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jangofctts · 3 years

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Bloodsport (din djarin x fem!reader) (part one)

rated: 18+

word count: 5.4k

warnings: smut, knife kink (no blood is drawn and consent is clearly given), blowjobs, vaginal fingering, din is sorta a virg duDE, alcohol, mentions of violence (reader punches someone in the face kwejrkejh), some gambling (sabaac) also please let me know if I missed anything!

a/n: oOf this is the first fic in sO LONG IM SO SORRY YALL KEHJRKEJH BUT ANYWAYS I HOPE YOU ENJOY

It’s been a couple months since Din’s stepped foot on the sandy nightmare of a planet. Went through hell and back and kriff—it feels like a lifetime ago. But the landscape before him hasn’t changed an inch, Mos Eisley same as always—busy with all sorts of scum and villainy he turns a blind eye to.

Din hopes it’s not the only thing that’s stayed the same—selfish as it is. Someone as volatile as you is bound to catalyze and shift, so is the nature of life. A lot can happen in a month or two and it’s ridiculous to think that you would ever push your life to the side and wait for him to return.

Turns out, you are here, still working as the resident mechanic. Though in the same elated breath of hearing that tidbit of news, it’s equally dissatisfying when he somehow misses you completely. You’re off planet, looking for power converters and electrical wiring—back in few days Peli promises. Maybe by the time his wild goose chase is over, back from the butt fuck middle of nowhere, he’ll get to see you—

Nothing goes as planned—naturally. All Din finds is a man playing dress up, an oversized lizard, planetary drama he’s forced to resolve and—to top it all off—an attempted stickup. Maker—he’s not even worried about anything save for the kid and your speeder. The very same one now scattered over the sand in miserable heaps.

At least some of it is salvageable…

By the time Din reaches the outskirts of Mos Eisley, the binary suns are smearing across the horizon like molten puddles of magma. Deep aches amass in his shoulders and back from the weight of the speeder parts, his gear, and the second pair of armor. Maker—it feels like his arms are going to be ripped off.

The baby babbles something incomprehensible.

“Almost there, kid,” Din responds, sparing a quick glance down the baby. “How does soup sound?”

Instead of trudging back to the hangar, Din wanders to the cantina. Call it a hunch or just you and your aunt’s tendency to lurk around the premises, he’s certain he’s going to find one of you here.

Din is right.

The moment he steps inside, he spots your mess of hair, the low solar lights illuminating the rich colors with a soft orange. The baby coos and blinks up at Din, his tiny clawed finger gesturing in your direction.

Din hums. “Good job—you found her.”

The child’s little teeth peek out, pleased with his discovery. Din steps into the doorway, down the carven stairs and over to your table. A older man—a ship rigger by the looks of his uniform—sits across from you, a game of Sabaac spread across the table between you. You’re winning.

“Hello, Shiny.” You greet, dipping your chin in his direction. “Your armor is looking a tad ripe.”

It’s true. The layer of slime coating his armor had baked and crusted under the suns—probably doesn’t smell too good either…

“I killed a Krayt dragon.” Din states it with a twinge of smug satisfaction despite knowing how little something like that would mean to you. He could conquer three dozen planets and shower you in all the precious metals in the world and you’d still turn your nose up at everything.

“And I curb stomped a centipede today—you aren’t special.” Your eyes never leave the set of worn cards you hold between your fingers, acutely ignoring him like you would an overly enthusiastic puppy. You inhale and scrape your right thumbnail along the edge of the hexagonal cardstock—it’s a subtle tell, one Din would more than likely miss if he were the unlucky bastard brave enough to sit at the other end of the table.

“You playin’ or what?” Your opponent gripes. He scratches his unkempt salt and pepper stubble and quirks a furry brow.

You lift your chin in scorned defiance and lay your hand down—full Sabaac. The man hisses through his crooked, clenched teeth and utters a curse as he shoves his winnings towards your end of the table.

“Peli promised me information.” Din pushes, hearing the kid coo in curiosity as you begin shuffling the cards with practiced flare. “About others like me.”

“Do I look like my aunt to you?” You grumble. It’s the first time your eyes leave the perimeter of the game to look at him. They settle on the kid first with a guarded version of compassion, then leap to the faded green armor clipped to the heavy luggage, and then his visor. Your lip twitches at the green slime still coating the beskar. “I’m assuming my speeder didn’t make it.”

“A technical difficulty.”

You roll your eyes and snort, dealing out the cards then setting the stack in the middle. “Right…”

The background ambiance of the bar and the quiet rasp of cards fill the brief lull in conversation. Any other rational person would take the blaring hint to leave, but Din is just as stubborn as you are.

“I don’t remember where the hangar is,” Din lies, cocking his head to the side in mock innocence, “could you show me?”

The tip of your tongue peaks out of the corner of your mouth. The unconscious tic is not one of irritation—not yet. Though before you’re able to respond, your opponent beats you to it.

“Yeah—I know where it is. It’s between fuck off and take a hike.”

Din turns his head, the cool, even tone of his words sharper than shrapnel as he address the man. “I was speaking to her.”

This is funny to you Din realizes—one of the tiny mysteries of your entirety clicking into the place of the puzzle map he’s conjured for you.

“Well, I don’t have the time of day for cowards who wear shiny buckets over their head.” The man gripes into his drink, dark eyes flicking over to Din as he sizes him up. “What’s a Mandalorian doing out here anyway? Thought your planet exploded or something.”

The man’s ignorance irks him—sure. How could it not? But with years of harsh words and jabs at the foundation of Din’s very being, he’s learned to adapt. It’ll always sting no matter how many layers of beskar he wears but you on the other hand…

Your eyes spark, molten and bright like the last solar flare on the surface of a decaying star. Each encounter Din’s had with you, he’s bared witness to the deep well of your anger that fuels your being like the auto-mechanical heart of a droid. He’s felt the bite of your rage firsthand, but this anger—this is the tragedy of the delicate mayfly wings trapped between the black teeth of misfortune—the story of the boy who rammed a spear into the flank of an ancient beast that bites before it barks and gnashes its yellowed teeth in warning.

Din’s hand inches towards his blaster. He’s not willing to weigh the safety of the kid against your rash decisions, despite it being on his behalf.

Though, just as quick as it appears, it recedes like the cool drawback of a tumultuous ocean. Din’s arm relaxes at his side as you release a puff of air.

Your scuffed up fingers, stained with years of engine grease, scars and dirt, curl around your half finished drink. You stand, lay your cards face down onto the table and flash the stranger a feral grin.

Without a word, you toss your drink directly into the man’s unsuspecting eyes. In another breath, the pointed edges of your knuckles fly forward and hook beneath the point of his chin with a meaty thunk. The man’s head whips backwards and connects with the gravely wall—

Out like a light.

Jaw clenched tight, you shake out your bleeding knuckles and gather up the strewn credits over the table. You shove them into the pockets of your jacket and side eye Din. “Restitutions for damages,” you mutter.

The other patrons keep their eyes to themselves as the three of you hurry out the door. Only an apathetic glance from the bar tender serves as proof that something did, in fact, occur. No one wants to dirty their nose sniffing about where they shouldn’t be when they have their own business to safeguard.

The crisp night air rustles the stray strands of hair that escape from your ponytail. Ghostly moonlight carves the shape of your cheeks into an almost ethereal sight—one of those deep space creatures with pointy teeth and hellfire for eyes. Stuff of legends you’d never think to look in a dingy bar for.

But he knows—Din knows that cool mask is just a front from what you hide. It is a hungry ghost that hounds your thin stretched shadow—what ifs and the glories of war you never really escaped. You forget that you are flesh and blood and ghosts are only air and echoes, nothing more.

Din is sharp edged steel. A stray fragment of a shattered mirror, the lacerated reflection of a nameless purpose and a faceless existence. He’s torn edges and cracked glass but his heart beats within his chest with the blood of a thousand suns. Two souls under the umbrella of the word damaged but entirely different in nature.

“No one—“ you growl, your voice a steady and lethal timbre that terrifies a part of Din’s unconsciousness, “—speaks that way to my friends.”

Touching.

“Don’t look at me like that, Creature,” you huff, staring down at the child who gurgles in return. “He deserved it—“

The reunion certainly wasn’t the one Din imagined, though it’s a relief to find that there’s no roughened edge like sandpaper over skin wedged between you. Picked up right where you left off—no questions asked and no inglorious retelling of how Din nearly died on the floor of a shitty cantina. There’s not a doubt in his mind that you'd laugh at him for it—it is sorta funny…

The rest of the evening is spent walking back to the hangar, arguing over the fact that yes Din should take the couch instead of that miserable little hovel he calls a bed, and spend the night. He’d have to find some other mechanic to work through the night if he wanted to leave in the morning, because you certainly did not want to volunteer for that. And so—Din reluctantly takes the couch and agrees to let you tackle the monstrosity of fixing up his ship for tomorrow.

He has to admit…the couch is a bit smaller than the length of his body, but it’s comfortable…maybe he’d buy a better blanket while he was here. As a treat.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

You purse your lips and whistle. “I swear each time I see it, it gets worse. Y’know, I know a couple guys selling—“

“Can you fix it?”

You fold your arms over your chest and roll your eyes.“Yeah I can fix it, jeez—no need to get your undies in a twist.”

You try not to take offense, because hey—you’re offering him the info on the good deals on new ships (and at this point anything would be better than this old rust bucket). But if Din doesn’t want anything to do with that, then whatever. His loss.

When you wander onto the ship, toolbox in hand, the Mandalorian tags along. Unsure if he doesn’t trust you with his things or just wants to hang out, it blankets the space with an air of uncertainty. Turns out it was neither of those guesses. All he does is throw open his stash of weapons, collect his pile of vibroknives, and set them on a table to polish and sharpen.

Makes sense, you suppose. Everything has to be as shiny as his armor.

You drop to your knees near the closest wiring panel you find. You wrench open the paneling and frown at the disarray of sparking wires and tangled cords. You organized these perfectly last time he was here. “Who the fuck junked up my rigging?”

Mando sits at the little table tucked away in the corner, brooding over his cache of weapons. He shrugs. “Could’ve come loose when I landed.”

You roll your eyes at his half assed excuse and mutter a foul string of curses under your breath that’d make even Peli wince. It’s fine. It’s cool—no biggie. You can sort through this in a couple hours, maybe three.

But of course rarely anything goes as planned. As time ticks away, arms deep in wires older than the kriffing Clone Wars, the distractions begin. The scrape of metal on durasteel makes the hair rise into little pricks all up your arms—you shoot a glare over your shoulder. Din tilts his head, your kneeling self reflecting within the ever dark visor, features scrunched into an obvious tell of annoyance. Huffing, you bury your head back into your task at hand.

The second distraction arrives in the form of a quiet hum of curiosity originating from the Mandalorian. Out of the corner of your eye you see him bring a vibroblade up to his visor, inspecting the notch in the blade that disrupts the electrical current that flows through the weapon. Din then rubs his thumb over the handle of the vibroblade in a slow, sensual circle. You lick your lips and tear your eyes away. That shouldn’t be hot.

You furrow your brows and tear apart another wire, but the metallic tap, tap, tap of Din bouncing the tip of a different blade over the table is bothersome. You swing your head to your left, mouth parting to snap at him, but his hand—sans glove—brings you to a halting stop.

It’s alluring, the way his long, weathered fingers twirl the knife with practiced ease—like silk through water and followed by the low hum of electricity meant to slice through flesh. Din tosses it in the air, watching it spin three rotations then catches it by the handle. Your lips purse when his visor meets your eyes. He spins it between his fingers.

“Am I bothering you?”

Fucker.

You scowl. “It’s fine.”

The soft rasp of his thumb sliding along the flat of the blade entices the eye and damnit—he’s doing this on purpose.

“Doesn’t seem fine,” he hums.

“Well, it is.” You retort hotly. You snatch up your pliers and imagine you’re pulling his teeth out in place of the crooked paneling. “I’m currently thriving in my element.”

Din hums, the sound buzzing with grainy distortion. “Do you want a closer look?”

You chew your bottom lip. He’s playing with an open flame and you with volatile jet fuel.

“I don’t know, seems kinda lame from here.” You scoff, busying yourself by pinching and twisting another set of frayed wires between your fingertips. “A toothpick if anything.”

Din snorts behind you. The deadly whisper of beskar against the durasteel tabletop makes the hair on the back of your neck prick into points. You tense as heavy boots shuffle along the floor, the near silent rustle of armor tinkling behind you as Din steps closer. You’re slow to stand, even though the presence of the Mandalorian is no less than overbearing. You wipe your grimy hands onto a spare rag, continuing to face the paneling. You then turn, a coy smile threatening to break across your face.

Stars Din is broad—and close enough you swear you’re able to see the perspiration of your breath fog the beskar plating. Your eyes follow the seams of the cuirass, across the leather bandolier and up to his helmet that’s fixed in an impassive glare of tempered steel. Your back bumps into the wall as Din takes another step forward, boxing you in. To escape you’d need to duck under his arm and yet…you refuse to move.

Your breath catches as he languidly lifts his hand and taps the flat side of the vibroblade over your collarbone. The sharpened point tickles up the column of your throat, a crackle of nerves and your pounding pulse following in its wake. Din turns the blade to flat edge and pushes into the space right below your jaw—you squirm when he chuckles, the sound low and deep.

“You like this…”

Din grunts as your hand reaches between his legs, squeezing the growing hardness there. “So do you.”

Din circles his hand around your wrist with his free palm. Moons above his hands are warm. He murmurs your name—you shiver. “Tell me you want this—want me.”

A blush, hotter than the surface of Tatooine in the midday sun, rushes up your neck and pools into the apples of your cheeks. Maker you want him. With a shuddering sigh you nod—braving the scathing shrapnel of vulnerability. “I need you, Din—please.”

A low chuckle rumbles through Din’s chest. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard you say please before.”

Din drops his hold on your wrist as you roll your eyes. “Shut up, Bucket Head.”

The Mandalorian snorts and dips his head—gesturing towards the blade still lightly pressed against the base of your throat. “This ok too, Skitter?”

You flash him a wolfish grin. “Gonna fuck me with it?”

Din swears under his breath, crowding his body closer to yours. You hear his strained sigh as he dips his head closer, the beskar a chilly whisper against your cheek. “You’re depraved…take off your pants.”

You smirk, tear off your belt and shimmy out of your pants and underwear, bottom half now bare. His visor dips, entranced.

Your heart leaps into your throat, your pulse roaring in your ears as he settles one of his bare hands over the swell of your hip while the other trails the blunt edge of the handle from your clothes collarbone, and down your belly. From your mid thigh he skates the handle up your bare thigh and then rests it over the crack of your thigh. Heat flushes through your entire body, a stark contrast to the cool metal of the handle. A shiver races down each vertebrae when he drags it over the swell of your cunt and then carefully pressing it against your clit. You gasp and arch into the light touch, your thighs involuntarily jerking as he increases the pressure. It’s cold, rigid and filthy. Who knows where that knife has been—how many lives it’s taken or severed through muscle and skin.

You don’t find it in you to care all that much.

He trades his hold on your hip to slide his hand into your shirt, palming and kneading your breast through your bra as you roll and whine against his fingers. The tight circles he's drawing over your clit burns through your abdomen, drags you closer to the precipice that you’re all ready so close to. Fuck—it’s been so long since you’ve indulged in this sort of pleasure.You whine his name as wicked heat licking up your body and spreading to each limb. You arch into him, the handle of his knife slipping through your folds as arousal drips from your cunt.

Your groan as you tilt your hips into the handle, craving any lick of pleasure he’ll give. Your breath hitches as Din pushes the hilt closer to your throwing entrance, murmuring praise as he sinks the first couple inches inside of you. It’s cold—the knobby feel of the handle not too much thicker than one or two of your fingers combines. You huff and grab at his cowl, the warmth of his hand grazing your pussy each time he rocks his wrist forward.

“You’re so quiet,” Din goads, pulling the handle free from your aching center. “You usually have plenty to say.”

You shoot Din a glare, tongue weighed down by arousal to come up with a god retort. You lean your head back against the wall of the Crest and with a chuckle, Din’s hand leaves your shirt to pull you against his chest, the vocoder rumbling against your ear. The blade clatters to the floor and instead brings his calloused fingertips to your cunt. He softly rolls your swollen clit between his forefinger and thumb, delighting in the way you shake. “Be a good little thing and cum for me.”

Shit, you didn’t think it’d be that easy. Your body seizes as white hot heat ripples through your core. Stars, brighter than a dying sun burst behind your eyes, a high pitched cry filtering past your lips as shake and fall apart in his arms, your cunt clenching tight around the thick fingers he slips inside of you.

You whine as he pulls out, little aftershocks of pleasure wracking through your body in wake of your euphoric high. You groan as he lifts your head and pushes his digits, coated in your juices into your mouth. You lick them clean, tasting the tang of your own arousal and the salt on his skin. “Fuck—that was good.”

You can only imagine that Din rolls his eyes. He takes a step back but before he can escape—

You drop to your knees, a wicked smile curling over your lips. The muscles in his thighs jump as your palms smooth over the outsides of them, then up to his narrow hips, your thumbs lightly massaging the ligaments that protects the fragile joints. Din sucks in a sharp breath when your fingertips hook around his trousers.

“What are you doing?” Din asks, brushing a thumb over your jaw.

You pause and glance up at him. You quirk a brow. “Was gonna suck you off, but if you have something else in mind…“ He hisses and tips his head back, flashing the underside of his chin as your hand leaves his hip to cup the heavy bulge tenting in his trousers.

“Maker—“ He looks off to the side, inhales a choppy breath and then snaps his head back. “You’d…you’d do that?”

You nod and flash him an encouraging half grin. “Wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to.”

Din mumbles an incoherent string of words under his breath and shifts his weight onto his right leg. His fingers touch your cheek again then tuck a loose hair behind your ear. “But—“

Moons above this man is straight out of some kind of fucking fairytale—arguing about getting his dick sucked—or not.

Whatever.

“Din…” His breath hitches at the sound of his name. “I’m asking you kindly to fuck my mouth—it’s cool if you don’t wanna, but my knees already kriffing hurt and—“

He cuts you off with a hasty nod. “Yes—stars, please.”

Fuck yeah.

You smile and slide your eyes past Din’s legs to the cargo crate shoved up against the wall. “You should sit—easier that way.”

He nods and shuffles over, lightly perching himself on the edge and ready to flee at the barest hint of well—anything.

Din’s knee jumps when you place your palm over it. You assume his nerves are from the nature of his occupation—trouble always strikes when you least expect it—and what better time would that be when his pants are around his ankles. “Relax—I’m not gonna bite—maybe.”

He makes a wary sound low in his throat as your fingertips hook into the waistband of his trousers and pull. Din lifts up as you tug the fabric further down his legs, tan skin and solid muscle following in its wake. Fuck…

You swallow, mouth feeling quite dry when your eyes drift between his legs. Din is thick, a rosy brown color, flushed at the tip and curling towards his bellybutton. Beads of liquid shine at the tip, dribbling down the underside and pooling into the dark patch of curls at the base. Din’s fingers hook over the side of the crate, squirming under the weight of your stare.

Yeah—that’s gonna leave your jaw aching.

You hear his breath hitch, magnified by the crackle of the vocoder as your lips descend over a silvery scar on the inside of his right knee. You pepper a trail of wet kisses and light nips up his thighs, and by the time you reach the crease of his leg, his hips mindlessly rock with need.

The second the wet warmth of your tongue brushes over the tip of his cock, his hips jolt off the crate, a load groan echoing through the empty ship. It’s like striking a match to an open line of kerosene—devouring and explosive that’ll leave your delicate skin singed. You’re not nervous playing with fire if this barest scrap of wild heat is anything like burning to a crisp.

Emboldened by his initial reaction, you wrap your hand around the base, pulsing and achingly hard beneath the velvety flesh. You flatten your tongue over the tip, lapping up the sticky liquid the slip the head of him into your mouth. His hands fly to your hair, tightening into fists as he throws his head back. The beskar scrapes over the durasteel with a sharp squeal, but you don’t find it in you to care about the abrasive sound—eardrums be damned.

“Fuck—kriffing hell—“ Din snarls, arching his hips to seek more of your warmth. “K-keep going.”

Your own rekindled arousal blazes hot in your core hearing his stuttered pleas. You pull away to catch your breath, feeling almost guilty for doing so at Din’s low whine of protest. He picks his head up, watching as you languidly jerk him off—entranced with the way your hand rolls over the leaking tip, back down to the base, then up again. You could keep him like this—tease until he cracks under the pressure and begs you for whatever iota of pleasure you want to give but—

You’re not that mean.

Wetting your lips with your tongue, you part your mouth and slide nearly half of his length into your mouth. Din mutters something garbled, his hips jolting as you hollow your cheeks and bob your head.

Din shifts, arching his back and stuttering out broken whispers of encouragement. Placing your hand over his thigh, you can feel his pulse thrumming beneath your fingertips, wild and alive—something real beneath all that heavy armor and unforgiving helmet.

“You—you look…” He grunts as you hum around around his cock, swallowing him down further. “Shit—you look so p-perfect like this.”

You groan and squeeze your thighs together, attempting to ignore the gnawing hunger snapping at your insides.

Rolling your tongue along the underside of his shaft, your fingers slide over what your mouth cant reach—squeezing and gently coaxing him towards his high. He seizes up tight—yet, just when you think you’ve got him skidding off that precarious edge—

His hand fists your hair at the base your neck and yanks you off his cock. He huffs, breathy little pants as he folds into himself like he’s been punched in the gut, his head rolling forward onto his shoulder. Din shivers as he scrambles for control, beginning to loose that slippery foothold he’s so intent on maintaining. His cock, flushed an angry red and still slick with your saliva, twitches and throbs for the release so cruelly wrenched away.

