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samders-sides · 4 months

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The Hunt for Prince Roman - Chapter Three

Summary: Roman has been in the Imagination for two weeks straight and Virgil has grown concerned. What starts as a welfare check on the wayward Prince turns into a full on quest to find him because things…are not adding up.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51469459/chapters/130539241

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 -

Chapter Three: The Flight of Felicity

Virgil grabbed Chestnut’s reins from the stable boy and moodily stalked out of the kingdom. Virgil hated being on horses when there were so many people around, and it seems everyone had decided to go on their lunch breaks at the same time. Roman had told him many times that the horses were all used to people, and they would never get spooked in a marketplace, but that was never enough to convince Virgil that it was actually safe. It only cost him a few minutes more to weave through the crowd – most of whom parted anyway to let him through – towards the bridge that would lead him away from this unsettling medieval setting that was speed-running through centuries of aesthetic and technological changes, and towards the entrance of the fairy forest.

Roman really did need to start coming up with better names for things.

Once safely across the bridge, where far fewer people were milling about, Virgil finally mounted Chestnut. He paused for a second, looking up.

The Fairy Forest was vast and old. He craned his neck from side to side, and all he could see for miles was trees. Mainly saplings and younger growth at this outer edge, but Virgil knew there were far larger, older, gnarlier trees in the depths of the woods. Virgil became aware of a buzzing sound, almost crackling – the sound he now knew (after many a visit to the Imagination) to be the sound of magic. Virgil blinked rapidly, suddenly realising that he should have been feeling and hearing that to some degree as soon as he got to the imagination, and most definitely when he was in the castle. No wonder he was so on edge.

Virgil clicked his tongue and urged Chestnut forward onto the road ahead and into the trees, trying to ignore how his satchel pressed against him. It was much heavier with the weight of Princey’s crown. A niggling thought kept eating at the back of his head. He tried to quiet it for now.

As the real Logan would say, Virgil needed more information before jumping to conclusions.

The (blessedly cobbled) road cut a path through the trees like someone had shot a laser through the forest. Virgil couldn’t help but feel like he was on one of those conveyer belts at aquariums where the tank is all around you and above you – a feeling that only solidified as Virgil spotted a shoal of brilliantly pink sparkling fish swimming through the air, flitting out between leaves and trees, leaving a trail of light behind that slowly faded.

As Virgil journeyed on, the canopy above him became more extensive and the forest became darker. It wasn’t an oppressive feeling, more like snuggling in bed under the covers with a soft toy. Warm, enclosed, safe.

Gods Virgil wanted to find Roman.

Chestnut whickered softly as a signpost came into view. Virgil looked up and scrubbed his face quickly. Next to the signpost was another person, dressed in golden wizard robes. He was evidently enjoying a picnic, he had sprawled out on a checkered picnic blanket, some scones, a pot of tea, some biscuits, and sandwiches. The mystery man looked up and smiled as Virgil and Chestnut approached. His auburn hair and short shaved beard gave him the appearance of youth, though his wrinkles suggested otherwise.

For the first time Virgil became very aware that he had no weapon.

“Ho there, stranger!” The man hailed, interrupting Virgils inner monologue which had just started scolding him for how dumb and stupid he had to be to set out on a quest unprotected. “Care to join me?”

Virgil gripped the reins of Chestnut, not wanting to do that in the least. But, Video Game Logic.

Virgil slid off Chestnut and dug an apple out of his satchel. He stroked Chestnut’s neck for a second, then offered the apple. It was gone in a blink and Virgil couldn’t help but smile.

Virgil turned and eyed the strange wizard-man, before steeling himself and sitting down on the corner of the picnic mat. The wizard’s eyes seemed to spark with something. Virgil frowned and shoved his hands into his pockets. He had a feeling of what he had to do; it didn’t make him feel any less self-conscious though.

Virgil hated talking to strangers, even imaginary ones.

“So,” Virgil cleared his throat. “What brings you to the fairy forest?”

The wizard laughed and poured Virgil a cup of what Virgil guessed was tea (though the bright blue colouring wasn’t really looking very appetising). Virgil accepted the cup but made no move to drink from it.

“Why, same reason as you I should guess” the wizard-man took a bite out of one of the sandwiches. “The Fight for the Flight of Felicity o’ course! I hate to say that you are a tad late, happened yesterday. I really thought I had a shot this year, but there’s no crying over spilled magic.” The man nodded sagely.

Virgil just blinked and forced himself not to correct the false assumption the stranger had made. Roman had told him once (while they were on a quest and a traveler had mistaken their identities) that this was a common imagination quirk to get them relevant information. Virgil had grown more comfortable with the imagination after learning more of these rules, but it did not come naturally to him like it did to Roman.

“Ah, that’s a shame. I came all this way,” Virgil said instead, in a flat tone. Just because he was playing along did not mean he had to put any effort into it.

“T’was a magnificent showdown. It’s always been my dream to win the contest and be bestowed with the flight of felicity. Shame they only hold the contest once per year, I’ve been going nigh on 10 years now and have always been pipped at the finish line.” The wizard-man looked downcast. Virgil bit back a sigh. Exposition was never his favourite part of the imagination’s quests, though it was useful.

“What does the contest entail?” Virgil said through gritted teeth, feeling rather stupid.

The wizard-man stared at Virgil for a second. “Surely you must know if you were planning to compete?”

“First timer.” Virgil grunted.

“Ah, I see.” The man stroked his beard. “Well, contestants from all the lands travel here – which can be a feat in and of itself, let me tell you! – to be judged by the Tree of Life in Pixie Hollow. They must tell the Pixie conglomerate the tales of their year, their triumphs, their feats, their failures. The Tree of Life then judges you on your honour, your heart. The most worthy is given the Gift of the Flight of Felicity, a magic that is bestowed only on the pure of heart. With it, people can do extraordinary things.” He looked wistful.

“I’m sure you’ll get there someday” Virgil muttered awkwardly, swirling his untouched tea around in his cup. The man perked up like someone had shot an electrical current through him, a large smile returning to his wizened face.

“Thank you, dear friend. You are right! I will never give up. Surely next time will be my day!” He crammed a biscuit in his mouth. Virgil tipped a little tea out while the man wasn’t looking. “Plus,” the wizard-man said, mouth full of biscuits “this year’s winner truly deserved the power. Young fulla. Looks a lot like you, come to think of it.”

Virgil put his cup down hurriedly. There it was.

“Where did you say this contest was held? Where is the winner now?”

“Easy there, tiger. Follow the signs to Pixie Hollow on yer left. Can’t miss it. But won’t you stay for tea?” The man looked a bit sad to be losing his lunch companion so soon.

“Sorry, er, sir. I have to see the winner about a quest.” Virgil was already jumping up and running to Chestnut, who had been standing lazily by a nearby tree. Slinging his foot over, Virgil suddenly felt a bolt of guilt. “Erm, thank you, sir, for the tea and…um…company.”

The man smiled and waved.

Virgil felt stupid and chided himself for being concerned about an imaginary person’s feelings. He just wanted to find Roman and get out of here.

Virgil kicked Chestnut into gear.

Virgil rode for roughly an hour by his estimates, though by now no sunlight could penetrate the trees to assist him in telling the passage of time, the road lit instead by fireflies and the occasional torch. His inner thighs were getting rather sore. It had been a while since he had done so much horse riding.

When had been the last time he and Roman had been on a quest together? Virgil hadn’t really stopped to think about it, he had been so busy with the world seemingly coming to an end to realise when that had ceased. Virgil put the thoughts out of his head and rode harder. Now wasn’t the time to slow himself down with an existential crisis.

The man had said the contest had taken place yesterday, so Roman could not have gotten too far.

After what felt like days, the path abruptly widened and opened out into a small clearing. It was clearly a town square of sorts and, as Virgil drew Chestnut to a stop, he looked around and saw fairy houses lining every branch of the trees around him with Pixies – looking like slightly bigger fireflies – flitting about hurriedly. A large tree, far older than the rest, grew up in the centre of the clearing. Lanterns hung from the branches, and it almost seemed to be breathing.

A Pixie flew down from a nearby tree, turning into a person about the height of a human child in front of Virgil. Virgil tried not to stare. The Pixie was a young woman, clothed in a dress that looked to be made of leaves. There was an aura of magic around her, she glowed green. Her black hair was twisted into a braid that ran down her back.

Virgil slid off his horse, realising he was probably being rude. He gave a shaky bow to the Pixie, who just raised her eyebrow in response. Virgil blushed – it’s not like he was an expert in Pixie culture you know.

“Name yourself,” she said cautiously. “The contest finished yesterday; no outsiders are welcome outside of the contest days.”

“I’m Virgil, this is Chestnut,” Virgil gulped. “I mean you no harm?” That seemed to be the right thing to say, right? He probably shouldn’t have phrased it like a question. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, suddenly feeling like there were hundreds of eyes on him. Which, as he opened them again and looked around, was probably an undercount. Thousands of Pixies had stopped what they were doing and were all looking at him. He was literally under a spotlight of concentrated Pixie light.

The feeling of being swaddled in a warm blanket that the forest had brought him upon entering was suddenly gone, replaced with a feeling of suffocation.

Virgil gulped again. “I come seeking the winner of the contest for – er – guidance.”

The Pixie in front of him raised her other eyebrow, looking at him skeptically. She started tapping her foot.

And, you know what? Virgil had had enough. He was tired, it must be close to bedtime, he had nearly had two panics today and he was working himself up for a third. If he ever found that Prince, he was going to wring his neck.

“Look Sparkles, just tell Roman or Princey or Flight of Felicity winner or whatever he’s calling himself now that Virgil is here to see him and the sooner he says hi the sooner I can get out of his hair.” Virgil swore he could hear Chestnut draw in a breath behind him. The Pixie in front of her opened her mouth to retort angrily when another bright spark flitted down from the boughs of a branch. Upon touching the ground, this one grew into a Virgil sized human, dressed in a white tunic.

Virgil barely saw the face that he knew like it was his own (because, you know, it was) before he threw himself at the newcomer for a hug. Virgil let his ragged breath come out as his bones sagged in pure relief. And suddenly he was babbling – how worried he had been and how Roman hadn’t left a note or sent a letter or anything and that he was sorry for entering in the imagination, but he just had to know…

“Easy there kiddo, you’re going to squash my glasses” mumbled the man, clumsily patting the anxious side on the back. Virgil’s breath froze in his lungs as he pulled away to get a look. The non-Roman pulled glasses out of the front pocket of his tunic and squinted as he put them on.

Virgil took a step back like he had been slapped.

“Patton?”

The non-Patton shook his head.

“Why don’t you sit down and have some tea?”

“Where’s Roman?”

The non-Patton looked confused and shared a glance with the woman Pixie beside him. With a start Virgil became aware of the crackling magic that filled the air and looked around – every Pixie was much closer now, poised, and ready to fire magic at him. With a gulp he realised that rushing into a hug was probably not a friendly action for a stranger to be doing.

“The former Prince?” Virgil tried again, desperate. This couldn’t have been a red herring. Had he wasted all that time on this path for nothing? Had fake-Logan actually seized power in a bloody coup and sent him on a wild goose chase to be murdered by Pixies?

Virgil dimly registered that his thoughts were spiraling, but he struggled to bring himself back to the present. He sat down on the carpet of leaves that lined the clearing. Chestnut whickered softly, nuzzling the back of Virgil’s head.

Non-Patton was beside him in an instant, stroking his arm and helping Virgil ground himself. Virgil blinked tears out of his eyes, surprising himself.

There was suddenly a bright light and a tea set appeared in front of him. Non-Patton hurriedly poured a cup and pressed it into Virgil’s hands. Virgil vaguely mused that he had had more tea shoved at him today than he had drank in a lifetime but took a long sip anyway.

His vision cleared and he blinked non-Patton into focus. He was sitting cross legged in front of him, sipping his own cup of tea. Non-Patton gave him a reassuring smile. It was creepy.

“I always find a cup of tea makes me feel a bit better,” non-Patton said quietly. Virgil gave a tight nod. “To answer your question, the former Prince competed in the contest just yesterday. I actually came here to support him – you see, I used to be a member of his royal court. A close member, really…”

Virgil looked up at the non-Patton with a sickening feeling rising in his stomach, along with an uncomfortable sense of déjà vu. He took another gulp of tea, still not trusting himself to talk (he really didn’t think the pissed off Pixie’s would take too kindly to his deep anxiety voice at the moment, no matter how pathetically non-threatening he looked curled in on himself on the ground with a cup of tea in his hands).

“We got here and, um, the former Prince said that I should sign up for the contest too.” The non-Patton looked almost guilty, and a part of Virgil wanted to say good, feel guilty. He stopped himself by taking another gulp of tea.

“And you won, fair and square.” The small Pixie woman stated. She hadn’t moved from her spot where she had initially landed, but folded her arms and narrowed her eyes. “There is no point feeling guilty for being a more honourable and worthy man. The Tree of Life never lies.”

It had the cadence of a conversation that had been had before, with an undertone of frustration. Logan had that tone sometimes when he had to repeat something obvious multiple times.

Non-Patton was looking at his hands which clasped his mug. His fingers sparkled with magic. For the first time, Virgil realised that he had an aura too – shining white like an angel.

Virgil closed his eyes.

“Where did he go next?”

#roman sanders angst #roman sanders #sanders sides #virgil sanders #patton sanders #ts sides

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clonewarsarchives · 2 years

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Reputation (#136, OCT 2012)

written by Ari Marmell

art by Tom Hodges

It wasn’t even genuine rain pattering down around him, muting the hum of the speeders and skiffs high above. Real rain could never have wormed its way among the various obstacles to reach the city’s lower levels. No, this was condensation, dripping from the undersides of bridges, roadways, and TaggeCo gray-cranes overhead. Oily, polluted, stinking and stinging, it was enough to drive almost anyone to seek the nearest shelter.

Almost anyone. Not the hunter.

Broad-brimmed hat and sturdy coat of nashtah hide shed the putrid water as efficiently as any forcefield, but even if they hadn’t, the figure crouched beneath them would likely never have noticed the precipitation. From a flat and leathery face beneath that brim, the sinister crimson eyes of a Duros peered not at the multitude of towers above and ledges below, or the glimmering of a thousand lights, but into the years ahead.

War’s coming.

Most people didn’t like to think about it, didn’t want to admit it. They pretended the Trade Federation’s recent embargoes were flukes; ignored the growing whispers of separation and secession from the Outer Rim systems; placed an almost religious faith in the new chancellor’s abilities to reunite a fractious Senate.

He knew better, the hunter did. He could smell it in the air, across the length and breadth of the Republic. Might be a few years, yet, but war it would be.

And there was money to be made in war. A lot of money; more wealth than even the greediest Corellian could imagine. But he needed the name, the reputation, to claim it, which was why he’d taken this fool’s errand of a job in the first—

His eyes snapped back into focus with a single blink at the sudden vibration in the metallic band on his left wrist. Something had tripped the portable sensor fled—independent from the building’s internal security, and not nearly as easily bypassed—the Duros had placed on the roof below. Indeed, even as he rose for a better view, a glimmer of green luminescence shone, briefly but brightly, from a darkened hatch.

“Suppose it’s about that time, then...” the hunter muttered, his voice a rasping, rolling growl. Spindly fingers ran across the custom blasters at his waist in a final check, and then he was off and running. Coat flowing behind him like wings, boots spraying a wake of filthy water, the bounty hunter hit the edge of the platform and leapt.

“Blast doors down! Blast doors down!”

Akris Ur’etu, lord of the youthful but rich and brutal Skar’kla Consortium, cringed at the sound of his own voice, shrill enough to drown out the slamming of the heavy slabs. He knew it made him sound panicked, even cowardly, and couldn’t do a bleeding thing about it. When the Bothan crime boss grew agitated, his shadow-gray fur stood on end and his voice screeched like the felines he so greatly resembled.

Still, whatever his people thought of his bravery—or lack thereof—they obeyed. Half a dozen guards, human and otherwise, crouched throughout the room or flattened themselves against the walls, blasters and slug-throwers trained on the nigh-impregnable door. Ur’etu himself clutched a holdout blaster in one paw, hidden behind his magnificent desk of blood-red greel wood.

“Is it him?” he demanded, his tone now slightly more under control He ran his empty paw over his head, as though he could force his fur to relax. “Are we certain it’s him?”

A bronze-scaled Trandoshan thug opened his maw to speak, but the answer quickly became moot. A pinprick of glowing heat blossomed through the blast door; molten durasteel trickled from the breach, disturbingly like seepage from a ruptured cyst.

Swiftly, smoothly, that point became a line, tracing its way down the surface of the door. Ur’etu could practically envision the brown robed figure on the other side, lightsaber pressed tight to the portal.

“As he likes it, then,” the Bothan sneered, his worry drowning in a growing tide of anger. “I don’t know why this Jedi’s been interfering with my operations—or what happened to the bounty hunter who’s supposed to get him out of my fur!—but it ends here! The instant that door opens, I want that hallway filled with enough blaster fire to charbroil a Hutt!”

Guards grunted, fingers flexed on triggers and firing studs—and slowly, methodically, the sizzling outline in the blast door grew...

When the cut was finally complete, a chunk of durasteel simply slid away and toppled into the chamber. Clearly, the Jedi had canted the cut downward so gravity alone would do the job of moving the heavy slab; had any of Uretu’s men been fool enough to stand too close. they’d have been pulped.

Blasters screamed and bolts flew even as the room shuddered at the impact, so many and so rapidly that the ambient air grew charged, but no target stood revealed for them to hit. After a few volleys that served no purpose other than to score the walls beyond, it finally dawned on the lot of them that they were firing into an empty corridor.

Empty... until, just as the Trandoshan began to edge forward, a tiny metallic sphere bounced into the room from all to the left of the gaping hole in the door.

“Detonator!”

Ur’etu dropped beneath his heavy desk with a horrified yowl; guards dove for cover or turned to run, as though there were any real way to escape.

The blast, when it came, was almost pure heat and flame without concussion. The Trandoshan and two other thugs were incinerated outright, the others singed to various degrees of pain. Smoke, far more than any traditional thermal detonator should have emitted, billowed upward to cloud not only the doorway but that entire half of the room.

