s.” Sharon shot him a look, about to defend us when Zemo cut in.
“No. She means real. This gallery is specialized in stolen artwork. Monet. Van Gogh. All the classics.” Sam made a face of disbelief.
“It’s true. You know, half the artwork in museums like the Louvre is fake. Real stuff sits in places like this.” Bucky gestured to the gallery. Sam pulled his phone out of his suit pocket.
“Okay, guys, I see what you’re doing. You’re more worldly than good old Sam.” He was typing furiously as he spoke. Bucky passed him, soundlessly following you and Sharon to the upstairs apartment.
“Yeah. What’s Google say?” Once the five of you got upstairs, Sharon began walking them into her office, telling them that they needed to change because we were hosting clients. It didn’t take long for the men to switch outfits. It was refreshing to see Barnes in something other than combat gear or a torn Henley. Sharon followed you in the office, making a remark at Sam while he apologised.
“Look, you know the whole hero thing is a joke, right? The way you gave up that shield, deep down, you must know it’s all hypocrisy.” She said as you plopped yourself on one of the plush chairs across from the couch, holding a clear glass full of whiskey.
“He knows. And not so deep down.” Zemo added quietly, since when is Zemo informed? Sharon glazed over his comment, opting for asking about the new Cap while filling a glass for herself.
“Don’t get me started.” Barnes spoke for the first time since being downstairs. You narrowed your eyes at the man.
“Please. You buy into all that stars and stripes bullshit.” You swung your glass to Zemo, “Before you were his pet psychopath, you were Mr. America! Cap’s best friend.” His gaze darted over to you, nose wrinkling at your comment.
“Do you know who I am?” He tried to be intimidating but it was just funny to you. You were taking a drink to moisten your throat to fire back a witty comeback, when Sharon spoke for you.
“Oh trust me, she knows. She did a report on you freshman year of high school.” You started choking on your drink as Sharon smirked from the couch next to Barnes. His brows raised and a smug smile graced his face.
“She did now?” Clearly he was a different man from the last time you saw him. Meeting his eyes for the fourth time ever, you were surprised with what you saw. There was almost a hunger lingering behind his eyes.
“Most definitely. I don’t even know how many times she went to the Smithsonian to see the exhibit about you.” You glared at Sharon, who continued to talk, unbothered by you. She raised her own glass to her lips, speaking into her cup, muffling her words. “Honestly, think she developed a little crush.” Barnes’ eyes never left your face, his mind racing.
“Wait, so the entire time you were helping me and Steve, you had a crush on Tin Man?” Sam interjected, wanting to be included in the conversation. You rolled your eyes and gave a subtle nod to Sam. The action wasn’t missed by Bucky.
“Which is why I think it must’ve been really hard for you to ask him of all people for help. They comin’ down real hard on you out there?” You asked Barnes with a smirk and a head tilt towards Zemo. “I know he fucked you up real good, triggering the Soldier, Barnes.”
Sam laughed beside him. “Dude, that’s basically what you told Walker.” Barnes threw a glare at Sam, who had clapped a hand on his metal shoulder. The conversation dissipated after your comment, guess you killed the vibe.
Sam turned to a relaxed Sharon, “We need your help.” Her body tensed, neither one of you was ready to throw yourself back into enemy territory. “I can get your name cleared.” He dangled a huge bargaining chip in front of her face. You knew Sharon was eager to get back to the States. She misses her dad. It was unfair of Sam to use that as a way to gain her favor.
“Haggling with someone’s life like that isn’t okay, Sam.” You said quietly, focusing your gaze on the glass in your hand.
“It’s not like that, Y/N.”
“Yes, it is, Sam.” You said firmly. “You can’t just say something like that. I know you’re an Avenger. That’s great shit, but you need to realize that if you can’t deliver on your word, we go to jail or worse. You know that.”
“I don’t trust charity, Sam.” Sharon said from beside Barnes.
“All right, a deal then. You help us out, and I get your names cleared.” Your nostrils flared and you shook your head. Sharon agreed, blinded by the possibility of seeing her family again. You don’t doubt that she thought through all the outcomes, it just wasn’t the route you would’ve taken.
“We sell to some pretty connected people. Lay low, blend in, and enjoy the party.” She got up, exiting the office.
“Try to stay outta trouble, boys.” You said placing your glass on Sharon’s desk as you left. “We’ll see what we can find.”
*********************************
You were standing next to Sharon when the three men joined the party. Leaning over to Sharon, you told her you were going to get a drink from the bar. You pushed your way through the crowd, planting yourself on a stool in front of the countertop. Nodding your head at the bartender, they passed you a bottle of club soda.
“Not drinking tonight?” A raspy voice questioned over your shoulder. You turned to face the owner as you shrugged your shoulders.
“Already had my fill. And technically, I’m supposed to be working, Barnes.” Your eyes met with his again. You couldn’t tell if it was the light in the room or if it was just him, but they were a deeper shade of blue than before. He leaned his weight on his elbow that was resting on the bar top next to you. He was so close you could feel his body heat rolling off him in waves.
His eyes roamed your face, stopping on your lips as he spoke. “You know you can call me Bucky, right?” You made a face, bringing your bottle to your mouth. He watched intently as your lips wrapped around the opening.
“We’ve never had a single conversation before today. And the first time you actually met me, you twisted my arm behind my back because I punched the dickwad standing next to you.” You took another sip and his eyes drifted down to your throat. He watched as it bobbed when you swallowed.
“So, yeah. I’m going to call you Barnes.” You leaned closer, “I’ve never been given permission to call you anything else.” You could tell you struck something. Something that he didn’t even possibly know about. His face heated and he had to clear his throat before speaking.
“Um, okay. Well you can call me Bucky or if you want, James.” Your brow quirked and you pulled back to take him in fully.
“How many people have you let call you that since you got your free will back?” Your tone was serious, but your face held a smile.
“None, doll.” His eyes ran over your face again. “I just want to hear how it’ll sound coming from your mouth.” One of his metal fingers came up to rest on your bottom lip as your smile grew.
“James.” You whispered, just for him. What he was giving you was a privilege, one you were going to revel in. One corner of his mouth tugged upwards.
“Again.” He growled as his finger remained on your lip.
“James.”
“Again.”
“James.” The party around the two of you faded away. In your reality, it was just you and the man in front of you. A peaceful place, where nothing could change what was happening right at that moment.
Of course, reality is a bitch. And you never got what you wanted. Your jaw clenched as soon as your phone pinged. James dropped his hand from your face as he read the text with you.
Found Nagel. Meet us outside and if you find Bucky, tell him too.
You scrunched your nose and bit your lip. James’ hand was quick to pull your lip from your front teeth, before resting there for a second as he studied your face. He stepped back quickly, nodding his head for you to follow him.
**************************************
You don’t know how the hell Sharon managed to find him, but she did. You were in a shipping yard for storage cars. “Madripoor could give New York a run for its money.” Sam said as the five of you weaved your way through the containers.