You let him catch his breath. The fingers tangled in your hair go lax and drop away to rest at his sides. You swallow, his previous skittishness suddenly clicking into place. “Din, are you…?” A virgin. Your question tapers off, unsure if it’ll embarrass and scare him off.

“No,” he answers—not in a sharp way like you’d hear with a bruised ego—just stating a fact. “Just not—not this. Never had someone—stars—“

Your teeth roll your bottom lip between them, forcing your face to remain neutral despite the stroke of pride blooming singing in your chest. You’re his first—lucky enough to make this the best goddamned oral he’ll ever have. Something he’ll remember for years.

“Do you want me to stop?” You ask, praying to the Maker he’ll say no.

He shakes his head, sucking in another calming breath and unfurling himself. His fingers clench into fists then relax, crackling with pent up energy and unsure nerves as to where he should put them. You solve it by threading your fingers through his and placing them around you head.

Your lips quirk. “You’re allowed to cum in mouth—don’t worry about it.”

His cock twitches as a quiet moan fizzles through the modulator. “You su-sure?”

“Oh, yeah.”

With a smile you bring your mouth back to his cock, tongue swiping up the entire length of him. Din groans as the soft warmth of your mouth slips over the flushed tip of cock, his thick length twitching as you hollow out your cheeks and suck. You bob your head as you slowly work him in further because even like this, hardly halfway into your mouth, you feel your lips stretching a bit too much around him. You groan and part your mouth wider, letting him sink into the soft warmth of your throat. Din inhales, the sound shaky and unsure as his hips twitch with a few tentative thrusts.

You take it slow—lifting your mouth nearly all the up to the tip then back down to the base. Din rolls his hips, helping you ease into the gentle pace. Saliva drips down his cock and over your knuckles making an absolute mess you have zero intentions of cleaning up. It’s his ship after all. Din swears as his hips stutter, your hand squeeing around him, trying to push him off that edge he so deserves. Din gasps your name, the pitch of his words knocking up to a lighter, more airy tone, warmer than melted butter.

“Ca-can’t believe, it—ah—it fits.” He groans with astonished reverence. You preen under his praise.

You swallow around him and grunt at the abrupt jolt of his hips. There’s no distinctive rhythm you can follow as you let him rock his hips into your mouth—seeking out his pleasure without a coherent thought in sight. Just a cacophony of gasping breaths and rough moans.

You can feel is cock twitching over you tongue—he’s close—and when your eyes roll up to meet the darkened visor, he’s gone. He shouts your name and knots his fists around your hair as he spirals of that edge. You nearly gag from the force of his release hitting the back of your throat—cock throbbing and jerking in your mouth like he’s been denying himself release for months. His moans, fragile and gasping, filling the quiet space as his hips grind his cock deeper down your throat, his hands threaded into your hair acting as an anchor—the sole tether he has to the waking world.

Din’s grip relents as the last few catastrophic waves tear through his body. He doesn’t move his hands, just lets them rest over your skull as his chest heaves for precious air, a harsh crackle through the vocoder. You pull his still twitching cock halfway out, dragging the tip of your tongue below the frenulum while one of your hands circles the base of his length. Maker—he’s still going—

Last little dribbles of his cum spurt onto your tongue and drip over your knuckles still securely wrapped around him. His legs and lower abdomen flex when your hand falls lower to carefully knead at his balls, milking out his pleasure for all its worth. You let his softening cock slip from your mouth when he swears and mumbles your name.

When you rest your back against the wall, he slips himself back into his trousers and joins you. You take a risk and rest your head over the chilly beskar pauldron. You’d never call this love—the word is much too harsh for this delicate string of seconds. Love means giving pieces of yourself to others like martyrs give their hearts to the sky—or risk fragile skin against the rays of an unforgiving sun. Broken ribs and clenched fists, immensity beyond comprehension—

“You should come with us,” he says with a hesitant mumble. Love is formidable—but you know that somehow, here, pressed against Din’s side, that this is right. In a golden way, a honeyed way, a path that tastes of blood, freedom and blaster smoke that will leave your lungs stained with blackened soot. Cowardice has long made a home inside of your soul, and he’s offering you a chance to shake off the layer of frost clinging to your bones and step into the gentle merciful dawn.

“Yeah—alright, Din. I will.”

tags (only tagging some moots for now bc i have no clue what’s going on in this fandom anymore dbdndn): @goldafterglow @jango-fettish @djxrxn @blsmjoon @spookoofins @krissology @steeeeeeeviebb @teaofpeach @comphersjost @gummiishark @delusionsxfgrandeur @pettyprocrastination @huliabitch

#well it aint that good but it honest work wkerkjehr #my writing #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian #fanfic #star wars #sw #star wars fanfiction #jangofctts

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kiras-sunshine · 3 years

Text

if you would have been the one

Written for day six of Carlos Reyes week: what if/au

Summary:

what if they didn't end up together on the night of the solar flares + the prompt of “look, i know we agreed to be friends and everything but that’s what everyone says when they break up. i can’t take you asking me for advice on how to ask out the new person you’re interested in, okay? it’s killing me” AU

prompt is from this list

read on ao3

The bar is packed and even though there are a lot of people chatting around him and music is playing in the background, Carlos still hears and recognises his laughter immediately.

He leans against the table next to him and takes a long sip of his beer.

It is a beautiful laughter, free and bubbly, and Carlos loves to hear it. He is glad that he is happy, and he would do almost anything to keep it that way. Still, it feels like a sucker-punch to his gut sometimes, and he hates that he feels that way.

TK is surrounded by his teammates, Mateo, Paul and Marjan are explaining something to him with wide movements of hands and he is almost wheezing with laughter. The lights are dim in the bar, but it almost looks like he would be glowing.

He laughs so hard he almost spills water out of his glass and some of it definitely gets onto his patterned light blue shirt and black slacks. Judd calls out him, and it is mostly inaudible to Carlos, but it makes TK shake his head slightly and the smile never leaves his face. Grace soon appears with a bunch of paper towels and helps him to dry his clothes.

He is glad that he is doing okay, and that he seems happy. He looks like he is surrounded by family, and Carlos is definitely happy for him, but it also makes his stomach twist, in a bad way, because once, he was almost a part of that family, too.

He tries to look away because it’s pathetic. It is merely a crush and a ghost of an almost-relationship and he should have gotten over it already. He is being haunted by what ifs. It’s been a few months already since they, mutually, decided that they wanted wildly different things and they would never make it work.

It was a good, clean break-up as far as break-ups go, and they decided it together. There were no dumper and dumpee, it was just a rational decision and their relationship was so vague and undefined that it ended before anything even started.

There is no good reason why he is still hung up on him, but he is, and it is terrible.

TK is still patting his shirt with the paper towels when he looks up and spots him. He definitely recognises him because he smiles at him, warmly and genuinely. Carlos waves at him because it feels like a rational reaction to one’s ex spotting them staring at them.

Besides, they are friends. Sort of. He likes TK and he is pretty sure he likes him back on some level, and he isn’t that immature that he would pass on the opportunity of friendship just because things didn’t work out between them in other ways.

He wants to be his friend, and they would need to get along even if they hated each other’s guts because they keep having to work together. The following day, after they had decided to call it quits, he had seen TK and rest of the 126 five times during one shift and he had been convinced that the universe was out to get him.

So, for everyone’s sake, he has mastered the art of trying to hide that he still has embarrassingly big crush on the man he broke up with months prior.

Carlos turns around to face the table instead of the bar crowd and a certain firefighter, but it doesn’t take long until he feels an arm wrapped around his shoulder. TK lets his hand slide along his back, and it feels like his fingertips would send small electric shocks along his spine.

He is a tactile person, he knows it, and he has realised that TK is always touching the people he cares about. It’s his way of showing affection, and while he is sort of grateful that he still cares about him, the touching is killing him inside a little bit.

Only because it reminds him too much of their almost-relationship and he misses him. He misses the time when things were not awkward between them and the time when he was in the receiving end of other than greeting touches.

“Hey,” TK says, placing his glass on the table, “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

Even though they agreed to stay as friends, he hasn’t seen him otherwise except when bumping into each other while on calls or at the bar, but they haven’t really hung out. They have caught up with each other, exchanging a few texts and TK had invited him over for a dinner, but he had refused by coming up with an excuse. He still feels a little bad about that.

“I’ve been busy,” he replies and takes another sip of his beer.

It’s not exactly a lie. He has been busy with work and spent most of his free time with his sisters, but he hasn’t actively tried to make time to meet up with him, either.

He wants him in his life, as a friend, but he still has things he needs to work on before he can genuinely just be his friend, and TK deserves better than his pining.

TK nods knowingly. “Work?”

“Yeah, always busy,” he agrees, and glances at him. He is looking down to his water glass and moving it around on the table, as if he were nervous about something. “Also, my sister gave birth, so babysitting,” he adds with a small smile.

“Congratulations,” he says, sounding sincere, as he clasps his shoulder and holds his gaze maybe a few seconds longer than necessary, but Carlos doesn’t look away either. “You’re gonna be a great uncle.”

“Thanks,” he says, taking yet another sip of his drink. “How’s your dad?”

He has seen captain Strand on calls too, and he hasn’t looked terribly ill, but he still wonders about him, too. It feels too personal to go up to him and outright ask how he is feeling, especially when he doesn’t even know what TK has told about them to him.

“Great,” he replies, and relief is audible in his voice, but he is also flashing him one of his most disarming smiles. It’s bright and warm, and it reaches his eyes, and it is definitely doing unfair things to his heart. “Chemo seems to be working.”

“That’s good,” he says with a half-smile.

TK opens his mouth but closes it abruptly when his gaze drops to his neck. Carlos yanks the collar of his shirt to cover the ugly purple-and-yellow bruise’s edge.

He has his hand raised, and almost instinctively seems to want to touch the bruise, but he yanks his hand back halfway.

“What happened?” TK asks, and his brow is furrowed as his gaze darts between the bruise and his face.

“Crashed into a door when chasing a perp,” he replies, looking at the beer bottle instead of him.

“Ouch,” he says with a frown, “it looks painful.”

Nothing had been dislocated or broken, but the pain had still been agonizing. His shoulder still throbs with pain if he moves it in a bad angle, but it is definitely better than it had been last week.

“It’s getting better,” he reassures, and TK smiles at him, and suddenly everything feels a little better. He likes this, just talking to him and being friends. He can definitely get over his unrequited feelings. “How are you doing?”

“Still sober,” he says, into his glass of water.

“Not what I meant,” he points out softly.

“I know,” he breathes out, and turns around to face the bar crowd, but he still leans against the same table, “but I’m okay.”

He turns around, too, because the shoulder starts to throb if he tries to crane his neck, and he cannot keep his eyes away from him.

“I’m glad,” he tells him, as a man walks past them, glancing up and down. It doesn’t take him long to realise that TK follows him with his gaze and the unpleasant feeling in his stomach returns.

He grins at him. “Have you met anyone?”

He has just taken another gulp of his drink and he almost ends up spitting it out. “Uh, not really,” he manages to mutter, but TK doesn’t seem to pick up on his awkwardness or he bluntly decides to ignore it.

“What about him?” He asks, nodding towards the man who just walked by, “he definitely checked you out.”

He glances back at the man who has sat down in one of the back booths of the bar. He is handsome, there is no denying that. He is tall, lean and it looks like he is in great shape and his brown eyes keep glistering and the mustard-yellow sweater looks great against his dark skin, but TK has his heart still in a chokehold and he cannot bring himself to genuinely get interested in someone else.

Also, the last thing he needs is to bring a third person into this mess he has created for himself. He is aware that the man’s gaze is still on him, but he decidedly decides to look rest of the 126, who have moved on to have a darts competition in the corner.

It’s Mateo’s turn and he does surprisingly well.

“Uh, no,” Carlos eventually says, shaking his head, as he realises that he never replied to TK and he doesn’t want him to interpret his silence as a sign of interest.

“Not your type?” He asks, and his face suddenly breaks into a delighted smirk. “What is your type?”

He wants to scream, a little. He is quite sure he doesn’t even have a type. Appearance-wise there is no common characteristics between his exes, and he usually just goes for guys who he gets along with and who make him laugh. “I don’t know,” he says, shrugging and hoping that TK would just let it drop.

He has no such luck, and he should have guessed it. He might not know TK completely, but he knows he is stubborn and determined, and a little bit of a jerk when he wants to be.

“Am I your type?” He asks, with a wide shit-eating grin.

“I don’t know, maybe,” he mutters as he takes a longer gulp of his drink than necessary, “also, I don’t really need your help with this.”

He just wants them to change the subject, but obviously TK gets it in a wrong way, because he laughs and bites his lower lip as he looks at him. “I’m sure you don’t. You, what, said hello to me and I was gone for.”

Carlos swears his heart jumps into his throat, and he struggles to swallow or even find words for a reply. Luckily, TK is on rambling mood and just continues on without waiting for a reply.

He gets along with all of his exes, and he hasn’t had ugly break ups, but this conversation they are currently having, is on a whole another level and he doesn’t know what to do with it.

“I think I’ve lost all of my game,” TK says, exhaling and scanning the crowd with his gaze, but he settles at looking his crew’s dart match.

“What game?” Carlos asks, with a grin, and the words are out of his mouth before he really even considers them, but it is so easy to fall in the easy-going banter with him, and he wants this conversation to find a new topic.

He loathes that it makes him a little happy that TK hasn’t found anyone else. It is completely selfish and horrible, but he is convinced that pretending to be friends and getting along with TK’s next friends-with-benefits guy would be a whole another circle of hell.

TK lets out a surprised huff, which is followed by a chuckle and gaping at him. “That’s rude,” he deadpans, gently slapping him in his tricep, “you talk to all of your exes like that?”

“Nope. Do you?”

It is completely out of curiosity, he wants to know how much of this convo is just TK being TK and how much can contributed to the fact that neither one of them knows how to act around each other any more.

“You’re literally the only one I talk to,” he retorts, but he shrugs immediately after. “I guess we’re special then,” he says softly, glistering in his eyes, and if Carlos didn’t know any better, he would say he is flirting with him, but he knows better.

“I guess so,” he confirms with a small and dazed smile, and rubs his own neck.

“But seriously I could use some help,” TK continues, softness gone from his voice. He drums the edge of his glass with his fingers.

Carlos briefly wonders what he has ever done to inflict this kind of suffering upon himself. Being in the receiving end of TK’s teasing and soft smiles hurts, but it hurts in a good way. Setting him up with someone else hurts, but not in a good way, it’s killing him.

“What did you like about me?” TK is definitely carrying the conversation on his own, while he wallows in self-pity and misery, but this time he expects an answer, if his expectant look is anything to go by.

He has focused all of his attention him, and there is no escaping of this, and he cannot come up with any ways to distract him. He guesses he could just kiss him and then he probably would stop talking to him, but he still has some self-preservation left in his mind. He guesses he could just admit that he still hasn’t gotten over him, but that doesn’t feel like a good option either currently.

Especially when he was the one who said if it is not meant to be, then it’s not meant to be. His heart hasn’t just caught up with his mind.

Which means his only option is to give him an answer to his horrible question. Besides of all the inner turmoil that his question causes, it is also a really difficult to answer.

It’s hard to break down, objectively, what it was that attracted him to him and what it was that made the spark between them to ignite because knowing that would probably mean he would know why he is still hung up on him.

He cannot explain why he is drawn to him. He just is. It’s that simple, it’s like a magnet pulling him and he cannot fight it.

“You had kind eyes and a nice smile,” he eventually replies, and it is not far from the truth. “And you were hot.”

When they had first met, on that call where the baby had gotten stuck in the tree, he definitely noticed his eyes first. He has always found them beautiful, a particular shade of green, and he had been wearing the whole firefighter gear complete with the helmet, and it had been a little hard to notice anything else except his bright eyes and amused half-smile.

Obviously, later, he had seen him without the gear, and he was, and still is frankly, gorgeous. He still isn’t going to elaborate more or ramble to his ex how hot he found him when they met. He still has some dignity left and he is half-convinced he is going to develop an ulcer if this conversation steers into that direction.

“Were?”

Carlos smirks into his bottle. “Are, whatever.”

He flashes him another smirk, but it seems just slightly meek and it doesn’t linger. “Huh,” TK says, quietly. He looks a little taken a back, but in a good way. “Any tips?”

Carlos is convinced he might be in hell already, but he is already too deep in this conversation to make any sort escaping attempts. “Just, uh, look at them. Make them feel like they are the only person in the world,” he ends up saying, and he just cannot tear his eyes away from his, and TK is making no attempts to do so, either, and they just keep looking at each other.

At that moment, he feels like the only person in the world for TK, and it is definitely becoming too much. He fakes a cough, and the moment passes. He drinks the remaining of his beer. “Worked for me at least,” he murmurs against the bottle.

TK nods, and he is about to say something else, but Marjan and Mateo come to his rescue. They start to talk, rapidly, about their darts game and how TK needs to participate too, and Carlos has never been more grateful that TK’s attention is not on him.

“Carlos,” Marjan says, and gestures towards the scoreboard that she holds in her hands, “tell us TK’s full name for this wonderful scoreboard.”

He skims through the list and it looks like they have written everyone’s first and middle names for good measure there, and he half-suspects the dart game is only a elaborate scheme by the crew to find out his name.

It’s not even that big of a deal and he doesn’t quite get why he is so secretive about his name, but he is sort of impressed that he has managed to keep it under the wraps for so long and watching the team try to figure it out is sort of amusing.

He can see from the corner of his eye that TK is shooting him a pleading look, and he wouldn’t have needed to see that, because he wouldn’t have told them anyway.

“No.”

He guesses TK needs someone on his corner for this ridiculous crusade, too.

“What?”

“Loyalty bounds,” he replies, cocking his head a little.

Marjan groans but TK rises his hand to high five him, and he meets his palm in the middle.

Mateo takes the score board from her. “How are you guys even like that after a break-up,” he mutters as he scribbles just TK on the list.

For a moment, everything feels tense and awkward again, but luckily Marjan starts to talk again.

He listens to his friends intensively, and Carlos gets the faint idea that this might be his only chance to escape this conversation before he has to give him more tips how to hit on guys who are not him, and he feels terrible and selfish and he knows it is completely asshole thing to do and TK doesn’t deserve it, but he walks out of the bar when he doesn’t notice.

He hoped that fresh air would make him feel better and help him to clear his head, but the day has been hot, and the air just feels heavy and thick and does nothing to help the heavy feeling in his chest.

He just breathes, looking at the parking lot that bathes in the last rays of the setting sun. He wants to be alone, but he hears how the door of the bar creaks as someone pushes it open.

“Are you okay? You kinda disappeared,” TK says, and he does sound concerned and weary.

He opens his eyes and turns around to look at him. He looks almost out place, his hands shoved into the pockets of his pants and his eyes keep darting around the parking lot. “Yeah, sorry. I needed to get away.”

He nods solemnly, biting his lower lip. “Was it because of me?”

There is sharpness in his voice that wasn’t there before, and it almost catches him by a surprise.

“What?”

He sighs deeply and runs his hand through his hair. “I know everyone always agrees to be friends after a break-up, and I don’t want to lose you, but you look almost borderline nauseated when you see me and now, you’re literally running away. So, just say the word and I will leave you alone.”

He shakes his head as he looks at the pavement underneath his shoes. There are small cracks on it. He sighs and sits down the edge of the pavement. It’s not the best place to sit down, but TK tentatively follows his lead and sits down next to him.

“I want to be your friend,” he starts, because apparently, he is not as good at hiding his emotions as he hoped, but still, he has understood it all wrong. “And you’ve done nothing wrong.”

It breaks his heart that he thinks he doesn’t want anything to do with him and only pretends to get along with him.

“Okay,” he says, under his breath, but his voice still sounds a little flat and emotionless.

Escaping the conversation had been a desperate attempt at avoiding talking about anything real he still might feel for him, but he knows he deserves to hear the truth, even if he will end up thinking differently of him.

Besides, pretending he doesn’t feel anything more than friendship towards him was always immediately off the table if it hurted him.

“And honestly,” he starts, staring at his own hands, “I cannot give you advice how to hit on other people, it’s killing me.”

It feels good admitting that aloud, but the parking is desolated besides them and the parked cars, and it is so quiet.

“Why?”

At first, he isn’t sure if he heard him correctly. He turns his head around, but it sends a flash of pain in his shoulder, and he ends up turning a bit towards him. TK is slouching and staring at the ground, but Carlos keeps glaring at him, because he figured it would be quite obvious why he has hard time giving him dating advice.

He takes a deep breath. “Because I’m still not over you,” he admits, quietly and it comes out softer than he intended, but honesty feels good.

TK’s head snaps up at that and suddenly his gaze is back on Carlos, and he feels strangely vulnerable, right there and then, underneath his gaze. “Oh.”

Carlos lets out a laugh, but it ends up sounding like a sad attempt of laughter. “I know, pathetic, really.”

“It’s not,” TK says, gently, but his gaze darts back to the cars that keep reflecting the sunlight just slightly, “because if you’re pathetic, then so am I, because I think I haven’t gotten over you, either.”

He blinks at him, taking in his words and now he is sure he didn’t hear him right, but there is no other explanation. TK stays quiet, but he shrugs and flashes him a sheepish smile.

“Aren’t we a pair,” he says with a chuckle.

The heavy feeling in his chest has evaporated into nothing, but the absurdity of this whole conversation is making his mind short-circuit and he is just a little loss for words.

“It’s been two months,” TK complains, attempting to hold back his own laughter, but it erupts a little in the end. “And I’ve tried to get over you, but nothing has worked so far.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he says, gesturing between them, “this was not my best decision.”