“Eyes on the door!” the Bothan shrieked from beneath the desk. “He’ll be—!”

He already was. From the very top of the smoke, carried through the fumes in a leap that no normal human could have duplicated, the dark-clad intruder rolled. A sizzling snap-hiss! and an emerald reflection in the cloud heralded his arrival. The lightsaber flashed, and the first of the surviving guards went down.

From well behind the Jedi—who, it turned out, was a black-haired and bearded human at average height, clad in a dark-hued variant of the Order’s traditional garb—the bounty hunter watched through narrowed crimson slits. One finger idly tapped at his chin, while the other kept the same rhythm on the butt of a holstered blaster.

These were no Jedi tactics he’d ever heard of! Slicing through the blast door, that was one thing, but the Duros had never seen a lightsaber like this one. The shaft alone was over a meter long, as though the weapon had been stuck on the end of a small pike, turning it into more of a spear than a sword. And he’d watched as the Jedi ducked aside, hunkering behind the segment of the door still standing until the inevitable barrage had passed, and then...

“Since when,” he asked himself softy. “does the Jedi satchel of tricks include thermal detonators?”

Most curious of all, though, was the leap that carried the intruder into the chamber beyond the wall of smoke. For just a spilt second, as the Jedi crouched, the bounty hunter swore he spotted tiny flashes of light from the soles of the man’s boots.

“Well, now. What exactly are we looking at here?”

Tugging the collar of his coat high and tight to filter the worst of the fumes (Breathing tubes! Best add breathing tubes to my own sack of tricks...), the bounty hunter crept toward the smoke.

* * *

When the boss of the Skar’kla Consortium had ducked beneath his desk, it wasn’t only because he’d hoped the heavy greet wood might shield him from the blast. A hidden switch, a quick turn, and the floor beside the desk hissed open. By the time the last of the guards fell to the lightsaber, Ur’etu was already dashing along a metal-paneled corridor, swearing up a storm in Bothese between ragged gasps. He’d expected he might have to retreat, that the guards upstairs might not be enough—but he thought they’d at least have slowed the blasted Jedi down a little! With every step, he had to quash the urge to look over his shoulder, convinced he heard pounding footsteps or the sinister hum of the blade close behind him. A dozen times he started at sudden movement, and a dozen times it proved nothing more than his own reflection in the polished walls.

Finally, after what felt like a sprint of roughly a light year or so, he came to the end of the corridor, and cheery door not substantially thinner than the blast doors above. Somewhat frantically—for now he really did hear the rapid steps of the oncoming Jedi—he waved a paw over a sensor recessed into the durasteel. Instantly the portal slid up into the frame, revealing Ur’etu’s security center.

From amidst a ring of standing monitors, the Bothan’s Weequay security chief peered at him.

“Problem, boss?”

The clunk of the closing door masked another stream of Bothese obscenities. “What the mradhe muck kind of stupid question is that?!”

The Weequay shrugged, and if he felt at all contrite, it didn’t show in the crags and wrinkles of his coarse face. “Thought you said you’d call me when you needed—”

“Wasn’t time! That Jedi tore your men apart!”

“He’s coming through that door any second,” Ur’etu continued between wheezes.

“Good!” The security chief stepped away from his post, a stubby force pike clutched in his left fist. It began to crackle and spit, as though just as anxious as its wielder for the coming chaos. “Been wantin’ to try my hand against a Jedi.”

“You don’t have to beat the son of a mynock! Just lock him up long enough for....” The Bothan hefted his blaster.

“Just don’ hit me, boss.”

“Oh, thank you so much for the—”

No lightsaber cuts this time; the door simply slid upward once more to reveal the cloaked and cowled figure beyond.

Instantly Ur’etu stepped back and to one side, raising the small but deadly weapon in hopes of a clean shot. The Weequay strode forward, force pike spinning idly at his side.

The Jedi’s left hand rose, fingers pointing at the Bothan.

Ur’etu gasped as the blaster abruptly tore itself from his grip and sailed across the chamber to slap into a dark-gloved palm.

The Weequay had crossed roughly half the distance between them in a sudden lunge before the Jedi flipped the blaster around and shot him in the face.

“Now... now wait a minute...” the Bothan protested, backing away with both paws raised. “Look, I don’t know what grudge you have against my organization, but I’m sure there’s some arrangement that we can glrk...”

The Jedi stepped to one side, left hand pointing once more, and Ur’etu began to choke.

* * *

“Right. Think I’ve seen about enough, then.”

Two faces, one hooded and one furred, twitched around as the bounty hunter stepped calmly into the security chamber. Ur’etu made a peculiar gurgling in his throat, gesturing madly toward the Jedi with one paw while the other continued to grab futilely at his own neck.

The Duros watched the Jedi’s arm shift beneath his robes, saw the indecision on the man’s face, and offered a broad, sharp-toothed grin. “Don’t mind me. I got no intention of interfering. By all means, finish up.”

One wouldn’t have thought the suffocating Bothan’s eyes could bulge any wider. One would have been wrong. Ur’etu, boss of the Skar’kla Consortium, died staring in horrified rage at the blue-skinned bounty hunter.

“Now,” the bounty hunter began as the body slumped to the floor, “let’s you and me talk a minute.”

“What about?” Even had the Jedi’s words not swum in a soup of suspicion, the hand he rested on the hilt of his lightsaber would have been indicator enough.

“Mostly about how you faked all...” Long blue fingers waved idly at the room in general .“All this.”

The hand on the lightsaber shaft tightened.

“I don’t recommend it, son. Not even a Jedi’d be fast enough—and we both know you’re no Jedi.”

The man’s answering hiss of astonished anger led into the louder hiss of plasma, the lightsaber blade once more snapping on to bathe him in a faint green glow...

And just as swiftly shut down as a blaster bolt tare through the shaft, sending metal shrapnel, burnt wiring, and crystalline shards tearing through cloth and, in a few painful instances, skin.

“Stolen lightsaber, right?” the bounty hunter continued, as casually as if discussing the latest slingball match. “Extra haft makes it easier to wield without leaving a few of your own limbs behind, that one’s obvious. What else you got?”

The “Jedi” leapt, clearing the control panels and half the chamber in a bound, heading toward the fallen Weequay and—presumably—his weapons.

“The boots, right. Impressive.” A second blaster bolt flew, piercing miniature engine, leather, and flesh alike. Smoke, so thick it was almost a fluid, gushed from the human’s right heel. Propelled only by the other, now, his leap veered off course. slamming him into the wall with a bone-bruising crunch. He slid to the floor, groaning. “Smallest personal jet I’ve seen was 30-kilo pack,” the Duros told him, gesturing idly with the pistol . “You’re lucky I made that shot, by the way. I don’t typically practice shooting to wound.”

Fingers shaking, the supposed Jedi raised a hand once more. The blaster quivered in the hunter’s hand, then began to pull away.

“Mono-filament cable with a magnetic grapple?” The bounty hunter yanked, and the wounded man slid across the floor, dragged by his own wrist. “Probably looked just like the Force to that scared Bothan idiot when you snagged his blaster.” The human fetched up against the hunter’s feet with a pained gasp.

“And the suffocation. Let me see...” He bent low, studying the other’s wrist gauntlets. “Gas emitter. Wouldn’t recommend trying that, not with you and me so close. Might choke the both of us, hmm?”

Real clever scheme, I’ll give you that.” The Duros holstered his weapon, then again started to idly tap a finger against his chin. “Leave behind a few bodies killed with a lightsaber or choked without any bruising, make sure witnesses see you performing a few tricks, and everyone’s thinking your target riled up the Jedi something fierce. So nobody—not the authorities, not Ur’etu’s allies—are looking at any of his business rivals. Smart.

“So which Hutt are you working for?”

“What did—? I never said... How—?”

“Not hard to figure. Not like anyone but the Hutts have been trying to move on Skar’kla territory.”

The “Jedi” nodded once, his teeth clenched.

“All right. Then here’s the deal, son. I took Ur’etu’s job—that’s killing you, in case you still weren’t sure—because I figured taking down a Jedi would garner some attention. But everyone would’ve figured it out, once I brought you in. So here’s what I figure: The Hutt’s bounty on the Bothan must be pretty sizable, so I’m going to collect it.

“And you... You’re gonna convince me I made the right call letting you live by teaching me how to construct this kind of miniaturized equipment.” Already the hunter’s mind was reeling with the possibilities; energy fields, ship controls, hidden weapons, code breakers...

The false Jedi was clearly wise enough not to bother asking what would happen should he refuse. Instead, he nodded a second time, even more stiffly. “I didn’t catch your name, bounty hunter.”

“Bane. The name’s Cad Bane.”

“Never heard of you.”

“No.” Bane couldn’t keep a broad and vicious smile from spreading across his face. War was Looming—and the hunter with access to this kind of gear, and the right attitude to use it, would have more than enough of a reputation to cash in when the time came. “No, you wouldn’t have.

“Not yet.”

#the clone wars #Cad Bane #insider #i136 #books #short story #thomas hodges #Bane''s (sort of) origin story

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cinderedrose · 2 years

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I've been writing more self-indulgent Revalek fics. Take a first draft I wrote at 2 in the morning :D

Commence the fluff

"Hey, is everything alright?" His voice was soft, always the right pitch to please Revan's ears. Their muscles relaxed, but Revan still paced about the secluded section of the camp.

"I'm fine; go away," they hissed through their mask's audio modulator. Alek disobeyed their orders and rubbed his fingers along their shoulders and neck when they stopped pacing instead. Revan refused to admit they loved it.

"Are you sure? You're tense, and there's a minefield of knots in your neck."

Revan sighed and reached for the edges of their beskar mask. They had to crane their neck to meet Alek's gaze once their face was bare.

"No, I haven't slept for three days, I can hear my heartbeat in my skull, and I talked to Kae again, and she was livid," Revan cried.

"Do you want to talk about it while I get those knots out?" Alek asked while he gently grabbed Revan's face. The action made their stomach flutter. The shadows cast on his face made Alek look menacing to anyone but Revan. His endless blue eyes were shrouded, but his smile remained.

"Maybe," Revan shrugged off their outer robe, slunk down, and Alek followed behind them. They sat between his knees, leaning into his gentle hands working around their shoulders. Revan tried to make their desperation seem less evident than it was.

"So, what's up?"

Revan rubbed their eyes and groaned, "I talked with Arren Kae yesterday; I didn't even want to. I just asked if her battalion was doing okay to be polite, and it spiraled into the same thing she's lectured me about over and over again." Alek pressed his knuckle into a sore muscle, and Revan grimaced.

"The 'How you ruined your body' talk again?" He asked sarcastically.

"I don't even know why she was so mad about it! The council was livid we ran off, but it feels much more freeing. You and I know this!" Revan leaned their head forward and sank into the relieving pressure in the back of their skull.

"This will help your headache," Alek whispered in their ear.

"How did you know?" Revan's brow furrowed.

"You mentioned talking with Kae; you don't NOT have a headache after that," he chuckled.

Revan smirked back, "anyways, yeah, I got that talk again. She also mentioned something about being careful and 'sensing indignities off us.' "

"Why does she care?" Alek had gotten most of the knots out of Revan's neck and shoulders. He let his hands linger, noticing how the scrawny Jedi yearned for his touch.

"Because she's annoying like that," Revan relaxed and leaned closer to Alek. "She thinks it's acceptable to comment on your body constantly and claim you want to fuck your best friend."

Revan hadn't realized they were blushing.

"Sounds like Kae," he huffed.

"Yeah, and if I don't tell her anything, she reaches into my mind and drags it out herself. It's an invasion of privacy," Alek moved his hands to allow Revan to lean against his chest. He wrapped his arms around Revan's waist as they spoke. "Now she knows I've had a massive crush on you since I was 15, and she's rubbing it in my face, then somehow brings things back to my body!"

"You, uh," Alek started fidgeting with his fingers.

"Yes, she's all like, 'he probably looks at you in disgust because you ruined your figure,'" they mocked, "'maybe it's a good thing, I sense things off of him.'" Revan scrunched their face up while they imitated her old master, utterly oblivious to the bomb they dropped. "It hurts my self-esteem, even if you don't… see me like that," they admitted.

"I was asking a cadet how to tell you the other day, actually," Alek tittered, "and Kae is wrong because you're, uh, like really pretty- or do you prefer handsome?" Revan felt his uncertainty.

"I don't mind, Squint," their face flushed, and their thin fingers entwined with Aleks' longer ones.

"Heh, is this the teenage experience where we were way late on?"

Revan closed their eyes and listened to the mix of the constant song in their head and Alek's quick heartbeat. "Thanks for ignoring my first command," they smirked. "Look where that got me."

"I hope Arren Kae explodes."

Revan grins at that, a grin that shows genuine amusement. "I'll have her test weapon prototypes. I'm the commander; I can do that."

They were silent for a long moment.

"Revan?" Alek nudged them.

"Yeah?"

"I think I love you."

Revan held the words in the air, probably by their throat, knowing Revan.

They turned onto their side and curled closer to Alek. "I think I'll pass out," they hesitated, "but I know l love you."

Alek said nothing. He held Revan with one arm and used the other to stroke their cheek as they lulled off to sleep. Alek loved how they leaned into his small forms of affection. The Jedi forbid intimate actions, no matter how minor. He didn't regret turning in the council one bit.

"You and your weird sleepy dust masseuse powers," they murmured.

Alek enjoyed watching Revan doze. He knew the confession sounded wrong, but the trust it took to allow Alek to hold them while they were helpless and exposed was not easy to earn. He felt special in a way, with their unmasked figure buried into his chest. Their sides rising and falling uninterrupted brought peace. After a while, he dozed off as well.

#revalek #jedi knight revan #revan x malak #revan #darth malak #my fic #fluff #i need to get some sleep

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brevicula · 2 years

Note

“Hello friend!” Willow waves at the strangely long man from atop the outer wall of her garden. “Would you like to come in? We can have tea!!”

He startles a bit, turning abruptly to the noise as though a bird would, tilting his head and craning his neck to assay the source of the voice. An ill-used expression between intrigue and surprise makes its' way across his features. "Friend..?" He sounds out the word slowly- it's been a little bit since he'd been spoken to directly, like this. He pulls the sides of his robe closer together with the sets of arms still within it. "Tea, then. I don't see why not."

#rp #kingdomofbellows #drinking tea is going to be really funny

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pastelcheckereddreams · 3 years

Photo

The Untamed locations: The Jingshi 静室

A digital redraft of my original love-letter to Chen Qing Ling. The Quiet Room (静室/Jingshi) is Lan Wangji’s private residence in the Cloud Recesses. It is a secluded place dedicated to study and meditation, located somewhere in the Back Mountains of the Lan Sect’s domain.

The complete diagram:

(Full sketch details/scene meta below.)

Part 2: The Hanshi Part 3: Lotus Pier

Prints now available at ✨ INPRNT! ✨ You can also support me on Ko-fi ☕

When I started my original sketch of the Jingshi last year, I was caught up in my feelings for episode 43, and how this home - once a place of confinement and isolation - became a place of sanctuary and shelter for Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian.

The scene felt climactic in many ways for both LWJ and WWX’s personal arcs as well as their relationship, and I was moved by how such a moment of emotional clarity was ultimately so quiet, enhanced by the domestic intimacy the setting gave them.

It also felt symbolically satisfying that - as Lan Xichen had just previously explained to WWX, setting this scene in motion - this house once belonged to LXC and LWJ’s mother. So, the echo of her character in both LWJ and WWX individually, and the parallel of her relationship with Qingheng Jun to theirs, also added a feeling of transformation and healing to the scene.

Some may find adrenaline-charged moments, like the confession at Guanyin Temple, to be more emotionally satisfying, but for me it was the evening in the Jingshi that was the emotional climax of the narrative. So I wanted to try and capture that set, to immortalise the moment and allow myself to imagine their domestic life post-canon.

Its function and design:

The Quiet Room is Lan Wangji’s private residence. Located in the Back Mountains, its thatched roof, simple latticework and singular building give the Jingshi a rustic feeling that removes it from the rest of the Cloud Recesses.

Although it takes on the role of the Gentian House and Cold Room (寒室/Hanshi) as needed, the interior is adorned with crane imagery that fits Lan Wangji’s character.

The contrast of dark wood against white gravel nonetheless carries over from the main compound as a core design element - these same elements were clearly used in the designing of the Hanshi/Yashi also.

(An interview with the chief producer reveals that the dark wood was used for the Cloud Recesses to reflect the upright manner of the Lan, tempered by the elegance of the cool blues and greens used in the set dressing - an interview used to inform this brief section on sect design in Wikipedia.)

However, unlike the Hanshi which receives official guests from other sects, the Jingshi is clearly a private residence. It is partitioned into three separate spaces.

The central space acts as a receiving area and formal study, behind which a viewing window opens out onto a small, “enclosed” garden. A scholar rock acts as the main focal point, which is very appropriate for a place of study and contemplation. (Either side of the rear window, you can see LWJ follows the Lan’s penchant for balancing tiny vases of flowers on logs.)

The sleeping area is to the right of the entrance. The circular window in this Eastern wall acts as a focal point for the bed, which is where many of the camera angles focus.

As such, we don’t see much of the front of the sleeping area, even though the architectural bump-out its dimensions create is a key feature of the Jingshi’s external appearance. The shot above is one of the only glimpses we get of the beautiful shelves to the right of the bed, and the scene below in which LWJ meditates over his guqin is the only clip we get of the front of this room:

Special mention to the tiny vase mounted to the doorframe, and the shot of WWX’s outer robe and bracers on the stand behind LWJ in episode 42:

Meanwhile, the western side of the Jingshi acts as a sitting area, complete with sunken hearth and exits to the porch and pavilion. This seems to be where LWJ relaxes the most.

He doesn’t receive any formal visitors, which aligns with the novel’s assertion that no one enters the Jingshi without LWJ’s express permission. As such, the only time we see someone received “formally” in the Jingshi is during episode 8, when Wen Chao visits Lan Xichen:

As it is night-time at this point, and Lan Wangji is conveniently absent from the Cloud Recesses, we can assume the Jingshi is taking on the role of the Hanshi in this moment.