“With a bounty on your head, the longer you’re in Madripoor, the less likely you’re ever leaving.” She glanced down at her phone in her hand. Nodding toward a red container, “Alright, he’s in there. Container 4621.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out five earpieces.
“We’ll keep watch while you guys talk to Nagel. But hurry. We’re on borrowed time.” You said as you watched everyone situate their pieces. Sharon turned around and began walking down an aisle not far from the container Nagel was in. You stopped James before he could go anywhere.
“Hey, be careful.” His eyes met yours and they were back to the normal steel blue. “Don’t forget who you are, James.” Something flashed behind his eyes, but his face showed no change.
“You too, Y/N. Don’t make me come out here and save your ass.” His eyes flicked down quickly and a smile spread quickly. “I mean, not that I would mind.” You rolled your eyes and shoved his shoulder, turning and walking down the aisle Sharon did.
“So,” She was leaned against a rusted container with a smug smile. “You and Bucky, huh?” You groaned and stood next to her.
“I don’t know, Shar. Neither one of us should be in a relationship. Especially since we’re both Enemies of the State, well one of us is, the other one was.” You turned your head to look at her. “What do you think about all of this?” She opened her mouth to speak when you both heard something ricochet off a metal wall.
She raised a finger to her mouth and crouched down before pressing that same finger to her earpiece. “Guys, we have company.” She took off down one end of the aisle and you down the opposite, ready to attack from both sides. There were three men walking towards Nagel’s container, you shot a look down to Sharon and she nodded.
She came from the back with a baton, whacking the last guy once in the knees and once in the head, disarming him. When the front man turned to help his comrade, you did the same move to him with your own baton. You both continued trading blows with the men. You had effectively taken out the first man, using his thigh to latch yourself to the third man’s shoulders. Situating yourself to use your body weight to flip him over, definitely knocking him out.
“Every bounty hunter in the city is here. We gotta go now, boys!” You yelled to your earpiece as you watched Sharon fight off another opponent.
It wasn’t until the gunfire started that Sharon said something else into the piece. “Guys, we’re seriously outta time here.” You both split off, out of each other’s view, battling your own demons. You were currently dealing with two of those said demons, when a third approached from behind. Locking you in a chokehold as the other two continued punching your ribs.
One of the hunters was suddenly ripped away from you. Punches were landing and groans were echoing through the alleyways. You threw all your body weight forward, throwing your assailant over your shoulder. Two gunshots rang out and then a third one, which landed a bullet hole between your aggressors eyes. Your head whipped around to face James, whose arm dropped back to his side.
He walked towards you, putting a hand on your back leading you to where Sharon and Sam were standing. Zemo pulled up in a blue convertible car, “Supercharged.” was all he said. Sam pointed his finger at the man in the driver’s seat.
“You’re going back to jail.”
“Do you want to find Karli or not?” James sighed heavily, his shoulder sinking with the action.
“He’s right. We need him. And there’s two of us, and at least twenty of them.” James got in the front seat, leaving the door open for Sam.
“Fine. But if you try that shit again--”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Zemo raised his hands in surrender. Sam turned to Sharon.
“Well, that was one hell of a reunion.” You leaned over the open door to talk to James. He looked at you with a sad face.
“Why don’t you come back to the States with us?” He tilted his head. “We could clearly use your help, doll.” You smiled at that and licked your lips before responding.
“You know we can’t. Not yet anyway.” He placed his finger back on your bottom lip, maintaining eye contact. “This isn’t the last you’ll see of me, James. That I can promise you.” He smiled and dropped his hand back to his lap.
Sam climbed into the seat behind James. “You’re not going to move your seat up, are you?” James smirked before replying.
“No.” You watched as they drove off, desperately wanting to see James again already.
You turned back to Sharon and the two of you began walking back towards High Town. “I think you should go for it.”
#bucky x reader#bucky x you#bucky x y/n#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes fan fic#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes fan fiction#bucky fan fic#bucky fanfic#james buchanan barnes#james buchanan barnes x reader#james buchanan barnes x you#james buchanan barnes x y/n#james barnes x reader#james barnes x you#james barnes x y/n#Sebastian Stan
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Cerise
Those are people who died, died
Those are people who died, died
They were all my friends and just died.
Word Count: 5736
Warnings: Crime, Weapons, Mentioned Murder of a R/pist, Crude humor.
Jason’s friend and roommate, another Gotham villain, is ordered to return to Task Force X.
ce·rise/səˈrēs,səˈrēz/ [noun] a bright or deep red color.
.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.
Let’s open up our story on a colorful note: Fuck Amanda Waller.
Nobody likes her. You don’t like her. Jason doesn’t like her. None of the characters in this story like her. Arguably, none of the characters in your present universe like her, either. There’s a reason why people call her “The Wall”. It’s because that’s what it’s like talking to her. And that’s what it would be like trying to deny the request she’d passed on to you in her letter.
It weighed on your mind briefly as you walk up the stairs of your apartment building. By the third flight, the weight’s pretty much disappeared. Sure, there’s anger at Waller for violating your agreement, but it’s so useless being annoyed with her that it washes away fast. So by the fourth flight, the whole thing is settled in your head to completion. You’ll go back to your Suicide Squad- or a Suicide Squad, considering most people Waller selects are idiots. Then you’ll do the job, and walk away bing, bang, boom.
You tip your head politely as if in salute to the older woman, Mallorca, who occupies the apartment across from you. She returns a warm smile that raises her prominent and wrinkled jowls, igniting the fire in her warm brown eyes. “You need me to do your laundry again?”
Of course an angel such as Mallorca would make such an offer. It’s not a bad offer, either. Your dark, silver lined chest plate is splattered with blood all over the front. It’s nobodies blood that doesn’t deserve it, as per your agreement with Waller. Just some perverted little prick who thought with his dick instead of his brain with the wrong girl. She looked frightened, and you saved her, and since the prick had just hit 18 (a fact you learned after rummaging around his wallet after), you had permission to bash his brain in. Hence the blood splattered vigilante armor.
The first time Mallorca had seen such a sight, she had no reaction whatsoever. You weren’t sure what else you were expecting from an old woman living in a back alley apartment building, but it certainly wasn’t that. She offered no shock to your red masked, blood stained roommate either. Mallorca is simply an otherworldly being. And is that cocaine you see on the collar of her shirt?
“I got it,” you throw in return, rounding the corner so she’s at your back, and nearing the climb up the next and last flight of stairs. “Hey, is Jason home?” But when you turn around fully, Mallorca shows no intention of responding and has disappeared down your previous staircase. You clasp your hands against the sides of your thighs, “Oh, okay.”
You make your way up the final steps and stick a hand in a secret back pocket to fish around for your keys. You wince when you begin the rigorous task of tugging the lanyard free from the depths, which unfortunately fell near to your back hole. Then you slip the key into the lock and twist.