In retrospect, maybe if they have never even stared anything, they would happier and not in this situation, but it fills his heart with different kind of heavy sadness that he seems to regret the whole thing.

He guesses he notices his shift in his mood, because TK’s face falls a little and he places his hand on his forearm. “No, that came out wrong. I don’t regret you, I only regret letting you go. Only an idiot does that and I’m like a certified idiot at this point,” he rambles on, ruefully.

“You’re not that bad,” he says, nudging his shoulder with his own, “I should have given you more time.”

He has maybe spent a couple of sleepless nights thinking about various what ifs. Mostly that is just a waste of time, but he knows they could have done some things a little differently. If he could go back in time, he would try to understand him a little more because the timing was truly atrocious.

He squeezes his arm slightly. “Stop it, you didn’t do anything wrong. It would have been unfair to ask you to wait around while I got my shit together.”

“I did end up waiting anyway,” he remarks.

He isn’t convinced if it can be called waiting, because he certainly didn’t wait for him to change his mind. Sure, he had hoped that things would have worked out differently between them, but in reality, he had just waited to get over him and his crush.

He sharply sucks in his breath and looks back at him. His whole face softens and there is a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Is it wrong if I’m kinda glad that you did?”

His heart skips a beat at the implication of his words.

“No.”

His face breaks into a full smile, and it illuminates his face at least as much as the sunbeams of the sunset. He slides a little closer to him on the edge of the pavement and he cups his face with one hand. His movements are tentative, but seemingly thoughtful. He lets his hand slide along his cheek, and he ends up holding his chin with his fingers.

“Can I?” He asks, and his voice is barely a whisper, as he searches something from his eyes.

He has to admit that TK is a little more than good at making him feel that they are the only people in the world. “Yeah.”

His lips meet his in an instant. It’s soft kiss and his lips are warm against his own. He faintly tastes like lime and even though the kiss above all is a comforting one, and it still sends a thrill through his spine. Most of all, it feels like coming home.

“I missed you,” he murmurs when TK only slightly pulls away.

“Me too,” he tells him gently, brushing his cheekbone with his thumb before he pulls further away.

“Turns out you’re very hard to stop thinking about,” he says, in a light tone, almost jokingly, even though it is the truth.

He remembers when he described TK to Michelle all those months ago and said that he cannot get him out of his head. That had been a more accurate description than he would have imagined.

TK laughs so hard he lets his head fall back. “That’s probably first time anyone has said that about me,” he says, flashing a brilliant smile, but his smile fades away and he looks graver. “I know you deserved better than what I did, but I never not wanted you. I was just—in a messy and confusing place in my life and I didn’t want to get hurt again.”

Carlos stays quiet, because he feels like he might not have finished talking and he has heard these things before, and he just wants to give him the space to say what he wants to.

“And I didn’t want to hurt you either, and I thought maybe you would be better off without me,” he says, quietly, but he looks back up to him.

“That’s quite an assumption to make on your own,” he tells him, kindly.

He knows he could have backed off of whatever they had at any point, and usually he doesn’t want to bother with people who have gone through messy break ups because he doesn’t want to end up being the rebound. He could have backed off when he learned about his addiction, but he had not, because he had seen TK as himself and he knew he was worth chasing for.

“I know, I’m good at jumping into conclusions,” he jokes, but sighs deeply. “And as you know, I wasn’t looking for anything serious, but the universe must have been mocking me by throwing you at my way because--,” he lets his voice trail away.

“You’re you and I got a glimpse of what we could be, and it was almost too good to be true, and I got fucking terrified, and it threw me off the loop and I was a coward,” he finishes, and he has been talking rapidly the whole time, and he ends up sounding breathless.

“You were not,” he corrects him. “You were trying to protect yourself and there’s nothing wrong with that,” he adds, softly, and takes his hand into his own. “And I’d have never wanted you to do something you were not ready for.”

TK glances at their hands, almost wistfully, but he doesn’t pull his own away. “I guess. And what I’m trying to say is that I still want you if you will have me.”

A wave of relief goes through him and he lets out a long exhale. He looks at the skyline that has been painted bright orange and golden by the sunset and he feels calm even if his heart keeps fluttering in his chest and he cannot physically fight the smile that tries to form on his lips.

“I’m generally not opposed to second chances,” he says and raises their intertwined hands so that he can kiss his knuckles. “And I wouldn’t want anyone else.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

This time, Carlos is the one who kisses him. The kiss itself is still gentle, but there are stronger emotions humming underneath it, and he is squeezing his hand a little tighter, as if fearing that he would disappear. TK’s hand ends up in his neck and he is stroking his hairline with his fingertips and he parts his lips slightly and TK laughs into the kiss.

“I thought--,” TK tries when they depart to breath, but he is still resting his head against his forehead. “I thought I had messed up any chance with the back and forth,” he admits against his lips.

“This better be the last back-and-forth we do,” he says, with a chuckle. “I only want this if you’re all in, too.”

“I am,” he promises, and he sounds so sure of it, he cannot even doubt his words.

TK kisses him again, and it is the sort of all-consuming kiss they shared in the very beginning, and all of his senses are just full of him. The way he smells the cologne he uses and the way his fingers feel just slightly rough against his cheek and his slight stubble tickles his chin. He is his one and only thought.

“This evening took a turn I wasn’t expecting,” he says, when they pull away from each other once again. He tries to catch his breath, but his stomach keeps somersaulting at just the way TK keeps glancing at him.

“I know,” he laughs.

“You know, we can still take it as slow as you want,” he says, when his mind feels just a bit clearer, because he knows that just because they have decided to give it another go, it doesn’t mean any of the issues that existed already would magically disappear.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, but he grins. “Would you like to go out with me? Honest to god date and all that,” he asks, excitment colouring his voice.

“I’d love that.”

“Great,” he says, planting a kiss on his forehead. “Also unrelated to asking you out because I’m going to plan a proper date and not just some impromptu thing, but do you want something to eat? I’m starving.”

“Sure,” he replies, and stands up. He helps TK up too, even though he doesn’t require help, but he likes to do it, anyway. “Tacos?” He asks, nodding towards a taco cart that is located a couple of blocks away.

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

Suddenly, tacos feel like a beginning of something new.

#carlosreyesweek2021 #tarlos #tarlos fic #carlos reyes #tk strand #it's yet another mess i wrote and i'm posting it

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writers-thoughts09 · 4 years

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True Mind, True Heart

Act 1 Chapter 2 (Part 1)

Title: True Mind, True Heart: Act 1 Chapter 2 (Part 1) About 5.7k words Pairing: Zuko x OC (or reader idk, mind you this is like a mega slow burn fanfic so i hope you’re okay with thaaaaat). I don’t own Avatar or the character’s except my OC. Rating: PG, maybe some 13 later on Warning: Mean Zuko, uuuuuh i think that’s it. A/N: I’m so sorry for the majorly late update! I’m doing my best I have a lot planned for this story and I plan to finish this, I hope you guys will follow Lila’s journey with me! :) <3. I apologize if the fight scenes are choppy and unclear, I’ve never written or broke down a fight scene in writing before. I might go back and fix this later. Tomorrow I’ll post part 2. Anyway without further adieu enjoy the read :)

|Prologue| 1 | 2 part 1 | 2 part 2

Act 1: Salvation

The sunset was quite a breathtaking sight to see if someone were to take the time to stop and stare. With the sun warm and low on the horizon, lovely rays of orange light sprawled softly across the sky, creating pink orange and yellow hues. A gradient of shades, begging to be admired. The white clouds that slowly rolled by basked in the mix of colors as they too took some of the sun’s golden tinge. Of course, no one was around to witness this natural piece of art since everyone was busy going about their business, especially on Prince Zuko’s ship.

For hours Lila sat silently in her dingy quarters, no hitch detected in her breathing. Quiet and still like a swamp with dark murky water. Untouched and motionless. Ever since Prince Zuko’s morning lessons, no one’s asked for Lila’s assistance with anything, so, for the remainder of the day, she’s been in her room.

If anyone, say Iroh, were to see her meditating, they would’ve thought she looked exactly like prince Zuko during his meditation sessions. Mimicking what she remembered the night she brought him his dinner Lila sat with her back straight, eyes closed, accompanied by nothing except deep breathing. Even though she imitated the prince’s form and tried to follow Iroh’s teachings from this morning’s lesson, it was like there was a block between her and her element. Like her fingertips would come so close to grazing that certain feeling but were still out of reach from fully grasping it. No matter how hard she’d concentrate to connect with that energy lying dormant inside her, nothing worked.

But finally, after sitting on the uncomfortable floor for who knows how long, Lila began to feel an inkling of that same euphoric peace build within her body again. It was similar to what she felt earlier above deck but slightly different. It was softer, less…magnetic as it ebbed the presence of her emotions away. Specifically, impatience and frustration when lieutenant Jee came knocking and interrupted her a while ago.

With meticulous breaths, Lila drew a smooth inhale in through her nose, filling her lungs, traveling down, expanding her belly, and gently expelled the air from her mouth, the water in her cup rippling in sync. Her heart maintained tempo with her breathing, which was strong and consistent as each beat pulsed through her being.

Though her body was at ease, patience evaded Lila’s mind, blinding her progress as she huffed in irritation. Eyes still closed she shifted her bottom for the umpteenth time. Soft like a feather but sharp like a beak, she drew another breath in, doing her best to maintain what little connection she felt with her element while keeping her frustrations at bay. Just when she was about to exhale, that breath turned into a yelp when a loud boom exploded from beyond the ship.

Like the snap of a rubber band, Lila’s concentration was broken yet again as her eyes flew open. With a start, the sudden noise made Lila jump and pull a small amount of water, which she didn’t notice as she stood up in alarm. Confusion and fear clouded her as she listened for what could’ve possibly made a noise that loud. It sounded like a flare, but Lila wasn’t so sure. “Is it an ambush?...No it couldn’t be; we haven’t had any problems or run-ins with anyone for a long while.”

Lila’s thoughts were going in circles as she rushed to her drawer to grab a fresh piece of cloth she cut up weeks before, tied it over her marred eye before reluctantly opening the door. Silently, a tawny-colored iris peeped down the metal hallways, no benders or guards in sight. However, even if they weren’t down below they might’ve already been above deck when whatever it was went off.

Noiselessly and carefully, with nimble steps like an alley cat, Lila crept through the corridors and up the familiar set of stairs. Mangled fingernails trailed along the metal wall to aid her lack of sight. Once Lila climbed up to the main deck and felt fresh air ruffle the fallen curls from her bun, Lila’s suspicions were confirmed. A bright naval flare signal was falling far out in the snowy distance. She watched, her good eye following its downward path, musing to herself, “Where did it come from though?”

Noticing the absence of prince Zuko, Uncle Iroh, and their men who were usually out and about above deck around this time, Lila glanced around the empty ship then turned to the command tower. Squinting her good eye Lila’s gaze raked up the length of it and stopped at the observation deck’s balcony. As clear as the golden sky she caught sight of the Prince. Half of his scarred face obscured as he peered through the telescope attached to the railing in front of him. Although she couldn’t see gauge what he was feeling, she was certain he figured out what or who signaled that flare and was already directing his next course of action.

When suddenly that same foreboding sensation from before when they first saw the beam of light, roiled around her chest and stomach, leaving Lila uneasy. Why? Well, she didn’t know what to expect. Was it the avatar? A false alarm? She didn’t know and not knowing left a nasty taste in her mouth.

After Prince Zuko finished barking orders at his men, solar colored eyes caught a glimpse of the curly-haired servant below seconds before he continued looking through the telescope. The girl stood by herself with half her face covered, the setting sun illuminating her tanned skin, and looked up at him with -what he could detect- nervousness. Prince Zuko didn’t know as to why nor did he care. The entirety of his focus on capturing the Avatar.

A brown eye fluttered as Lila snapped from her thoughts. Hurriedly she turned and hastened down below to the kitchen. She knew now was not the time to get distracted from her work. Earlier the chef told her he was ill and asked Lila to fill in for him tonight. She agreed though something told her he was lying. Through the maze of corridors and staircases, a passing conversation of a few men could be heard as they rushed by.

One man bumped her shoulder as he hissed, “hurry, we have to dress the Prince, the Avatar’s hiding place has been found. We’re going to the southern water tribe.”

Lila’s eye widened as her breath hitched at the mention of her mother’s sister tribe. If the Avatar is truly alive and has been hiding there for the past hundred years…worry gripped her heart over the safety of the tribes' native people. Although prince Zuko hasn’t engaged in many battles with other ships or neighboring nations, the Fire Lord’s son was a wildly stubborn and determined boy who’d stop at nothing to get what he wanted. Lila didn’t doubt he’d probably leave a trail of chaos in his wake with no regard for the consequences or how it’d affect the lives of others.

Once she entered the empty kitchen Lila rolled her sleeves up and got to preparing dinner, the red dye of her uniform reminding her of the clothes she wore as a child in the palace. As she cooked, she blinked back thoughts she knew all too well. Red uniform

Screams of fear echoing in the palace gardens

A girl in royal garbs

“You’re useless.” ... “Holy-ow!”

A sudden stinging pain roughly pulled Lila from the haze of old memories. In her stupor, Lila didn’t notice how close the knife was while cutting the spring unions and managed to slice her pointer finger. Quickly, the girl staggered away from the kitchen counter, removing the steaming pots and pans with her uninjured hand, and flitted about the kitchen looking for anything to stop the bleeding. She checked all the drawers, cabinets, and pantries as bright red blood continued to ooze over her finger and onto her hand. The throbbing and stinging continued to intensify making Lila bite her lip in pain as she tucked her finger beneath her thumb. Unable to find any clean rags or towels-

“My eye cloth…”

A tug on her heart stopped her search momentarily.

To her, that cloth was like a barricade of some sort to Lila. Sheltering the small girl from being reminded of it…the day she lost-

In summary, her eye patch was the only thing that blocked out the reality of what happened that day. Regardless of how vulnerable she felt without the cloth now was not the time or the place to start feeling insecure or hesitant, she knew that. There was work to be done; rice and meat filleting.

With the cleaning basins for the dishes nearby Lila went toward it to clean her finger and avoid food contamination. It should’ve been cleaned and refilled now that it was close to dinner time. Ready to dunk her hand in the water and wash her bloodied wound she stopped abruptly. The whole bucket was still dirty from lunchtime. Bits and pieces of rice, chicken, and other scraps floated about in the water. With a rough sigh and a curl of a plump lip, Lila closed her eye for a moment.

“I can’t catch a break,” she groaned lowly. Never again was she going to fill in for the chef.

Still, she was a servant…what could she do? Nothing. Before she could change her mind, Lila briskly grabbed the knot of the cloth from behind her head and pulled it free, a few strands of curls ripping from her bun. The milky white of her blinded eye on full display, free of any covering but chained to inhibition. Gloomy hands of her past groped and reached for Lila, but she slapped their searching palms away as she began wrapping her wound. Gentle but sure fingers tied the end of her cloth into a firm knot and she inspected her handiwork with a wistful smile. The memory of her mother’s soft hands dressing the wounds of a child rolled like a movie, replacing the ones Lila usually remembered.

“Lila, you fell again?”

The playful timbre of her mother's low voice filled their backyard. Lila’s childish eyes bubbling with tears raised from the cut on her knee as her mother calmly squatted in front of her fallen form.

“I didn’t mean to mommy. The tree was in my way,” cried her indignant daughter. Laughter rang from her mother, a white bandage appearing in her dark hands,

“Of course, but you also have to be careful where you’re stepping too, my love.” Knowing her mother was right but still unhappy with that answer, Lila huffed out a sniffle. Tenderly her mom cupped the back of her daughter’s freshly scraped knee and began lecturing, “Here, let’s teach you how to fix wounds, big girls are good at that-”

“Big girls like you, mommy?” A squeaky voice interrupted.

Nuna glanced up at her daughter’s question. Brown innocent eyes that held such curiosity reflected in Nuna’s blue ones she just had to laugh.

“Yes Lila, big girls like me and you.”

Lowering her newly wrapped finger, Lila’s lips fell back into a straight line. She had no time to get lost in her thoughts. Deciding to try and cover her eye with her hair, her uninjured hand pulled her hair free from the fire nation styled top knot. Onyx curls tumbling down the length of her back in one fell swoop, kissing the top of her hips. The overwhelming urge to moan in relief had goosebumps tickle Lila’s spine as the tension of her tight bun dissipated almost instantaneously. She brought her hands up under her hair and aggressively massaged her scalp, both eyes rolling back in pleasure.

“Ahh, yes…” A soft groan rumbled from the back of her throat.

“Ahem.”

“Oh, my goodness!” She gasped.

Whipping toward the kitchen door, hands tangled in her roots, the men from earlier in the hallway were standing there watching her as if they’d found an earth kingdom stowaway. Though the more she watched them with increasingly flushed cheeks, the more she realized they were staring at the eye. Tanned hands flew from her scalp to shake her curls and obscure their sight, but it was futile, they already saw the clouded pigmentation. Involuntarily closing her eye, the servant girl clasped her hands over her stomach and curled into a bow.

“Um, hello,” Lila stuttered but caught herself, remembering her place. Kind professionalism coating her soft question, “how may I be of service to you?”

The man who she heard speak in the corridor collected himself faster than the rest and cleared his throat before announcing,

“We are close to our arrival of the southern water tribe and Prince Zuko has requested your presence to dress him for the capture of the Avatar.”

Alarm colored Lila’s features when she recalled the last time she was alone with the prince. Streams of tears and memories he unintentionally triggered that night played before her. Swallowing down the building discomfort in her throat, Lila straightened up and schooled her worry lines into a controlled smile. She had to remind herself, “The Prince didn’t know.”

Apparently, for the men, Lila’s forced smile mixed with the ghastly mismatched color of her eyes was too much to handle, unable to hide their distaste. Faster than she could stop it, a pang of offense and hurt yanked at her heart, but she managed to stifle and shove the feelings away as she gave another trained bow. Though a question did come to mind.

“I beg your pardon, but may I ask why he requested me specifically? He has never requested this of me before,” words mousy.

Her question only seemed to cause the man to grow irritated, his eyebrow ticking in impatience as major attitude gripped his words, “The prince claimed to be displeased with our services in preparing him. Now, would you please stop talking and do what prince Zuko has asked of you? He’s waiting.”

“What about the food-”

“Servant girl, what did I just say?” The man angrily snapped.

With a flinch, Lila mumbled, “My apologies,” before bowing one last time.

Throwing an “Unbelievable” over his shoulder, he and his two companions turned to leave the kitchen.

His snarky tone made Lila frown and furrow her brows. Oh, this girl had no idea of the colorful range of words Prince Zuko used to describe him and his men! Comparing them to fire ferrets! Ha, the nerve of that prince! On top of a bruised ego, the man now had to deal with a servant who couldn’t even see right and didn’t know when to be quiet and simply serve! Lila watched them exit the kitchen, soft frown still intact as she cocked her head to the side.

With them gone, Lila moved the last bits of uncooked food away from the fire as she rushed to the prince’s quarters. With one hand on the wall, Lila hotfoot it through the twists and turns of the dim-lit hallways and up the main stairs. The frigid wind stung her cheeks, her servant's uniform doing nothing in keeping her warm as she speed-walked toward the command tower. However, it did help now that her hair was unrestrained, long curls shielding her arms from the nights southern cold. All but running into the tower, warmth immediately licked at her body. The fire emanating heat and light from the wall torches eased the stiffness of her shivering joints. Her relief was short-lived when she remembered that Prince Zuko’s room was still a few floors up. With a pout and a whimper, Lila began jogging the rest of the way toward her master’s room.

Once she reached his metal door, a winded Lila lifted her bandaged hand and softly knocked, a throb of pain shooting down her finger as she waited. Like usual, the gravelly voice of the prince commanded her to come in.

Using both hands, the petite girl turned the large cogwheel and pried the door open. Identical to last time, she peered into his room, took one cautious step in and hesitantly called out,

“You’ve requested my assistance, Prince Zuko?”

Mindful of the eye, Lila discreetly pushed some hair and hid it from view. The reaction of the men before told Lila it’d be better to keep her disability hidden if it was that distracting.

“Yes, come quickly. I want to be ready by the time we reach the southern water tribe.”

Judging from the clam raspy tone of voice, Lila concluded that The Prince wasn’t angry and carefully entered, closing the door behind her.

Near his meditation table, Prince Zuko stood like any fire nation soldier would with the usual scowl on his lips. As Lila inched in front of him she could already see that the straps holding his fire nation armor together were tied in all the wrong places. Being alone and in such close proximity to the brooding prince, Lila felt her nerves begin to quake. No way did she want a repeat of last time, anxiety sprouting from her chest. The tension was palpable in the room. The lack of conversation didn’t help either as she thought of what Prince Zuko and his men might do to the people living in that tribe. Though she’s never been to the northern or southern water tribe, they were still her mother’s people, thus making them part of her kin.

“Will they do what the fire nation did to my village, too? We didn’t even have the Avatar either and they still ravaged my village.”

In an attempt to silence her thoughts, Lila gingerly grabbed the chords holding the chest piece of his armor together and set to work. Her eyes trained solely on his battle wear. Cautious of her injury Lila made sure to keep her finger from touching him. Any bump or jostle hurt. Though her fingers, minus her pointer, were moving, her mind remained on the tribe's native people.

Zuko looked straight ahead as the shaky but lithe digits of the servant – Lila, was it? - untied and retied the straps in the correct places. The reason why he called for her specifically was that he figured she’d know how to do this from her years of servitude at the palace. Before his banishment, before that fateful day. As thoughts of his family started to prod the strongholds of his mind, Prince Zuko didn’t see Lila peek up at him from the side of his shoulder until he heard her low voice fill the thick quiet of his room.