(You can read more about the dual role of the Hanshi/Yashi in part two of this series - but please note that it was actually completed before this digital redraft of the Jingshi, and so the analysis may be less nuanced.)

Special mention to the continued crane motif on the curtains that we see in this scene:

A technical note on the yard layout:

Thanks to the set’s subsequent appearance in Shan He Ling episodes 20 and 21, the West elevation - and the alcove/shelf details in the bedroom - are much more accurate than my first sketch. Although the set dressing is very different in SHL, the core structure of the building stays the same:

You can also see more clearly how the landscape rises to curve around the back of the structure in the background of these last shots.

(If you want to go wild with landscape analysis, this is perhaps meant to mimic the east and west ‘dragon and tiger hills’ that mark an ideal auspicious landscape in fengshui design principles. They were thought to symbolise a mother’s protection.)

Below, you can see the beautiful shelves to the right of the circular window, mostly hidden in Chen Qing Ling:

Additionally, in the below .gif from SHL episode 21 you can see how the pavilion, pond and general layout of the garden match up to what we manage to glimpse of these structural elements in CQL:

There shots were therefore a primary resource when it came to planning the birdseye view.

However, there was still guesswork involved when it came to sketching the pond detail beneath the moon bridge - which is perhaps a very minor landscaping detail that only I will be bothered by.

Funfact! An identical bridge and pavilion are seen at the Cold Pond in CQL episodes 6 and 33:

Because of the repetition of some of these props across the sets of CQL, including things such as the Lan-style table and chairs (which I affectionately dubbed chonky pants), I felt confident in assuming they were the seating used in the Jingshi pavilion:

The only thing I truly took creative liberty with (apart from adding an extra seat in the pavilion for reasons) is the path towards the pavilion in the birdseye view:

In the wide shot of the pavilion and the bridge above, there seems to be a simple dirt path in the short space between the pavilion and bridge. But this felt too simplistic for the other half of the pathway, which appears grassier, and did not match the paths visible in this shot from SHL:

So I used the rough stone pathways we see in the less formal areas of the Cloud Recesses as inspiration.

I also did not include the rear rock garden, seen through the viewing window behind LWJ’s desk, as I haven’t really included landforms separate to the the main terrain outline.

However, there is a white wall, staggered in height, just behind the Jingshi. Its purpose is to provide a clean backdrop for the small rock garden. I have no idea of its dimensions, so I omitted it from the floorplan, but did include it in the birdseye thumbnail.

A special note on the gate:

A final detail that I absolutely need to mention is the gate. We don’t see much of it, but I think it might be one of my favourite features:

To my best but very uneducated guess, it says “堂竹影”, which roughly translates to “bamboo shadow hall”. It’s very appropriate, considering both its surroundings and the repeated bamboo motif within the Jingshi itself.

You can also see this gate in the background of this shot, in episode 33:

This actually reveals a little more about where the Jingshi may be located within the Back Mountains (relative, at least, to the webseries and its sets). At this moment, Wei Wuxian is returning from a nostalgic wander around the Cloud Recesses main compound, and is about to spot some of Lan Wangji’s rabbits on his way to the Cold Pond.

Until this moment, I hadn’t realised how close the rabbits were to the Jingshi, even though it makes perfect sense considering they just roam the hillside freely. It makes me smile to think that at this moment WWX is probably echoing LWJ’s morning routine - walking through the forest, checking on his bunnies on his way to the Cold Pond.

Anyway, thank you for reading!

Please consider checking out part 2: The Hanshi, to see how LWJ’s home compares to that of his brother. The window lattices and courtyard plan were particularly fun to puzzle out, and I discovered a tiny deer ornament that (still) has my entire heart.

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kshira · 3 years

Text

-request: hello ! i hope ur doing okay today And u ate + drank water ! I found ur acc recently and I saw ur request were open so may I request something :D

can you do the degradation taken too far with Mitsuya plz <333 and like usually sex with him is soft but he got jealous or sum and he just take it out on u and like ur not used to this mitsuya

feel free to ignore love <33

tw: f!reader, cursing, dom!mitsuya & jealous, degradation, dirty talking, hair pulling, smut angst to smut fluff

wc: 1.1k

an: i live to write smut comfort and ofc i loved writing this, i hope you like this my sweets & drank water and ate today!! <3

soft lips press on your shoulder while mitsuya gracefully slips you from your robe, his hand coming up to cup your breasts “what did you do today on your day off, my love?” his voice is tender, set like a lullaby to a stressful day.

“i—” you pause to recite your day which was filled with annoying chores and helpless idiots, everything was normal until you saw him.

mitsuya continues letting his hands roam your naked body, one left on standby at your perked nipple thumbing it slowly whilst the other traces patterns below your belly button “you know i love hearing about your day, tell me—don’t leave any details out angel.”

you feel a cold sweat form at your neck, mitsuya never was the jealous type always laughing at people’s attempts to flirt with what was his but why did telling him stay glued at the tip of your tongue?

mitsuya seemed absorbed with touching your body to notice your mind seeking a logical answer, his fingers traced the outer lines of your cunt while the other slowly came back up to your neck to grasp it pulling you into a sweet kiss.

he moved slowly with your lips, his tongue coming into your mouth to play with your bottom lip but it was hard to move at the same rhythm as him when all you could think about was what you did today.

“i saw him today and we ended up catching up over lunch but that was it” you finally take the plunge, automatically feeling mitsuya body start to tense up.

“who’s him?” he asks childlike, preoccupied touching you to notice your anxiety rocking your nerves.

“my-my ex, you know the one—”

“i know which one you’re talking about” mitsuya bluntly replies, his body dropping the hold he had on you to spin you around to face him “did you have fun at least sweetheart?”

you blink a couple of times to make sure you’re in the same reality you told him what you’d done today; was he really not even jealous one bit about it?

“y-you’re fine with that?” you decide to provoke the answer, it feels like a subliminal message hidden under mitsuya sweet facade.

“of course angel, i trust you” mitsuya turns you back around pulling you flush against his bare chest, his fingers trace the curves on your skin before gently pushing you on the bed.

you feel the weight of his body dip into the mattress, his hands find a place on your hips and you crane your neck to kiss him but he’s quick to reject you and push your head back forward “you want this?” he asks, teasing your hole with his rigid cock, swiping the muscles over your smeared lips.

you choke a moan back when he doesn’t even wait for an answer instead bottoming out completely in you without warning, the stretch burns and without prep or play he starts fucking you into the mattress even harder.

“s-slow down, hurts” you're able to mumble out while being fucked for all you’re worth, feeling mitsuya pushing your body harder into the fabrics until your head blends in with the sheets.

he ignores your wishes continuing a brutal pace, he wonders why you’d even fucking talk to your ex? why didn't you ignore him like you always have, and why of all times was your sweet pussy that was all his feel so wet?

“did you already cum? slutty fuckin’ girl” mitsuya grabs your hair at the roots pulling your back close to his chest “are you so wet because—” he stops the knifes about to come from his mouth and opts to just keep fucking you, your pussy squeezes him but inside a uneasy feeling starts to fog your mind.

sex with mitsuya was loving, sweet and always always gentle, he never left skin untouched with his lips and your body would feel like it was melting under his touch; he very rarely used degrading names though you didnt mind you could tell this time they were venom laced.

“have i fucked you stupid? answer me” mitsuya pulls you from your thoughts, his hips smashing into your ass while he keeps a steady hand on your throat, you whine when you feel his dick hitting at your deeper spots but the yank of your hair is what truly sets you off.

“did you fuck him? is that why you’re so wet? huh? fuckin’ answer me” mitsuya sneers, continuing his strokes with a lump of fire stuck in his throat—you go limp after his words, just a doll he’s fucking at this point.

“i don’t want this anymore” your voice hits him so dryly, leaving his arms and moving to the other side of the room—mitsuya sits still, trying to piece together what just happened; did he really just do that?

the sound from the bathroom door is what calls him awake from his thoughts followed by the bellowing sobs behind the door, he’s quick to jump off the bed and run over to the door pants filling his throat “angel, i am so sorry i didnt mean it—fuck! i-i love you so much” tears prick at his eyes; that evil green monster had really swallowed him whole this time.

“go away mitsuya, you’ve really hurt me this time. like i’d really cheat on you especially with that asshole when i have someone like you that treats me so fucking good”

insecurity filled with regret digs at mitsuya’s heart, how could he treat you like that, let his jealousy puppet his emotions and furthermore his actions with you?

you place your ear against the door, listening to his quiet sobs fill the room, pain echoes in the bathroom you are in—slowly you open the door to see him sitting at the edge of the bed with his face in his hands crying.

“you’re everything to me you know? i’m scared you’d leave me for him and fucking jealous you’d talk to him after all he’s done to you” mitsuya squeaks, raising his head from his hands to look into your reddened eyes, guilt guiding his tears down his face.

you walk slowly from the bathroom until you’re standing over him, watching his shoulders heave from the sobs—you reach your hand out to tilt his chin to you “it’s okay, i understand now, i won’t talk to him ever again” you place a kiss on his lips, careful not to break his fragile body.

“i promise i’ll never talk to you like that again, my angel. i’ll tell you if anything ever bothers me, or makes me jealous” you hum in response to his soft words, taking a spot beside him on the bed.

“next time you call me a slut you better say i'm your slutty girl” you smirk, sneaking a hand on mitsuya thigh, letting a wink flutter from your lashes.

mitsuya chuckles softly, moving his hand to your throat, squeezing it lightly “ready to be fucked, my slutty girl?”

#tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers smut #tokyorev smut #tokyo revengers #mitsuya x you #mitsuya smut #takashi mitsuya #mitsuya takashi x reader #tokyo revengers x you smut #tokyo revengers x y/n #tr x reader #tr smut #tr mitsuya #tokyo revengers mitsuya #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo rev smut

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ithoughtitwasobvious · 2 years

Text

All That I Have To Give

Rating: Explicit (Here be smut! 18+ Mature Readers Only)

Pairing: Plo Koon x Female Reader

Warnings: Unprotected Sex (wrap it before you tap it y’all)

Words: 3.1k

Summary: You are spending a quiet evening in your Coruscant-Skyline apartment, attempting to catch up on some reports while waiting for your lover to return home. Once he does, your reports and all else are quickly forgotten. There is a severe lack Plo Koon content on this website, and I intend to remedy it.

Tags: Plo Koon x Female Reader, Established Relationship, Fluffy Domesticity, Smut, Plo is a Soft Dom, PIV Sex, Fingering, Alien Sex, Begging, Choking, Size Kink if you squint, Plo Koon is husband material and he deserves all the good things.

Read on AO3

It was hard to imagine yourself being more relaxed than you were right now. The Coruscant skyline glittered in the darkness of night, casting streaks of light through the large picture window to your left. The cool colors of the city contrasted with the orange glow of candle light flickering around your apartment.

You readjusted the shimmering, deep burgundy silk of your robe around your legs and absentmindedly dug your toes further into the crease of the plush armchair you were curled up in. A contented sigh left your lips as your index finger scrolled further down on the datapad balanced on your knees. It was the first quiet evening that you’d had in quite some time, and you were determined to get some work done before your lover returned home and inevitably captured all of your attention.

A few more moments of comfortable silence ticked by. Just as you were finally reaching the end of your report, you heard the familiar chime of your door panel being activated. The entrance slid open and shut again, and you couldn’t help but smile softly to yourself as you cataloged his ritualistic movements; the dull thud of his boots dropping to the carpet, the rustling of fabric as his outer robes were removed and hung on a hook nearby, the clang of a lightsaber hilt being set down on the counter, joined by the gentle tapping of his talon guards landing on the hard surface.

You trained your eyes on the datapad in front of you, no longer reading any of the words as you waited on his next move with bated breath. Muffled footsteps traveled from the entryway toward where you were seated in the living room. Before you could turn around, two warm hands engulfed your shoulders. You craned your neck backwards until your head hung partially over the arm of the couch so your eyes could meet the upside down image of the masked face you’d come to know and love.

“I’m sorry I disturbed you, my dear,” Plo spoke, his voice soft through the modulator. You smiled sweetly up at him.

“You are never disturbing me, my sweet Plo.” A warm expression spread across his features as one of his hands moved upward to gently caress the side of your face.

“I know that you had said you had reports to read through,” He explained. “However, it’s hard for me to resist when I come home to you looking so beautiful.” You felt your face begin to heat up at his compliments. You discarded your datapad on the end table opposite you in favor of placing one of your hands overtop his and giving it an affectionate squeeze.

“I was just finishing up my reports when you walked through the door,” You assured him. “I wanted to be finished by the time you got home. It’s just as difficult for me to resist you, Master Jedi.” You sent him a flirtatious wink and he chuckled quietly.

“Is that so, my dear?” You hummed your agreement before leaning away from him to stand up out of your chair, not wanting to stare up at him from the unfavorable angle any longer. In one fluid motion you rose to your feet and came to stand before him. Your chest barely brushed against his as your arms wound around his neck. His hands traveled upward to settle on your hips.

“How could I resist a man who is as kind and giving as you?” You doted on him. Your fingers slid across his shoulder to toy with the color of his undershirt, eliciting a noise more akin to a purr.

“You deserve all that I have to give to you, my love.” He countered softly. One of his hands began to move again, bunching some of the silky fabric of your robe as it came to rest on your waist overtop the strip of fabric that secured the garment.

“In fact…” He trailed off as his skilled fingers tugged the knot apart. You gasped as an invisible force like a gentle breeze blew the article of clothing off of your body altogether to drop unceremoniously to the floor.

“I believe that I have a few things I’d like to give to you right now.” A shiver wracked through your body, due to both his words and the chilled night air of the apartment making contact with your bare skin. You pressed your body closer, seeking out the warmth that only he could provide.

“I’ll take whatever you have to give me, Plo,” You whispered, staring wide-eyed up into the viewports of his mask. With the swiftness and grace of a skilled warrior, Plo gripped your hips once more and lifted you through the air to wrap your legs around his waist. You squealed in surprise as your hands flew to his broad shoulders in search of stability.

He began to walk the familiar path down the hallway to your shared bedroom. All the while you pressed kisses to every inch of his skin that you could reach, paying extra attention to the area where the edge of his mask met his face. You knew first hand that sometimes that specific area grew sore, especially after a long campaign where he didn’t have any access to a room that could be pressurized to allow him to remove his mask intermittently. You often offered to wear your own mask in your home in favor of allowing him to remove his, although he often refused. Plo was the single most selfless and altruistic being that you had ever met. Your comfort took precedence above all else, even if it meant sacrificing his own. Though this trait caused you to have to practically force him at times to allow himself some brief moments of self interest, you also wouldn’t have him any other way. His unwavering willingness to help others no matter the personal costs was one of the many reasons that you had fallen in love with Plo. He was kind and generous in all areas of his life, especially when he was with you.

As you finally reached your bedroom, Plo set you down gently on the dark satin sheets. They were a deep burgundy color, much like Plo’s robes and any aforementioned pajamas or lingerie that he purchased for you. Candles were already lit around the room, bathing the space in a soft orange glow. He loved seeing you in candlelight, open and vulnerable as you sprawled across his bed. It was an image that he told you he would often return to when he was away for long periods of time or stuck sitting in on a particularly long-winded council meeting. The thought of him picturing you naked in a less than appropriate setting sent a new wave of arousal spreading throughout your body.

He removed the last of his clothing quickly before coming to stand at the edge of the the bed. The skin of palms, a bit rough and calloused from years of wielding a lightsaber, smoothed up and down your shins as he stared down at you. You squirmed beneath his gaze, reaching out futilely into the space between you in an attempt to beckon him closer.

“Please Plo,” You begged, your voice coming out more desperate than intended. “Please don’t make me wait.” He chuckled softly as he rubbed a few affectionate circles on the side of your thigh.

“Oh darling, you should know by now that I believe patience is a virtue. However, you also know the effect that your begging has on me.” The bed dipped as he moved to kneel between your spread legs. One of his palms traversed up the soft skin of your side, pausing briefly to grasp onto one of your breasts. His adept fingers tweaked one of your nipples for the sole purpose of watching you gasp and arch your back off the bed. You stared up at him through half-hooded eyes as his hand resumed its path up your body. He paused once more at your chin, tapping your bottom lip with his index finger.

No words had to be spoken. You knew from experience what he was asking. Without hesitation, you took his thick fingers into your mouth. You hallowed your cheeks and swirled your tongue around the tips, treating them similarly to how you would suck his cock. A low moan rumbled from deep in his throat.

“You are so good for me sweetheart,” He praised you as he delicately withdrew the digits from your lips. Your eyes focused in on his hand as it traveled back down your body to settle above the apex of your thighs. The pads of his saliva-soaked fingers met your clit and you gasped, your arms flying upward to fist the sheets above your head.

“I believe you deserve a reward, don’t you think?” You moaned at his words. Plo’s voice did things to you, especially when he was whispering the dirtiest things in your ear while taking you apart piece by piece in the sanctity of your bed. He began to swirl his fingers around your clit in the way that he knew you liked. You moaned louder as your back bowed and your hips began to move of their own accord. However, before you could become too lost in the moment, his other hand that wasn’t already touching you wrapped around your throat. Your eyes flew open as he tilted your chin to meet his gaze.

“I asked you a question, little one.” You shuddered at the sternness of his tone. Your brain scrambled through the thick fog of your arousal to come up with a coherent answer.

“Yes, I do deserve a reward,” You quickly agreed, your voice coming out more wrecked than intended. “Please Plo, please touch me. I’ll be so good for you, please!” Plo shushed you softly, his thumb delicately stroking your cheek as though you were liable to break.

“Relax my dear,” He soothed. “How could I ever deny you when you beg for me so sweetly?” The fingers that had been steadily rubbing your clit slipped below to easily slide into your cunt. Your eyes screwed shut as another loud moan dislodged itself from somewhere in your chest. One of your hands that had been previously gripping the sheets flew to your breast while the other curled itself around the wrist of Plo’s hand that was still holding your throat. You hung on for dear life as he began to pump his thick fingers in and out of your center at a steady pace. He curled them upwards until he found the spongy spot on the inside of your walls that made your muscles clench and your eyes role back in your head. Plo had spent many hours exploring your body, to the point where he knew your most intimate parts better than you did. He knew all the ways to have you falling apart for him, and was not shy about using them to his advantage.