Inside your apartment is near emptiness. There’s a couch, a rug, some windows, a TV, and to your immediate right is a small kitchen beside a hallway that leads to a bathroom and two bedrooms. You see the large plant you’d stuck in the corner is wilted and tinged brown, and the TV is playing some movie with the sound muted. No sign of your roommate, however.
You toss your helmet and keys onto the couch. Then you make your way to the kitchen to search the fridge for a snack (that you know is not there) or perhaps some water. You bend down to peek an eye in, only to stand back up and close the thing. Then you pass over to the counter, and reach up to now peek an eye in the overhead cabinet.
“You’re home early.”
You let out a short-but cathartic- scream, jumping as you turn around. You relax quickly. It’s only Jason, and your face changes from shocked and panicked to simply annoyed.
The man at the other side of the room pulls his infamous red helmet from atop his face. Underneath is a classically masculine, handsome face with eyes that blend between green and blue. Black hair falls free in messy strands, accented by the one white tuft that you’ve claimed reminds you of a skunk. You tilt your head lazily in defeat. “How many times have I told you not to do that?”
Jason shrugs in his red hoodie and jeans, walking across the room to set the helmet on the coffee table. “Four. Any particular reason you’re home so early?” he flops himself onto the couch and kicks his feet up, crossing them tastefully next to the Red Hood helmet.
You turn back around to continue the task of grabbing a cup from the top cabinet. “It’s been five, and I apologize for assuming I could do what I wanted in my own home.”
“If you have to ask me to stop sneaking up on you five times, you’re probably a really bad vigilante.”
“Fuck,” you mutter as you fill the cup with tap water. “That’s true.”
You turn around to face Jason. His eyes are already on you, illuminated by the blue glow from the television. They linger purely on your form for a moment, then they dip down to narrow at your armor. “Were you the one who killed that guy on the back of main?”
You furrow your brows and look up with pursed lips in thought. “Are you talking about the main diner or the main records shop?”
“Main diner on main street.”
“No, that was Azrael. This was by the records shop.” You raise the glass to your lips.
Jason snaps his fingers. “Oh, that guy. The kid?”
You nod and take another sip of the water. “He just turned eighteen, so you know. Free game. So, what do you want for dinner? Pick something good. I’m going back to the squad so I won’t be here for a few weeks.”
Jason’s brows furrow for a split second, then he perks up attentively. “You’re going back to the task force?” he repeats, though it sounds defeated and disbelieving. Distraught- is that the word you’re looking for?
“Yeah,” you shrug. “I got the letter-” you set the cup of water down and reach a hand into your pocket. Then you pull the crumpled envelope free of its confines and toss it onto the counter, “-today.”
Jason’s eyebrows furrow again. This time the movement is quick and curved and almost offended. “So, that’s it then?”
“What’s wrong, Jason?” you smirk. “Did you finally fall in love with your roommate turned friend? I always knew this day would come.”
“Uh, no?”
“Suit yourself.”
You turn back around and begin rinsing the cup out. Jason watches your back, something in his chest sinking. You weren’t his best friend. Besides living together, you weren’t really all that close. You were living a life a lot like his, running around at night as some antihero vigilante. The only difference was that you’d crossed paths with Waller and had managed to make it out of her system alive. Most antihero vigilante’s weren’t so lucky. Most of them died. But now you’re telling Jason right to his face that you’re going back. That you think you’ll only be gone a few weeks when it could just be forever. Sprayed with dark blood all over... what if it was yours?
“Actually,” Jason leans forward. His legs drop from the table and spread open, elbows resting against his knees with a hunched back. “Why don’t you pick dinner tonight?”
The glass clinks against the metal of the sink as you set it inside. Jason almost always picks dinner. Most of the time he chooses burgers or Chinese. Your apartments stove isn’t working, so eating from home really just means a BLT sandwich for the both of you.
“Are you offering because you’re hoping I’ll choose that new steakhouse?” you smile.
“I’ll get you anything you want,” the man replies. “It’s on me.”
.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.
Jason meets you on the roof of the building about an hour and a half later. You wanted to go with him, since you’d say his behavior is different from usual, but he was very adamant about you staying in. Jason even encouraged you to go ahead and pick your favorite movie to watch while he’s gone.
When you told him you’d decided on the steakhouse option, you meant it ironically. Between the two of you, money could be described as ‘tight’. Going to a new place like that would mean saving for a while. Furthermore, you hadn’t even given him your order before Red Hood was gone.
To his credit, looking at him now, you wouldn’t change a thing. The first bite of the food is phenomenal. The second bite is just perfect. Jason must have mind reading powers to be so aware of your taste in food- you’d thought he never noticed.
He gets a steak, as predicted. Jason loves steak.
Gotham looks most like itself at night, a view shared between the two of you. Two sets of legs dangle over the side of your building, both of which are clad in heavy boots and armored knees. Jason had decided to go out as his alter ego- a fact he thought he could keep from you by putting his hoodie under his leather jacket.
“I saw you put your helmet by the door,” you tell him. “I know what’s under that sweatshirt.”
“No you didn’t,” is all he says back.
The wind tickles the back of your neck. It ripples through the air in lazy waves, making Jason’s hair ruffle. The white skunk streak disappears and reappears between the darker-than-midnight-sky strands. Behind Jason, the moon is full and lonely. Its only company is the two of you.
“Oh my god,” you stuff your mouth. “This is so good.”
“Hm,” Jason hums in agreement, stabbing his steak once again with a fork in his black to-go box. It’s the next movement of his shoulder that catches your eye.
“Jason, is that cocaine, or powder donut dust?”
Jason glances over at you.
Your eyes linger on the white splotch of something in the wrinkles of red fabric. “Because I asked you not to eat them since there’s only two left.”
Your face slowly falls to one of horror as Jason stays still. With a face of steel, he finally says, “It’s cocaine then.”
“Then?”
“Look what I got you.”
Jason sets his box to the ledge beside him and leans down.
“Worst subject change ever.” You take an angry bite of your meal in an attempt to both silence yourself and to make you feel better. Unfortunately as you pull away from the bite, crumbs attach themselves to your chest plate and stick to your fingers. “Crap. Jason, your dumb food is getting shit all over my stuff!”
When you look over, Jason’s orbs are already on you. His eyes pierce yours, almost unintentionally daring them to look away. The skunk strands glow this close. He holds two things in his hands. The first is a small, brown pot you could balance in the palm of your hand, filled with miniature yellow and red flowers. Scarlet tulips, golden sunflowers, and blonde alstroemerias. In the other hand is a Blu-ray copy of your favorite film.
“Oh,” is all you can muster out.
When was the last time the two of you had actually exchanged gifts? You weren’t lovers, or best friends. You were just friends. It had to have been last Christmas, when you had gotten him a TV subscription for South Park and a pair of socks. Jason had gifted you a new bedframe that he later helped you put together.