“What’re you going to do to them?”

Like an arrow, sharp and precise, prince Zuko’s stare shot to her own, making Lila’s eyes widened in surprise. She expected him to be looking straight ahead if he were to answer her.

Breaking eye contact with him, Lila looked down and closed her blinded eye desperately hoping he didn’t see it as she went to fix the strings behind him. Erratic. That’s how Lila’s heartbeat felt. But yes, Zuko fully saw the milky hue of her eye. He too had a similar reaction like the three men, but not one of distaste or disgust. Just surprise, but he soon discarded what the feeling once he processed what she asked.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your concern, servant.”

Cold with an edge of warning. That’s all Lila could sense wrapped around his heated words. Especially when he said her name. Now onto the left shoulder greave, Lila peeked at him again. He was looking straight ahead, his face taut with contemplation? Lila couldn’t tell. With a beat of hesitation, she licked her lips. She could already tell he was beginning to lose patience. If she were to say another word, she didn’t doubt he’d snap. Her brain was telling her not to say anything, she was walking on thin ice that was melting fast, but her mouth felt differently.

“May I speak Prince Zuko?”

“No, you may not. Finish fixing this and go. I don’t need to hear what you have to say,” Prince Zuko snapped in restraint.

All while arguing with herself, Lila moved to squat in front of him and began tying the laces of his shin guards. She did not want to witness another fire nation attack on any village again, especially when innocent people are involved. Though she felt if she were to talk out of turn, prince Zuko would surely lose his patience and probably punish her. Besides, what could someone like her do, realistically? No one has ever listened to her. She has no voice, but still. They are my people, too. I have to try.

Opening and closing her mouth Lila fought to push the words out.

“The water tribe did nothing-”

Unnaturally warm hands cut through her sentence and seized her wrists as she was forcefully pulled up from the floor and against Prince Zuko’s armor-clad form. Strands of curls unintentionally tangling in his grasp. Chest to chest, with Zuko holding her wrists and hair between them, he glared down at Lila. Fear radiated off her body in waves. She felt way too exposed without her eye patch and a dull ache throbbed from her finger when her hands bumped against his armor. White and brown eyes flickered between golden ones before looking around the room to avoid his stare, but to no avail. Calloused fingers laced with hair firmly, but not painfully, gripped her jaw turning her face to his, thumb pressing into her cheek.

Patience completely evaporated, Prince Zuko ground out, “I told you not to speak, didn’t I?”

With shuddering breaths and petrified eyes, Lila could only nod faintly. Paralyzed by his overwhelming build the words on her tongue melted, sliding down her throat. Releasing her jaw, Prince Zuko let go of her wrists, strands of hair snagging on his fingers as he dropped his hand. Lila winced from the sudden plucks of her curls. Shaking the hair off he rubbed the bridge of his nose, shut his weary eyes and sighed,

“Finish the last shin guard and leave.”

No reply came from the young girl as she dropped and tied the shin greave. A slight tremor in her hands. Once she was done she stood up with her head hanging low.

“I’ve finished Prince Zuko, do you require anything else before I go?”

“No.”

Long hair cascaded over her shoulders as Lila bowed. Rising back up she somehow managed to calmly exit the prince’s quarters, his eyes narrowing on her retreating form the whole time. With the loud thud of his metal door closing, both Lila and Prince Zuko let out a breath they didn’t know they were holding.

Lila had half a mind to go to uncle Iroh’s room and talk with him about what his nephew was planning to do. Talk with him about how the Prince was nothing like what Iroh describes him as but decided against it since he was most likely napping. It was hard for her to believe there was kindness in the Prince’s heart when all she’s ever seen from him was anger and rage. You could see his brutality and hate in the way he bended, too. Once she exited the command tower the sun was still hanging onto the horizon, waiting for someone to look at what it created, but a thick mist now covered the expanse of the water the ship navigated. When out of the blue, loud crackling emanated below the ship. Lila ran to the front and hunched over the edge of the railing to see what was going on.

Squinting through the mist, she saw the ship’s hull was no longer sailing on water but breaking and cracking through solid ice. Snapping her head up Lila saw the ground splitting toward the water tribe’s village! One large jagged fault traveling right through the middle of it. Prince Zuko’s ship rammed through the iced floor like it were a piece of paper. Lila couldn’t help but panic internally, they were coming extremely close to the water tribe!

“If this ship doesn’t stop we’re going to run right through!” she gasped in horror.

From what she could see in the vapory haze, the southern water tribe was quaint. A wall made of snow circled the tribe, acting as a barricade. Small igloos littered within. From behind, the sound of the Prince and his men’s shoes clanked across the deck toward the front of the ship, preparing to disembark. Anxiety, fear, and apprehension swirled within her. This scene hitting way too close to home for her liking. She never signed up for this, well she didn’t sign up for this at all, but still. The three years she’s been on this ship she never really thought about what capturing the avatar looked like or being there to see it. All Lila knew was she didn’t like where this was headed at all. The prospect of the past repeating itself right before her eyes scared her.

When she turned to watch them pass Lila’s eyes caught prince Zuko’s for a brief moment. Again, he found nervousness swimming in her stare, and again, he didn’t care.

Finally, the ship came to a halt with an ominous screech. Powerless, Lila watched with bated breath. Her eyes flitting between the native people down below and Prince Zuko’s men. She swore her heart was going to pop out of her chest from how hard it was pounding it almost hurt. Suddenly the hull of the ship dropped, turning into a makeshift ramp, a loud thud resonating in the air. The ship's metal easily overpowered the tribe's barrier, the snow crumbling as it gave into its weight.

Faintly Lila could hear a feminine voice yelling for someone to get out of the way. The shrill scream making Lila’s heart drop and then kick up in speed, assuming the worst. It felt like her feet were bolted to the floor as she helplessly watched the Prince and his firebenders disembark the ship. Visibly shaking, Lila leaned over the front of the ship again to see, legs feeling like they were going to give out any moment.

From her spot, she could see Prince Zuko and his guards disembarking and a young water tribe boy with war paint coating his tanned skin, belt out a war-like cry as he charged up the ramp at Prince Zuko. The boy’s weapon of choice, a water tribe club, raised high over his head. He was easily overtaken. Lila winced when the Prince’s leg side swept the boy's club out of his hand, then kicked him in the face, sending the boy flying off the side of the ramp and into the snow. Lila could hear Iroh’s voice in the back of her head talking about how he knew his nephew wasn’t as corrupted as his other family members, but what she was seeing now proved otherwise. He was unlike what Iroh always tried to tell her. The Prince was brutal.

Zuko continued walking down the ship as if nothing happened. His steps were powerful and determined. The people of the tribe huddled up in one big group, trepidation and terror embedded in all of their blue eyes. With the men of the village off to war, Zuko was unsurprised to see the ones that remained were the women and children, except for the war-painted boy if you’d count him as a man. However, the longer no one spoke the more time was wasted in capturing the Avatar. The silence was so tense Lila felt it up on the ship. Zuko stopped in front of the crowd, his eyes sizing up each woman and child until his glare stopped on this one girl holding onto the arm of an elderly lady.

“Where are you hiding him?”

When no one spoke, both Lila and the young girl gasped when the banished Prince roughly pulled the elderly lady from the girl’s grasp.

“He’d be about this age? Master of all four elements?” Zuko demanded, shaking the woman by her for emphasis.

Again, no one answered him, they were all stunned in silence and fright. After a beat of quiet, Prince Zuko carelessly shoves the old woman back into the young girl’s arms. Both water tribe women gasping. Lila watches worriedly, praying up above that this village will be spared from the fire nation’s fury. Even from the ship, Lila saw the Prince tense up in frustration and knew what he was going to do next and whispered “no,” as he launched a wave of fire inches above the villager's heads. The women and children screamed and cowered before him.

“I know you’re hiding him!”

Below her, Lila saw the water tribe boy free himself from the snowy confines he was kicked into, the majority of his face free of paint as he picked up his club and ran at Zuko once more with another loud battle cry. At the last second, Zuko turned toward the annoyingly loud boy and dodges the boy’s attack, flipping him over his head when he swiped at the Prince. When he hit the ground Zuko punched another blistering fireball at him. Luckily, the tanned boy gathers himself rolling away from the blast, swiftly retrieving a boomerang that was strapped to his back and throws it at the Fire Lord’s son. It surprised both Lila and Zuko with how fast and strong he threw it, the air whistling as it narrowly missed the Prince’s face. Even where Lila was standing the boomerang would’ve whacked her in the face if she didn’t duck in time. All the while her eye followed the boomerang’s path. The boy was stronger than he looked.

“Even without bending,” Lila hopefully thought, “he’s handling himself well against the Prince. Maybe…this village won’t be ransacked.”

A growl erupts from the Crown Prince’s throat before he can shoot more fire at the irritating boy who just won’t quit, a little water tribe child cries out,

“Show no fear!” Throwing a fishing spear made of bone at his opponent. Again, he charged at Zuko, the spear positioned like he was going to run him through, but the Prince was prepared. “He lacks training,” Zuko gathered, easily breaking the spear in half with his wrist guards. He then snatched the bone rod from the boy’s hands, poking him repeatedly in the head with the butt of it until he fell on his bottom, and broke it in half again before throwing it to the ground.

On the ship, Lila’s eye followed the boomerang as it curled back around and headed back to the owner who threw it. With her eyes still on the weapon, she gradually turned and watched it spin at dizzying speed before it slammed into the back of Prince Zuko’s helmet with a loud thwack. Her eyebrows quirked in surprise as she wondered if the water tribe boy planned for that to happen, but her face fell when she saw the Prince standing menacingly over the boy’s fallen form. Fire jet out from his tightly clenched fists, the orange embers creating a dagger-like weapon.

For a moment, Lila feared for what Prince Zuko would do to him, but surprise quickly overtook her as another younger boy, maybe about twelve or so, with a bald head and peculiar clothing zoomed through the middle of the fight out of nowhere riding on the back of a penguin. In the child’s hands was a staff as the penguin flew right under Zuko’s feet, sweeping his legs out from under him. The young servant girl gasped when the Prince fell over, the village children cheering for the child all the while. The said child sped past the kids sending up a wave of snow splattering them all in the face, their cheers ceasing for a moment at the unexpected smattering, but continued yelling anyway. At this point, as much as Lila was concerned over the fate of the water tribe, she didn’t know if it was morally okay for her to laugh at the ridiculousness of what just happened.

Still, relief filled her heart knowing that Prince Zuko’s plan of capturing the Avatar wasn’t going according to plan. No village, town, citadel, or nation should be destroyed in finding the Avatar. Her heart and mind were conflicted. Although she did want the Prince’s banishment to end, she didn’t think this was the right way of doing it. She remembered the stories her father told her about Fire Lord Sozin killing all the airbenders to find and end the Avatar cycle.

Briefly, Lila faintly heard the kid happily greet the boy and girl, their names being ‘Katara’ and ‘Sokka’, with Sokka dryly thanking the child, who she heard him call ‘Aang’, for coming. Lila’s eyes flicker between Prince Zuko and Aang, both of them assuming a defensive fighting stance as Zuko’s men circle Aang, closing in on him. Suddenly the kid swings his staff, and with each swing, he sends snow at the guards blowing them away. With the Prince being the last one standing Aang sends another blast of snow at him, but he was unmoved, uncle Iroh’s firebending lessons paying off.

“Looking for me?”

Processing everything the child managed to do in under ten seconds, Lila’s brows furrowed. He managed to disarm and beat all of Prince Zuko’s men like it was nothing just by throwing snow at them. At first, she thought he was a waterbender but he didn’t move like one. His fighting style was different from what her mother tried to teach her and different from what she’s seen earthbenders and firebenders do. It was unlike anything she’s ever seen. On top of that, the arrow on his head and the unusual choice of clothing he wore was vastly unfamiliar from the clothes in her hometown and the fire nation. Her eyes widened in realization. No, this child couldn’t be- Prince Zuko voiced her incredulity, the snow Aang bent at him melting off his shoulders and fists, “You’re the airbender? You’re the Avatar?”

A/N: OKAYYYYY!!! Just so you know I want you guys to keep Zuko’s “Contemplation?” face in mind. There’s a few things I want you guys to catch in part 2. Sorry if it was slow paced. I hope you enjoyed it and please excuse any grammatical errors. Have a blessed day! Chapter three may come later cuz I have a zuko request I want to write!

Taglist (If i missed anyone PLEASE let me know :))

@bangtanboyswriting123 @bookedforevermore @agentsofblinks @lilmou5ie @eury-dice3 @shephard17895 @duh-dobrik @yourlivewire @luleck @oraclebirds

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stovetuna · 4 years

Note

would you ever consider,,,,,,writing a fix it fic,,,,,,for endgame,,,,,,,pls im starved but also I love you so fuckin much your writing brings me joy

HEART EYES oh my gosh, thank you, anon. I hope this is sufficient.

full disclosure, I’m absolutely useless when it comes to the “logic” of time travel, so a lot of liberties are being taken here for the sake of story.

- - -

Moments after the bright blue light of Tony’s arc reactor goes dark, Steve knows what he has to do.

He grieves, at first. He could hardly do anything else. Hell, it’s everything he can do not to let a howl out, the one clutching at his throat right now that’s equal parts devastation and rage. He swallows the raw, unholy sound and he weeps instead, like he’s never wept before—not for Bucky, or Peggy, or the Commandos, or Natasha, or Sam, or anyone—and then he falls to his knees in the ash and mud, everything that’s left of Tony’s last act of defiance.

The words echo across the years like the worst kind of phantom pain as Steve looks and looks and looks at Tony, Tony’s corpse, Tony’s unnaturally lifeless body that doesn’t make sense to see, I think I would just cut the wire.

Always a way out.

Steve wishes he could go back in time and punch himself in the teeth, just like Tony said.

Around him, heroes kneel, silent. No one talks about what has to be done, what the world will be like without Tony Stark, how they’re supposed to go on—for the moment, everything is still, and just as the blue light of the arc reactor had flickered out moments ago (wrong wrong wrong it should be shining like a solar flare he should have lived it should be him against that rock) Steve feels something flicker to life inside his own chest. It’s faint, but glows steady. Only he can see it, feel it; only he knows what it means.

It’s a choice, an easy one, that Steve’s already made.

After the funeral, Bruce sends him back with the stones. Clipping branches takes time, but it’s hardly tedious: First he returns to Morag, walks past Quill’s prone, snoring figure, and returns the Power stone to its place in the timeline. Like something out of Indiana Jones, Steve thinks to himself as he does it, but it’s not his voice he hears. It’s Tony’s, because only Tony would see a dangerous, precarious situation like this and make a pop culture reference.

They watched that one together. Just him and Tony, early on, when things were still good. Tense, maybe—brittle, but good. Before Steve knew about Bucky, or HYDRA, or Tony’s parents; before Steve realized he did in fact know how to lie, but only when it came to Tony Stark. They’d drank good beer and talked gingerly around the subject of Steve’s adjustment to the 21st century; Steve couldn’t help but think of Tony when Indiana shot the swordsman, remembering what Tony had said on the helicarrier with startling clarity, the opposite of how he’d been thinking in the moment: I think I would just cut the wire.

Now, Steve pushes the orb back through the energy barrier, mouth pressed in a firm line. The burns will heal, in time. He has plenty of it, after all, and the pain is a cheap price compared to what he felt watching Tony die, and it’s a price he’s more than willing to pay if this works.

•

The Soul Stone is hard, not because of the climb, or the Red Skull (although, in fairness, it does throw Steve for a moment), but because he has to watch the soul stone plummet to the earth knowing it won’t bring Natasha back. There are only so many things he can fix, and this isn’t one of them.

“What’s done is done,” Schmidt says, sadder than Steve ever heard him in life. Turning around, Steve looks at the cloaked figure floating, weightless, a few inches above the ground. He doesn’t feel pity, per se, but there’s a misery to Schmidt’s expression that looks deeply carved. Earned. Painful. He looks the way Steve feels, standing there in the place where Nat died.

“What was it like?” Steve asks, meaning the moment when Schmidt held the cube and disappeared. It doesn’t even register that he’s spoken until Schmidt is looking at him and speaking back.

“Death would have been preferable,” comes the reply. Steve doesn’t have to go far to remember Tony’s slack, expressionless face, how sickeningly wrong it felt to see death in a place it didn’t belong. It would be unbearable to even imagine that moment for more than a second if Steve didn’t have an extra vial of Pym particles tucked away in his belt.

“Yeah,” Steve mutters. “I know what you mean.”

Natasha would be proud of him, the way he punches Skull clean through the side of the mountain on his way out.

Returning the Reality stone is…complicated.

Rocket and Thor had conveniently forgotten to mention how they got the stuff out of Dr. Foster—maybe Thor didn’t even know, since he’d been having a conversation with his mother at the time, according to Rocket’s later recounting of events—which means Steve is left standing over a sleeping stranger with a syringe filled with dangerous miasma with no clue what to do.

He can hear Tony in his head again, a welcome rupturing of the tension that’s making it hard for Steve to even breathe, let alone think his own thoughts: stick ‘er with the pointy end.

It’s solid advice, actually. But for a moment, all Steve can think about is how dearly he misses that voice in his ear, his head, his life, even though he’s lived less than seventy-two hours without it, but that’s seventy-two hours (plus/minus seven years and change) too long. He’s getting impatient, putting things back the way they were just to get to where he should have been all along, and he doesn’t want to waste a minute watching Dr. Foster sleep when he knows he could be spending that precious time getting back to Tony.

Life, Steve’s learned too many times in too many devastating ways, is too goddamn short. Tony didn’t hesitate, in the end, so Steve won’t either. Not now.

Holding his breath, Steve sticks Dr. Foster with the pointy end and then runs like hell.

The Sanctum Sanctorum is remarkably unscathed despite being surrounded on all sides by Chitauri carcasses and broken alien tech. Dust from the rubble and ash permeates the air so thickly it’s like trying to breathe plaster of Paris without a mask. Steve coughs as he knocks on the front door, grateful all over again to be cured of his asthma.

The person who opens the door is far from expected, but like Nat told Scott that fateful day back at the compound, nothing’s crazy anymore.

“You’re not who I was expecting,” they say, lackadaisical like they’re not surrounded by dead aliens that just fell out of the sky. Bruce and Stephen had told him the Ancient One was a bit, well, strange, but Steve certainly wasn’t expecting this much archness wrapped up in sunflower yellow.

What, did Big Bird suddenly decide to take up transcendental meditation? Tony’s voice snarks. Steve bites his tongue for a second to hold off the snort threatening to escape him. The Ancient One raises an eyebrow (or lack thereof) at him with a smirk.

“Is he close, still?”

Steve’s thoughts go silent so fast his head spins. “I’m sorry?”

The Ancient One steps forward. “I’m sure you are,” they say. It feels dangerous, standing out here on the front steps like this, but if the Ancient One doesn’t flinch at being exposed, then neither will Steve. They hold out their hand with a beatific smile.

“I won’t ask how it all went,” they whisper conspiratorially, “but do tell me one thing: is Bruce alright?”

The Time stone flashes a vivid green from the safety of its cradle of dense foam inside the carbon steel suitcase, which Steve holds out to the Ancient One like one would a box with an engagement ring inside.

“Bruce is fine,” he says. The but goes unspoken. One look at Steve and the Ancient One knew exactly what his plan was, apparently. He’s still reeling from their earlier comment. He watches the stone float up from the suitcase and drift toward the amulet resting against the Ancient One’s stomach; their hands flicker and move as it opens with a whisper of metal and gears that reminds Steve poignantly, painfully, of Tony.

There had been a couple of years there, the good ones, when he’d spent a lot of time watching Tony in his workshop, learning the ways in which Tony’s genius applied itself to the world. Everything from DUM-E to JARVIS to the suits to their comms to the reactor powering the tower to proprietary satellites to pasta carbonara, Tony’s mind was capable of it all, and then some. And it all lived inside a man who drove Steve crazy with anger and frustration and awe and lust and who gave Steve so unbelievably much without asking for anything, anything in return except Steve’s friendship and trust and instead Steve had given Tony the awful truth about his parents two years too late.

After Siberia, Steve spent most nights awake, standing on balconies and rooftops just holding the flip phone and thinking back to those earlier days with the kind of bitterly pitiful regret of the truly stupid: of course he’d been infatuated, back then. Of course he’d run away from the very thought. There’d been Pepper, obviously, and it was Tony. More to the point, it was them: Steve and Tony, oil and water, north and south, futurist and idealist, stubborn and stubborner still, always opposite in all the ways that mattered.

Of course he’d used that as an excuse. God forbid Steve Rogers ever admit to being afraid.

The Ancient One closes the amulet with a slow, gentle glide of their pale, steady hands. Tony’s were darker, bigger, stronger, more. Not capable of this kind of magic, but to Steve, Tony’s mind was magic. And his heart was made of pure light. He’d placed it in Steve’s hand. Steve never told anyone how it burned him to hold it, or that he’d prayed for the wound not to heal.

He’d cried the next morning—for their losses, yes, but mostly because he had healed. It was torture, feeling one way but appearing the opposite. It was one of the ways he and Tony had come to understand each other, over the years prior: sometimes what appears on the outside isn’t the truth of what lives on the inside.

Looking up into the Ancient One’s eyes feels like falling headfirst into time, itself.

“I would caution you against your choice,” they say, wise and mischievous at the same time, somehow, “but I know you will set things right, when the time comes.”

Steve closes the suitcase and nods. He tries not to think about Tony’s funeral. The way the first arc reactor Tony had ever built floated off on a wreath of flowers across the surface of the lake, quiet and all heart, the way Tony had been at the last.