“Plo please!” You screamed his name to the ceiling as you white-knuckled his wrist. Your release was imminent, building hard and fast in your gut. Heat tingled up your spine and goosebumps spread across your skin. You knew immediately that you weren’t going to last long, but you also knew better than to cum without his permission.

“Please, can I cum? Please Plo I’m so close, please please!” Your begging always became more frantic the closer that you got to your end. It only spurred Plo further into action as he continued to thrust his fingers over and over again into your g-spot. His grip on your throat tightened to apply the lightest amount of pressure, just enough to wipe away all other trains of thought until you had no choice but to focus on your own pleasure.

“Yes my dear. Show me how beautiful you look when you cum for me.” His words were all you needed to fall over the edge. Your vision whited out and your body pulled taut as you came hard around his fingers. A rush of slick coated his hand and your inner thighs, your hips grinding down onto him at an irregular pace as you rode out the waves of pleasure.

When you finally began to drift back to the present moment, you opened your eyes and immediately whined at the sight before you. Plo had sat back on his haunches, his large hands digging into the meat of your thighs as he drew your legs upward to wrap around his waist. He stroked your soft skin reassuringly as the hand that had brought you to your first orgasm of the night spread your release along the length of his cock.

“You’ve done so well for me, my love,” He praised you. “Are you ready to take me?” No matter how many times you had been together like this, Plo always made sure to check in between each act and confirm that you still wanted to proceed.

You eagerly nodded your consent. “Yes Plo, please. I want you inside me.” He hummed his approval as he dropped down to his elbows, fingers reaching out to stroke your hair.

“Your wish is my command,” He retorted. You could’ve sworn he was teasing you, but before you could respond he sheathed his cock inside you in one swift movement of his hips. You gasped, your hands scrambling for purchase along his shoulders.

There was a reason Plo insisted upon prepping you with extended sessions of teasing and foreplay; he was huge. His cock was long, thick, and had several ridges. He’d warned you when you first got together that he was most likely different than any man you had been with previously. He spent the first couple of weeks leading up to your first time together preparing you to be able to take him. The man had an entire arsenal of sex toys of all different shapes and sizes, spanning from vibrators to oral sex simulators. His sheer dedication to your comfort and pleasure was as arousing as it was endearing.

No matter how many times you’d been with Plo, the sensation of him filling you still took your breath away. You could practically feel him in your throat. The stretch was nearly overwhelming, but utterly delicious. It was a feeling that no toy could duplicate, and you often found yourself fantasizing about him filling you while he was away.

Ever the gentlemen, Plo allowed you time to adjust. He always waited until you began to squirm and grind your hips against his, or if you were particularly impatient you would begin to beg. He did not leave you hanging for very long tonight. He soon began to move. His pace was slow at first as he watched your face and adjusted his angle accordingly. It was always immediaty evident from your reaction when he hit the correct spot.

“Plo!” You cried out his name suddenly, your nails beginning to claw their way down the tough skin of his back. “Harder, please!”

Plo instantaneously began to pick up the pace, withdrawing his hips until just his tip was inside you before snapping forward. Your voice was high and breathy as you moaned his name, repeating it over and over again like a prayer. The molten heat of impending release was beginning to build once again. You were becoming completely lost to your pleasure. It was impossible to tell where Plo ended and you began.

“That’s it sweetheart,” He encouraged you, the deep baritone of his voice in your ear only pushing you further toward the edge. “Tell me how good it feels.”

“So good Plo! Feels so good.” Words were no longer coming to you easily as your walls began to flutter. You were quickly hurtling toward your end. Your eyes met his as you tried to babble out some sort of semblance of a warning.

“Cum for me darling. I want to feel how tight you get when you cum.”

His encouragement was enough to send you straight into your second orgasm of the night. You held onto him to try to ground yourself as your release washed over you. You screamed salvation to the darkness of your bedroom, a mix of praises and curses spilling off your tongue faster than you could catch them. You could vaguely make out Plo singing your praises into the sweat-slicked skin of your chest as he finally chased his own release. He drove his cock into you a few more times before plunging himself as deep as he could and spilling his seed within you. You moaned at the warmth of his cum painting your walls and the way his cock pulsed as he shook with the force of his orgasm.

Once you’d both begun to drift back down from your highs, Plo ever so gently slipped out of you. He retrieved a damp cloth from your adjoining bathroom and proceeded to gently clean you both. When the cloth had been properly disposed of in your laundry bin, he settled back amongst your many pillows and pulled you into his arms. You clung to his chest, pressing kisses to his heated skin. Plo idly scratched your back in kind, soaking up the unique closeness that came between you in the afterglow.

“How are you feeling, my dear?” He asked, breaking the silence. You turned your head to meet his eyes, a contented smile pulling at your lips.

“Perfect. That was perfect Plo.” An expression that could only be described as pure adoration graced his features.

“I am glad I could be of service,” He joked while affectionately pinching your side. You giggled in delight at his antics.

“What about me? Was I of service to you, my sweet Plo?” A chuckle rumbled in his chest as he gripped your waist to pull you fully on top of him.

“You give me all that I’ve ever wanted, and all I could ever hope to have.” Your breath caught in your throat, having not anticipated such a sincere response. It made your stomach flip and your heart begin to beat faster. Even after all this time, the sheer depth of his love for you was still just as astounding.

Your shock must have been written all over your face, as Plo began to laugh softly. He looked all too amused as he gazed down at your flabbergasted expression.

“Although,” He began, his lithe fingers traveling downward to rest dangerously close to your backside. “I would much rather discuss what I give to you.”

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion. Before you could ask him what he meant, he made his intentions clear. At a speed so fast it almost could have given you whiplash, he flipped you both over so you were once again lying beneath him.

“Plo!” Your screech of his name devolved into laughter as you melted back into him, determined to focus on only each other for a while longer.

#plo koon #star wars #star wars the clone wars #star wars fanfiction #plo koon x reader #plo koon x female reader #plo koon smut #established relationship #smut with fluff #fluff #domesticity #romance #Smut #star wars smut

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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years

Text

Secrets // D.M.

Request: CONGRATS BOO!!! Could I get a Secret relationship with Fluff 4 for Draco Malfoy pretty please at Hogwarts??? Also I was wondering if it could be with a Hufflepuff reader? (I love Hufflepuff x Slytherin pairings) THANKS AGAIN FOR DOING THIS BOO AND CONGRATS 💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛 - @herstory-study

Fluff 4: “Is that my shirt?”

A/N: The first of my blurb celebrations!! Thank you, lovely!! I hope you enjoy!! It could be argued that I got carried away but there’s a large chance I could end up writing full fics for each request 😂 Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!Fem!Reader

Warnings: secret relationships, some kissing, some feelings, a whole lotta fluff, a cheesy ending and an abuse of commas and semi-colons

Word count: 2.7k

There were some aspects to History of Magic that could be classed as interesting; the witch-hunts of Salem, for example or even the brief study dedicated to the founders of the very school you sit in. However, there was nothing remotely interesting about hearing the tale of the Goblin wars for the sixth year in a row.

You tap the feather of your quill to your cheek; jotting down a sentence every now and then to make it look as if you are paying the strictest attention to whatever Professor Binns happens to be mumbling about in that particular moment. You fade in and out of daydreams; letting your mind wander back to two nights ago when Draco had snuck you back into the Hufflepuff common room – stopping every few so often to draw you into another laughter-filled kiss.

You startle when a piece of parchment falls onto your desk. Folded like a paper crane, you only knew who this could be from. A sly glance over the blonde-haired teenager who’s attention is most definitely on the pacing of Binn’s ghost confirms your suspicions.

You delicately unfold the piece of parchment; smiling to yourself as begin to read Draco’s elegant scrawl: “Meet me at the Room of Requirement? 7:30pm?”

Anticipation curls in your gut like a ball.

A brief glance is all it takes for you to confirm. A brief glance in your direction from Draco; a subtle nod from you and your plans for the evening have been wiped clear and replaced entirely with Draco.

The bell rings. You stand, gathering your things together and placing them in your bag. A slight brush to your side is the only contact with the Slytherin you’ve found yourself head over heels for. A slight brush to your side and it feels like every inch of you is on fire; a reaction that only Draco has the power to elicit from you.

The day passes by slowly now that you have something to look forward to. A day where short moments are stolen behind tapestries or on less traversed corridors. Five minutes each time between lessons where you can quickly whisper a hello before dragging him into a kiss by his green striped tie.

Keeping your relationship a secret was a mutual decision; the fallout on both sides being something neither of you could be bothered to deal with right now. Instead, you were happier hiding in empty classrooms where you could have your fill of the Slytherin Prince, and he could whisper sweet nothings in your ear without the risk of anyone overhearing.

There were times when it was stressful; when the week had been too long and there had been no time to see one another. It was only then that you questioned the secrecy of your relationship.

But when you came together after a long period apart; everything returned back to normal and a smile found its way back to both your faces.

Your excitement for the evening makes it almost impossible to eat; picking at the food on your plate as you think about finally seeing Draco tonight. From your position at the Hufflepuff table, you have an excellent view of him, and he knows it. All evening, Draco sends you subtle winks and smiles from his seat at the Slytherin table.

You clench your fist; your fingernails biting into the sensitive skin of your palm as you resist the urge to throw yourself across both tables to him. You resist the urge to simply kiss him in front of his housemates.

You resist it all; every single feeling and urge because you know that in a matter of hours, he would be yours for the entire night.

Instead, you send a flirty smile back to the blonde-haired teenager before returning your attention back to your meal.

-----

The Room of Requirement is located on left hand corridor of the Seventh Floor. You knew from how he rushed out of the Great Hall that Draco would beat you to it.

With a large grin on your face, you walk past the section of wall opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy three times. The entire time, thinking of Draco and how you’d like to see him.

On your third walk past, the large, ornate door appears. You don’t hesitate to pull it open and duck inside.

It’s never a different layout; always the same one that Draco imagines. A large, almost cavernous room with a grand fireplace that’s already lit and warming up the room. In front of the fire sits a couch big enough for an entire Quidditch squad but you know from experience that it’s perfect for the two of you to lie down on comfortably. A great bookshelf covers one of the walls; filled to the brim with ancient looking tomes and books, all there ready to read. You’ve taken advantage of such an offer in the past; reading to Draco after a particularly bad day.

Finally, pushed up against the furthest wall is a four poster bed covered in a thick, downy quilt and topped with blankets – both green and yellow to represent both houses. It was the cheesiest section of the room, and you had brought it up to Draco before – teasing him, but he simply shrugged and distracted you from further conversation.

You throw your outer robes on the bed, leaving you in your blouse, tie and skirt.

Draco remains seated on the large couch; his gaze focused on the flickering flames of the growing fire. Your arms snake their way around his shoulders; your hands trailing down his chest as you lean against the back of the couch. Pressing a small kiss just under his earlobe, you whisper, “I missed you today.”

Draco leans his head back, kissing the side of your jaw, “I missed you too.”

Letting go of him, you take a seat on the couch. In times like this, you never stray too far from the blonde-haired teenager, worried about how long it’ll be until you have a night like this again. An arm opens for you; you automatically press yourself into his side, inhaling the familiar scent of cashmere musk and roses. It was heavenly.

“How was your day?” He asks, voice quiet.

“It was boring until a note landed on my desk. Then it started to look up.”

Draco smirks, “How odd. Mine was taking the exact same route until someone responded to my note.”

You shift out of his hold; resting your head on your elbow that’s perched on the back of the couch. Your other hand pushes his hair back; pulling it out his eyes. He’s grown it longer over this year and stopped using so much product; it’s nice, more natural and a lot easier for you to run your hands through.

You open your mouth; trying to think of something to say but nothing comes to mind.

It doesn’t matter anyway.

Draco captures your lips in his. One of his hands settling on the back of your head whilst the other pulls you across his lap to straddle him. You smile into the kiss as your hands brace themselves on the back of the couch.

Breaking the kiss, you ask, “What was that for?”

He shrugs, “Nothing. I just missed you.”

“You’re missing me an awful lot.”

He kisses the underside of your jaw, “Can you blame me?”

You hum, “I don’t think I can. I’m missing you more too.”

“Then let’s not miss each other anymore,” Draco murmurs against your skin. Lifting his head just enough, he draws you in for another kiss effectively ending all conversation for the night.

-----------

You wake up tangled in the sheets of the four poster bed; Draco’s arm heavy across your waist.

As your eyes get used to the brightness of the room, they focus in on the clock on the beside table. Your eyes grow wide as you take in the time.

You’d slept through the lesson of the day already.

You launch yourself out of bed, shrugging off your pyjamas and rustling around to find your uniform.

“Draco!” You shout, pushing your arms through a shirt, “We need to get up, we’ve missed the first hour.”

Draco rolls over, groaning. Fastening your skirt, you kneel on the bed, “Love, we have to get up before the bell.”

He blinks his eyes open, grinning sleepily at you. Your resolve almost breaks then and there; happy to say to hell with it and get back into bed with him.

“I’m free second lesson,” Draco mutters.

You roll your eyes, kissing his lips briefly, “I’ll see you later?”

He nods, stretching his arms above his head, “I’ll see you later.”

Grabbing your outer robes and your bag, you rush from the Room of Requirement, fastening your tie as you bound down the stairs to Transfiguration.

“Where have you been?” is how you’re greeted by Miriam, your close friend and dorm mate.

You shrug, biting your lip knowing that there was no way you could lie yourself out of this.

Miriam narrows her eyes at you, “You never came back to the room after dinner and then you didn’t show up at breakfast. I was seriously worried. Where did you go?”

You look either side of you; checking that there’s no-one listening to your conversation, “Can you keep a secret?”

Miriam rolls her eyes, “Of course I can.”

“I was with Draco Malfoy,” You rush out in a single breath.

Miriam’s eyes widen and she pulls you to one side, “You were with Draco Malfoy? All night?”

You nod your head. Miriam puffs out a breath, “Well I didn’t expect that. How long have you been seeing each other? Tell me everything please!”

You laugh, “It’s almost ten months now, and I’ll tell you more at lunch, I promise.”

Miriam bites her bottom lip; glancing between you and the now open door to Transfiguration, deliberating whether it would be worth skiving the entire day to hear about your exploits with the Slytherin Prince.

She sighs heavily, deciding not to risk McGonagall’s wrath, “I want to hear everything at lunch – do not leave anything out, promise.”

Laughing once more, you cross your finger over your heart, “I promise.”

-----

Until lunch, Miriam sends you excited glances and knowing smiles. In between second and third period, she comments on the fact that she didn’t even think that you were seeing someone – not to insult you, but she just assumed that you holed yourself up in the library where you studied as late as you could.

Miriam practically bounces up to you when the bell rings announcing lunch. She keeps her questions to herself until you both take a seat at the Hufflepuff table, filling plates up with whatever took your fancy.

“So how did it start?”

You take a sip of pumpkin juice before beginning, “Over last summer, my family got invited to one of the many balls thrown by his parents. I don’t usually go to those things, but my parents asked me to join them this one time; I think they were worried because I’d spent too much time in the garden studying the plants. So I went with them and Draco’s father asked him to ask me to dance and it all stemmed from there.

“He sent me a letter the day after thanking me for an entertaining evening and wondered whether I would want to meet up again. I agreed and then from there it evolved into this.”

Miriam’s smile drops into a frown when she asks her next question, “Why keep it a secret? Was it his decision?”

You shake your head fiercely, “It was both ours. We were both equally as worried about the fallout from our families and our houses.”

“But surely if Lucius Malfoy asked Draco to dance with you, he wouldn’t mind?”

You tilt your head, thinking, “Perhaps not. He wouldn’t mind the blood status, but he might mind my being a Hufflepuff,” You shrug, “Anyway we haven’t gone public yet.”

“Ten months is a long time to keep this a secret.”

“It’s not like it hasn’t been hard and that there haven’t been times where I wanted to shout it to the entire wizarding world, but for now, it’s a secret.”

Miriam nods; the frown still expressed on her face. She reaches out her hand to yours, taking it tightly, “You’ve told me now though so that’s a shoulder to lean on should it get too much again.”

You beam at your friend, “Thank Merlin for you, Miriam.”

Miriam goes to reply but she’s distracted by someone approaching the Hufflepuff table. She lets go of your hand and nods her head to something behind you.

Turning in your seat, you find Draco patiently waiting. You smile at him, “Draco, how can I help?”

“I was hoping I could talk to you for a minute… about our last History of Magic lesson? You see, I didn’t take any notes and I was wondering if you had some.”

You smirk, “Why don’t we go outside? That way I’m not cluttering up the table for the others that are still eating.”

Draco grins, nodding at you understandingly, “Wonderful idea. Lead the way.”

Hoisting your bag on your shoulder, you send a wink in Miriam’s direction. She returns one with a laugh before beginning to eat once again.

Draco follows you from the Great Hall and to a less busy corridor. You lean against the wall with a smirk, “Now did you really want my notes, or did you already miss me?”

“More the latter than the former,” Draco admits with a small smile. He frowns though as he takes in your uniform, his eyes running up and down, “Is that my shirt?”

You look down at your clothing, only now realising that the shirt you had put on in a hurry this morning was indeed Draco’s. The arms being too long that you had to roll them twice before you could even start writing something.

You giggle, “I think it is.”

“I only wondered when I had to walk back to my common room shirtless.”

“No!” You shout, delighted at the thought of Draco running shirtless through the corridors.

Draco laughs, nodding, “I had my outer robes of course, but there was very little underneath.”

You clap your hands in sheer delight, “I’d give you back your shirt, but I’ve become awfully fond of it, you see.”

“Oh you have?”

Nodding, you say, “I have. It smells a lot like you which is great for when I miss you.”

Draco groans, throwing his head back, “If we weren’t in public, I’d be kissing you senseless right now. I didn’t realise how good you would look in my shirt.”

“Why don’t you?” You challenge.

Draco’s mouth drops open, “What?”

“Kiss me senseless.”