A big smile reaches your eyes and makes your cheeks sore. “I haven’t been able to find this anywhere,” you say, taking the movie from his fingers. Your voice comes out pure and genuine. “Thank you.” Your smile grows even larger when you cup the pot of flowers with both hands.
“All of the flower shops were closed,” Jason explains. “Those are plastic. They won’t die anytime soon.”
At that moment, you swear you could’ve kissed him. He’s looking at you like this is all nothing, like he didn’t just drop big money on dinner and flowers for you. Jason knew what food you wanted before you did. He knew your favorite movie when you can’t even remember saying a thing about it. When had any other man or woman been so thoughtful? So romantic? So caring?
You glance down to the film in your lap. “I didn’t think you payed attention this well.”
Jason’s brow quirks upwards. Something flashes in his eyes as he adjusts his position, seven stories up from the ground. “What kind of roomie would I be if I didn’t?” he asks. Something tells you there’s a shyness blooming in that broad chest of his. Jason’s eyes flit downward to the blood on you, before his head dips back upwards to lock a stare with you once more. “You smell nice,” he states.
You look up at him simply. You know your eyes are filled with pure adoration, and that it’s showing all over your face, but you don’t care. Your red hooded, drug pedaling, bat wrangling, gun toting equal roommate is your favorite person in all of Gotham at this exact moment.
Behind Jason, a small bird flits overhead with a flash of crimson. “Hey, look,” you pat Jason’s shoulder. His eyes follow yours until they land on the floor of the roof behind you. “I think it’s a robin.”
“I know that bird,” Jason scowls. “That’s the son of the bitch that keeps waking me up in the morning.”
“Hm?”
You watch as Jason swings his legs over the side and pushes himself from the ledge. One hand reaches into the back of his pants while the other searches his leather jacket pocket for something. After a few seconds, he produces both a clip of ammo and a gun, which connect with a click.
“Ah!” you yelp, placing both the flowers and movie on the brick before copying your friends actions and standing on the roof. Jason hasn’t shot yet, but the gun in his hand is aimed right at the little birdie. He’s got a clean shot. His face remains neutral and unmoving as you take your place beside him.
It’s a full minute, and the robin is still alive and intact. He nibbles on a little crumb of bread. “He looks happy,” you think out loud. The air of Gotham goes quiet up on that roof, despite the distant sirens, music, and people throughout the city. “Are you gonna shoot?”
Jason’s finger lingers over the trigger. Even the slightest of a squeeze would set the weapon off at this point. The balls of your feet move to and froe, anticipating the bang you’re so familiar with. But then Jason lowers the gun completely, and the robin flies away at the movement. “Nah. He’ll feel the pain I dish out in the morning.”
“Don’t be sad,” you nudge Jason. “He’ll be back at six AM tomorrow to wake you up.” You turn to return to your beckoning food on the ledge. “Thanks for all this, anyway.”
“You’re welcome,” you hear Jason respond. “Hey Y/N?”
Jason watches you spin until you’re completely facing him. He can see the blood again. How it’s completely standing out against the darkness of your outfit. You look powerful, yeah. And you look like the antihero you’re labeled as. But all Jason sees is a corpse of a... of a friend. “Yeah?”
“You’re sure about this Waller thing?”
“Yeah?” you reply, as if it were obvious. The stain on you is so haunting it’s easy to think otherwise. “It’s not like I have much of a choice. It’ll only be a few weeks. I’ll be back before you know it. Then I can show you this sick ass movie.”
Then you go back to walking towards the ledge to retake your seat. But Jason remains standing. He watches as you, the person he thinks of naked so often, get comfortable, your back facing him. And, despite your word, Jason has the sinking feeling that some Suicide Squad mission isn’t the only place Amanda Waller will send you to.
This time, Amanda Waller will send you to your grave.
.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.
This was supposed to be out on August 16th, for Jason’s birthday. But the concept came to me too late and I spent too long on it. Anyway, here’s some symbolism for ya.
Tulips symbolize unconditional love. Sunflowers symbolize adoration. Alstroemeria’s symbolize devotion. The reader describes the plant in their apartment as turning brown, suggesting it may share a similar fate as the reader as plants go brown when about to die. Robin’s symbolize optimism, a trait the reader displays towards the idea of returning to the Suicide Squad. Robin was also a former identity of Red Hood. Both of which could be why Jason decides to spare the bird.
I’ll go back and proof read this in the morning.
#jason todd x reader#dc jason todd x reader#redhood x reader#red hood x reader#jason todd imagine#jason todd imagines#x reader#imagine#imagines#dc fanfiction#dc fanfic#fanfic#fanfiction#jason todd fanfiction#jason todd x reader fanfiction#jason todd fanfic#jason todd fic#dc comics fanfiction#red hood fanfiction#redhood fanfiction#red hood imagine#red hood imagines#redhood imagine#redhood imagines#red hood fanfic#dc red hood imagine#dc red hood imagines#dc red hood x reader#red hood angst#red hood fluff
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Making Ends Meet | dark!Mandalorian x reader
summary: you’re just a simple woman trying to make your way in the universe, with the universe’s oldest profession. unfortunately for you, a new customer doesn’t plan on going easy on you.
word count: 3.2k
warnings: smut (dub con), kidnapping (?? kinda), prostitution, rough sex, pain kink, lots and lots of degradation, ooc mando being a meanie
please do not read if this content would be triggering or upsetting for you, dark fics aren’t for everyone and it is your responsibility to manage your own content consumption
If you were going to have any hope of making rent this month, you needed to book someone tonight— and not a cheapskate who’d try to stiff you after he’d already stiffed you, no, you needed a big spender, a high roller. You needed somebody who had extra credits to throw around and wore it on his sleeve.
You needed a guy like the one who had just walked in— with beskar on his sleeve. That’ll do quite nicely, you thought to yourself as you watched the Mandalorian cross the room to talk to the bartender.
Seemed like he was here on business, unfortunately, from the way he didn’t even venture a glance at you or any of the other women skulking about; but then again, you couldn’t be entirely sure where he was looking with that big helmet covering his face. It might not be the easiest sell, but you were determined to get this guy for the night— and, more importantly, his money.
Walking up to the bar with your best sultry saunter, you leaned in beside him and smiled as he turned his head to look at you. "Hey," you purred. "Haven't seen you around before. We don't get a lot of new faces around here… even when they're hidden."
He didn't say anything, which was a little concerning, but his head tilted down a bit as if he was looking at your body, which was a good sign.
“What brings you to Tatooine, hm? Business…” you trailed off as you ghosted your fingertips over his armor-clad forearm, “or pleasure?”
“Business is my pleasure,” he informed you sternly.
“And pleasure is my business,” you countered with a smirk. Before you could say anything else, the bartender returned with a sack in his palm that he tossed into the Mandalorian’s hands, something metallic jingling inside.
“For a job well done,” he explained with a crooked, toothy smile, “as promised.”