He has to go back there, one day.

But not yet.

His past self is still lying unconscious on the glass walkway where Steve left him when he returns. Arms and legs akimbo, that charmingly ridiculous uniform stretching to compensate for the awkward splaying of limbs, Steve Rogers of 2012 looks like a child who went down for a nap, hard. In so many ways, he was a kid, back then, and yet so old. Too old, too soon.

You’re just a little unstuck, Billy, Tony had said to him once when he’d found Steve awake in the communal kitchen at 4 AM, too riled by a nightmare to go back to sleep. At Steve’s confused look, he’d smiled—kind, soft, caring—and two days later gave him a first edition signed copy of a novel by someone named Kurt Vonnegut.

Listen: Billy Pilgrim has come unstuck in time.

He read it cover-to-cover twice before he went looking for Tony in the workshop to thank him with a hug. One of the few they’d ever shared, and all the more precious for it.

Steve Rogers of 2023 knows this kid won’t hesitate to seize the opportunity he’s about to be presented with.

“Look alive, soldier,” he barks. Rogers coughs and splutters and springs to his feet like something stung him right on the ass. As soon as he registers Steve, his copy, standing in front of him, he falls back on his heels into a fighting stance. It’s wobbly around the knees, but Steve doesn’t bother correcting his stance. This isn’t what he’s come to do.

“Listen to me, and listen carefully,” he says, and then he tells him everything he needs to know.

Bucky is alive. You can save him.

Peggy, too. You can be with her.

The war is over. You can live without it.

You can go home. You get to have one.

Imagine it.

Rogers looks at the time-space GPS with a degree of skepticism Steve forgot that face was capable of. After talking trees and raccoons and living Norse gods and alien armies from outer space and Titans and time travel—after Tony Stark—nothing seems impossible anymore.

Finally, finally, Rogers holds out his hand, palm to heaven. Steve’s stomach tightens painfully to remove the device from his hand, but he thinks of what’s waiting for him downstairs, and letting go has never been so easy. Rogers holds it like a bomb waiting to go off, wary and fearful, but excited, too.

Then, he looks at Steve, lit up the way a child whose parent has just given them a whole dollar to spend might be.

“Are you sure?”

“More than I’ve ever been.”

Rogers’ face tightens. “What about—” he glances down through the glass. “The others? Will they know? Will they be alright?”

“I’ll handle it,” he says. He’s taking a page out of Tony’s book here, winging it where he’s used to planning. Bucky was proud when Steve told him his half-cocked idea to go back in time to be with Tony Stark, however Tony would have him.

How’re you gonna figure out being both Steves at once?

I’ll handle it.

And if they figure it out?

They’ll handle it.

Rogers is hesitating. He doesn’t want to be selfish—that’s not in his nature. Steve smiles and reaches out, cups his hands around the one with the device and closes Rogers’ fingers around it.

“It’s okay,” he says. You’re allowed to be selfish, when it’s the right thing to do.

Looking at his younger self is dizzying, like vertigo. Tony once mentioned having a huge crush on Jimmy Stewart when they watched that movie as a team, which is how Steve learned Tony Stark liked men, too. That was the night his world really turned upside-down.

Steve reaches into his belt and hands Rogers the extra vial. Enough for one trip. He’ll never get his dance with Peggy, but she’ll get hers.

Steve will just have to dance with Tony, instead. What a hardship.

He’s smiling, looking vaguely downwards where he knows Tony is, when Rogers looks at him and asks, “Why?”

Steve dials the date and time and coordinates from memory.

A week from Saturday.

The Stork Club.

Eight o’ clock, on the dot.

The past is past, except when it’s not. Rogers is unstuck, but Steve isn’t. Not anymore. He hasn’t been for a long, long time.

He shrugs. Smiles, easy, the way he couldn’t when he was Rogers’ age, fresh out of the ice and soul-broken, hopeless.

“I’m home.”

The last test is the hardest. Steve goes down to the lobby via the elevator, carrying the scepter in one hand and the suitcase containing the space stone in the other. He’s dressed in his 2012 uniform again, and he didn’t miss the way it rides up his ass, but he’s got more important things to think about.

There’s still a commotion happening in the lobby, the fallout of Tony’s self-inflicted heart attack diversion, but Steve manages to force himself away from where he knows Tony is to walk right up to Alexander Pierce. He would dearly love to drop the man right here and now in this lobby, audience be damned, but he has a part to play, yet.

Steve tamps down the urge and rage long enough to present Pierce with the last stone. The look that flickers behind Pierce’s shrewd blue eyes is telling enough—Steve could punch himself, it’s so obvious. Glee, hunger, intent, all there, malicious and toxic. HYDRA, right out there in the open.

He’ll deal with it later. With extreme prejudice.

“The cube was just a housing unit,” Steve explains, slipping back into his old by-the-book tone of voice like one slips on a pair of well-worn leather shoes. Pierce takes it with an eerie smile.

“Very good, Captain.” At Pierce’s nod, Steve straightens, looks back with a knowing smirk, and nods in return. Rumlow would have already updated him about Steve’s words in the elevator; now the rest of it—rescuing Bucky, infiltrating SHIELD, destroying HYDRA and Pierce with it—is up to Steve.

But first.

“If you’ll excuse me, sir,” Steve says deferentially, already moving away from Pierce toward the circle of black suits hovering around Tony and Thor like expectant vultures at the feast. His heart is in his throat, racing.

“Get your hands off me!”

Tony.

Thor is running interference on the suits, pushing and holding them back, Mjolnir in hand. He clears a space for Steve to walk through with a nod. Steve nods back, but his eyes are elsewhere.

Tony.

“I said let go of me, Mall Cop! I’m fine, I don’t need your help.”

Pepper always says I’m the best at taking care of others at the expense of myself, Tony had told him once. They’d been sitting on the edge of the landing pad near the top of the tower at sunset, going over what went wrong with whatever battle had happened that day. Steve had spent the entire conversation with one hand shoved under his thigh to stop himself from reaching out to hold Tony’s, who’d put himself in the line of fire—unnecessarily—and had nearly given Steve a panic attack.

A panic attack. How quaint, compared to a shattered heart.

She’s right, Steve had replied, but then Pepper’s right about everything.

Most things, Tony said. I’m still not sure if she’s right about me.

Steve still remembers the way his hand had clenched under his thigh at those words. What do you mean?

Tony had looked out over the city, not gloating or smug the way Steve had assumed he would be when they first met and Steve learned billionaires were a thing that existed—quite prevalently—in the 21st century, but wistfully, like he couldn’t believe he had the view at all.

Most days I wake up expecting her to be standing by the bed fully dressed, waiting for me to open my eyes so she can tell me it’s over, he’d said, quiet so only Steve could hear, like the whole city was listening in and Tony wanted to keep this moment between them. I don’t think she’s right about choosing me.

Steve could have painted Tony in that moment: vulnerable, eyes and skin and hair glowing like fire and honey and whiskey in the light of the setting sun as it glinted off the cityscape. He was handsome, small but strong, nervous but brave, and so unbelievably worth choosing it took every ounce of Steve’s strength to keep his hand under his thigh. To not reach out and take Tony’s face in his hands and just—

Tony, he’d said softly, urgently but without force, waiting until Tony looked him in the eye to say what he’d been holding back for years and even then it was only the tip of the tip of the iceberg: You are worth choosing.

The way Tony had stared back at Steve then is not unlike the way he looks up at him now: from the floor of the lobby of Stark Tower, roughed up and shellshocked from the battle and his brief introduction to outer space and a minor cardiac episode, but relieved and inarticulately happy to see Steve there among the suits.

“O Captain, my captain!” Tony crows, wheezing slightly on the last syllable in a way that is far too endearing for Steve to handle, especially given his own fragile state. When Tony reaches a hand up, Steve doesn’t hesitate to take it and haul him to his feet.

Tony is alive. Standing there, in front of Steve, alive. Younger, smoother around some edges and sharper in others, beautiful like a sunset and a sunrise rolled into one—an astronomical anomaly of the rarest kind. The Black Sabbath t-shirt is singed but mostly whole, and Steve wants to linger on that detail, except he can’t.

“You alright there, Cap? You’re looking a little blue around the gills…”

Blue. Blueblueblueblueblueblue.

The burning light at the center of Tony Stark is so blue, a glowing circle shining out from behind that silly threadbare band t-shirt like a beacon in the night, guiding Steve home. How is no one else marveling at this? At Tony Stark, alive?

He’s staring. At Tony’s chest. He knows he is, but there’s no helping it. Just like there’s no helping the way he reaches out and pulls Tony into a hug like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. It wasn’t long ago he’d carried this same body, suit and all, off the battlefield, crying himself hoarse even as he laid Tony out on a patch of grass in the sun away from the smoke and desolation. He’d watched this man die not seventy-two hours ago, and here was Tony, in his arms the way Steve should have held him years and years and years ago, alive.

It shouldn’t be possible. But as he’s learned ten times over, when it comes to Tony Stark, impossible is only a matter of perspective (and a little bit of elbow grease).

Steve muffles his hitching breaths against Tony’s shoulder, trying desperately to compose himself even as he falls apart. He’s failing, but can’t bring himself to care. Tony returns his embrace haltingly, like he can’t believe it’s happening, but then neither can Steve.

“It’s alright, big guy. Party’s over,” Tony chuckles into his ear, nervous, patting Steve on the shoulder from under his arm in an awkward bend. “I’m fine, I promise.“ He does the unthinkable, then, Tony: he steps back and takes Steve’s hand and lays it flat against his chest so Steve can feel the strong thud of his heartbeat and the low, steady hum of the arc reactor at the same time. “See?” Tony says with a quicksilver smile, “alive and well.”

Steve knows his eyes are wet. His hair is a mess and he’s still grieving his Tony, and that grief is a ten-ton weight in his stomach. And yet, standing here looking into this Tony’s big brown eyes, faced with that benevolent (if teasing) smile and generous heart, Steve feels young and limitless, weightless, like he’d float off the floor if it weren’t for Tony, who’s still holding his hand against his chest.

Steve knows this is selfish and reckless and his staying here could break the fabric of reality itself, but he would choose this—he’d choose Tony, warm and alive and smiling at him—every time. There are battles to be fought and truths to be told and lives to save, and he may never get to have Tony in all the ways he wants him in this or any timeline, but he’s willing to wing it and see.

Who knows—they could very well end up married.

Crazier and more impossible things have happened.

“Alive is good,” Steve says, locking a sob away behind a smile so big it strains his cheeks. “It means you can still pay for shawarma.”

Tony’s face goes slack with surprise, and then he’s laughing so hard he’s cackling, leaning into Steve’s steady hand for support. Steve can feel Tony’s laugh as much as he can hear it: it feels like home and sounds like rock music and looks like sunlight spilling out between his fingers, bright blue.

- - -

also on AO3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/22299358

#steve rogers #tony stark #stevetony #superhusbands #stony #rachel writes fic #yes I did pull the title from the most cliché death cab song out there #SHRUUUUG #endgame fix it #I'm riding this pining!steve wave for as long as possible lol #responses #prompt fic

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vannahfanfics · 4 years

Text

Galaxia de Primavera

Category: Romantic Fluff

Fandom: Naruto

Characters: Shikamaru Nara, Sakura Haruno

Hi, everyone! Here’s the story for Day Two of ShikaSaku Week Hanami, prompt “Of Stardust and Galaxies!” Please enjoy~

If spring were a galaxy, it would exist in her eyes; the pale green of new life blooming into existence, planets of new leaf shoots and stardust of swirling white petals, cosmic waves of rippling grasses and starlight filtering in with beams of white… They were a universe of themselves, those spring-green irises of hers, and he always felt like a wayward astronaut spiraling further and further into their endless depths anytime they locked onto his own. They had so much gravity that he couldn’t help but be drawn in; she pulled him into orbit without even realizing it, into a spring galaxy of stardust green where he could spend his entire life in contentment. Such raw power did the eyes of Sakura Haruno hold.

Not that Shikamaru ever told her anything like that. It was all poetic and shit in theory, but he would make a bungle of things if he ever tried to formulate something like that into actual words. Instead, he just hovered just outside her solar system, a dying star in desperate need of gratification but too unwilling to do much of anything about it. How long had he been in love with her now? Since before the Great Ninja War, surely, and it was going on a year after that debacle. He could never bring himself to be honest with her about what he was feeling. Truthfully, he himself didn’t even know how to describe what exactly he was feeling; it hurt to look at her but he never wanted her out of his sight, he both feared and revered her insurmountable, goddess-like strength, the sweet smiles she tossed him on the street both made him feel like he was walking on air and like he had been stabbed right through the heart with a rusty serrated knife. He had always known women had been a drag, but he never would’ve thought that falling in love with one could be as massive a drag as this. Cheek leaned into the palm of his hand, he watched her through the barbecue joint window as she sat in a café across the street, munching on some sweet dango with more delicacy than would be thought of the tomboyish girl.

“Hey, Earth to Shikamaru.” He grimaced as Ino knocked on the side of his head, and his dark eyes flickered to meet her own baby-blue ones with a gruff “What?” “What do you mean, ‘what?’ If you want to go talk to Sakura, would you just do it already? Your pining really makes barbecue nights kind of a drag,” she sniffed haughtily as she crossed her slim arms over her chest. A blush bloomed from the base of his neck to the tops of his ears; he hadn’t even noticed he had been staring at Sakura this entire time.

“I’m not pining,” he muttered under his breath, tearing his face away from the window to instead stare down at the smoldering coals above which Choji was eagerly searing his cuts of steak. Shikamaru glanced up as the burly man’s chopsticks appeared in his line of vision to flip the half-cooked meat over.

“Shikamaru, it’s kinda obvious.” So, his best friend wouldn’t cut him any slack either. With a soft “mmmh!” Choji pushed a few juice-covered nibblets of meat into his mouth. “Y’know, you can’t wait around forever. Sooner or later she’ll be snatched up by somebody else, and how would you feel then? I’m sure you’d regret never saying anything.”

“He’s exactly right!” Ino shouted, banging her fist loudly on the table. The salt and pepper shakers jumped into the air at her assault, and Shikamaru reflexively reached out to grab them before they spilled their contents all over the place. Cleaning all that up would be a drag, and they gave the busboy enough trouble with all the plates and cups they always accumulated. Ino waggled her finger in his face as he set them down a safe distance away from her boisterousness. “Y’know what Sakura told me? She’s not even sure if she’s in love with Sasuke anymore! Now’s your perfect chance to slide in and make her yours!”

Despite himself, a tiny ember of hope flared to life in his chest. Sakura had been in love with Sasuke since they were little kids playing ninja in the Academy and had still loved him even after all the crap he had pulled. To hear that her feelings could be waning, even just a little, could mean that Shikamaru had a shot… But did Shikamaru really have a chance against Sasuke? Not that he put the guy up on a pedestal like everyone else did, but there was something to be said about how fiercely and unequivocally girls loved. It wasn’t as easy as sidling up to her and announcing “Hey, be in love with me instead of that jerk!” With a low groan, he slumped down in the booth and side-eyed his pretty teammate.

“Ino, I don’t think this is as easy as you make it out to be. It sounds like a massive drag to me.”

“Shikamaru, you need to be more of a go-getter! You’ll never be Naruto’s advisor if you can’t even work up the nerve to ask a girl out!” she scolded him hotly, and Shikamaru’s grimace deepened. Way for her to him it where it hurt. With a snort, she suddenly leaned her entire upper body over him to try and fiddle with the window.

“Hey! What the hell are you doing?!” he cried and shimmied further down the booth seat, so far that his back was pressed down against the seat, because Ino’s endowments were just bouncing all in his face. He tried to focus on her face, blush raging even fiercer than before, right as she unlatched the window and pushed it open. “There! Now, go get her, tiger!” she giggled.

Shikamaru released a sound somewhere between a choke and a squeak as she grabbed him by the collar of his issued uniform vest, wrenched him up the booth seat, and promptly threw him out of the window. Ino had a lot of force to back herself up too, but not nearly as much as Sakura; he coughed painfully as his stomach crashed down against the windowpane, digging harshly into his skin and making him feel nauseous. Before he could recover, her high-heeled foot met his backside and pushed him all the way through the window. He landed on the dusty ground in a crumpled heap, eye twitching excessively as he tried to refrain from jumping up and socking her, female or not. “What a drag,” he grumbled as he righted himself so he was sitting cross-legged under the window, rubbing the area of his neck that was now pulsing with a dull pain. By happenstance, he happened to glance across the street where Sakura was still sitting on the bench enjoying her dango, and froze.

Those spring green eyes of hers were closed, scrunched up with laughter that she was hiding with a hand lightly hovering in front of her mouth. The dango wobbled a little in her other hand from how hard her shoulders were shaking. Shikamaru smiled in embarrassment. Man, Ino just had to make him go and look so uncool… But, it was always good to make girls laugh, right? He craned his head back just in time to see the window click closed. Ino was serious. “What a drag,” he sighed once more before picking himself up and brushing himself off. Slipping his hands into his pants pockets, he strolled casually across the street to stand in front of Sakura.

“Hehehe,” she continued to giggle lightheartedly, “did you and Ino have a disagreement?”

“Something like that,” he answered with a lop-sided smirk. Her thick lashes parted, and those orbs of brilliant green peeked out at him like twin suns appearing over the horizon, and his heart instantly twisted in his chest. God, was it possible for eyes to be that gorgeous? With a thick swallow, he tugged at his wire-mesh undershirt, suddenly hot. “A-Anyway… It’s a little late for you to be out by yourself, don’t you think?” he stammered in a desperate attempt to keep the conversation at least a little natural. She cocked her head slightly as she bit down on the end of the dumplings, the soft flesh of it yielding to her teeth.

“I suppose it is. I lost track of time.” She plucked the last colored dumpling from the stick before tossing the sharp skewer into the pile she had accumulated beside her. “I was just thinking about things, y’know?” Her smile was so pure and innocent. It was hard to believe sometimes that it concealed such a cunning and clever mind. He liked that about her, though. He much preferred an intelligent, capable woman to a total airhead. His body stiffened slightly as she abruptly stood up to peer up at him, body curving and eyelashes fluttering with just the faintest sense of demure. “Care to walk a girl home?”

Those eyes again. Shining ethereally in the starlight, the stunning pale green of lichens clinging to hardy oaken trees accented by the emerald of its stubborn leaves. All it took was one simple glance and Shikmaru was locked into their gravity; no amount of attempting to pull away would yield his escape. He would simply have to suffer through her atmosphere and crash-land somewhere, though he knew not where yet. A blush sprinkled like stardust over his cheeks.

“Yeah… Sure.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The night was filled only by the scuffing of their sandals against the dirt road. Sakura strolled alongside him with her hands clasped behind her back, while Shikamaru’s were buried deep into his pockets. The silence was suspended between them like the crescent moon hanging low in the night sky; the tension strummed in tune with the twinkling of the thousands of stars, their brilliant light muted by the village lights. Shikamaru mused on whether or not if they were far away, in the wilderness where no man-made light could mask them, the stars above would even come close to the galaxy held within those eyes of hers. He figured not. Gradually, his gaze shifted from the path in front of him to her, those miraculously beautiful eyes and the way they caught the starlight just right to shine with springtime’s brilliance.

“So… I heard something interesting from Ino.”

“What’s that?” Her cherry-blossom hair bounced around her chin as she turned inquisitively toward him. He scowled and pawed at the back of his neck again. The question he was about to ask was so personal and awkward; did he really have the right to be prying? Then again, if he turned back up at the barbecue place empty-handed, Ino was liable to whale on him. It was simple self-preservation… right?

“Well, uh… She kinda mentioned that, uh… You didn’t have feelings for Sasuke anymore.”

“Oh.” A shiver crawled up his spine at the even tone of her voice. Was she gonna whale on him instead? Shikamaru didn’t know if he could take one of Sakura’s punches; it was only thanks to Naruto’s impossibly thick skull that he survived his frequent whackings. Sakura’s fists did not curl, nor did she make any indication that she was angry. She stopped walking, gaze falling to her feet, which shifted as her knees turned in a little. “I’ve been thinking about it… For a long time, but even more recently since he’s been gone for so very long,” she sighed wistfully. Those green irises danced around in the sea of white, but never trained on him. “I think it’s just finally sunk in, that’s all. That it was always just a childish, one-sided crush.” Shikamaru looked at her in concern. To hear her say it that way just sounded so sad, and even though she was smiling, that smile couldn’t mask how much pain she was obviously in. He didn’t know what to do though, because frankly, Shikamaru knew jack shit about girls, let alone comforting them. “Why do you mention it?” she asked with false cheer in her voice. She finally looked up at him. He jumped as those spring galaxies suddenly blazed against his own dark nebulas.

“Oh, uh, I was just, you know, wanting to make sure if you were okay about it. I mean, you’ve liked him for a really long time; it’s not easy for girls to get over stuff like that, right?” he laughed nervously. Man, if he kept rubbing his neck like that, he was liable to leave a mark. She blinked as her pale pink eyebrows crept up her forehead; then, she laughed, sweetly and with feeling. It sounded like shrine bells in a gentle breeze, melodic and invigorating.

“Oh. That’s sweet of you!” The silence drifted down between them again, like a curtain falling upon the closing act of a play. Shikamaru stood stiffly in the middle of the street, waiting for her to take up walking again, but she didn’t. The tension stretched thinner and thinner, threatening to snap any moment. It made him sweat a little. “Oh, um, this is my house,” she clarified with another anxious chuckle.