“Are you sure? We’ve kept this secret for so long,” Draco comments, a finger pointing between your two bodies.

You shuffle closer to him, “I’m sure. Ten months is long enough to keep you a secret, I’m happy to tell everyone now.”

Draco wraps you in his arms, not hesitating to kiss you. You gave yourself entirely to the kiss; pushing yourself off the wall and wrapping your arms around his neck. Your heart skips a beat when one of Draco’s hands starts to draw aimless patterns on the small of your back, sending heat rushing through your body. You sigh against his mouth before pulling away; repressing the urge to continue as the need for oxygen has become too great.

He presses one last gentle peck to your lips before grinning widely, “Are you really sure you want to go public?”

“Super sure. So sure in fact I’d make out with you again to prove my point.”

Draco raises an eyebrow, “Tempting but I say we go back to lunch. I think your friend had more questions.”

You grin at the thought of Miriam’s reaction to see you walking with Draco, “It sounds too good to pass up,” You hold your hand out to Draco, “Lead the way.”

It was all worth it when Miriam’s reaction to seeing you sit back down at the Hufflepuff table with Draco in tow was to spit out her pumpkin juice.

**************

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @obsessedwithrandomthings @harrypotter289 @dreamer821 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @the-hufflefluffwriter @figlia--della--luna @bforbroadway @idont-knowrn @summer-writes @big-galaxy-chaos @black-lake-confessions @annasofiaearlobe @imboredandneedalife @levylovegood @mytreec @haphazardhufflepuff @teheharrypotter @chaoticgirl04 @accio-rogers @msmimimerton @izzytheninja @slytherinprincess03 @iamobscuring

Draco Malfoy taglist: @the--queen-of-hell @obx-beach @obxmxybxnk @sycathorn-slush @dracomalfoyswifey

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captainrexforever · 3 years

Text

Trials and Tribulations 1/2

Rating: T

Word Count: ~4k

Summary: The reader discovers that she has formed a force bond with her Mandalorian companion. This has some unforeseen complications during the events at the Imperial refinery on Morak.

Warnings: cannon typical violence, reader is seriously injured, mentions of blood, Dad! Fett, fluff, angst

Notes: I was planning for this to be wayyy more angsty, but I just couldn’t bear to put poor Din through any more hurt. I hope you enjoy! Don’t forget to comment if you have a suggestion or an idea.

Pt. 2

It seems like only a moment ago Din disappeared down the mountain to assist Fennec. You grab a hold of the child, thanking the stars that he has finally emerged from his trance-like state, and cradle him gently as you check over his vitals to ensure he is not injured.

Once the sound of blaster fire begins to fade, you prepare to make the trek down the mountainside as well. It looks as if the remaining stormtroopers are in full retreat, their transports blasting off from the surface in a hurry. A final explosion-wait, was that a rocket? did Din have a rocket launcher and not tell you?-wipes the ships out of the sky, and you let out a sigh of relief. Although it would be best to leave the planet as quickly as possible, you can’t resist enjoying the view for a moment. It’s been a long time since you or Mando have been able to take a break. There is always a new danger, a new threat, that compromises the safety of your small group.

A red laser bolt screams past your ear, slicing through your peripheral vision like an omen of death. You can only stand there, helpless, as you witness the bolt strike the motionless Razor Crest. The ship that has served as your home for months is suddenly reduced to a smoking crater of ash. There is a good chance that you’re in shock, and by the time you notice the dark troopers descending on your position it’s too late. Before you can draw your blaster, a droid sweeps your feet out from beneath you and you fall to the unforgiving ground, cursing as stones pierce into the skin of your back.

Mando is still running up the mountain side when he notices your body crumple to the ground, and he’s overtaken by blind rage, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he wills himself to move faster. Blaster shots ring out in the silence and his whole body seizes up in pain when he hears your screams.

You grit your teeth as you fight the pain flooding your body. There’s already blood flowing from the blaster shot in your chest and the one in your left leg, but you refuse to give in to the pain. Your fingers close around the child’s robe, struggling to secure their hold as a droid tears him from your arms. Biting back another cry of pain, you will yourself to stand, only to come face to face with the barrel of a wrist-mounted blaster.

It would have been your last breath if Mando hadn’t arrived at that exact moment. The droid standing over you wirrs in distress as a searing laser bolt catches it in the throat. With every last ounce of strength you crane your neck towards the direction of the blast, vision swimming as you register the presence of a familiar beskar-clad figure.

Din curses his poor timing as he rushes towards your prone figure. One finger is already bare, falling to your neck to check for a pulse even as the digits of his other hand connect with his helmet to activate long-range vision. The child is too far gone, he’ll never be able to reach him even if he retrieves his jetpack. His ship is nothing but a pile of ashes, the medical equipment necessary to assist with your condition lost along with the Crest. For just a second Din allows himself to feel despair, loss, anger...love. A tear rolls down his cheek, concealed beneath the beskar that shields the world from his emotions.

What is a man with nothing left to fight for?

In the next second he is back to his impassive, stoic self. He needs a plan. Fennec, where’s Fennec…

“They’ve got the baby, don’t let them get away.” She’s speaking into her comm.

“Affirmative, I have a lock.” Fett answers.

Din can feel his heart seize, threatening to break through its emotional barriers again. He can’t suffer another loss. “Stop him, I don’t want the child hurt.”

She gives him a terse nod. “Abort pursuit, disengage, do not harm the child.”

“Copy, I’ll do a loose follow, see where they’re headed.” A pause. “They’re back.” Fett’s tone is clouded in disbelief.

“Who?” Fennec questions, but Din already knows the answer.

“The Empire, they’re back.”

“That can’t be, the outer rim is under the jurisdiction of the New Republic.”

“This isn’t a spice dream. I can see the imperial cruiser with my own eyes. Heading down.”

A ship, Fett has a ship. “Tell him to hurry, my companion might not make it without immediate medical attention.” Din demands, realizing he’s taking liberties, but it’s your life on the line damnit.

“The girl’s been injured, she needs medical attention.” Fennec relays.

“Copy that. I’ll prepare the med bay.”

Din breathes a sigh of relief, perhaps this man really is a true Mandalorian. He brushes several stray hairs out of your face, grounding himself for a moment before he checks how bad your wounds are. He chokes on a breath when he lifts your duraweave tunic up slightly. There is a fist sized hole in your abdomen, and although he’s treated wounds far worse during his career as a bounty hunter, the sight of the wound of your body has him feeling light headed and nauseous. He’s spitting curses under his breath as he moves to check the wound on your thigh. It’s not much better off.

Shit.

Fett better have some damn good medical supplies on his ship, because there is no way Din is going to allow you to be patched together with machinery like the ex-mercenary currently standing to his left.

As gently as he can manage, he slides an arm underneath your torso, desperately trying to ignore the way your blood coats his vambrace and the duraweave cloth beneath it. His other arm slides underneath your legs, settling into the bend between your thigh and calf. As gently as Din can manage, he lifts you from the ground, panicking when your head lolls backwards at an awkward angle. He feels awkward, out of place, and completely unequipped to be handling a situation like this. Fennec must decide to have pity on his poor soul because she steps over to him with a knowing glance.

“I know you’re a damn good fighter, but I can’t help but notice that you’re not accustomed to holding a woman in your arms.”

It’s true, and he shouldn’t feel embarrassed, but it still makes him flush red underneath the helmet.

“May I?” She gestures towards your still form.

A possessive growl rises in his throat at the thought of Fennec carrying you instead of him.

“Relax Mando, I’m just going to adjust her positioning.”

She’s muttering under her breath, low enough that not even the microphones within his helmet can detect the syllables, but he does catch her mumble ‘what a couple of lovesick fools’. The words have his face erupting into flames once again.

Din stills pins her with a glare as she reaches for your head, tilting it up so that you can rest your cheek against his arm, right below his left pauldron. Then she takes a hold of your left arm, which currently hovers in the air, and sets it on your abdomen.

“There, I’m sure she is much more comfortable now.” Fennec finishes.

Din just nods, still half-heartedly glaring at her from beneath the helmet.

“Let’s go, I’m sure Fett has landed already.”

He nods again, gesturing for her to lead the way. His gaze falls to you and he can’t help but notice that your face is twisted in discomfort. That’s the last thing he wants right now.

“Are you certain she is comfortable?”

“Mando, stop fussing, women love to be held. It’s probably your stiff posture that’s making her uncomfortable.”

He feels like growling at her retreating figure, but resists the temptation. Instead, he drops his visor back towards your face, scrabbling for something-anything-that will help you feel more comfortable.

“It’s alright, I’m here ner verd’ika. (My little warrior) You can rest, I’ve got you. Don’t worry about the kid, we’ll get him back, I promise.”

Maybe it’s coincidence, but the moment he finishes speaking you let out a breathy sigh, the frown on your face relaxing into a neutral expression as you nuzzle further into his shoulder.

You wake up later in an unfamiliar location, startling yourself into full consciousness as you try to take in the surroundings. Tears sting at your eyes and you bite back a sob. The Crest, your home, it’s gone.

“I heard you had a rough day.”

Your gaze snaps forward towards the doorway, and you feel like crying all over again. Cara, your lifelong friend, is propped up against the doorframe. You’re not usually one for sentiment, but you open your arms as wide as you can manage, meeting her eyes as you plead for a hug. She rushes towards you, wrapping you up in an embrace so tight that you think she might crack a rib.

“You had us worried for a while. It’s been a few days.”

A few...A few days. A choked out ‘huh?’ is the only response you can manage with her arms crushing your frame.

“Sorry.” She pulls back, releasing you from her grasp. What the kriff, is she wiping a tear from her eye? “You had us worried. Your condition was so poor that you needed a blood transfusion.”

“What? That’s impossible. The chances of finding someone with my blood type within 100 parsecs are slim to none.”

“Well…”

Why is she hesitating?

“Turns out you and I have the same blood type.”

Kriffing hell! Your heart jumps into your throat. There have only been a handful of times where Din has made a dramatic entrance without practically frightening you into cardiac arrest. This is not one of them. A quick glance around the remainder of the room reveals the Mandalorian seated in a booth in the far corner.

“You frightened me half to death Mando!” There’s a spike of surprise-not your own-that tickles at the back of your brain, and the feeling leaves you a little tense.

“Well that’s not a very nice way to greet your saviour.”

“What?” You inquire.

Mando grunts at you, impassive as always. The visor of his helmet betrays none of his feelings. “I said, you and I have the same blood type.”

Beneath the helmet he’s a little worried, you’ve never asked him to repeat himself. Don’t panic, he instructs himself. It’s probably just because you’re still a little out of it after the anti-pain stim you received. That’s all. He decides to jump straight into business before his worries get too far out of hand.

“We’re going after the kid.”

You nod in response, you figured as much. A fuzzy memory plays out in the back of your mind like a worn out holotape, ‘don’t worry...we’ll get him back...promise.’

“What’s the plan?” You ask, looking to Cara.

“The kid is on Moff Gideon’s cruiser. We need to acquire the coordinates for his position.”

“Ok, whatever you need, I can do it.”

“I know,” she shoots you a grateful glance, “but we are going to need imperial help, ex-imperial help, to be specific. We’re on our way to pick up a New Republic prisoner who is serving a sentence in the Karthon Chop Fields. You might remember him, Migs Mayfeld.”

“Oh, I remember him.” Specifically, you remember wanting to dropkick him into the nearest star system for being such an arrogant bastard. “When do we leave?”

“As soon as you get your ass out of bed and get dressed.”

You sputter indignantly, hurtling the nearest object in sight-which happens to be a roll of bandages-at her head. She just laughs at you as she sidesteps the projectile and darts out of the room.

Huh, there’s that tickle in the back of your brain again. Annoyed, you scratch at your head for a second, puzzled when the sensation doesn’t go away. You decide to opt for a different tactic, concentrating on the feeling until it becomes a little clearer. It’s a sound you realize, the sound of...laughter?

Wait just a minute. Why that no good, beskar wearing nerf herder! You swing your head around, so quickly that you can hear the bones of your spine crackle in protest, and pin him with a deadly glare. Only to realize he’s not even looking at you. In fact, he’s in the process of polishing his blaster.

You shake your head, baffled. You must be imagining things. A moment later Mando re-assembles his blaster with a practiced ease, twirls it lightly in his hand, and then holsters it as he stands.

“I’ll leave you to it.”

Then he too is stepping out the door with a swish of his cape.

“Oh, and I think you’re gonna like Fett’s ship.”

By the time you open your mouth to respond he’s already gone.

“So what’s your story? How’d you and the big guy meet?”

You glance up, hoping to catch Cara’s gaze, an unspoken question radiating across your face. She nods her head subtly in silent confirmation.

“Cara and I were both New Republic shocktroopers. We grew up together, enlisted together, fought together, eventually went into early retirement together. (The last part was only mostly true, but Fennec didn’t need to know that). That’s how we ended up on Sorgan, where we met the Mandalorian. He enlisted our help in mopping up a group of raiders for a job he’d taken on. After our payment we were planning to go our separate ways, but the kid formed quite an attachment to me, so I decided to tag along with him and Mando for a bit. At the time, neither of us understood why the kid was so attached. I’m not very good with children anyways.”

Fennec nods her head as you continue.

“Well apparently, according to this Jedi that we came across a couple weeks ago, I have a connection to some magical force, similar to the child. That’s what drew him to me."

“Huh, interesting.”

“I know, right.”

Here’s the thing though. What you hesitate to tell Fennec is that Ahsoka also informed you that you possessed a special gift as a result of your connection to the Force. Although your gift had not yet presented itself, she was certain that it would become apparent in your near future.

Sure enough, after the struggle on Tython and the resulting blood transfusion, you have started to hear voices in your head. You are sure that they are thoughts, since they are often disjointed and oddly phrased. And, maybe you’re crazy, but the voices sound oddly similar to the modulated voice of your beskar-clad companion.

For example, if you concentrate really hard right now you can hear noise, not like that of an engine (because you’re on a ship), but that of a conversation. Right now the voices are chattering about...ammunition charges? You snort in amusement. That sounds like something Din would be thinking about. Fennec gives you a funny look, but you just play it off, saying that the filtered air in the ship was irritating your airway.

It makes you curious though, is it possible that he may be able to sense your thoughts as well? If you concentrate really hard on one single idea, will he notice? It’s definitely worth a try, and you’re really bored right now. Hmmm, what about a...jetpack. Ok, no response from Din. What about...beskar. Oh, that’s a good idea! After five whole minutes of thinking solely about the metal there is still no response from Din. Ugh, fine. Your obviously imagining things. Typical.

“What are you doing?” A voice echoes.

You let out a squeak, quickly cover it up as a cough, and then glare at the Mandalorian seated across from you. This time he’s looking right at you.

Fine, two can play at this game. You keep a straight face and then will your voice to travel across the space between you and into his mind. “What are you doing?”

He just stares at you and you think maybe you are still imagining things.

“Sigh.”

Oh no he did not. He did not just...just sigh at you through his mind! Why that little…

“Relax, you’re jumpy. And bored.”

If looks could kill, he would be a pile of sizzling beskar right now. “It’s not my fault you’re boring.” You huff back. And without warning he’s laughing at you through the bond. Full-hearted, chest-rattling laughter, but without the ‘chest rattling’ you note dryly, as you glare even harder.

“So that was you laughing at me earlier today! You are in so much trouble Din. Just wait until we land, we’re gonna fight this out like warriors and I’m gonna kick your ass.” That shuts him up and you are feeling quite smug about your comeback, basking in your victory for the space of a few seconds until something else starts tickling at your brain.

It’s another voice, one that is slowly growing louder, but it seems...guarded. You nudge harder, eager to solve the mystery, and the answer becomes a little clearer. It’s a feeling, you realize, a powerful feeling. As you weave closer and closer, Din’s other thoughts attempt to sidetrack you, to distract you from your self-proclaimed mission. Just a little closer...

You don’t even notice that Din’s physical body has tensed up, his hands balling into fists, telltale signs of his nerves. More thoughts whiz by you, trying to knock you off your narrow path, but you’re persistent as you trudge forward. The feeling abruptly smacks into you like the rays of a thousand suns, blinding you, and you’re gasping, suddenly ashamed of your curiosity.

“We’re here.” Fett’s voice rings through the hull, breaking your concentration for only a second, and you feel Din forcefully throw you out of his mind. He’s out of his seat in a second, making a beeline for the cockpit without throwing so much as a glance your way. You’re left to wallow in your seat as Cara and Fennec shoot you questioning glances, but you just shrug.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into him.” You offer, choosing not to elaborate on what just took place. But your blood boils. You know exactly what happened. You just ripped away the most important barrier Mando possessed. The one that guarded his heart.

The feeling you laid bare?

Affection.

You don’t even leave your seat as the others step outside to recruit Mayfeld. “Just wait until we land, we’re gonna fight this out like warriors and I’m gonna kick your ass.” You spoke those words to Din only moments ago. Now, after what you’ve done, you don’t think you’ll ever be able to look him in the face again, much less challenge him to a sparring match.

It’s not until everyone but Din and Mayfeld re-enter the hull that you realize there are only four seats in the hold. You curse your bad luck, there’s no way you are gonna share a seat with any one of these clowns. Oh sweet springs of Tabet, if you remember correctly there’s an extra seat in the cockpit. Before anyone can question your behavior, you’re rushing towards the ladder that Fett is still scaling. With a little luck, he won’t question your presence, and you might even be able to learn a few maneuvers.

Din sucks in a breath as he enters the hold once again, just in time to catch a glimpse of your back as you disappear into the cockpit along with Fett. He scowls, if Fett wasn’t such a good man, Din would probably be jealous. He takes his seat once again, except this time instead of looking up and being rewarded with your face, he’s greeted with Mayfeld’s ugly mug. There’s no way this day could get any worse.

It is only after everyone takes a seat that he remembers there are only four chairs in the hold. He curses himself over and over. He had already factored that into his original plan. The original idea was to invite you to share his seat with him after Mayfeld joined the crew. Then he would be able to bask in your closeness, your liveliness, for just a short time before his mind began to dissect the details of the mission.