“Payday, huh?” you noticed, your tongue darting out to wet your lips. “Never comes often enough, amirite?”
Your quip was met with tense silence as he slipped the bag into a sack at his waist. He turned to leave, but you reached out for his shoulder and stopped him.
“Wait,” you requested, desperation starting to taint your tone of voice. He spun and faced you again, and you tried to keep your body language relaxed and sensual in spite of your stress. “What are you gonna spend all that on?”
“My ship,” he decided after a quick moment.
“Why not spend it on yourself? You must be tired after working a long, hard day,” you sighed sympathetically, stepping a little closer. “Why don’t you stay a bit longer and take a moment to relax?”
It didn’t seem like he knew what to do with that, and you motioned to a wide, cushioned chair nearby. Amazingly, it worked; he walked to the chair with that swagger of his, the blaster at his hip suddenly so much more obvious with the way it swung with every step. As soon as he sat down, you put a leg up beside him, straddling him slightly but leaving enough space to (hopefully) have him wanting more.
“You must be getting hot under there,” you smiled, making sure the double entendre was obvious.
“Maybe I am,” he shrugged.
“All this heavy armor... does it get uncomfortable?”
“I’m comfortable,” he denied.
“Good,” you purred before biting down on your lip as you rubbed his chest— or, rather, his chestplate. “You know, I’ve heard that Mandalorians are even harder underneath the steel.”
He paused a little before he answered. “Only in a few key places,” he finally replied, his gloved hand reaching to brush over your thigh. You grinned, knowing you finally had him.
“Why don’t you come to my room and show me?” you suggested.
“I imagine your time isn’t free,” he observed.
“Fifty credits for an hour, or a hundred for the whole night,” you enumerated.
“That’s a little steep,” he noted with a tone of irritation.
“It’s my price,” you shrugged, “take it or leave it.”
“I’ll leave it,” he decided, shoving you back and standing up to leave.
“No, wait,” you blurted out, “eighty for the night.”
“I don’t have all night,” he informed you sternly. “Twenty for the hour.”
“Twenty?!” you squawked. “What kind of girl do you take me for?”
He grabbed your wrist tightly, suddenly, and pulled you into him. “A whore,” he answered with a rough growl, “and apparently not as cheap as you look.”
You swallowed dryly, irritated by his attitude but desperate for the cash you knew he had. “How often do you come through Mos Eisley?” you asked quietly.
“As rarely as I can manage,” he replied.
“If you pay a hundred now, I’ll be here every time you come in, for as long as you need,” you offered. “Standing order, permanently.”
It was difficult to negotiate with someone whose face you couldn’t see: you weren’t sure if the silence was him considering it, or just watching you squirm in his grasp for fun.
“A hundred,” he repeated slowly, “for whatever I want.”
“Whatever you want,” you nodded quickly.
“Whenever I want,” he added.
“Whenever you want.”
He let go of your wrist and you stumbled back, rubbing the sore skin with your other hand. “Show me to your room,” he requested suddenly.
You led him back behind a few tattered curtains, past the hall and up the stairs to your cramped apartment. It wasn't much, but the red silk draped everywhere and the incense burning in the corner certainly set the mood for the work you did. Your door slid shut automatically behind him, and normally this is the part where he’d kiss you or you’d kiss him, but that was sort of impossible in his current state. With an awkward pause, you waited for him to undress.
“Take off your clothes,” he instructed instead— and it was even more dominant than you expected, but you were happy to oblige as you untied the strip of fabric keeping your flowy tunic together, letting it fall off of your shoulders and onto the floor. You didn’t have anything else on, just for the sake of simplicity, and he said nothing as he stepped forward until he was just inches away from you.
He quickly disposed of his gloves to touch you with his bare hands; his rough, warm skin over your waist and hips and breasts was a strong contrast to the worn leather, and even moreso to the hard, cold beskar. His skin was tan, especially considering that it rarely saw the sun, and you let yourself imagine what the rest of him would look like based on that long with the subtle dusting of dark hair that extended from his arms. Of course, in your mind, he was stunningly gorgeous, because it was more fun for you that way. The way he spun you around quickly and forced you to bend over the edge of your bed made you realize he wasn’t as interested in your fun, though.
You yelped a little at the unexpected force, and again when he slapped your ass out of nowhere.
“You’d better make it worth my while, after I paid a hundred credits,” he grunted.
“Of course,” you agreed quickly, looking back to see him slipping to fingers underneath the edge of his helmet.
“Don’t turn around,” he growled. “Don’t look back.”
“Okay,” you nodded nervously as you whipped your head back to face in front of you, staring diligently at the dark red comforter beneath you, “I— I won’t.”
You heard the rustle of clothing and a sigh of relief— noticeably one not modulated through the helmet speaker. Unceremoniously, his helmet was tossed down onto the bed beside you, bouncing and rolling a bit before it found purchase on your quilt.
Next must have been his trousers, as you heard his heavily-equipped belt fall to the floor just before the subtle little grunt you’d come to know as the sure sign that a man had freed a throbbing cock from the confines of his trousers. He roughly kicked your legs apart, grabbing your hips and using them to hold you up as he started to grind his bare cock against your slickened folds. You could tell by the way his shaft spread your lips that you had no chance of taking him— he was too thick, you couldn't even tell how long he was yet but he was definitely too thick.
He must have realized something similar, because he pushed you forward a bit; you realized he was looking down at your pussy, which made your face burn with embarrassment.
"Get yourself wet for me," he instructed firmly.
You didn't think you would ever be able to get wet enough to fit him. "How?" you asked.
"I don't care how, just do it. You have thirty seconds."
You gasped a bit but shoved your hand between your legs and frantically rubbed your clit— it didn't really feel that good, with the pressure and fear overwhelming your senses instead of pleasure. And he didn't make it any easier on you by literally counting each second. You got a bit wetter, sure, and you'd already been turned on from earlier, but it was still not gonna do you much good against the monster he intended on putting inside you at any moment.
"Fifteen," he continued counting, his voice dropping so much deeper all of a sudden. "Fourteen."
Halfway out of time already and you weren't that much more wet than when you started. Your mind was racing with thoughts of everything sexy you could manage to conjure— his voice did help, the deep timbre reverberating right up your spine as anxious fear started to blend in with forced arousal. You tried to focus on the ways that being fucked by a faceless, mysterious stranger was sexy, rather than the ways it was terrifying.
"Ten," he counted, his voice changing as you heard him smile— you weren't sure how you could hear it, but you could. "There you go, I can see it now."
You whimpered a little, the sound catching in your throat as fingers suddenly teased your entrance, not quite pushing in but threatening to. As they swirled around your folds, a lewd wet sound filled the air, mixing in with your heavy breathing and his dark chuckle.
"You hear that?" he asked, and you nodded quickly. "Just a few seconds left, make them count."
Rubbing faster, you felt your hips start to rock of their own volition, similarly to the way your walls were clenching around nothing in search of being filled.