“Oh.” Duh, Shikamaru, he thought begrudgingly. He ought to bid her goodnight and leave her to her devices. His feet had other plans, rooting him to the spot and keeping him there like an idiot. He just stood there, fingers nervously kneading into the seams of his pockets, while those green eyes of hers watched her with an emotion he dare not name, lest everything come crashing down in an asteroid storm around them. It looked like leaves were dancing in cosmic tempest in her eyes with how intently she watched him, face drawn low in an unreadable expression.

“Shikamaru? What are you thinking right now?” Her face remained stony, indecipherable. Shikamaru had no idea what was running through her mind right now. Did he need to? There had to be a reason she was still goofing off with him outside in the middle of the night, right? Shikamaru was dense with girls, but even he still recognized that this was a good of a chance for him to be honest as he was ever going to get.

“I was thinking… that if spring were a galaxy, it would be in your eyes.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he turned red from head-to-toe and whirled around, bristling. His hands were clamped over his mouth to keep him from saying something else so incredibly stupid. That didn’t even make any sense! Oh, she was probably laughing at him right now, but the blood was roaring so loudly in his ears that he couldn’t hear the sniggers she was probably struggling to hold back. His ass should’ve just marched right on home. Why did he have to go and embarrass himself like this? He never should’ve have let Ino get to him. I’ve really done it now…

Every muscle in his body petrified as her hand landed on his shoulder. His hands dropped from his mouth and his arms flopped loosely in his arms in defeat; he knew he was still wildly blushing, but he simply couldn’t resist as her hand slowly trailed up to tug at his chin, beckoning for him to look at her. She was gonna be laughing, he just knew it. Compulsively, he squeezed his eyes shut…

And then he felt her lips, soft and light, brush over his own. It was a ghost of a comet trail at first, sprinkling of stardust to his nerves, but they soon sparked to life to spur his body into action. Drawn in by Sakura’s gravitational pull, he melded his lips to hers. They were so perfectly pliable under his own, and the faint aroma of strawberry lip gloss wafting up his nose sent him blasting off into the stars. His mouth merely rested over her own in a chaste kiss, but Heaven and Hell, it had Shikamaru’s head reeling. After a moment, he moved back, just barely. If he’d wanted to, he could kiss her again. His eyes snapped open at the realization of what had just transpired to see those eyes like a spring galaxy glimmering brighter than he had ever seen.

“Thanks for the compliment.” Her cute little purr of approval had the blush creeping back to Shikamaru’s ears again. God, did she know what she was doing to him? She totally did, because she stuck out the tip of her tongue at him with a teasing giggle. “Also, thanks for walking me home. See you around.” She gave him one last peck on the cheek before she was gone, hopping up the steps to unlock her front door and disappear inside. He saw just one last flash of those eyes of hers, and even long after she was gone they burned in his mind like two suns of green fire.

It took a long time for the pleasurable high to wear off him; when it did, he realized he had wandered back over towards the barbecue joint. Ino and Choji had seemingly grown bored of waiting for him and were just walking out of the building.

“There you are!” Ino called, and it was her voice that finally brought him out of his stupor. He ran a hand over his face, still lightly burning from flush, and wondered if what he had just witnessed was all but a fever dream. He then thought of those galactic springtime eyes and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips, where the faint scent of strawberry lingered.

No. Not a dream.

“Well, well?! What happened? Did you make your move?” she pestered as she scampered over to him to hug his arm and tug on it. “Tell me everything! Come on, come on!”

“Come on, Ino, don’t bug him so much,” Choji frowned from his other side. “He probably spent the whole time watchin’ the clouds.” Shikamaru tilted his head back to observe the thin, wispy gray clouds trawling over the night sky, blotting out the stars with their fluffy bodies. He smiled wryly.

“No… Not the clouds- the stars.”

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

Tag List: @deliathedork @searchfortheonepiece @shikasaku-week

#shikasaku week #shikasaku week hanami #shikasaku week 2020 #shikasaku #shikamaru nara #nara shikamaru #sakura haruno #haruno sakura #shikamaruxsakura #shikamaru x sakura #sakuraxshikamaru #sakura x shikamaru #naruto fanfiction #naruto fanfic #naruto #naruto shippuden

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radiorenjun · 5 years

Text

Sand And Scorched

♣ Maze Runner: Scorch trials Au

♣ Genre: Angst, Fluff? :3

♣ Warnings: Slight Alcohol, Partying, Make Out Session, Heart Break, Near Death.

♣ Pairing: Ten x female! reader

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"Alright, let's take a break" Mark exclaimed as the sky turned dark. You and the other survivors quickly sat down under the collapsed building, the remaining connecting bricks made a large roof over your heads.

You took a sip of the small water bottle you had with you, saving as much water as you could despite your exhaustion. Your eyes unconsciously wandered around your surroundings.

Sand. All you see is sand. Life was tough, you just escaped the maze you had tried to break out for 3 years. And now, here you are running away from what you once thought was freedom but was actually the place that kept you locked away.

You and the survivors did not know much exept the fact that the earth had been scorched by the sun and with that, comes a virus that contaminated the air by the sun's solar energy: the flare. None of you knew whether you were immune or not. But you had lost a few people and knew what the flare did if you weren't.

It's been four weeks since your inevitable escape, and it has been 3 weeks since Ten broke up with you. You didn't know why, but despite his actions his eyes didn't show the exact emotions he put in his words. You knew he still loved you as you loved him.

"Hey, n/n" Ten spoke up, attracting your attention as you wrapped a bandage around your friend's bitten leg. "Yeah?" you hummed, tying the bandage and zipping up your bag. "Can we talk?" he asked quietly, not meeting your gaze when you turned to look at him.

His jet black hair hid his eyes slightly, his hand reaching up to pull his scarf over his nose shyly. "Just a minute, I'm almost done" you smiled, wiping your hands with a dirty cloth. You got up and followed him to a place a bit further than the others who are resting.

The icy chill of the night wind sent shivers down your spine. As you walked, your hands brushed but Ten didn't make a move to intertwine your fingers like he usually did. As you finally got alone, you clasp your fingers together, "so, what do you want to talk about? " you asked with a tired smile. He could meet your eyes as he kept looking at is feet nervously.

"I think we should break up" he spoke, loud and clear for you to hear. Your eyes widened at his words. "What?" you blurted out, taken aback. "I want to break up" he spoke after an exasperated sigh, pulling his scarf below his mouth to make his voice sound more clearly.

"W-What? Why?" you stuttered, your chest aching. "I just... Do" he said simply, his voice drifting off nervously as he looked at the ground, abashed. "Can you at least give me a reason why you're leaving me?" you muttered, you could feel your eyes welling up.

"I... Don't think we're in a position to be a couple anymore. Or friends" he shrugged, avoiding your eyes. Your glossy eyes stared deep into his avoiding ones, you could see that his eyes were getting red. You couldn't speak, not when your heart was being torn apart like this.

He took a quick glance at you, before holding his head up and looked away. "I'm sorry, but it's for the best" he sniffed, his glossy eyes avoiding yours which were already red with tears streaming down your face. "Fine" you mumbled, your voice cracking as you walked away from him to get some time alone.

But as much as you tried, you couldn't get him back. He was too stubborn. Though, you have known each other for ages. You were also too stubborn to leave him be. "You're staring again" your best friend, Haneul, mumbled as she layed her back down against her saddlebag, using it as her pillow for the night.

"It's very abominable to see you two like this. And I was the one who kept throwing up at the sight of you two being lovey-dovey" Jisung chuckled, sitting next to Cheonsa who was already fast asleep due to exhaustion. "Shut up" you mumbled, nuzzling your face against the fuzzy hood of your coat.

"What? We're just stating facts. Just a month ago, you two were all over each other and now he wouldn't even spare you a glance." Jaemin rolled his eyes. You stood up, not wanting to listen to anymore of his words before walking towards Ten who was busy looking through his bag.

"Watcha doin?" you smiled softly. He gave a silent abstruse look before going back to checking his bag. You grabbed his water bottle which was beside you, handing it to him so he could put it in his bag.

He gave you an emotionless glare before hesitantly taking it from your hand, your fingers caressed each other as he took the bottle. "Well, isn't this environment just adaptable" you chuckled, looking around at the desert-like area.

"Hopefully we can get to SM District soon and finally get somewhere we could actually stay safe. Where we could be together again" you continued. Ten continued to pack his essentials, listening to your voice as you spoke. This has been going on alot, just you talking nonesensical things hoping that he would at least utter a word to you. But that never happens.

"If we're immune. I want to run away, find a beach or somewhere to relax or something." you smiled at the thought, looking at your ripped sneakers. "Like a safe haven" you continued your voice drifting off.

Ten layed down on the sand, his head laying against his dufflebag as you began mindlessly humming an unfamiliar tune. "I better go to sleep. Another big day tomorrow" you chuckled to yourself, looking at the male who had his back turned to you.

You sighed sadly, another failed attempt to talk to him that you're so accustomed to. "Good night, Ten" you whispered, figuring that he fell asleep already. You got up and silently walked to where the girls were sleeping and layed your head down against your arm.

You let out a shuddering breathe as your heart ached. A tear streaming down your face, before you close your eyes and let the exhaustion take over your body.

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You all went to a town nearby, where a bunch of non-immunes spend the rest of their days partying and getting drunk with the little time they have left before succumbing to the disease. There were the infected chained up to the walls, growling and screeching their voices out as blood as black as ink oozed out of their mouths like saliva.

You backed away when you saw one hurtling towards you, causing you to bump into Ten. "Sorry" you mumbled, as you continued to walk passed the zombie-like creature. He nodded silently, putting a hand on your shoulder to silently coax you to be in between him and Jaemin, causing a small smile to appear on your lips.

"We're looking for a guy" said Jaehwa, trying to keep a tough act infront of the rest of the drunks. There was an older man infront of you, who looked like in his mid forties, he appeared to be drunk and wasted. He also appeared to be the one in charge.

"Yang Hyun-suk" Ten spoke up, "we want to know where SM District is" he added. "I think I saw him inside somewhere, partying" the man chuckled, pointing at the dark room filled with dancing people. "Look for him yourself" he hiccuped.

"Alright, I'll go in" Kiyeon exclaimed. "Hold up, sweetheart. In order to come in, you gotta pay a price" he smirked. Lucas stretched an arm out in defense, "we don't have any money" he exclaimed. The man raised his brow, "I'm not asking for money, kid. The payment is this" he grabbed one of the large bottles on the table and held it up, inside was a fizzing bubbly yellow liquid.

"To get in there" he pointed towards the loud dancing room, "you gotta take a swig of this" he smirked. "I'll do it" you exclaimed boldly after a moment of silence, "what?" they all exclaimed. "Dude, don't be a hero. We don't even know what that thing is" Jisung whispered.

"Yeah, for all we know it could get you infected with the Flare" Haneul added. "Well, somebody has to go in there and find Mr Yang Hyun-suk if we want to actually find SM District! " you told them, snatching the bottle from the man's hand and took a generous amount of the liquid.

The taste felt bitter, the taste sparkling and lingering on your tongue. You coughed, sticking your tongue out at the bitter flavor. "You got guts, girly. You better enjoy yourself while you can" the old man smirked, pulling the torn curtain that represents the door of the room. "You'll recognize him once you see him" he said as the man pushed you inside the room, you could hear your friends calling out your name as you stumbled.

The music boomed loudly causing pain slightly in your ears, your vision blurred as you couldn't stand properly. What was in that drink? You pondered. You layed a hand on the wall to steady yourself, "keep it together, y/n. You need to find that guy so you and the rest can finally be free" you uttered to yourself before looking up.

Your blurry vision wasnt helping much and your sensitive ears caused you to pause in your place as your head stirred. What were you supposed to do again? You couldn't remember. You couldn't focus.

You couldn't move as everyone around you was moving in the cramped place. All you could do was hear the music and the clinking of glass hitting each other. You felt a hand wrapped around yours and pulled your body away from the dancing drunks to a cramped wall.

Your vision came clear slightly as you made out the silhouette infront of you, "Ten?" you slurred. "Y/n we need to get out of here" he told you, laying his hands on your shoulders as his brows furrowed seriously. "Why? It's looks fun here" you giggled as you began to slowly lose your common sense.

"Y/n we're not supposed to be here. You're not supposed to be here" he continued. "Did you drink the funny drink from that old man?" you asked, giggling. "A little" he shook his head, his eyes widened as if he was trying to get his mind straight.

"Either way, I'm here to get you out. Come on" he said, gently pushing you with him. You shook out of his grasp, "no, I don't wanna!" you whined as his hand grasped your wrist tightly to prevent you from wandering off.

"Can't we just stay for a minute, please?" you begged. "We need to rest once in a while you know" you smiled, Ten sighed knowing you're drunk out of your mind. And he wasn't doing so well either. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her smile stretching wider.

"Y/n, I don't think we should do this" Ten whispered as your faces mindlessly got closer and closer. "Then why aren't you stopping me?" you asked, staring into his deep eyes with a drunken smile. He shuddered, "you're going to be the death of me" he mumbled before pushing the back of your head with his hand, pushing your face towards his.

Your lips made contact with his, slightly chapped, ones, your eyes widened slightly as you froze in place. Ten wrapped his arm around you as the other layed still on the back of your head. His lips pressed hard against yours, his eyes slowly closing. It felt as if it were only the two of you.

The noise around you were muffled and all you could hear was the beating of your hearts pounding against your chest and the sound of your breaths hitting each others faces. You slowly kissed back, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck as you leaned against him. Your heads turning to find a better angle.

The innocent kiss soon got deeper, Ten licked your bottom lip, asking for entrance which you happily granted. Soon, your mouths opened, tongues intertwining and battling. The taste of the liquid you chugged lingering on both of your tongues.

Your hands found their way through his soft jet black hair, tangling your fingers through his disheveled silky hair as his gripped your waist tightly, pushing your body to be as close against him as possible.

Soon, you pulled away for breath, a small string of saliva connecting from your tongues. "Ten, I-" you started before your head spun, you felt your body weaken. "Y/n!" he exclaimed before you lost consciousness.

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

Turns out the man who drugged you was actually the person you were looking for. The lying scoundrel was planning to drug you all to joining his little pity party and get you devoured by the infected that are chained up in the party.

You found yourself laying on Cheonsa's lap on the floor as the man who drugged you was tied up to a chair with Bam and Yeoreum beating the crap out of him for the sake of information to getting to SM District.

When you gain consciousness, your eyes squinted to adjust to the bright blazing sun as the room was so dim back in the party. You looked around and saw Ten lying unconcious on the floor, his head laying on his bag as Taemin checked his temperature.

"Whatever that drink was, can I have some? What happened back there seemed legit" Cheonsa giggled as she watch you sat up and gulp down copious amounts of water from the waterbottle she handed. "What are you talking about? What happened anyways" you blushed, remembering the intense make out session you had back in the party with Ten.

"Well long story short, that guy over there, yeah the guy who's getting his ass kicked to a pulp. Ouch, I think they knocked out a tooth or two- he knows all information about this whole place and he made you drink something which made you drunk and stumble ALOT and lose your mind.

"We knew you wouldn't survive a second in there so Ten volunteered to drink that disgusting drink which I, honestly, want to try considering when y'all got back. Y'all look like an incredible mess." she laughed.

"A mess?" you asked, furrowing your brows in confusion. "Well, Ten definitely got you out but you were obviously unconcious. Though, you both look like absolute shit. Like, Ten's hair was all messy and your shirt was all frizzled up as if someone was pulling on it. And Ten carried you bridal style so he was stumbling alot considering he was also half drunk but hot damn, what did y'all do in there" she smirked, laying her cheek on her palm.

"I...." you blushed, remembering what happened in the party. "I don't remember" you lied through your teeth. Ten had never kissed you that intensely even back when you were still together, so it was a truly peculiar yet pleasurable experience that you would not want to share.

"Aww man, you sure? You two looked like you were enjoying yourselves back there. Though, after Ten made sure you were resting well he collapsed himself and fell asleep" she continued. Your cheeks flushed red at her words, as your eyes moved towards Ten who was sleeping peacefully in the ground despite the beatings and screams of pain happening in the background.

You smiled, happy that your thoughts were proven to be true. He still cared about you.

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Another day in the scorch, you were only a few days away til you get to SM District. You were given a map by Mr Yang Hyun-suk, therefore you could go anywhere you want and WICKED had stopped their helicopter searches days ago.

The peculiar thing is, Ten hasn't spoken to you since the day at the party. The atmosphere was awkward between you two, he couldn't even look at you in the eye. It was bothering you to say the least.

Today you had to go through the Flare Field that's where most of the deadly infected had came to gather with the other infected. It was the most dangerous road out of all in your journey but you were willing to walk through hell if it means freedom.

Jaehwa and Jisung had come up with a plan, that you all need to sneak in slowly and stay hidden and low as to not attract attention of any infected. Thus, a few infected still had their humanity in their veins and alerted the others.

You and your friends ran for your lives, regretting the fact that you didn't request for weapons back at the party. All of a sudden, an infected pounced on you, causing you to let out a loud shriek.

You pushed it's shoulder to prevent it's mouth from biting you, afraid of getting infected as well. "Y/n!" Jaemin exclaimed from afar, running towards you with a bloody pole in hand. You screamed in pain as the infected creature bit into your shoulder, the skin breaking and blood spurted out from the open wound.

You kicked the thing off of you, making a quick run for it as you gripped your bitten shoulder. "You okay?" Jaemin exclaimed as he swatted his pole against the face of an infected. "I'm fine" you hissed at the pain, running along with him to catch up with the others.

"We're almost to SM District, don't worry" he told me as I panted. "We're going to be free soon" he cooed as I look around trying to spot Ten. I sighed in relief when I saw him unharmed, near the gates of SM District. "Hurry!" he yelled as he spotted a nearby gun and used it to hold off any infected.

You winced as you covered the wound with your coat. "Cheonsa! Yeoreum! Jisung! Come on!" you called out as you entered the gate with Jaemin on your tail. As soon as everyone went in, Ten shut the gates to prevent any infected from coming in. We all panted, exhausted.

I collapsed to the floor, wiping the sweat off my brows. You looked around to see a few injured comrades, but none too serious like a bite or a dark black vein popping out of their skin. We dropped our weapons on the floor as someone approached us with a gun, "Welcome To SM District"

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

You were in the clinic of the district, your wound getting treated. "I'm sorry, we need some blood samples to test if you're immune or not. Just like the others, though, since you're bitten it would take longer than others" the doctor explained.

You smiled and nodded as he injected a needle into the vein of your arm, making you wince at the stinging sensation. "You'll be resting in a contaminated area until we can confirm that you're immune, alright?" the doctors added as she placed a small tube of blood on the collection of blood samples.

You nodded, walking towards the contaminated area and collapsing on the bed. It's been a long day. And you wanted to finally rest. You sighed, looking at your shoulder which was now tightly wrapped with a bandage.

The door opened with a loud creak, causing you to sit up in alarm but soon relax when you saw that it was Ten in the doorway. He looked panicked and his eyes were glossy, his pupils widened when he spotted you. "Ten, what are you doing here-" you spoke before he ran up to you and wrapped his arms around your shoulders.

You froze in shock as he buried his face in your hair, arms wrapped tightly around you. Though, you manage to snap out of him and pushed him with your remaining strength, "Ten, let go. This is a contaminated area, you'll get infected if you aren't immune" you complained, pushing against his chest but he was stronger than you so he didn't budge.

"Im immune" he mumbled against your hair, his voice cracked as he sniffled. "Ten, are you okay?" you asked as you felt a droplet land on your shirt. You pulled back slightly but Ten kept burying his face in your hair as more droplets drip down to your fresh shirt. "Ten, are you crying?" you asked, perplexed.

"What am I supposed to feel when I found out the person I love most got bitten and has a possibility of not surviving?" he sobbed. His words shocked you, your eyes widened as your brows furrowed in confusion.

He pulled away to reveal his bloodshot eyes before he leaned forward to plant kisses all over your face. First your forehead, then your temple, then your eyes and cheek the finally a long lingering kiss on your lips. "I'm sorry" silently written in every single peck.

"I should get sick more often if you're going to act like this" you mumbled against his lips. He pulled away with a pout, before sitting on the bed infront of you, grabbing your hands in his tightly.

Pulling them to his face, nuzzling his cheeks against your palms. "I'm sorry. Im so so sorry" he sobbed, tears streaming down his eyes as he finally broke. "I didn't want to break up with you, I just wanted it to make it less painful when one of us dies in the middle of our journey. I'm an idiot, I know. But I'm sorry. I really really love you and at the party I really couldn't hold myself back" he sniffed, finally looking into your eyes with his filled with love, hope and sincere.

"I need you in my life. I want you in my life. Im sorry for everything, kissing you at the party made me realise how you didn't give up on us and I wish I didn't give up that easily" he sighed, giving small soft kisses on your palms.

"I love you, I need you" he whispered. With every word, your heart skipped a beat as it pounded rapidly against your ribcage. Your smile was so wide you knew there wasn't anything that could ruin the mood. "I love you, too" you responded. Even if you find out that you weren't immune. You were glad to have to love of your life back.

He smiled, laughing to himself before his hands cupped your face pulling you towards his. His lips met yours hard, in an instant, reminding you of the time at the party. He wrapped his arms around you tightly.

Soon, his head moved to the space on your neck, nipping softly at the skin. "Now I'm going to kiss you to make up for loss time. We can find out about the results later, I miss you and I need you" Ten smirked against your lips as he stretched his arm to pull the curtains.

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"Welp, I wanted to say that she was positive in being immune. But I guess she has other things to do" the doctor chuckled. "Young love" she said sighed.