He knows he hurt you earlier, unintentional as it may have been. He hadn’t meant to throw you out of his thoughts so quickly, but you scared him. If you had been allowed to peer into his emotions for just one more millisecond you might have seen his most closely guarded thoughts, the ones that keep him lying awake at night.

Within the confines of his mind he often pictures you and him, the kid, and sometimes children of your own. In those fantasies he doesn’t hunt anymore, learns instead how to be a father and a husband, a family man. The intensity of his feelings frustrate him, and rightfully so. As a hunter and a Mandalorian, any emotion he feels can easily be turned into a deadly weapon. This situation involving the kid is a perfect example of how quickly his affection can twist into desperation.

“I’ll go.”

Those two words are all it takes for you to know that Din is absolutely desperate. Mayfeld blathers on, ridiculing Mando again, so you just shut his voice out.

“Mando, I can go.” You speak up, fuming a little at the thought that he hasn’t yet offered you the mission.

“No, it’s too dangerous for you.” He doesn’t even look at you properly, gazing instead towards the juggernaut that passes.

You pin the side of his helmet with a glare. Not wanting to start a scene in front of the others, you dare to brush delicately against his thoughts, and you want to cry in relief when he immediately let’s you in.

“Din, I can go. Let me have this mission.”

“No, you barely made it out alive last time. Besides, the New Republic will recognize you.”

“I don’t care about the New Republic, it’s not like I currently hold a position of importance like Cara. I’ll be fine.”

“No, you’re not going. You haven’t even fully recovered, and there is no way you’re going if you’re not 100% combat ready.”

“You of all people should know better than to tell me what I can and cannot do. I will not, I repeat, I will not let you go in there and risk your Creed when I am perfectly capable of taking this mission!”

“My decision is final.”

Then for the second time that day, he shuts you out.

“You’re not going alone. I’m coming with you, but I won’t be showing my face.” Din announces aloud to the rest of your crewmates.

You growl under your breath, furious with his decision. You want to scream at him, ask him what exactly he is thinking, but you know you can’t. You have never been able to change his mind. Instead, you resign yourself to your allotted role, begging the stars that nothing goes wrong even though you know that is a fool's hope.

Once Mayfeld and Din are seated within the juggernaut, you and Boba prepare to split off from Fennec and Cara.

“We’ll head back to the ship while you two make your way to the ridge.” Boba Fett speaks up as he shoulders the canvas bag holding Din’s armor.

“Alright. I’ll inform you on when to begin your run.” Fennec responds.

You exchange a glance with Cara, then move to follow Fett through the forest. As you trudge back to the ship alongside Boba, numerous questions spring to mind.

“Fett, you are a Mandalorian right?”

“You could say that.”

“Why is it that you can remove your helmet and go by your real name, but Mando can’t?”

“How do you know that Boba Fett is my real name?” He questions.

Well that shuts you up.

He continues on as if expecting that response. “Mandalore has a complicated history. Often the very people who call themselves Mandalorian are not even born on the planet itself. My ancestors believed that any man, woman, boy, or girl could imbue the spirit of a Mandalorian warrior, it didn’t matter who they were or where they were born. From what I can gather, your friend was not born on Mandalore either.”

“Well, I wouldn’t really call him a friend, but yes that’s true, he mentioned it once. That still doesn’t explain the helmet thing though.” You gesture to your face as you finish your sentence.

He takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of his nose, as if he’s dealing with an overly inquisitive toddler. “The helmet thing is harder to explain.” A beat of silence passes. “Mandalorians live in clans, as groups of warriors that are bound together by a common name and a central ruler. The clans all support different beliefs, or Creeds, as they call them. The beliefs of one clan may be wildly different from that of another clan.”

That makes sense. There is a long tick of silence, and you’re certain he is finished so you ask the one remaining question that sits at the tip of your tongue.

“What clan do you belong to?”

He obviously doesn’t expect that question. Surprise envelops his features, then it morphs into fondness. “I belong to Clan Fett.” Another pause. “Why, would you like to join?” It’s accompanied with a head tilt and a humorous tone.

You just laugh. “I don’t know if I will qualify.” It’s freeing to let some humour slip into your tone after your recent argument with Din.

“Well, it seems like you already forgot the history lesson.” He chastises you, but he’s still smiling. “Now, let’s prepare to pick up these friends of yours.” He adds, as the ship becomes visible in the distance.

Ending Notes: Originally this part was going to be much longer, but I made some changes to my original plot. I had also planned to end it on a more angsty note, but let’s be real, we want to avoid angst as much as possible. Part 2 is already written and will be coming soon, give me a follow if you don’t want to miss it!

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

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hereisleo · 2 years

Text

from/ ‘All Hallows’ Eve’

w/ j.wy ft. c.s

g/ inspired by “hell girl”: angst, historical fantasy, suspense

w.c/ 1.6k

a.n/ later than i expected but enjoy! it’s not scary or the best in my opinion but read on! more spooky content coming soon! beware of revenge and grudge, they’re not the best of friends.

t.w/ death, revenge, blood

“Have you heard… They say if you go to the well at the shrine overlooking the field, you can exact revenge.”

A smack on the back of the head and a yelp resounded.

“Hush it! You don’t know what you’re talking about! Where did you learn such foolery? Don’t believe too much into superstition!”

“But grandma! After what he did to us, how could you not want revenge?! Even if it’s superstition, the kami are still listening!”

“I said hush already! Don’t you do any stupid thing!”

Wooyoung has heard it all. Revenge and its reasons, the talks of his elusive existence. Most say he is as old as time itself, he is certainly older than most of them but not as old as time. He was a human at some point. He too had asked for revenge, his grudge burning down the village and holding the souls he treasured most over his head. He accepted his fate a long time ago.

He lifts his teacup, the hot liquid not scalding his tongue. He watches from the shadow in the corner of the tea house. The moonlight silver hair of the elderly woman scolding her grandson brings back many memories of him and his grandmother. The knowing eyes of hers when meeting him has Wooyoung nodding out of respect. She smacks her grandson once more, warning him not to do anything rash and to forget of revenge. Yet he is here. He has already been summoned. He finishes his tea before melting into one with the shadow. Hell is in the human heart.

The shrine overlooking the field, Wooyoung’s home. Suspended between the laws of time and the universe, the land of eternal twilight is his place of waiting. The vibrant orange sunset showering the stretching field of red spider lilies in its vibrant golden shades. Spider lilies only bloom in the fleeting autumnal equinox, the flower of abandonment. Wooyoung thinks it’s a fitting symbol for the departing souls. Each flower in the field represents the soul he ferries to hell.

The bamboo water fountain clak and Wooyoung opens his eyes, the warm water of the spring drowns the voice calling for him but he still hears it. “Wooyoung, your robe is ready.” Water slides down his body as he rises from the spring, “Thank you, grandma.” Droplets from his hair leave wet splotches on his white inner robe, he pays it no mind as he ties them together. His outer robe is intricately designed with red-crowned cranes and golden water ripples.

An ema sways from the low branch of a pine tree, it falls to his waiting palm as he walks by. The wheels of his horseless carriage caught fire yet it didn’t burn and soon he is flown to the living realm where his next soul is awaiting to be avenged. It is time for work.

The birds and insects don't chirp when Wooyoung appears at the shrine. There is no residing kami, only a yokai like him. Most shrine residents are those born out of human desires. His contractor is still unaware of his presence, watching the pine tree without an ema. He has long forgotten how dull human senses are. The midnight breeze kisses him a gentle greeting.

“You called for me?”

Wooyoung recognises him the moment his contractor turns around. He is not surprised to see the familiar face of his contractor. Talk of revenge and he will appear. The grandson from the tea house is standing before him. The clear brown eyes stare at him in almost disbelief as if he’s a ghost. Not necessarily wrong in his opinion. He pulls out the ema from his sleeve, “You wish to take revenge?”

A gasp and a couple of steps backward have Wooyoung rising from his seat at the stairs of the shrine. “Don’t be scared of me now, the decision is in your hands. I’m simply the ferrier of your grudge.” The ema dangles from his finger. “This name you wrote, do you wish for him to disappear from this world?” He takes another step forward to the grandson. “Choi San, do you wish to end another’s existence?”

The brown eyes narrow with grim determination, the skittish gaze has disappeared. He shouldn’t frown but he couldn’t help the slight downward twitching of his lips. Control your emotions, Wooyoung. You are a medium to an end, nothing more and nothing less. Even after two centuries, there’s no telling when his emotions decide to crack through his stoic facade.

“Ferry him to hell, whatever it takes.”

Wooyoung doesn’t know why the conviction speaks to him and saddens him at the same. The same unhesitant decision he shows two centuries ago and grief that another good person has signed himself to wander in hell.

“You must know when you send someone to hell, you dig two holes.” He watches San’s eyes narrow at him, brown to blood red. “You damned one soul into hell, your soul will be damned too, suffering eternal agony… That is after your time in this world is over.” The steel in his contractor didn’t bend. He can only nod, another red spider lily to plant in his field of waiting. When the flower wilts, it is his time to ferry the soul of his contractor and Wooyoung remembers every single one of them.

He extends his hand out to San with the ema on his palm, the name of the damned soul is still in black. “If you will not change your decision, put your hand over mine and we’ll finish this contract.” His eyes glow for a moment, enough for San to be surprised and yelping. The name is now red and so is San’s hand, throbbing and bleeding. The contract has been sealed.

“Light me an incense, Choi San.”

Send your last prayer of redemption for condemning yourself. Send your grudge to me.

When the wisps of smoke and the scent of agarwood permeates the air, Wooyoung has blended into the shadows.

The torch lights flicker as he walks through the hall of shoji screens, sliding open by themselves eerily in the dead of the night. The tatami is cool under his bare feet. He has stepped into the palace before, unseen by human eyes only visible to those who have called for him.

‘He murdered my father and mother, sullied my sister’s dignity and struck my grandmother. The throne doesn’t belong to him.’

‘A revenge for power?’

‘For justice.’

Wooyoung perhaps could care less, each revenge ending the same way. The difference would be how he decides to send them to hell. What illusion they will see before all they know is the smoky miasmic sky and suffering.

The glint of a blade shines and ghostly touches his neck, Wooyoung didn’t bother to blink. A mere sword cannot hurt him.

“I didn’t call for you.”

His hand curls around the blade, not minding it drawing his blood, he couldn’t feel it, “Somebody else did.” He looks at the royal in front of him. “Your time of retribution has arrived.” Wooyoung pieces the story together. A broken royal family because one trusted the wrong person. Hell indeed is in the human heart. He gazes behind the King, a silhouette of a woman sitting still and waiting, he barely senses the living presence from her.

“You dug two holes when you sent the late king, Your Royal Highness. Someone merely ended your life early. Grudge is a powerful motivation but so is family.”

Somewhere in the depth of his consciousness, he hears the bells chiming and the clapping of hands. Choi San. Wooyoung closes his eyes and savours the prayer reverberating within him. San didn’t pray for himself, rather he prayed for Wooyoung.

I’ve heard of your revenge.

“The rightful crown prince sends his regard for your deliverance.”

The fires burst with a gust of wind, the flapping of wings could be heard and the darkness began to sizzle. The cranes on his robe emerge from the dark fabric with a cry, the golden ripples flowing under his feet, opening the pathway to the afterlife of torment. The flame starts to nip at the King. A fitting end he thinks, going out the same way as the late king. The screams didn’t reach his ears, he’s too used to it. He merely watches the flames turn blue and the fading existence of the royal.

Wooyoung remembers the heat was similar to those that burned his village. Betrayal. He trusted the wrong person and so did San’s father. San might have said it’s justice but he knows revenge at its core. The miasmic dryness fills his lungs and the golden ripples turn into dark murky water. The blade sublimates and in its place forms his oar.

The vermillion gate of hell’s entrance awaits him as he rows the small boat. The King in front of him is bound by flaming ropes. Lit paper lanterns float along with them toward the same end. No repentance or pleas will save anyone from death.

Wooyoung feels the dirt clinging under his nails, the soil is dry yet the bulb sprouts immediately and a red blossom emerges. Perhaps it is out of sentiment, he plants the flower under the pine tree. He doesn’t know what he would feel when he plucks them later. They are the only two spider lilies under the tree.

Somewhere in the palace, San falls to the floor, clutching his chest as stabbing pain burns his skin momentarily and leaves him winded. His grandmother comes rushing into his room from his cry, tendrils of smoke slither out from his robe and dissipate into the air. He tugs open his robe, gasping and feeling chills running down his spine.

A fresh brand of a red spider lily mars his skin.

“Choi San… what have you done?”

Your grudge has been ferrier.

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tchallasbabymama · 3 years

Text

Fly Like a Bird- Playlist Chapter 5

Hey y’all, here’s the next chapter of Playlist, catch up on it and check out my other stories by clicking HERE.

CW: smut, violence, torture

Word count: 5812

Ashanti was the first to awaken, and she smiled warmly at the feeling of being in her lovers’ arms. She listened to his soft snores in her ear and her hand came up to caress his before intertwining their fingers. Just as she did, his hand closed around hers and pulled her in closer to his body. She felt his morning wood and bit her lip. She didn't want to wake him up, but the thickness resting on her backside had her seriously reconsidering. Her hips rolled against him involuntarily and he stirred awake.

“Good morning to you too,” T’Challa said with his raspy, deep morning voice before kissing her lightly behind her ear. She craned her neck so he could have better access and he started kissing down to her shoulder. “How did you sleep?”

“Like the dead,” Ashanti deadpanned, still feeling sore all over from the night before. T'Challa chuckled and she sunk back into his vibrating chest as his hand moved to grip her hip and pull her into him. He bit down on her shoulder before kissing back up to her neck.

“Kumkani’s sorry.”

“No you're not, don't even lie,” Ashanti said as a shiver went down her spine.

“Mm, you’re right, I’m not.” T’Challa bit her jugular and her pussy jumped. His hand came up to play with her nipples and she let out a moan before attempting to turn and face him.

“Don’t move, stay just like this,” he said as his other hand travelled down her naked body to the patch of short hairs between her legs. His fingers parted her outer lips before trailing up and down her pussy, seemingly begging for entrance. Her hips thrust back into his dick as he grinded with her, their bodies moving in sync. She let out a moan as his fingers grazed her clit.

“Is your pussy too sore for me to fuck you just like this?” His hand left from between her legs and made its way down her thigh before he pulled her leg up into the air.

“I’m sore, but I still want it,” she whined.

“I’ll be gentle, kitten.” He lined his throbbing dick up with her entrance and rolled his hips into her so that he slowly entered her little by little, pulling out and going in deeper with each stroke.

“Mmm, deeper kumkani,” her hand found its way to the back of his head and she pulled him in so that his face was buried in her neck, whispering filth into her ear.

“You want it deeper? I thought you were sore.”

“Mmm I love how you take this dick, kitten. So hungry for more.”

“Fuck you’re so tight around me, I’m going to bust deep inside you again.”

“I want you walking around with my cum dripping out of you whenever I say so…do you understand me?”

Ashanti’s eyes rolled into the back of her head, a goofy smile spread across her face as she silently thanked Bast for sending her the absolutely filthy man behind her.

“Ewe kumkani wam.”

He thrust his hips forward, fully sheathing himself inside her. The arm holding her leg up hooked around her knee and his fingers found their way to her mouth.

“Vula,” he commanded.

She obeyed, opening wide. When his fingers made contact with her tongue she closed her mouth around them, sucking just as she would his big juicy dick.

“Mmmm, you’re such a good little slut.” He bit her earlobe and picked up his pace, going deeper while pulling her leg further back so that her knee touched her shoulder..

“Ooooh, kumkani, it feels so good.”

“What does?”

“Your dick, i-inside me,” Ashanti stuttered out, the tension building in her lower half.

“This dick?” He thrust especially deep inside her, causing her to cry out.

“Yes! Yes, right there.”

T’Challa continued to fuck her like that, his other hand coming up under her and trapping her next to him even more before going straight to rubbing her clit. His hips rolled his dick into her repeatedly, switching up between long slow strokes and beating her pussy into submission.

“I feel you, kitten, cum for me.”

Her pussy tightened around him and she released a deluge onto the sheets, T’Challa following shortly after, filling her to the brim. They stayed in that embrace for a few moments before he slid out of her. She reached her hand down between her legs and brought it back to her lips, tasting the salty sweetness of them. His hand found its way under her chin, and lightly turned it towards him to meet him in a sweet and passionate liplock.

“What would you like for breakfast?” he asked against her lips.

“How about I cook you something?”

“You made dinner,” He lightly kissed her shoulder. “Let me handle breakfast. You know how much I love it.”

“Alright, alright, I’m convinced,” she giggled.

“You can keep me company,” he said as he watched her gracefully roll out of bed and reach for her robe. “Naked.”

She looked up at him and smirked, walking over to him and planting a kiss on his lips.

“As you wish, kumkani.” She led him back downstairs to the kitchen. Thankfully all he had to clean up from the night before was the cobbler bowls, which he put in the dishwasher. Ashanti leaned against the counter as he rummaged through her cabinets and refrigerator looking for inspiration. She admired his lean muscular frame as he glided around her kitchen like he owned it...and she guessed he kind of did in some ways since it was his country and all.

While his back was turned to her, Ashanti grabbed her sketchpad and started drawing him. His back muscles rippled every time he moved and she couldn't help but to capture the moment.

T’Challa played music from his beads and interrupted her drawing to pull her in close for a dance while he kept an eye on the plantains in the skillet. He twirled her around and swayed with her to the melody, their naked bodies in a gentle embrace. Ashanti wanted it to stay like this forever.

______

The next few weeks passed by with the lovers spending as much time together as possible. The king got to know Ashanti’s parents and roommates, and Ashanti grew close with the royal family. They were both on cloud nine, but T’Challa kept getting a feeling that something was going to go wrong. His cousin convinced him it was probably just his anxiety from past relationships resurfacing, and he let it sink to the back of his mind. For the most part.

Ashanti could tell that something was off with T’Challa, but whenever she asked him about it he would cover her in kisses and reassure her everything was fine. She didn’t believe him, but she let it go for the time being and gave him his space. After almost two weeks of his behavior she finally had enough, so she stormed into his office refusing to take “fine” for an answer.