"Three, two, one," he finished as you felt the thick head of his cock start to push against you. You dropped your hand, knowing you'd need both to stabilize yourself. "You want it?" he asked roughly.
"Yes," you answered, your voice coming out weaker than expected.
"Beg for it," he instructed coldly.
"Put your cock in me, please—" was all you could get out before the words stopped in your throat as he suddenly pushed in. You were barely processing the first inch as he barreled past your resistance to shove the next few in. It already felt like you would run out of room inside your body before he ran out of cock.
"F-fuck," you hissed, "slow down. You're too big." You hoped maybe he'd take pity on you if you phrased it as a compliment. You were wrong.
"You're a whore," he reminded you, "can't you take it? It's all you're good for, anyways."
That got you to shut your mouth as he thrust himself completely into you, finding the end of you easily with the head of his cock while your hands clutched the bedsheets for dear life. You winced but managed to suppress a cry as he started to fuck you, not quite fast yet but so much deeper than your brain could process. "Ffffuu-uuck," you stammered, the sting starting to fade but the overwhelming pressure never really letting up.
"How's it feel?" he asked, almost sounding like he could moan but holding back. "Don't lie."
You realized, then, that he didn't want you to fake pleasure like most clients did— he wanted to see your pain, and know he caused it. He enjoyed hurting you. You swallowed the lump in your throat and whimpered your honest reply: "Hurts."
"Good."
His balls slapping against your clit only added to the overwhelming sensations you were trying so hard to ignore, pain and pleasure becoming indistinguishable all of a sudden. You could tell your walls were clamping down on him as pressure built in your gut and threatened to push past the point of no return. Your moan was so much louder than you expected it to be, broken and guttural and animalistic.
He pulled your hair roughly, making you yelp. “That’s right,” he instructed through his teeth, “fuckin’ scream for it.”
“Fuck!” you sobbed loudly.
He leaned forward and it felt like his body would surround yours, somehow, especially when he reached down to roughly grope one breast and then another. He never stopped thrusting through it all, even when his head fell exhaustedly between your shoulder blades— it was so odd to be able to feel his forehead and hair on your skin but have no idea what his face looked like at all.
The telltale signs of orgasm were arriving in your body— your thighs quivered, your voice cracked, your walls and clit throbbed with need. It felt like you could read every detail of his cock inside your silky wet heat, like the ridge of his leaking head was rubbing up against your swollen g-spot with every thrust. You felt as if being so full of him had forced you to vacate your mind, too, to accommodate his size— as if that were possible.
Either he sensed your peak approaching as well, or he just had convenient timing. "Wanna feel you come around it," he grunted. "Can you come for me? Or are you completely useless?"
“‘M close,” you warned him as your answer, shame sending a shiver up your spine even though you felt guilty for it.
“Then come,” he ordered, “right fuckin’ now.”
It was odd how that actually did push you over the edge, his brutal thrusts and degrading words creating a perfect storm inside you as the friction became too much to bear. You sobbed as it wracked through you, arching your back absent-mindedly, clenching your legs together as best you could with his legs in between them. He didn’t stop fucking you through it, which meant that the sensation built to the point of ‘too much’ extremely quickly as your attempts at begging for mercy were lost to breathless moans. Overwhelmed, your body collapsed onto the bed limply, your hips only staying up because he held them up, like your weight was nothing to him at all.
"Yeah, just like that,” he taunted, “fuckin' come on my cock, fuck— you're just a dumb slut, huh? You love getting fucked like the desperate, needy fucktoy you are, is that it?"
"Y-yes," you whined weakly, cheeks burning at the feeling of him using your body— or maybe it was from the head rush caused by the afterglow of your orgasm.
"You like it when it hurts,” he posited. “You want me to hurt you."
"Yes— don't stop, please…" you whimpered, quiet but definitely loud enough for him to hear.
“Not gonna stop,” he promised, “‘til you’re full of my come.”
“Fuck,” you groaned, voice sounding hoarse and thin. It had been a while since you lost your voice because of a session… and since you had walked funny for a few days afterwards. This one was definitely going to do both.
As his hips started to slam harder and faster into yours, you really hoped it was a sign that he was close; his raspy groans made you sure of it, though. You could feel his cock swelling and flexing, incredibly, and it made you a little light-headed but it made your overstimulated walls throb around him as well.
With one deep, exhausted growl from the man behind you, a warmth began to spread through you from the inside out. When he released his grip on your hips, you fell onto the bed with a sigh and a thud. A hand appeared in your peripheral vision to snatch the helmet off of your bed, and it only took him a few moments to stuff his softening cock back into his trousers and magically be dressed again. Funny how he looked exactly the same as he had half an hour ago, meanwhile you were confident you looked totally fucked-out and fucked-up.
“You’re a good fuck,” he offered a monotone compliment as he pulled on his gloves, staring down at you as you slipped your robe back on and tried to ignore the warm sticky feeling between your legs.
“You’re… intense,” you replied, chuckling a little. “Guess I’ll see you around, then.”
He didn’t respond, or leave, but just stood there looking at you for a minute as you stood up and adjusted yourself, trying not to limp noticeably because you figured he didn’t need any more ego. “‘Whenever I want’ only applies when I’m on this planet,” he observed suddenly, interrupting the silence, “which I try not to be.”
“You can come around as often as you like,” you explained. You froze when he appeared behind you, reaching his arms out and caging you in against the wall the second you'd turned to face him.
“But wouldn’t it be so much more cost-effective if you were with me all the time? On my ship?”
You whimpered a little as he leaned in closer, and you felt his gaze on you through the dark visor of his helmet even though you couldn’t see it. “That… that wasn’t the deal,” you whispered nervously.
“The deal’s changed,” he growled, ignoring your yelps of pain as he manhandled you and pinned you to the wall by your neck before you could even try to fight back. “Whatever I want, whenever I want,” he growled, “that’s what you said. I’ll hold you to that.”
The leather gloves creaked softly as he tightened his grip on the sides of your neck, forcing your lips to fall into a useless gasp for air. Your hands reached out to claw at his chest, a silent plea for release, but he wasn’t having it.
“Whatever you want,” you barely managed to croak out as your vision started to go dark. “Please, Mando…”
“Whenever I want?”
“Whenever, please,” you cried, tears stinging your eyes. He let go, finally, and you crumpled at his feet. Somehow, you’d managed to sell yourself into slavery— for a measly hundred credits. This whole thing had begun with you needing to make rent, and it ended with you realizing you wouldn’t return to your apartment again at all.
He didn't need to shackle or bind you to make you follow him to his ship; his power over you was nauseatingly effortless, but you weren't about to try to run from an unhinged warrior like him.
You'd always wanted to leave Tatooine and explore the galaxy… this wasn't exactly how you'd imagined doing it, as a Mandalorian's whore, but there were worse fates. Like being a Mandalorian's target. And you planned on doing whatever he wanted you to if it meant avoiding that.