Holy sweet baby Jesus on a baby crib forgive me for my sins. That was the most suggestive thing I have ever written in my whole existence. Anyways, hope y'all like it

#chittaphon smut #chittaphon fluff #nct imagines #nct jaemin #nct blurbs #nct x reader #nct x you #nct ten #NCT ten x reader #ten x reader #chittaphon x reader

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s-c-i-guy · 6 years

Photo

Star-Swallowing Black Holes Reveal Secrets in Exotic Light Shows

Black holes occasionally reveal themselves when passing stars get ripped apart by their gravity. These tidal disruption events have created a new way for astronomers to map the hidden cosmos.

Black holes, befitting their name and general vibe, are hard to find and harder to study. You can eavesdrop on small ones from the gravitational waves that echo through space when they collide — but that technique is new, and still rare. You can produce laborious maps of stars flitting around the black hole at the center of the Milky Way or nearby galaxies. Or you can watch them gulp down gas clouds, which emit radiation as they fall.

Now researchers have a new option. They’ve begun corralling ultrabright flashes called tidal disruption events (TDEs), which occur when a large black hole seizes a passing star, shreds it in two and devours much of it with the appetite of a bear snagging a salmon. “To me, it’s sort of like science fiction,” said Enrico Ramirez-Ruiz, an astrophysicist at University of California, Santa Cruz, and the Niels Bohr Institute.

During the past few years, though, the study of TDEs has transformed from science fiction to a sleepy cottage industry, and now into something more like a bustling tech startup.

Automated wide-field telescopes that can pan across thousands of galaxies each night have uncovered about two dozen TDEs. Included in these discoveries are some bizarre and long-sought members of the TDE zoo. In June, a study in the journal Nature Astronomy described an outburst of X-ray light in a cluster of faraway stars that astronomers interpreted as a midsized black hole swallowing a star. That same month, another group announced in Science that they had discovered what may be brightest ever TDE, one that illuminated faint gas at the heart of a pair of merging galaxies.

These discoveries have taken place as our understanding of what’s really happening during a TDE comes into sharper focus. At the end of May, a group of astrophysicists proposed a new theoretical model for how TDEs work. The model can explain why different TDEs can appear to behave differently, even though the underlying physics is presumably the same.

Astronomers hope that decoding these exotic light shows will let them conduct a black hole census. Tidal disruptions expose the masses, spins and sheer numbers of black holes in the universe, the vast majority of which would be otherwise invisible. Theorists are hungry, for example, to see if TDEs might unveil any intermediate-mass black holes with weights between the two known black hole classes: star-size black holes that weigh a few times more than the sun, and the million- and billion-solar-mass behemoths that haunt the cores of galaxies. The Nature Astronomy paper claims they may already have.

Researchers have also started to use TDEs to probe the fundamental physics of black holes. They can be used to test whether black holes always have event horizons — curtains beyond which nothing can return — as Einstein’s theory of general relativity predicts.

Meanwhile, many more observations are on the way. The rate of new TDEs, now about one or two per year, could jump up by an order of magnitude even by the end of this year because of the Zwicky Transient Facility, which started scanning the sky over California’s Palomar Observatory in March. And with the addition of planned observatories, it may increase perhaps another order of magnitude in the years to come.

“The field has really blossomed,” said Suvi Gezari at the University of Maryland, one of the few stubborn pioneers who staked their careers on TDEs during leaner years. She now leads the Zwicky Transient Facility’s TDE-hunting team, which has already snagged unpublished candidates in its opening months, she said. “Now people are really digging in.”

Searching for Star-Taffy

In 1975, the British physicist Jack Hills first dreamed up a black-hole-eats-star scenario as a way to explain what powers quasars — superbright points of light from the distant universe. (Quasars are now known to be supermassive black holes feeding on surrounding gas, not stars.) But in 1988, the British cosmologist Martin Rees realized that black holes snacking on a star would exhibit a sharp flare, not a steady glow. Looking for such flares could let astronomers find and study the black holes themselves, he argued.

Nothing that fit the bill turned up until the late 1990s. That’s when Stefanie Komossa, at the time a graduate student at the Max Planck Institute for Extraterrestrial Physics in Garching, Germany, found massive X-ray flares from the centers of distant galaxies that brightened and dimmed according to the Rees predictions.

The astronomical community responded to these discoveries — based on just a few data points — with caution. Then in the mid-2000s, Gezari, then beginning a postdoc at the California Institute of Technology, searched for and discovered her own handful of TDE candidates. She looked for flashes of ultraviolet light, not X-rays as Komossa had. “In the old days,” Gezari said, “I was just trying to convince people that any of our discoveries were actually due to a tidal disruption.”

Soon, though, she had something to sway even the doubters. In 2010, Gezari discovered an especially clear flare, rising and falling as modelers predicted. She published it in Nature in 2012, catching other astronomers’ attention. In the years since, large surveys in optical light, sifting through the sky for changes in brightness, have taken over the hunt. And like Komossa’s and Gezari’s TDEs, which had both been fished out of missions designed to look for other things, the newest batch showed up as bycatch. “It was, oh, why didn’t we think about looking for these?” said Christopher Kochanek, an astrophysicist at Ohio State University who works on a project designed to search for supernovas.

Now, with a growing number of TDEs in hand, astrophysicists are within arm’s reach of Rees’s original goal: pinpointing and studying gargantuan black holes. But they still need to learn to interpret these events, divining their basic physics. Unexpectedly, the known TDEs fall into separate classes. Some seem to emit mostly ultraviolet and optical light, as if from gas heated to tens of thousands of degrees. Others glow fiercely with X-rays, suggesting temperatures an order of magnitude higher. Yet presumably they all have the same basic physical root.

To be disrupted, an unlucky star must venture close enough to a black hole that gravitational tides exceed the internal gravity that binds the star together. In other words, the difference in the black hole’s gravitational pull on the near and far sides of the star, along with the inertial pull as the star swings around the black hole, stretches the star out into a stream. “Basically it spaghettifies,” said James Guillochon, an astrophysicist at the Harvard-Smithsonian Center for Astrophysics.

The outer half of the star escapes away into space. But the inner half — that dense stream of star-taffy — swirls into the black hole, heating up and releasing huge sums of energy that radiate across the universe.

With this general mechanism understood, researchers had trouble understanding why individual TDEs can look so distinct. One longstanding idea appeals to different phases of the star-eating process. As the star flesh gets initially torn away and stretched into a stream, it might ricochet around the black hole and slam into its own tail. This process might heat the tail up to ultraviolet-producing temperatures— but not hotter. Then later — after a few months or a year — the star would settle into an accretion disk, a fat bagel of spinning gas that theories predict should be hot enough to emit X-rays.

But there’s another option, argued a team led by Jane Lixin Dai at the Niels Bohr Institute and including Ramirez-Ruiz in May. According to their simulations, which include the effects of general relativity, the two kinds of TDEs might just be the same thing seen at different angles. If astronomers are viewing a bagel-like accretion disk from the top, they can see X-rays from the hot inner material swirling right down the drain. When the accretion disk is edge-on, though, colder gas stands in the way. This gas catches X-rays and reemits them as ultraviolet light.

Ultimately, theorists hope to read each event as a variation on the same core theme — and then do deeper science. “Maybe we’ll learn something fundamental about accretion,” Kochanek said. Or maybe “every one will be sufficiently idiosyncratic that it will be like worrying about the shape of a cloud.”

Testing Einstein

The newly discovered TDEs are also helping astronomers to understand supermassive, galaxy-ruling black holes. Only about 10 percent of these giants emit radiation as they feed on surrounding gas, leaving the other 90 percent of them invisible.

TDEs change that. Komossa, an astronomer at the Max Planck Institute for Radio Astronomy in Bonn, hopes to find more binary supermassive black holes: black holes forced to cohabitate after their own galaxies collided, which future space-based gravitational wave experiments will also search for. As a star drains into one black hole, the presence of another supermassive maw nearby would tug at the stream of matter falling in. Instead of a smooth dimming, the TDE would exhibit dips and rises.

Other teams want to test a fundamental, eerie correlation. Somehow the masses of central black holes and their host galaxies seem to increase in tandem. “The mass of the black hole knows about the mass of the galaxy, which is kind of mesmerizing,” Ramirez-Ruiz said. TDEs, plumbing black hole masses in an independent sample of galaxies, could either strengthen or weaken this relationship.

TDEs can also reveal an oxymoronic population: the shrimpiest massive black holes around. While the very biggest known black holes can weigh 10 billion times the sun, and galaxies like the Milky Way host specimens that tip the scales at millions of solar masses, it isn’t clear whether smaller dwarf galaxies are ruled by proportionally pipsqueak versions, in the hundreds of thousands of solar masses or below.

Spotting TDEs from these intermediate mass black holes would settle the question, helping astronomers understand how giant black holes form in the first place. The June paper in Nature Astronomy claims to have found such an intermediate object, one weighing a few tens of thousands of solar masses. That event appeared in 2003, peaked in 2006 and then declined for the following decade. Instead of happening at the center of a galaxy, the X-ray flare occurred in a star cluster, a place where intermediate-mass black holes could coalesce from the mergers of stars. But a single event does not a population make. “We need to find more similar events, to confirm our result,” said Dacheng Lin, an astrophysicist at the University of New Hampshire who led the study.

Then come still deeper goals. TDEs are also starting to test general relativity’s picture of black holes, probing for places where the theory might break.

For example, as a black hole increases in mass, its predicted event horizon creeps steadily outward. But the radius at which the black hole’s tides can crack open a star increases more slowly. At a theoretical limit called the Hills mass, about 100 million times the mass of the sun, a black hole’s star-tearing radius exactly matches its own border. That should put a mass cap on TDEs. “Below that, you can tear something apart. Above that, stars get swallowed hole,” said Nicholas Stone, a theoretical astrophysicist at Columbia University.

So far, the data matches this idea. The rise and fall of known TDEs — already as reliable at weighing supermassive black holes as other techniques — show they all happened around black holes that weigh less than the Hills mass, suggesting that heavier objects likely do have the event horizons that relativity predicts.

But Stone and colleagues are eager to exploit an additional wrinkle. A spinning black hole that weighs 10 times above the Hills mass can still swallow stars. Eventually, after discovering more TDEs, astronomers can watch how the rate of events fades off at high mass, which should help them understand the fastest black hole spins, Stone said.

That might put relativity’s idea of event horizons right back in the crosshairs. A rotating black hole has a theoretical maximum speed, and any black holes seen spinning faster would violate the idea that a black hole has a firm outer boundary.

Thankfully, the observational grist needed to test these various ideas is already on its way. In a dramatic reversal of the field’s beginnings, the new Zwicky Transient Facility is now turning up too many candidates for comfort, Gezari said. She’s starting to strain her resources, trying to get enough telescope time for follow-up observations on each worthy target.

The next leaps come soon. A long-delayed joint German-Russian mission called eRosita, if it goes up in 2019 as planned, should spot hundreds or thousands of TDEs as X-ray flashes. So should the Einstein Probe, a Chinese mission that Komossa collaborates on, scheduled to launch in 2022. And then there’s the Large Synoptic Survey Telescope, currently being built in Chile and scheduled to start scanning the sky in 2022, which should catch its own hundreds or thousands of TDEs among whatever else goes bump in the night.

For Ramirez-Ruiz, this growth since the field’s humble beginnings is a natural consequence of modern “celestial cinematography” — telescopes that shoot night-by-night time-lapse video across the entire sky. TDEs only happen about once every 10,000 years in a given galaxy, when an unlucky star wanders close enough to a black hole. But now that we monitor enough galaxies at once, he said, “the field actually has exploded.”

#science #astrophysics #general relativity #long reads #gif

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a-dauntless-daffodil · 6 years

Text

A Confession. Or Not.

Allura and Pidge have their own distinct ways of coming to terms with something that probably isn’t just a crush.

Allura’s method involves scraping the bottom of the figurative barrel for the right words and enough courage to actually say them. Pidge decides to keep it simple.

Hitting your head repeatedly on hard surfaces is a great way of solving matters of the heart. Isn’t it?

“Pidge.”

Allura frowned. That might be too informal of a beginning for the conversation she wanted to have. Pidge had a tendency to brush things off, her default response being set to ‘sarcasm’, and Allura needed to make sure this was taken seriously. Very seriously. Because she was very serious about this.

“Pidge Gunderson.” She started over. “Paladin of the Green Lion…”

The words trailed awkwardly away.

Maybe that was a tad too serious.

They were friends, after all. It felt strange to use that level of formality on a girl she had recently chased through the Castle with a hairbrush, and then later, been chased back through the Castle by the gladiator drone said girl had hacked and reprogrammed in record time.

So. Less formal but still serious. As a Princess who had led one or two political missions before her planet and entire solar system were erased from existence, Allura thought she should be capable of figuring this out.

Probably.

She certainly hoped so anyway, because her only other recourse would be to ask Coran for romantic advice- A prospect that unsettled her more than her recurring nightmare of facing down the entire Galra fleet while armed with nothing more than a bowl of food goo.

Breathing deeply Allura clasped her hands before her and straightened her posture. She met her own gaze in the mirror, lifted her chin slightly- Confident, but not overly confident- And tried again.

“Pidge.” She said firmly. “There is an important matter we need to discuss- No.”

Allura cut herself off and frowned again. That didn’t sound right either.

“There is something important I would like to discuss with you.”

‘Discuss’ just made it sound too much like their usual strategy planning sessions. She didn’t want to give the wrong impression.

“Tell you. Explain, to you. Announce.”

None of it sounded right.

“… make known to you?”

Quiznack.

Covering her face with one hand, Allura let out a tired sigh.

This was far harder than it had any right to be.

Perhaps she should just be direct? Pidge was herself a very blunt person, maybe she would appreciate a bluntly honest approach.

Honestly, then.

“...”

Of course being honest with Pidge would require Allura to be honest with herself, first.

So then, speaking honestly, what did she think of the Green Paladin?

“...I think you are wonderful.”

Allura felt her cheeks flare with heat even though no one else was in the room to hear. Just saying the words was enough to make her pulse quicken anxiously, she had no idea how she would manage this in front of an audience-

But she was, had been, Princess of Altea. The more difficult the job the more her training kicked in and commanded her to complete it.

Gritting her jaw lowered her hand and met her own gaze in the mirror squarely as she plowed on.

“Certainly you are an exemplary Paladin and friend. Your endless determination is especially admirable, even if it does make you frustratingly stubborn at times.”

Pidge would roll her eyes at this, ready to point out that the hypocrisy of Allura accusing anyone else of being stubborn. Hurriedly Allura cut off the imagined Pidge before she interrupt.

“With you I never feel that I am getting anything less than your honest opinion- whether I want it or not-”

Lately she had found herself wanting Pidge’s input more often than not, even in regards to things the Paladin had no experience in, which made absolutely no sense but always seemed to help Allura come to a decision she felt confident in.

“-And this in turn gives your compliments more weight than any others I have ever received.”

Admitting that made Allura’s throat go dry.

“... When they come from you, I know without a doubt that they are earnestly given and well deserved. You may not understand what a relief it is to have some certainty in the middle of all this madness, but you should at least know how much I appreciate it...”

It? Was that really all? Was she really just thanking Pidge for being a steady friend in the middle of a galactic war?

“... I appreciate it, and you.” Allura forced the words out one by one.

“I appreciate the honesty more than I would otherwise, because it comes from you.”

There. It was the truth.

It was also still stiff with the exact sort of formality that made Pidge scurry for the refreshments table at celebratory gatherings, despite not knowing if any of the food was palatable for Eathians or even edible.

In short, it likely would not do. The approach was still wrong.

She had to just get to the heart of the matter and say it.

Allura stared helplessly at the girl reflected in the mirror before her. If it were Pidge before her instead of a mirror, what is it that she would really like to say…?

“I love-”

The word caught in her throat like a sharp piece of bone, almost making her choke.

Allura hastily backtracked.

“That is, I like how brilliant you are with Hunk, fawning over every new piece of technology you see, and how silly you can be with Lance, causing mischief whenever the Castle becomes too quiet.”

Yes, that was it. That was simple, honest, and direct. Allura heard her voice even out as she found her stride.

“You are so curious and passionate, and kinder than I ever expected. You took time in the middle of a war to learn a long dead language, willing sacrificing your little free time just so you could understand Coran’s ‘nonsense words’…”

Her reflection smiled.

Though Pidge had not said as much, her true intention for learning Altean had fairly quickly become plain.

“It was your plan from the beginning to give me a reason to talk about Altea for hours on end, wasn’t it?”

The day she realized that had been the day Allura finally gave in and admitted she had a more than friendly interest in one of the strangers who had fallen into her life.

And the exotic way Altean rolled off of Pidge’s tongue hadn’t done anything to hurt Allura’s crush on her either.

“I suppose you could have done that much as a friend. I imagine you thought you had given enough valid excuses for spending all those hours together- But the way you laughed at jokes and situations that had to be explained to you, how you listened as I told stories about people you will never meet... the look in your eyes during those moments, it was-”

Beautiful.

“-so much more gentle than I have ever seen from you before.” Allura shivered at the memory.

“It is a side of you I want to see more of. A part of you I wish you would show more often, but at the same time, something I also wish I could keep secret, just between us.”

A selfish wish that Allura could not help. She laughed at herself, glancing down at the floor as she rubbed her hands together.

“Though we do already have Altean for that, don’t we? No one else here can understand us- Or dares to try, in Coran’s case.”

Poor Coran had discovered Allura crush some time ago and, being of the opinion that no one with a hundredth of a brain would ever refuse his Princess, and also fairly certain that ‘Number Five’ had a brain of some sharpness, was convinced that any moment the two of them were speaking Altean could bring about a spontaneous and dramatic confession.

He’d taken to plugging his ears and humming loudly whenever he heard the Castle’s translator being switched off, too chivalrous to dare risk overhearing such a potentially personal conversation.

Allura had shaken her head at him the first time and offered a confused Pidge as vague an explanation as she could.

And here she was now. Attempting to arrange words in a way that would let Pidge understand what she was feeling and mainly just succeeding in embarrassing herself.

“You really have a beautiful accent when speaking Altean, by the way.” Allura heard herself babble suddenly.

“I know Coran’s odd reaction made you worry that you were offending his linguistic sensibilities, but your grasp of the syntax is nearly flawless and the manner in which you mispronounce words is as fascinating as it is enjoyable.”

“It’s can also be very distracting, in a good way.”

Oh dear Voltron just what was she saying!?

“And I would very much like to kiss you. Someday. If you are amenable to that.”

…

Curling her hand into a fist Allura knocked herself on the forehead, face scrunching up from the mental agony of having had to listen to herself.

That... that had been physically painful.

Zarkon would surrender before she would ever be able to say something like that without immediately wanting to throw herself out of an airlock. She was not Pidge. Being this blunt, when it involved something so personal, was beyond her. Or it was if she wanted to be able to look Pidge in the face when she confessed.

She needed to be less soul-baring. Simple, direct, heartfelt but not to the point of making her want to dissolve into sub-atomic particles on the spot.

Groaning Allura brought her arms, and fists, back down to her sides.

“I have a romantic interest in you.” She told the mirror flatly.

No. She was back to being too formal.

“I like you?”

Better. Though somewhat ambiguous.

“I understand if you do not like me in the same fashion?”

Important and true, even if just saying it made her chest ache hollowly.

“I hope we can we still remain friends..?”

Would they, though.

Coran might be confident, and Allura did not think she was wrong in believing Pidge felt some sort of attraction to her, but attraction did not necessarily indicate serious or romantic intentions. They were in the middle of trying to dismantle an empire. Pidge might not want to try balancing a relationship on top of fighting against Zarkon every other day. That would be perfectly understandable.

Either way, whatever the exact answer might be, if Allura confessed it would be impossible to pretend she had not done so.

And even if Pidge did her best to keep things from becoming awkward, the relationship between them would never be what it had been, what it was right now.... What Allura had fallen in love with.

A hollow pain twisted sharply through her chest.

Blinking hard Allura took a moment to step back an actually look at the girl in the mirror.

She appeared badly shaken. Her dark skin had gone slightly ashen and her expression was one of quiet but barely contained fear. As Allura watched a tremor ran down the girl’s arms, forcing her fists to clench painfully tight, nails biting deep into calloused palm.

Her reflection looked nearly as terrible as she felt.

“…please.” Allura whispered the empty room. “Please let us still be friends after this...”

Perhaps she should start with that.

-----

- Meanwhile, in a different part of the Castle –

-----

Thunk.

“I am too gay for this.”

Thunk.

“Too. Goddamn. Quiznacking. Gay.”

Thunk.

“A space princess.” Pidge muttered, lifting her head off her Lion’s paw only to let it fall again with another dull ‘thunk’.

“Why did it have to be a space princess? Why did it have to be her? The entire fucking galaxy to fall in love with and I pick the one girl who is way out of my league, statistically unlikely to be interested, and too busy leading a rebellion to risk distracting!”

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

The Green Lion let out a growl and bent down to look at her Paladin.

With a groan Pidge flopped backwards among her scattered tools, abandoning the attempt to beat the hopeless gay thoughts out of her head.

It hadn’t been working anyway. Actually, the impacts to her frontal lobes just reminded her of that last sparring match with Allura, which had left her with a slight concussion and the realization that she had a thing for having the shit friendlily beaten out of her by beautiful girls she was crushing on.

Or she assumed she had a thing for that. Maybe she just had a thing for pretty much everything Allura did?

Allura locking the training drone on ‘high’ and then locking the five of them in the training room with it?

Hot and slightly terrifying.

Allura watching with genuine fascination as Hunk tried to turn alien ingredients into edible food?

Adorable as hell.

Allura taking the time to explain some finer points of the Castle inner workings while she effortlessly de-bugged it?

Biggest turn on of the millennium. Also, really appreciated.

Allura catching her eye and flashing Pidge that smile? Allura using that smile as a cue and switching to Altean mid-sentence just to rile up Lance, who thought them having a ‘secret code’ was totally unfair?