“T’Challa Jahi Udaku!” she burst into his office, interrupting a conversation between the king and the chief of the Jabari. “Oh, excuse me Lord M’Baku.”

“None needed, I was just on my way out anyway and it seems you two have something important to discuss.” he and T’Challa shared a look. “Goodbye my King, Sister Ashanti.” He nodded to them both and saluted T’Challa on this way out the door.

The king stood and rounded his desk, grabbing both of her hands in his and bringing them to his lips.

“My love, what is the matter?”

“You!” she pulled her hands from his and his eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. “Why are you acting so strange and distant? Has something changed?”

“No, of course not-”

“Then why do you barely talk to me anymore? Did I do something?” her voice softened.

“Not at all kitten, I just-” T’Challa sighed, “Here, take a seat.”

She sat down tentatively, worried that the next thing out of his mouth would be exactly what she feared. He decided to be only partially honest.

“There has been some...concerning activity near our borders that has required my attention.”

“What kind of activity?” she asked, still not convinced.

“It is probably best that you do not know, trust me,” a look of restrained horror and sadness washed over his face. He wanted to tell her that he feels something nefarious is coming, but he didn’t want to worry her. His panther senses were almost never wrong and as of late they had been on a hundred.

He kneeled down in front of her before grabbing her hands again and staring deep into her eyes. “I am sorry that I have been neglecting you, love. That was not my intention”

“I know you’re busy being the king and protector of Wakanda,” she said as she straightened out his collar, “but I just want you to talk to me and let me know what’s going on so I don’t expect the worst. Ok?”

“Ok,” he kissed her forehead then her nose before settling on her lips for a soft kiss. He pulled away slightly and she grabbed his collar to pull him back in for a deeper kiss before letting him go.

“Kitten,” he warned, “You know I have to get back to work.” He could barely get the words out between kisses.

“I know, I just miss you.”

“I know and I miss you too. Let’s go out tonight, it’s been a couple weeks since I took you on a proper date.”

“Mr. Udaku are you trying to woo me?” she clutched her nonexistent pearls.

“Yes I am, Ms. Mostafa. Is it working?” He moved in closer and kissed behind her ear and down to her collarbone.

“Mhm, too well.”

He laughed and stood up before reaching out a hand to her. She took it and rose from her seat, giving him a quick peck on the lips. She turned to head back home when she felt a hard slap on her ass.

“T’Challa! You’re in a mood today, too.” She teased.

“Just make sure you are ready at seven,” he commanded with a mischievous look on his face.

“Ewe kumkani wam,” she threw back at him as she twitched her hips on the way out of the room, knowing he was staring. When she left he breathed a sigh of relief and went back to the holographic screen, pulling up a picture of a woman on a throne.

“What are you up to now?” He wondered aloud.

_______

“We need stronger security at our borders, the Nigandans are planning an attack.”

“What proof do you have of this, my king?” The Border tribe elder asked T’Challa. “I have noticed nothing of the sort.”

“Princess Zenzi,” Okoye projected her image into the middle of the throne room as the king spoke. “has been a constant thorn in Wakanda’s side for the past several years. Our wardogs in Niganda have collected intelligence that proves to be suspicious. She has gone underground. That plus the murdered Border tribesmen leads me to believe an attack is imminent.”

The elders all started speaking over eachother.

“Murdered?”

“How is her disappearance proof of anything? Whoever killed our men could have gotten to her, too.”

“How do we know the murderer isn't Wakandan? We cant just go accusing other countries and starting wars, your highness.”

“Enough!” T’Challa’s voice carried through the room. “I am the king and this is merely a courtesy. We will be adding extra security to our borders. Next on the agenda?”

T’Challa had grown tired of trying to convince the council of a threat without proof beyond his panther senses. He didn’t normally like to exert his power over them, but they refused to listen to him.

The meeting continued without incident and even adjourned a little early. T’Challa’s orders regarding security would be put into place immediately, with warriors from every tribe being deployed to the border within the hour. T’Challa stayed in the throne room after everyone left, contemplating what to do next. He didn’t realize how much time had passed until he noticed the shadows were cast in a slightly different direction than when the meeting ended. He shook himself out of his head and left the throne room heading for his quarters to get ready for the night ahead with his woman.

Across town, Ashanti had just started getting ready when there was a knock at the door. She checked the time on her beads, “Huh, this is early even for him.”

She threw on her robe and went downstairs to answer the door since her roommates were staying with their significant others. When she opened the door she was confused at the sight before her.

“What are you doing here?”

Aneka and Ayo, two of T’Challa’s Dora Milaje, stood on her doorstep.

“Sister Ashanti, we have been sent to guard you until the king arrives. There have been some security concerns and he wants to keep you safe.” Ayo said to her.

Ashanti thought back to their conversation earlier and the look on his face when he told her of what was going on. She knew he was worried for her safety so she let them in.

“Make yourself at home, I’m just going to finish getting ready upstairs,” she said as she ran back to her room to put on her outfit and take her hair down from the bantu knots she had been wearing all day. She sang along to one of her new favorite albums as she beat her face, Mariah Carey’s voice providing the perfect soundtrack for the night ahead.

She slipped on her dress and zipped up the back before turning to check herself out in the mirror. However, when she looked up she almost had a heart attack.

“Aneka!” she gasped, “you scared me. Is something wrong?”

Within seconds Aneka was next to Ashanti stabbing a syringe into her neck. The last thing Ashanti remembered before blacking out is the sinister smile on Ayo’s face as she sauntered into the room.

_______

He felt something was wrong the moment he walked up to the door. He called on his suit and went around back, climbing up the wall to get to Ashanti’s window. He slid it open and quietly stepped through. Only the faint smell of her remained...and someone else’s he couldn't quite place. He knew it had to be an inside job because there was no sign of struggle. She let whoever in willingly.

His kimoyo beads went off and he answered quickly, needing to act fast.

“My king-”

“General, Ashanti has been taken. I need a search party to go out immediately to look for her and-”

“My king, it was Ayo and Aneka. They just stole a Dragonflyer and flew out of the shield before we could catch them. We tracked them to Niganda.”

A fire blazed in T’Challa’s stomach. The border attacks had been a misdirect, the real threat was just a few feet away from him the whole time. It was obvious they were working for Zenzi, but why and what purpose did Ashanti serve in all this?

He made his way back to the palace quicker than he ever had before. He knew Shuri was aware of the situation, but he needed in-person backup for what was ahead. He called all the people he knew he needed to ensure the rescue mission was successful, then alerted Ashanti’s parents and had them and her roommates brought to the palace.

M’Baku arrived in an hour, and it would take about 8 hours for Nakia and N’Jadaka to arrive on the Royal Fang. In that time, the four of them along with Shuri,Okoye, and Bucky hatched a plan to find and rescue Ashanti then hopefully bring an end to Zenzi’s reign of terror. The soldier and the prince took the lead on the latter end of the mission, while T’Challa spearheaded the rescue efforts. Shuri had been able to track the Dragonflyer’s exact location to a rainforest on the far side of Niganda and the rest of them moved out.

At the same time, Ashanti woke up with her entire body feeling like it was weighed down by lead. She tried to open her eyes, but everything was blurry. Her head was fuzzy and as the feeling came back to her limbs, she attempted to move. She blinked her eyes and tried to wiggle the pins and needles out of her legs, only to find that they had been restrained. She tried to move her hands and was met with the same resistance. Ashanti panicked and opened her eyes fully to take in her surroundings. What she saw chilled her to the bone.

A woman in green, surrounded by heavily armed men in military uniforms stared up at her from the other side of what looked to be a throne room.

“Oh good, she’s awake. Hello Ashanti, do you know who I am?” asked the woman as she stalked towards her hostage.

“N-no.”

“Luckily for you, I’m feeling nice today and I won’t take offense to that. I am Princess Zenzi of Niganda. You’ve heard of Niganda, right?” she teased.

“Y-yes, it is right next to us, but what do you want with me?”

“Nothing much, you’re just bait,” Zenzi said with a sinister smile creeping up her face.

“Bait? For what?” Ashanti just couldn’t understand what the evil princess would want from her.

Zenzi rolled her eyes at Ashanti’s naivety.

“Your boyfriend. That lovesick idiot is going to bring the whole calvary to come rescue his poor little defenseless girlfriend,” she mocked Ashanti, “and while all his power players are out of the way, my soldiers will sneak in, steal the heart shaped herb and the throne.”

“The people of Wakanda will never accept you as queen!”

“Oh honey, like they’d accept you? Peasant!” Zenzi laughed in her face. “They don’t have to want me as queen, I will simply make them obey.”

“Obey?”

“Yes, child, obey. Is the word foreign to you?”

“N-no ma’am. I just don't under-”

Ashanti was cut off by a splitting pain in her head and a ringing in her ears. She started to hyperventilate as the walls felt like they were closing in.

“Obey me, it is simple.”

The pain grew and her eyes watered before it all subsided and she felt like a shell of herself.

“What was that?” Ashanti cried out, trying to even out her breathing while the aftershocks of the pain still pulsed through her.

“That was how I’m going to take over Wakanda.” she got up to leave before turning back to her armed soldiers. “Break off a little something for me to send the king.”

Ashanti panicked and began to scream.

“Please! No! I-I’ll cooperate I swear to Bast, just-” she was interrupted by the same horrible feeling from earlier. The last thing she remembered before she passed out was a sharp pain in her left hand and Zenzi’s dark laughter.

Ashanti woke up in a different room. This one was dark, damp, and musty. She tried to move but a lingering pain in her head made it almost impossible. She was finally able to push herself up when she felt a throbbing pain in her hand. She looked down and screamed again, her left pinky was gone and all that was left in its wake was a poorly bandaged nub. Ashanti became hysterical and two soldiers came in to get her to stop. Ashanti assumed they would sedate her just like Aneka, but their methods were more hands-on.

When they left, she felt her face begin to swell and felt blood running from a cut on her forehead. It hurt to breathe and it hurt to cry, so Ashanti sat there in complete silence, numbing herself to her surroundings. She knew she had to survive somehow, but the only thing she could do to distract herself and pass the time was sing along in her head to the music she had just been listening to before she was kidnapped.

Somehow I know that

There's a place up above

With no more hurt and struggling

Free of all atrocities and suffering

Because I feel the unconditional love

From one who cares enough for me

To erase all my burdens

And let me be free to

She wasn’t sure how much time she spent in that little windowless room, but it felt like a lifetime. The soldiers returned twice, each time causing more harm until she was barely conscious. After the third time they beat her, she was ready to give up. She closed her eyes and prayed to Bast that she would be taken away, singing to the goddess in her head.

Fly like a bird

Take to the sky

I need you now, Lord

Carry me high

Don't let the world break me tonight

I need the strength of you by my side

Sometimes this life can be so cold

I pray you'll come and carry me home

Can we recover?

Will the world ever be

A place of peace and harmony

With no war and with no brutality?

If we loved each other

We would find victory

But in this harsh reality

Sometimes I'm so despondent

That I feel the need to

Fly like a bird

Take to the sky

I need you now, Lord

Carry me high

Don't let the world break me tonight

I need the strength of you by my side

Sometimes this life can be so cold

I pray you'll come and carry me home

The last things Ashanti heard as she passed out were gunshots and screaming in the distance. She knew Bast had heard her prayers and that she would either be rescued or brought home to the ancestral plane.

_______

Nakia and M’Baku were the first to find her almost lifeless body. He carried her out to the Royal Talon, but was intercepted by a brokenhearted T’Challa.

“Is she-”

“No, there is still a faint pulse, but we have to get her back right now,” Nakia interrupted her friend. The three of them returned to the ship with the rest of their team. The threat had been neutralized and Zenzi had been ambushed on her way into Wakanda, not realizing they expected her to try to grab the throne. She was sedated and placed into a special prison cell that would neutralize her powers.

All was right again, except weeks passed and Ashanti still hadn’t woken up. Her roommates kept her room decorated with her favorite flowers while her parents tried to make her as comfortable as possible. All T’Challa could do was hold her hand and pray to Bast that she woke up. And pray, he did. Every chance he got he would call out to Bast and the Ancestors to watch over her and bring her back to him.

Little did he know, his prayers were working, just not in the way he expected. Ashanti may not have been awake on this plane, but in the ancestral plane she and her grandfather Taj heard every one of T’Challa’s prayers.

“That man loves you, nugget. You should go back to him,” Taj said to Ashanti as they sat by a beautiful lake, watching her hospital room through the magical waters.

“I want to, Umakhulu, but,” she sighed, “it hurts too much still. What if it happens again? Or something worse? I didn’t think about how being with him would put a target on my back. He should have told me!” She broke down crying for the third time that week and Taj simply held her and let her cry.

“I know I need to go back home, but I’m scared.”

“Look at me, Ashanti,” Taj said with a firm yet soft voice. She was shocked, he almost never called her by her name. “You are a Mostafa, you do not run from things, do you hear me? Now, as much as I love having you here with me you and I both know it is not your time. Look at your parents, how worried they are. Those roommates of yours are going to give you allergies with all the pollen they keep bringing into the room-”

Ashanti laughed through her tears and snot.

“-and the king? He would move heaven and earth just to see your eyes open again. You have to go home, nug.”

His words sank in and she knew he was right. She had to go, but she knew things would never be the same. She stared at T’Challa through the water and sighed before wading in.

Back in the plane of the living, T’Challa’s head rested on the side of her bed while he clung to her. His prayer was interrupted by a light squeeze of his hand, and T’Challa lifted his tear-stained face to look at his now awake lover.

“Uthando!” He threw himself across her healed body and pulled her into a hug, tears streaming down his face while he thanked Bast for hearing him. He pulled back when he noticed she wasn’t returning the embrace.

“My love, is something wrong? Did I hurt you?”

“No, I-”

“Thank Bast, my baby!” Bisa and Chidi entered the room and ran to their child. She nearly jumped into their arms and the three of them sobbed together. Next to visit were Kwame and Binta, who received a similar greeting. T’Challa couldn’t help but compare her reactions to them with her reaction to him, and then it hit him. She blamed him for the attack, just like he already blamed himself.

Next to visit was the royal family, the princess checking her vitals and making sure all was well.

“My dear, it is so good to have you back with us,” Ramonda said warmly, giving her a hug.

“Yeah, this one here almost drove me crazy asking a million and one questions about your progress every day,” Shuri gestured towards her brother and Ashanti’s eyes dropped. T’Challa saw it happen and it was as if someone had stabbed him in the heart. He wasn’t the only one that noticed.

“Can we have the room, please?” Chidi asked the visitors. One by one they all left, T’Challa lingering a little longer not wanting to leave.

“Go get some rest, dear,” Bisa told him as he left the room, shoulders drooping.

“Now, what was that?” Chidi asked his daughter.

“What was what?” she tried to play coy.

“You barely acknowledged T’Challa the whole time we’ve been in here. He was at your bedside every day, torn up about-“

“Mama, I know. I saw it,” she sighed. They both looked at her, confused.

“You...saw it? How?”

“The ancestral plane. I was there with umakhulu watching through some special lake...it’s hard to explain, but he says hi.”

Chidi and Bisa were dumbstruck.

“But you weren’t dead, how could you go there?”

“I have no idea, Baba.”

“H-how did he look?” Chidi asked about his father, tears in his eyes.

“He looked good. Still called me Nugget...he made me come back.”

“Made you? Baby you didn’t want to come back home?” Bisa asked with concern in her voice.

“No, mama. I’m scared of it happening again.” She hung her head and tears started to fall.

“Oh sithandwa...my intyatyambo...they caught Zenzi, you’re safe now.” Chidi pulled his daughter in close.

“Ok but who else is out there wanting to get to him through me?! I can’t, I just can’t-“ she broke down again and her parents shared an understanding glance. They knew when their daughter made up her mind there was no changing it.

“You can’t what dear?”

“Be with him anymore.”

_______

“Just like that?” N’Jadaka asked his cousin, passing him back his bottle of whiskey.

“Just like that.” T’Challa said drunkenly while he took it to the head. Nakia looked on with concern.

“How many bottles have you had, T’Challa? I didn’t think you could even get this drunk anymore with the herb in your system.” She sat down next to him and he laid his head on her shoulder.

“I stopped counting after the third one.”

Nakia turned her glare on the prince for enabling him.

“And you let him get like this?!”

“Hell yeah. He needs to get drunk and mope around for a little bit then he’ll get back to normal in no time.”

Nakia could’ve slapped him.

“N’Jadaka,” she started while holding the bridge of her nose, “you weren’t here when we broke up or when he broke up with Ororo or when Monica dumped him...this isn’t how you deal with heartbroken T’Challa.”

She snatched the bottle out of his hand and went to pour it down the sink. T’Challa tried to stop her but his motor skills weren’t good enough.

“No, no, no, that’s good whiskey!”

“Too late. Now get up.”

“Nakia I don’t think-“

“Nope, zip it. No more from you, prince. Let’s go Challa.”

“But-“

“Don’t make me call Queen Mother on you.”

He shot up and immediately regretted it, teetering on his heels as the room spun.

“Woah, I don’t like this,” he slurred.

“Yeah, no shit. Come on.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“To visit your sister. N’Jadaka, a little help?”

The three of them made their way to Shuri’s lab and the moment he saw her he broke out of their hold.

“Usisi!” He wrapped her in a bear hug and she could smell the alcohol on him as stared wide-eyed at Nakia and N’Jadaka.

“Is he-”

They both nodded as T’Challa booped Shuri’s nose and fell out laughing. N’Jadaka was trying really hard to keep a straight face at the whole situation.

“Shuri is there something you can do to sober him up? It's the middle of the day and he still has things on his schedule,” Nakia worried about her friend, who had wandered to a table and laid down.

“I can, but it’ll take a while. It might be better to just have N’Jadaka run things today.”

The two women shared a look of dread before turning to the prince who had a smile on his face.

“Oh come on, I’m not gonna ruin the country again. On Bast.”

“Yes, well since I wont be assisting you this time I’ll appoint Nakia in my absence.”

N’Jadaka sucked his teeth in annoyance but agreed. He and Nakia were cordial and worked together well, but never got along outside of work. Probably because he’s still hung up on the fact that Nakia’s girlfriend Janelle used to be in his rotation back in the day.