#dark!mandalorian#dark!mandalorian smut#dark!din djarin smut#the mandalorian dark fic#dark!din djarin x reader#dark!din djarin x y/n#dark!din djarin x you#the mandalorian x y/n#the mandalorian x reader#the mandalorian x you
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Regret Pt. 1 | Echo X Reader
Description: Order 66 wiped out all the Jedi. Or almost all of them. You've been hiding on Ord Mantell, taking odd jobs for the past few months. You were starting to find a rhythm, then a group of clones walked back into your life.
Warnings: Bit of language? Is one f bomb that bad? Nothing else to worry about except Angst, and a complicated relationship that isn't a relationship because someone Echo is in denial.
Enjoy!
REGRET TABLE OF CONTENTES: PART ONE | PART TWO
Wiping your face on your sleeve you traipse down the steps towards the lounge, keeping your head down as cantina goers pass you by. The stale, familiar smell of smoke, alcohol and body odor tickles your nose as you walk inside. The bartender catches your eye as you approach, jutting his chin towards the back room. You nod and go on your way, leaving the parlor behind.
You don’t knock, or announce yourself before entering the office.
“Hello, Cid,” you greet the trandoshan as she lifts her gaze to stare at you dully.
“You’re late, star hopper,” she says, turning her chair to the side as you come to a stop in front of her desk. You look down and lift the case in your hand, setting it on the table. You push it to her without thinking, without touching it. She gives you a dry look. “You use those powers of yours and the empire’s gonna---”
You sigh. Your hands mold into fists as you step from one foot to the other. “It’s a habit Cid. I can’t break it just because the galaxy decided to fuck itself up.”
She sets her hands on the case, and pulls it to her, all while eyeing the blaster on your belt. “Don’t suppose anyone figured out you’re a jedi on your little trip?” she asked as she opened the case.
You crossed your arms. “If they did, they’re no longer living.”
“Look at you,” she simpers, closing the box and setting it on the floor beneath her desk, “two months and you’re already forgetting the jedi way.”
“Times change,” you tell her, shrugging your shoulders. “Got another job?”
Cid folds her hands together. “Wait a bit. I’ve got another job underway right now, a couple of newbies are taking care of it. If they come through, I’m thinking about sending you out with them.”
You lean back against the holotable behind you. “What kind of newbies? Anyone I know?”
“Eh,” she waves you off. “They’re just a couple of clones, they might not even make it back.”
Your mouth goes dry, your fingers turn numb. “Clones?”
“That a problem?”
You push off the table, and lean over her desk. “Are you serious, of course, it’s a problem, Cid. They shoot people like me.”
Cid stands up then, shaking her head. “You can shoot them if they try to shoot you. I don’t see what the big deal is, you can handle four clones and a kid,” she says as she skirts around the table and makes her way towards the door.
You scrunch your nose and turn after her in confusion. “What kid?”
~~~~~~~~
You’re in the corner of the parlor, a glass of cheap whiskey in one hand, watching the bar silently. Your ass went numb a good hour ago, you’ve been here too long. You’re not sure what time it is. But you only have two choices on where you’re gonna spend the night. Either here in this booth, with the leather seats peeling up, or back in your cramped excuse for a ship that still smells like a Mon Cala from a job you did for Cid two weeks ago.
You know you can’t sleep. Your stomach is too knotted up. Your spine feels like brittle ice. And your head is filled with faces you don’t want to see, and screams you don’t want to hear.
You take a quick sip from your cup, wincing at the burning taste on your tongue. The door on the far side opens, just like it has all night. The people that enter aren’t Cid’s usual customers though. Holding your breath, you set a hand on the blaster at your hip as a group of clones moves in, their black armor catching all the shadows in the poor lighting of the cantina. Cid was right, there is a kid with them. Cute. You try not to think about fighting your way out with a kid in the way. Instead, you bite the inside of your cheek as the lead clone removes his helmet.
Hunter?
You sit, frozen to the seat beneath you and you can’t breathe. Your eyes widen as he heads off to the back room in search of Cid. You let go of the drink in your hand, fighting the urge to stand as the rest of the group takes their helmets off and has a seat at the bar.
Wrecker’s sitting next to the girl as Tech orders something from the bartender, holding up three fingers. You glance at the last man and take a deep breath as Echo looks over the room. You turn your head as his gaze passes towards you, and stare down into your drink.
The door whooshes open across the room and your thoughts turn into a full-on panic storm.
Could I make it to the door? Maybe they haven’t seen me. Just get up and walk out. And never come back. Run. Don’t look back.
Silently, you slip out of the booth and turn to the door. You glance at the bar and stop. Echo has his back to you, as Tech says something to him. You look to your left, plotting a course between tables that will allow you to give them the widest berth possible on your way to the door. You start walking, keeping one eye on the bar. Just when you make it to the far corner though a group of Suertons exits their booth, filling the aisle. You stop as they begin to move towards you, drunk and not caring that you were in the aisle first. Little hands grab at your legs as the little drunkards look up at you. You slap them away, but that only gets them rowdier. Shoving them off you, you turn but the way behind you is blocked by a giant Herglics. You curse under your breath and turn right, towards the bar.
The clones still have their backs to you, but the little girl next to Wrecker is glancing your way, a friendly smile on her face. You duck your head as you reach the main walkway along the bar.
For some reason, your feet stop. You can feel each of them in the force, their presence familiar, the most familiar auras you’ve been around in months. You want to stay, to feel them for just a bit longer, because the last time you did you were safe and you would do anything to bask in the memory of safety for just once. You hands tremble as you look up.
“Hello,” you say, voice level despite how out of breath you feel.
The three clones turn in their seats. Tech adjusts his glasses as Echo sets his drink down and stands. His eyes are sharp, brow furrowed in a familiar frown.
“Commander?” he asks, voice faint. You can’t tell if he’s happy to see you, or readying to attack. He stands up. You’re not sure if you just made the worst decision of your life, or not. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a hulking shadow stand and move towards you and you set a hand on your blaster turning to face Wrecker as he holds out his arms.
“Y/N!” he says excitedly. You throw a hand up.
“Stop,” you tell him, breathless as you step back out of reach, “d-don’t come any closer.”
“It appears she thinks we’re going to harm her,” Tech said, setting a hand on Wrecker’s arm, pulling him back. Wrecker’s shoulders fall and he looks at you sadly as you glance at all of them.
Then Echo steps forward scomp arm held up, free hand out to his side. “I’m going to take my blaster out,” he tells you, “don’t shoot.” You don’t make any promises, hand tightening on the grip of your gun as he deftly pulls out his blaster, and slowly sets it on the counter. He turns back to you, arms up. “Ok?” he asks and you take a breath but your hand stays on your hip, ready. Around you the bar continues as it has all night, loud, boisterous, too many people pouring one drink after another down their throats. And it all goes away as you stand off with Echo and Tech and Wrecker.