Incredible. A work of art. Could definitely be weaponized.

Allura beaming, sometimes even laughing, when Pidge took the hint and answered back in Altean?

Literally breathtaking.

As in, just remembering the moment was enough to make Pidge’s breath come whooshing out, heart hammering as if she was in the middle of a battle instead of lying flat on her back like some helpless gay turtle.

She stared blankly up at her Lion.

“… I learned a whole skizing language just to make her smile.”

Green tilted her head, clearly even more worried than before. A low rumble echoed through the hanger bay.

“It’s fine.” Pidge reassured her reflexively. “I’m fine. I’m dealing with it. I can deal.”

Giant mecha cats couldn’t make facial expressions, no matter how amazing they were otherwise, but Green still managed to look unconvinced. Though that could have just been Pidge’s Paladin bond cuing her in.

That same bond also meant that lying to her Lion was pretty useless.

Pidge rolled her eyes.

“I didn’t say it was easy or fun, okay? But it’s doable. It has to be if I don’t want to slip up and ruin everything- And by everything I mean everything.” She said pointedly, already feeling the ghost of a laugh bubbling up in Green.

“Like, potentially throw a wrench in the entire damn rebellion just cause I have a crush on an amazing girl who happens to be the last princess of Altea. So, you know.”

Bringing her hands together she laced her fingers and stretched until every last joint had cracked or popped to mildly painful satisfaction.

“-No pressure, right? Just gotta pine quietly. I can do that. As a lesbian, I’m practically licensed to do that.”

Pidge let her hands fall onto her stomach, still locked together.

She tried not to imagine what it would be like to hold hands with Allura.

She failed.

“Fuck.” Pidge groaned, pushing up her glasses so she could press the heels of her hands against her aching forehead. “Having a crush is such. Bullshit.”

It really was. But she still wouldn’t trade the feeling for all the worlds in the galaxy.

#pallura #fanfic #.#..#....#idk #fluff and and gays and panicking and fluffy gays who are panicking #but never actually talk to each other?#??#the fuck did i write

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veryloyalfan · 6 years

Text

Soriel Week 2018, Day 1: Queen

There were plenty of times where it was hard to think of Toriel as ever being a queen. When Papyrus was walking away from them in exasperation, and they were on the floor, laughing so hard that there were tears in their eyes, for instance.

Or when she was plunging the kitchen sink drain because it was clogged with white fur.

Or when she worked so hard the whole day, that she just plain passed out on the papers she was grading, and he found her snoring loudly in a puddle of her own drool.

In those moments, she was Tori. The voice behind the door that belonged to a lady as real and gentle and kind and down to earth as she was pretty.

But there were times… however few and far between, where it wasn’t just easier to remember she’d been queen… it was downright impossible to forget.

As she stood over him, with that disapproving frown and nonsense banishing tap of her foot, Sans decided that this just MIGHT be one of those times. He held out the carton as a peace offering. *heya, tori… heh, “donut” you want to…

“Do NOT try to distract me with puns.”

Wow. Not even a waver or a twinkle in her eyes. Yep, he was really in for it this time. *ok, but just so ya know… you don’t have the “hole” story yet.

He “pun”ctuated the comment with a wink, even as her jaw tensed a little more. She was real imposing, alright, but see, the trouble was, he’d never responded all that well to imposing authority figures. If she’d really wanted him to take this seriously, she should have come to talk to him. This regal, stoic, angry person staring him down wasn’t registering as the same Toriel he’d do just about anything for, even though he knew full well she was in there somewhere, and he hoped she got back soon, because she was a lot more fun.

“Sans.” There was a warning edge of steel in her voice.

He considered relenting. *you boss monsters really do get “steamed” don’tya?

The “you WILL take this seriously” look was only intensifying, and she wasn’t backing down, but, she wasn’t venting out her frustration with him into rage, either, and this WAS Tori, so he supposed he could throw her a bone. He sighed. *alright, so i’m guessin’ yer upset about the kid’s project, huh?

Her nostrils flared, which, should have been terrifying, but, it was just kind of cute. “When you said you were going to help Frisk make a model of the solar system, I assumed that you meant an accurate one.”

He grinned. *so, were ya expecting something too big to fit in the room, or something microscopic?

“You are WELL aware that is NOT what I meant.”

*heh. i’m really not that ‘deep’.

Her narrowing gaze alone was going to singe his hoodie if he didn’t stop, but, honestly, she was kinda cute when she got like this. Nothing wrong with being passionate about something, or wanting to protect it. But it wasn’t really anything to incinerate anyone over, either, and he highly doubted she was actually mad enough to go THAT far. Which was one of the big problems with trying to intimidate someone, really. Even an implied threat that you’re not willing to act on won’t take you far with the wrong person. Asgore had taken years to get the memo. Undyne still hadn’t learned.

It’d never even been a conscious thing he’d done. It was just sort of a natural defense against the ‘do as I want because I’m bigger and stronger than you’ mentality. Just because he couldn’t take a hit didn’t mean he had to “stand” at the mercy of everyone all the time. After all, a lot of battle situations were hit or “miss”.

Again, he thought about reconsidering his approach. After all, this was Toriel. If he was going to cut anyone some slack, it would be her. But the whole, “beware the wrath of those who outrank you” stigma had never made any sense to him.

He honestly expected her too “cool” off, but she was just as stubborn in her refusal to back down from her position as he was.

Made sense, he supposed. Most monsters probably wouldn’t be standing her quietly musing while Tori had “that” face on, and he highly doubted she was even aware she was doing it. It was just kinda amusing to him that it had the opposite effect on someone who’d already try to find a way to give her the world if she asked for it.

“Any accuracy at ALL would have been preferable to… to… that, multicolored, chaotic mess…”

He shrugged. *hey, that’s the model monster kids have been learning in school for ages.

Her fists clenched a little tighter, but her voice had a little tremor in it that was much more effective. “That is precisely why this project was so important… not only for Frisk, but for the other children in the class as well.”

He sighed. *aw, tori, i told ya, you don’t have all the facts yet. the anime solar system is pretty unscientific, i’ll give ya that.

Her eyes changed, from furious to just plain disappointed. That stung a bit. Quite a bit, actually. Sure he was used to disappointing people, but that didn’t mean he liked it. “And yet you could not even be bothered to try?”

All of his defenses were crumbling. This wasn’t Asgore trying to pry information out of him, or Undyne trying to intimidate him into doing his job, or a flower/child with time travel powers trying to make him feel small and helpless. This was Tori. And she was looking at him like he’d betrayed her.

“Sans?”

That sounded more like the Tori he knew and loved. He just wished she’d made a reappearance before he’d started to shrink in on himself. What was happening to him? Sure his bro was the cool one, but Sans was known for keeping his ‘chill’, not matter how “hot” the situation.

A paw closed over his shoulder. “I realize that education does not mean to you, what it does to me, but I simply…”

She’d done it. Cracked right through his chill and made him feel like dirt. He should have just played along before she’d dropped the nostril flaring in exchange for that wounded look. He should have known better than to string her along like that. It almost made him wish that he had slacked off. That way, he could grin sheepishly and apologize, and she’d forgive him, and they wouldn’t be at this awkward juncture anymore. He studied the ground between them. *it’s not the whole project.

“Excuse me?”

*the anime solar system is just an example of monsters previous misconceptions. that setup was different, and new to frisk, so the kid wanted to make one of those. we worked out a presentation on the actual science stuff to go along with it.

When he glanced up again, she was staring at him in dismay, like she’d actually been about to incinerate him for a misunderstanding or something. The absurdity of that thought lifted the corners of his sockets a little. The way her cheeks were starting to flush under her fur lifted them a little more. “Sans… I…”

He full on grinned at her. *eh, don’t “sweat” it, tori. shoulda cleared that up right from the start, ‘specially considering what a “flaming” passion you have for the education system.

Her eyes narrowed, but into a smirk this time. “And why did you not?”

He shrugged. *i dunno. isn’t anything personal. i’m just enough of a jerk that i’d have kept it up until you screamed ‘off with my head’. but ya’know… you’re not the queen of the underground anymore, tori. ya “goat”a learn to “chill”. stop to smell the roses, whether they’re painted or not.

She huffed. “I am not the queen of hearts, either, Sans.”

Ah, right into his trap. He winked. *you’re the queen of mine.

She looked startled as her blush deepened, and then she finally laughed, and it was well worth the wait, as usual.

Yeah, Toriel might not always act in the most queenly of ways, but there were still plenty of reminders that she was still very much royalty… even when it was just the two of them.

#sorielweek #sorielweek2018 #day 1 #prompt: queen #toriel #sans

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skaiheda-fic · 7 years

Text

Skaiheda: First Look

We’re releasing this tiny snippet in honor of @clexaweek2017‘s Canon Divergent theme day!

For those of you who don’t know: Here’s our summary:

Lexa Woods, a guard on the Ark, never expected to fall so deeply in love with Clarke Griffin, a prisoner in solitary. When the 100 are deployed to Earth, Lexa becomes a stowaway, swearing an oath to protect her love when they reach the ground. Before they can really gather their bearings on Earth together, they are separated, and think each other dead, until their fates collide once more, and Clarke is taken to meet the mysterious Grounder Commander.

This particular scene is Clarke and Lexa on the Ark, preparing for the masquerade party!

“Lexa?” Clarke asked, unsurely, her voice wavering with the hints of her inhibitions, less like the Clarke Lexa had grown accustomed to, usually stubborn and more free.

“It’s alright, Clarke. I do this patrol route a million times before I come visiting. It’s clear, I promise.” Lexa’s tone raised a bit, and Clarke felt a sense of calm wash over her. It had been so long since she’d left the confines of her cell. So long since she’d been reminded that she was part of a community. There were other people, voices, even. The sounds of music, echoing throughout the corridors, bouncing off the steel, coupled with the laughter of partygoers.

Partygoers.

The thought startled Clarke. It was almost like an awakening.

Locked in solitary, alone with her thoughts, always on the cusp of consuming her, she’d forgotten that there was life, even on the floating hunk of metal they called the Ark.

For a moment, she forgot about why she was locked away, at the hands of her own mother, and Jaha. She forgot about their impending doom, the threats, the lack of oxygen, the possibility of solar flares, all the reasons why she’d become disillusioned with life itself.

Lexa was her solace, her oxygen to breathe, her protection. Lexa made her forget. Lexa made her want to live.

With Lexa, she wasn’t caged in a steel, floating prison in the black abyss of space. She wasn’t a martyr, she wasn’t the crier of some inevitable doom.

With Lexa, she was floating, witnessing a cosmic ballet before her eyes, relishing in hushed whispers of affection, the graceful touch of soft lips, all under the spotlight of twinkling stars.

She took in the girl before her, guiding her without hesitation, her hand reached out behind her to lock with Clarke’s. Her grip was warm. Lexa was always warm. She’d remembered the hateful rhetoric that had been drilled into her since she could remember.

She was supposed to hate Lexa, to recoil at the sight of her, to think less of her black blood and her low ranking position in the Ark’s ridiculous hierarchy.

But Clarke found herself thinking that there wasn’t a force in the universe that could make her feel any ill towards the girl. Lexa was an enigma, to her. Clarke thought that she knew all there was to know about the people of the Ark. Being the daughter of a chief, core engineer meant that she knew a life of privilege. And while there was not a strong dichotomy between the life of the privileged on the Ark, and those of lesser status, Clarke prided herself on being at the top of her class.

Lexa seemed cold, calculating, one might even go so far as to say she was callous, at first. Dedicated to her job, keeping her head down, and surviving as best she could in a world that wasn’t kind to orphaned children on the Ark.

Clarke had wrongfully judged her, at first, like an idiot. She’d fallen for her parents’, and the Ark’s culture of trappings and lies.

Lexa was anything but.

Lexa was a little like the stars that surrounded them, dancing in and out of the night sky, brightening, illuminating everything in her path. A bit much to try and take in, if looked at plainly, directly, at the surface. She could seem distant, irrelevant, something foreign and too strange to understand. Dangerous, even.

But underneath her facade, her carefully worn mask, pieced together cautiously, delicately, she was burning with unfettered passion. She had such a soft nature, such a gentle touch, often the image of effeminate grace, with words like soft-spoken poetry, to match.

Clarke was roused by her thoughts when she felt Lexa’s slender, toned arm brush against her side slightly, her long fingers moving to cup Clarke’s cheek.

Clarke noticed they were standing at the edge of the corridor they’d came from, steps away from merging into the main walkway, and into the event deck, where the ball would held.

Clarke could have remembered any number of nights there, arm slung over Wells’ shoulder, giggling as the two best friends would return from a night of innocent fun, unaware of what cold fates the future held for them. Clarke had always bristled, whenever Wells had taunted her by calling her innocent. She wanted to laugh in incredulity. Back then, before this mess with her father, her mother, and Jaha- she’d have argued that she was anything but innocent. She knew about her mother’s grittiest cases, and her father’s two near-death experiences. She knew she had talents for romancing her fellow classmates on the Ark, as she could name a few who were clearly enamored with her, but she’d never found herself feeling the same about them.

Clarke wanted to laugh at her former self. She’d have killed for her innocence, for her bliss, her carefree life, where her biggest worry was how she was going to get her hands on some of Monty Green’s famed Moonshine.

She felt all the memories, repressed and otherwise, somewhere in the depths of her conscience. She didn’t want to remember. Not when her future was standing before her, offering herself to Clarke so tenderly, so unselfishly, it ignited a spark in Clarke’s heart, in her gut. If Clarke’s hope for humanity was a dimming flame, or put out altogether, by her mother’s betrayal and the council’s support- Lexa rekindled it, fed it, nourished it, and protected it.

“Hi.” Lexa whispered, and Clarke realized just how close their bodies were, almost pressed against one another.

“Hi.” Clarke’s smile was lopsided, genuine, a rarity if not in Lexa’s presence.

“Are you alright?” Lexa spoke, and Clarke had to admire the way her words were always so elongated, enunciated, formal. It wasn’t as if she had an accent, but Clarke thought she sounded like a scholar, or a foreigner, at times, and it enchanted her. Clarke later learned that Lexa’s educational prospects were far different from her charmed life. Lexa was schooled almost entirely by herself, with guidance from various interim mentors in her youth. Clarke could remember from her earlier days, the council had fought a movement that demanded general education for all minors, if not specialization in a specific task.

The council had struck the idea down with great force. They’d wanted to retain their access to a plethora of clueless capital, labor they could apply to any field they lacked in, with little to no choice or say from the children who had no one to speak for them, like Lexa. And with the Ark’s harsh laws and ordinances, orphaned children weren’t particularly a rare event. Clarke remembered cheering as a young girl, when her mother entered their quarters, and gave Clarke a particularly cheery smile and kiss, telling her, “Mommy’s council just got their way, baby.”

Clarke swallowed the lump in her throat. “Lexa, I…” The words died in her throat, and Lexa furrowed her brow. No, tonight wasn’t about that. No matter how utterly disgusted and revolted Clarke was, at her society, at her past self- she could spend the rest of her days (and granted, they were numbered)- apologizing to Lexa.

But first, she could have this one night.

They could.

“Yeah.” Clarke nodded, watching as Lexa pulled away, moving to a panel in the wall. “Lexa? What are you-”

Lexa offered a soft, wry smile as she pried the panel open, revealing a shallow space.

“Lexa!” Clarke hissed, keeping her voice low despite the pounding music outside. “That’s vandalism of council property! That’s punishable by-”

Lexa chuckled softly, and Clarke paused. “I am a guard, Clarke. It’s alright. Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” Clarke breathed instantly, sincerely, and the whispered words brought a smile to Lexa’s lips.

Lexa wasn’t accustomed to that- that friendliness, that trust, that friendship. She found her heart thumping rapidly in her chest, as she pulled her items from the space, replacing it with her jacket

Clarke blinked, lost in how beautiful Lexa looked, as she shucked off her guard’s jacket, revealing a tight fitting black tank top underneath that clung to every inch of her muscled, lean figure. Lexa was breathtaking. She was beauty, power, strength, grace, personified.

Lexa brandished what appeared to be a collared shirt, slipping it on and buttoning it to fill her role as a partygoer.

Clarke glanced down at the change of clothes Lexa had brought for her, and felt a pang of guilt. Back before her life had take such a drastic turn for the worst, Clarke could have effortlessly found any number of dresses or fine clothing to wear. She realized now that Lexa was offering all she had, and it warmed her heart. Lexa had gone through so much to arrange this.

“If you’re not working the ball…where do the other guards expect you to be?” Clarke asked, softly.

“I was assigned to your cell block. I made arrangements with the other guards.” Lexa informed her quietly, removing any traces of her profession from her uniform. “Bellamy Blake is here, don’t startle if you see him. He knows I’m here with you.”

Clarke nodded, eyes flicking down to Lexa’s hands as she handed Clarke her mask, smiling as she replaced the panel on the wall.

Clarke’s eyes wandered over the intricate handmade mask, blue, with golden trimming. It was beautiful, with a quality of mystery to it. Clarke felt adrenaline begin to course through her veins, her heart thrumming wildly. She felt herself grow giddy at the prospect of spending an entire night, uninterrupted, with her girlfriend.

Girlfriend.

The world felt unfamiliar on her tongue, but Clarke was enamored with the taste.

Lexa was her girlfriend.

Lexa’s mask was green, with black and gold trim, and Clarke couldn’t help but notice the way it complemented her eyes, sitting on her high cheekbones, Lexa was a sight to behold. She’d freed her brunette waves from their bun, and they flowed over her shoulder.

Clarke couldn’t help but think she looked a lot like royalty.

“You look so beautiful.” Is what she settled on. She wasn’t shy or bashful about that, at the very least. Clarke was forward, bold, reassuring in her attempts to court Lexa. And she always succeeded in making the older girl blush.

“As do you.” Lexa answered, her voice barely there, as she let her fingers rest at her sides, looking uneasy, for a moment.

Clarke took the step forward, cupping Lexa’s cheeks, smiling when she felt Lexa’s hands move to her waist, as if to steady her. Clarke had to lean up to press her kiss to Lexa’s, as Lexa had a decent height advantage over her. She stood on the tips of her toes, grateful that she could lean on Lexa. Their bodies molded together so perfectly, so comfortably, it was as if they were custom made for each other.

Clarke kissed Lexa’s plump, pillowy lips with fervor, immediately feeling Lexa’s lip tremble slightly under her kiss, a weak sigh escaping her lips. Lexa was such a sensual partner. Everything she did- every whimper, every kiss, every slight shift in her balance, every gasp- it was driven by her emotion, by her heart, spilling over with emotions she’d pent up for so long.

Lexa gasped as she pulled away just enough to breathe, a crooked smile on her lips, as Clarke’s eyes fixed on the small freckle there with great adoration. Lexa was still breathing deeply, trying to recover from the way the intimacy shook her. Growing up, Lexa was starved of intimacy-people avoided touching her as if she had the plague, and could infect them at any moment. Her physical differences had wounded her, causing a great deal of her apprehension, her self-doubt, her childhood and adolescent suffering.

Clarke didn’t give touching her, kissing her, feeling her, holding her, a second thought. And Lexa found herself spiraling deeper and deeper into the great chasm of sentiments she held for Clarke.

Love.

She knew it was love. She wanted to shout it from the Command station, over the intercom for all to hear. She was enamored with the girl, in every possible way. Clarke was witty, brilliant, and so, so different. She was an artist, and a visionary. She’d spend nights telling Lexa about how she imagined the world, showing her with whatever charcoals she could scavenge, drawing out intricate displays of nature and serenity that made Lexa’s heart long for the home she’d never had. Lexa took one look at Clarke’s depiction of the Earth’s mountainous forests, and she simply knew, in another life, that was where she’d belonged.

She’d fallen in love with Clarke, easily, and while she hadn’t said anything for fear of Clarke’s rejection, she was beginning to realize that, perhaps, her fears were unfounded.

“Are you ready?” Clarke asked softly, regaining her attention as she pressed a kiss to Lexa’s cheek.

“Yes.” Lexa nodded, feeling dizzy at just the contact.

“I can’t believe our waltzing practice in my cell paid off.” Clarke murmured, half teasing- half genuinely in awe.

“I promised I would take you, if I ever got the chance.” Lexa murmured, hands sliding up Clarke’s back, drawing chills on her girlfriend’s body. “I am a woman of my word, Klark.” The way she said the name rang with some sort of familiarity, warmth, some sense of…home. The way her tongue carefully rolled Clarke’s name, the way she clicked the “k”. It was so, uniquely Lexa.

“Yeah?” Clarke challenged, flirty and teasing at first, but as she pressed on, her voice grew a little more melancholy. “…Well, then, promise me we’ll do this again.” She whispered, holding back tears.

Lexa knew why she was in solitary. She fell into a sort of shock when she’d learned, but like Clarke, she realized that telling anyone- creating chaos in a time of peace- that would have been foolish, despite her instincts to warn people, to save people.

Lexa wanted to save the very people who spit in her face, and called her a monster.

“We will.” Lexa dipped her head, to acknowledge the gravity of the promise, before leaning forward to press a soft kiss to Clarke’s lips, less shy than before. She leaned back, her lips grazing Clarke’s, barely hovering over hers as her virid gaze found Clarke’s cobalt response.

Clarke’s unspoken complaint hung heavy in the air. But what if there’s no time?

Lexa’s answer was in her gaze, in the way she regarded Clarke as if she were an ethereal being, an angel, a goddess. Her unspoken answer was all Clarke needed, and she understood, simply from her gaze. If not in this life, the next, and the one after that, and so on, until I find you again.

#clexa #skaiheda #clexa week 2017 #sneak peek #preview #first look

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