The door to the back office opens and you glance at Hunter as he walks out, carrying a few extra credits. “Muchi’s taken care of and Cid’s got a new job for us---”
He stops. He stares at you.
Behind him, Cid’s green face leans to the side, taking in the scene. “Well, now that you’ve all met, maybe you can take this conversation into the backroom? You’re gonna start attracting attention soon.” Her eye drops to your blaster. “If you really wanna shoot each other, do it outside.”
Echo clears his throat and you turn to look at him. He nods to the back of the cantina. “Can we talk?” he asks you, as he steps to the side. Tech and Wrecker and the girl follow after him as he nudges Hunter in the arm and the sergeant turns to walk with him.
You watch as they disappear into the room. You glance at the door and let out a sigh as your arm relaxes, fingers loosening their hold on your blaster. You take a deep breath and follow after them.
~~~~~~~~
“… and Crosshair’s still on Kamino,” Hunter finishes, taking a sip of his drink.
“Damn,” you breathe. They all give a nod, shifting uncomfortably as you look over everyone.
The group is sitting across from you, lounging out on the couches along the back wall as you lean against a table. They’d offered you a chair but your legs seemed to vibrate, your senses were too alert, your body was too ready to run if things turned bad. You were still waiting for someone to shoot at you. Even though Tech had assured you that their chips were defective, that they were under no order from the empire --- you couldn’t sit. You couldn’t relax.
“And the girl?” you ask, pointing at the kid in the corner, playing with a little stormtrooper doll.
“Her name is Omega,” Echo tells you, speaking for the first time in a while. He glances between you and the kid. “She’s a clone, like us.”
“And now you’re here, working for Cid,” you say after a moment.
“You’re working for her too,” Hunter says.
“It’s a mutually---”
“—beneficial arrangement,” Echo finishes for you, his jaw tense. “So, we’ve heard.”
You shrug your shoulders. “My particular skills aren’t exactly cut out for farming. This gives me enough money to get by and keep myself busy.” You glance behind you, through the open door and spy Cid at the bar barking orders to some poor busboy. “And Cid looks out for me. In her own way.”
“Well,” Hunter says after a moment, “I think I can say we’re all glad to see that you’re alive, Ma’am.”
“You should probably call me Y/N,” you tell him. He nods. The room falls silent for a few moments. It’s awkward. You’ve missed awkward.
“How did you survive?” Echo asks and everyone shoots him a look as you shift against the table behind you. Your arms cross over your chest as your eyes train on the floor in front of you.
“When I was reassigned from your squad by the jedi council, they sent me to the outer reaches to meet an intel broker that said he had information on a new type of weapon the separatists were planning. Something that could destroy planets. I didn’t take a full squad with me. Just one ARC-trooper.” You lift your gaze, eyes flitting to Echo. “The mission was going fine but then he caught me by surprise. Blew up my ship, chased me into a nexu den to finish the job.” You looked down. “I made it out. He didn’t.”
The room fell into silence as you finished, an incredible sadness washing over you and you had to steady yourself and distinguish their sorrow from your own, otherwise it would be unbearable.
“Cid wants you to run a job with us,” Hunter says after a moment of silence. “You gonna be able to handle that, Ma’am--- Y/N?”
“A job is a job,” you breathe. “When do we head out?”
Hunter stands nodding to the rest of the squad. “In the morning. We’re looking for a tactical droid,” he says as Wrecker and Tech usher Omega past you. “We’ll meet you at Dock 67-89,” he says as Omega gives a small wave. Wrecker stops a few feet away from you.
“Good to have you back,” he says, voice sounding hopeful a small smile on his face and you can feel how much he wants to give you a hug. You return his smile with smaller version of one of your own and he does his best to hide his disappointment before heading out the door. Hunter steps past you to follow them.
“Hunter,” you call. He stops mid-step and twists around. “I’m not a commander anymore,” you tell him and his brow furrows. “So, this job, when it comes to commanding the squad, you’re in charge.”
“Understood.”
Without another word he walks out the door, following the others and you let out a sigh. You drop your head back, looking up at the stained ceiling panels above you. When you drop your gaze, you tilt and turn your head to the side.
“Aren’t you going with them?” you ask the man still sitting on the couch. You turn around slowly stomach clenching as those eyes come into view. Echo looks you over slowly, left hand crossed over his chest, taking you in.
“I thought you were dead,” he murmurs. He stands up and you can hear the metal creak from the joints in his knees as you let out a hard dry laugh.
“It’s easier to be dead than whatever this is,” you murmur. Echo steps forward then, toward you, too fast and you move back just as quickly. “Echo, don’t,” you tell him and he stops. A pained expression takes over his face.
He shakes his head, takes a breath and says, “You’re that scared of me?”
“I’m not scared of you,” you whisper. “But I’m terrified of that thing in your head.”
“I-- we would never hurt you,” he insists. You shake your head.
“That’s what I believed about Sab,” you tell him and his brow crinkles in confusion. You swallow a breath. “The ARC-trooper I was with when the order came? Before that he was funny, treated me like his big sister. Relied on me, trusted me just like I trusted him,” you say, tears forming at the corners of your eyes. “And then he shot me. Hunted me, Echo. No matter how much I begged him to stop, he kept chasing me until I couldn’t run anymore. Then it was him or me,” you suck in a breath, “and I chose me.”
Echo’s cheek twitches, the way it always has when he’s trying to hide his anger. He’s been that way since you’ve known each other.
“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he murmurs, voice breaking as he says your name and you feel like he’s apologizing for a million things, not just one. You shake your head, unable to say anything for a minute, before you turn around.
“You have nothing to apologize for, Echo,” you say as you move around the table, eyeing the door for what feels like the thousandth time tonight. “Just forget it. Tell Hunter that I’ll meet you all at the dock in the morning,” you say, reaching up to pull the hood of your jacket up. You reach the door when he says one last thing, quiet, broken. You stop at the sound of his voice and it takes everything in you to not turn around right then and there.
“It’s my fault you were on that mission,” he says and if it was another time or place, you’d wonder at the power he has to take your breath away as once again, you can’t breathe. “I’m sorry,” he says again. And you walk out the door. You leave him behind, because if you don’t leave now, you’re not sure you ever will.
He’s partly right. When you were reassigned from Clone Force 99, when your master forced you to leave, it wasn’t because of anything Echo did himself, but it had everything to do with him.
You wipe the tears from your face as you exit the cantina.
It was your fault. You broke the Jedi code. You were too attached. You loved him. And you could have lived with that. Love would have been enough. Something to share, something to hold onto, something to grow and foster.
The only problem was, as Echo had told you himself:
He could never love you.
~~~~~~~~
READ PART TWO HERE
A/N: what the heck happened between Echo and Y/N I wonder? Any predictions? Check out pt. 2 soon!
I am also working on the Crosshair family fic which is turning into its own mini-series so if you’re interested in that, it will be out soon as well.
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