“Aight, fine. Damn, you kill the king once and that’s all anybody can talk about…” he continued mumbling under his breath. The women rolled their eyes and turned back to each other.

“Ok so now that we got that set- awww look at him. Ew nevermind, he’s drooling,” Shuri said while watching her brother take a nap on the operating table.

“Shuri, I’ve never seen him like this before.”

“Not even when Monica dumped him?” Shuri asked her friend and one-time almost sister-in-law.

“Nope.”

“Who is this Monica chick?”

“Long story,” they responded in unison.

“Aight well, if y’all have this handled I have a council meeting to run so...deuces.”

N’Jadaka jogged up the ramp as the two women said goodbye and Nakia followed after him. Shuri turned to her brother and sighed. She knew why he was like this, not only had he been dumped, but he blamed himself for the whole situation. He felt he should’ve seen the misdirect coming earlier, focusing the military efforts on the borders instead of fishing out potential spies. He felt guilty that two of his own trusted Dora Milaje had been brainwashed by Zenzi’s powers and forced into servitude. He felt guilty that his love faced unspeakable violence while held hostage. Most importantly, he blamed himself for not getting to her house in time to protect her.

Shuri let him sleep and hooked him up to an IV to sober him up. He slept for about three hours before he began to stir.

“Sis- ah!” His head felt like it was splitting down the middle and his mouth felt like he had swallowed cotton. She dimmed the lights before handing him a glass of water.

“According to your blood alcohol levels you drank six bottles of whiskey. Six. Are you trying to harm yourself? So help me Bast, I will strap you to this tab-”

“Calm down sister, I just lost count after the third one. I don’t want to harm myself, just drown my sorrows.”

“Yes, well find a healthier way. If you end up here like this again you won’t like the result,” she said with a finality in her voice that made T’Challa shiver. “Can you walk?”

T’Challa slowly slid off the table, testing his balance before standing upright.

“Good, now get out. I was busy,” she said with a playful smirk on her face. The king made his way over to his sister before kissing her cheek and slowly heading up the ramp and out of her lab.

When she was sure he was gone, she pulled up Ashanti’s contact information and called her on her kimoyo beads. Within seconds, Ashanti’s 3-D projected form was in the palm of her hand.

“Shuri! How are you?” Ashanti was surprised to hear from the princess, but excited nonetheless. The two had grown close in her time with T’Challa and she missed Shuri’s sense of humor.

“I am well, or at least I was until a few hours ago. Are you sure about your decision, Ashanti? He is not taking it well.”

Ashanti looked down, grieving the loss of their relationship. Shuri, I love him. I do, but I can’t live looking over my shoulder. I found a therapist, but Shuri I can’t unsee and unfeel what was done to me, and being with your brother paints a giant target on my back. I just can’t-” she fought to hold back tears.

“I understand. I mean, I don't, but I do. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Got an extra pinky lying around somewhere?”

The two laughed, lightening the mood.

“I don’t, but I could make you one. I made a whole arm a couple years ago, I can handle a pinky. Do you want it to look real or robotic?”

“Real, please. I can’t be walking around here looking like a cyborg, I don't know how Bucky does it.”

“You’ve got it, I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

“Thank you.”

“Anytime, sister.”

‘Shuri-”

“Aht, you will always be my sister.”

Ashanti smiled and waved goodbye to the teenager before ending the call.

Next chapter

#cecewritessometimes #black panther fic #t'challa #t'challa x oc #black!oc #playlist #smut #angst

55 notes · View notes

besanii · 4 years

Note

DH prompt, maybe: after seeing the fire festival, I kinda wanna see the first time LWJ ever managed to fluster WWX? I imagine WWX (and all of their mutual friends) would be absolutely gobsmacked about it after three centuries. Thank you so much for everything you do for us—DH is the absolute highlight of my day and never fails to make me smile. Smugji is a blessing on this Earth XD

Extra 12: Prize | previous parts here

“A-Cheng, A-Xian, good luck!” Jiang Yanli calls from where she’s standing with the rest of the spectators. “And be careful!”

Wei Wuxian waves back at her enthusiastically with his sword aloft, jumping up and down amidst the line-up of competitors in today’s tournament. A red competitor’s headband is tied across his forehead, the ends draping down the length of his back, and he’s swapped out his usual loose, flowing robes for a more form-fitted ones in black and red. He likes these robes, likes the way they look on him, and how easily he can move around in them.

Beside him, Jiang Cheng is also waving at his sister, albeit in a more dignified manner, inching as far away from Wei Wuxian as possible.

“Can you calm down?” he hisses, barely restraining the urge to kick him. “I’m embarrassed just standing next to you.”

“Heh, don’t be so prudish, Jiang Cheng, you’re not even sixty thousand,” Wei Wuxian says. “You’re acting as old as Lan-laotouzi.”

He dances away from Jiang Cheng’s attempted swipe at his head with a laugh, only for a pair of hands to grab him by the shoulders.

“Oops, sorry,” he says, turning around to see who it is. “I didn’t mean to—oh, hey Lan Zhan.”

Lan Wangji looks down at him, bemused, his hands still on Wei Wuxian’s shoulders so he has to crane his neck to look at him over his shoulder.

He’s dressed in white, as always, with a white headband, but like Wei Wuxian has swapped his usual flowing robes for ones that allow more freedom of movement. The shortened hem shows off his unfairly long legs, and the sleeveless outer robe his muscular torso and arms, which suddenly reminds Wei Wuxian of their current position. He twists himself around to face Lan Wangji, breaking free of the hold on his shoulders at the same time, and beams at him.

“Hi, Lan Zhan!” he says. “Ready to lose?”

Jiang Cheng snorts under his breath, but Lan Wangji only raises an eyebrow.

“You believe you’ll win?” He sounds almost curious.

Hah! Little does he know, Wei Wuxian is the best at these games. Undisputed champion in Qing Qiu and Lotus Pier. He grins.

“Wanna bet?” he asks, and waggles eyebrows suggestively. “Loser has to grant the winner one wish.”

Lan Wangji considers this for a moment, expression thoughtful.

“What sort of wish?” he asks.

Wei Wuxian grins confidently. “Anything! As long as it’s within the loser’s power to grant, of course. Don’t worry, I won’t ask you for anything that goes against the laws of the Nine Heavens.”

“Alright,” Lan Wangji agrees finally.

To his credit, Lan Wangji doesn’t look concerned in the slightest. That will change really soon, Wei Wuxian thinks smugly. Once they get into the arena, he won’t know what hit him. He raises his sword in both hands and bows with exaggerated formality.

“Then please go easy on me, Lan-er-dianxia,” he says.

When the gong sounds, all twelve competitors fly up and position themselves on top of the pillars of ice dotting the arena. Wei Wuxian winks at Jiang Cheng from where he’s perched on top of one of the shorter pillars as they draw their swords and wait for the signal to begin. He looks around for Lan Wangji and spots him close by, Bichen’s blade glinting in the sunlight.

Typical Lan Zhan to choose the tallest vantage point. All the better to look down on us from on high.

Not that it matters. Wei Wuxian has a way to deal with him. He might as well start thinking about what embarrassing thing he can get Lan Wangji to do after this is over.

“Rules are simple,” the referee is saying. “Remove the headband from your fellow competitors’ heads. You may use swords, talismans, and spells, as long as it does not endanger the lives of your fellow competitors. You must remain in human form throughout the competition. The last one with their headband still on will be declared the winner.”

Easy. He rolls out his shoulders and neck and bounces a few times on the balls of his feet to loosen up his joints.

As soon as the gong sounds again, he whips out an amplification talisman and torches the pillars surrounding him, melting them enough so that the competitors perched on top of them come crashing down as they crumble. Wei Wuxian darts forward while they get their bearings and undoes their headbands quickly on his way past them. He grins, three headbands in his grasp.

Across the other side of the arena, Jiang Cheng is plucking the headband from another competitor whose lower body has been completely frozen onto the pillar to prevent them from moving. He looks over at Wei Wuxian and raises Sandu in challenge.

With his fire trick used, Wei Wuxian starts jumping between pillars, quick and sure-footed. He trades parries and punches, dodges the occasional fireball—because of course the other competitors would follow suit and favour fire in an arena of ice—all the while keeping an eye out for Lan Wangji. He doesn’t want to knock him out too early in the competition.

Half an incense stick’s worth of time later, there’s just him, Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji left in the arena. He has four headbands, five including his own, Jiang Cheng three, and Lan Wangji four. The ice pillars around them are in various states of collapse, making their footing rather precarious, but they pay it little mind as they size each other up from different corners of the arena.

“Hey Lan Zhan,” he calls, waving his collection of headbands in the air and flashing him a cheeky grin. “Remember our bet! You better prepare yourself, cos I’m not gonna let you off that easy!”

“You talk too much,” Jiang Cheng snorts, and takes into the air.

“Says you!” Wei Wuxian draws a quick sigil in the air and fires it in his direction; it catches Jiang Cheng’s ankle, wrapping around it like a piece of string. “Gotcha!”

He yanks on his end of the spell and the talisman amplifies the force, sending Jiang Cheng crashing into the arena below with an undignified shout. The string shortens as he reels it in like a fishing line while he hops forward to meet it halfway, grinning down at a dishevelled Jiang Cheng covered in snow.

“Thank you,” he says glibly, reaching down and plucking the purple headband from around his head. Jiang Cheng grins.

“No,” he says. “Thank you.”

He grabs hold of Wei Wuxian’s outstretched hand, holding him in place just as a flash of blue skims the side of his head. A moment later, his own red headband flutters down past his nose, piling around his neck. Jiang Cheng releases him with a whoop and flops back on the ground with a satisfied grunt. Wei Wuxian is frozen in place, staring at neat cut through the side of his headband.

What the fuck just happened?

He nearly jumps out of his skin when a pair of hands appear on either side of his head. He whips around to see Lan Wangji standing much too close for comfort, his fingers brushing Wei Wuxian’s neck.

“Wha-What are you doing?” he asks, voice oddly high-pitched, heart racing. His skin feels like it’s on fire where Lan Wangji’s fingers have made contact, and the heat spreads to his ears and neck.

Lan Wangji lifts the headband carefully from around his neck and holds it up in front of him, an strange, unsettling glint in his amber eyes.

“I win,” he says calmly.

Wei Wuxian forces himself to laugh, but it comes out louder than he’d intended, and a lot more hysterical. He hears Jiang Cheng snort; Lan Wangji’s lips twitch.

“Congratulations!” Wei Wuxian says. “Well done! Haha, yes, uh—I can’t believe you and Jiang Cheng teamed up against me—”

He breaks off with a breathy squeak when Lan Wangji steps even closer and he can feel the heat radiating from his body. It may be just his imagination, or a trick of the light, or maybe Wei Wuxian’s vision growing fuzzy around the edges, but Lan Wangji’s eyes have darkened to almost a molten gold as he holds his gaze. It’s suddenly really, really hard to breathe.

He squeezes his eyes shut as Lan Wangji leans in—his body doesn’t seem to be able to do move at all, did Lan Wangji use a freezing spell on him?—and he braces himself for—for something. Except...there’s nothing more than a light tug on his scalp, and then his hair comes tumbling over his shoulders.

“What...?”

He opens his eyes to see a familiar length of red ribbon in Lan Wangji’s hand, along with the red headband, and a look of immense satisfaction in Lan Wangji’s eyes.

“My prize,” he tells him. “As promised.”

And then he turns on his heel and flies out of the arena, leaving Wei Wuxian standing there, flummoxed and speechless, as Jiang Cheng wheezes with laughter on the ground.

// buy me a ko-fi //

#mdzs #wangxian #double happiness verse #雙喜臨門 #my writing #fox prince!wwx #dragon!lwj #the first appearance of our beloved Smugji #WWX has neat little tricks up his sleeve #but LWJ is just a powerhouse #and he bulldozes through everything #also this is like the scene in Pillow Book when they're competing in the Bi Niao Tribe #Bi Yi* Niao #except they're just competing because #idk if there's another prize #WWX should know better than to bet with Smugji lbr #hey nonny nonny #asks

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angieloveshua · 2 years

Text

The disciple craned his neck over to look. After staring for a long while, he suddenly reacted. "Aiyah! Isn't this Xihe-jun's outer robe?"

“…”

"Shifu, shifu. Doesn't Xihe-jun have mysophobia and would never let anyone touch his things???"

The power of love. ~

#yuwu #stains of filth #remnants of filth #meatbun doesn't eat meat #余污 #肉包不吃肉 #mo xi #gu mang #ximang

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flouncingwiz-sevsnape · 4 years

Text

Up To Something

Request: Hi! Can I request some professor snape x professor!reader secret relationship smut please? LOVE YOUR WRITING!! Thank u 👉👉

A/N: Here you go :) I think it’s hilarious whenever Severus is in compromising situations, so I had a bit of fun... hope you enjoy!

More content on the way!

Severus X Reader (professor)

Warnings: smut

It was a typical Saturday morning, you sat between Madam Pince and Filius eating some porridge accompanied by a steaming cup of coffee. As you yawned and rubbed the sleep out of your eyes, you scanned the staff table. Minerva… Albus… Rubeus… and, all the way at the end, Severus. Your stomach flipped a little as you thought back to the other night… yet your thoughts were interrupted as the post arrived. Watching the owls fly around the vaulted ceiling, you almost spit out the huge gulp of coffee you’d just taken. Last night you had decided to give Severus a little excitement and wrote him a very obscene note. You craned your neck up to look for the owl that would soon swoop towards Snape. A small hoot owl had your note clamped in his beak and landed gracefully on Severus’ shoulder. He looked irritated and confused about the fact that he had just received mail. You watched him reluctantly take the parchment from the owl, which hooted softly and flew off. He opened it slowly and read, his face becoming increasingly agitated as he progressed. You stifled a laugh and turned back to your breakfast, fondly recalling what you had written him:

Sev, you’ve been looking extra uptight lately so I think we should reschedule our meeting. I’ve been slammed with work, and I know you have some hard things going on too, so I think we both could benefit from a little bit of play… If you can fit it in, come around my office after lunch so we can let off some steam. Yours truly, y/n.

You had been sure to add some provoking innuendos as best as you could while still maintaining subtlety. When you were sure he was finished reading, you stole a glance at Severus to find him staring back at you, stony faced. You raised your eyebrow playfully and saw a seductive glitter in his eyes, so you smirked and turned away again. You would be seeing him after lunch. That was certain.

A soft knock on the door interrupted your focus on the paper you were grading. You set it down gladly, and rubbed your eyes; the writing was terrible and just about everything was wrong. Getting up, you straightened your robes and turned to face your cabinet, calling out over your shoulder.

‘Come in.’ The door creaked open as you fixed your hair in a small mirror. You could tell by the sound of the footsteps that Severus was approaching, probably with an annoyed look on his face and his cloak billowing. You turned and your suspicions were confirmed, he looked annoyed and his black robes were flowing behind him. Smirking at his predictability, you stepped towards him, suddenly extremely turned on. All year, you two had been together in secret. Your feelings for him had developed a few years back and things progressed into an exciting relationship of sneaking around and meeting up for walks. Snape wore his usual smirk, but his eyes were dancing around the room excitedly. As he drew nearer you saw that he was already hard, a small bulge evident in his pants. You rolled your eyes, this was going to be fun.

‘Sev,’ you bit your lip seductively and gave him a small nod before turning around to take off your cloak.

He stopped when he reached your desk and leaned against it lazily, watching you take off your outer robes. You could feel his eyes on you, but you made sure to remain composed as you turned slowly to face him. Snape’s eyes wandered unabashedly up and down your body, appreciating your figure. You had stripped down to your undergarments, both black and lacy, and began walking towards him a mischievous smile on your face. As you drew near he reached out almost hungrily, but you danced out of his grip wagging a finger playfully.

‘Slow down Sev. Did you lock the door?’ Frustration flashed across his face as he nodded.

‘Of course I did, y/n,’ Severus retorted boredly. He was extremely hard now and you almost felt bad for teasing him… almost.

You smiled and sauntered over to him, not moving away and his hands soon gripped your waist. You knew he was ready to go, but before you started, you wanted to build up some more tension. You leaned against his body slightly and pressed your lips to his ear, whispering, ‘you’ve been really uptight lately.’ One of your hands pressed against his chest while the other wrapped around his shoulder. You hooked a leg around him, pulling his hips and bulge close to you, before continuing, ‘and I think you should relaxxx…’ As you spoke you slid one hand down to his hardness. He let out a soft groan and stroked a hand up your back and towards your breasts.

His dark eyes glittered as he spoke, ‘I think it would be,’ he paused to inhale as your hand started to move towards his waistband, ‘... prudent,’ he swallowed, shifting his hips in response to your touch, ‘if we hurried up, I have to meet Minerva… oh… Merlin… later.’ He finally finished his sentence and looked down to where you had his shaft between your hands, stroking softly. You locked eyes and desire burned in his eyes. You were extremely turned on by now and you weren’t sure how much longer you could hold off. Severus tugged his trousers off as you continued to rub him, a low groan escaping his lips. He pulled your face to his and crushed your mouth against him, one hand tangled in your hair, the other fondling your breast expertly.

His touch was too much for you and you let go of his dick and began frantically undoing his buttons, forgetting about magic. Severus smirked and exhaled, amused, before grabbing and waving his wand. His robes flew off of him and he was completely naked. In one swift motion he had pressed you against the desk and began placing kisses all over your body. Your breath hitched as he reached your breasts, unclasping your bra and taking a nipple between his lips. You couldn’t wait anymore, there was a desperate throbbing between your legs now and you wanted it to be satisfied. Arching your back you exhaled, spreading your legs, ‘S-Sev… t-take me. Now!’

Needing no other invitation than that he straightened up as you slipped out of your knickers. You sat on the desk, shoving some papers out of the way, and spread, waiting, Snape lined himself up at your entrance, dark eyes boring into yours. You nodded, and he reached for you, pressing his lips into yours as he thrust himself in. You gasped, instantly filled with pleasure; he let out a low, throaty moan and moved his hips back and forth. Soon you got into a rhythm and the only sounds filling your office was that of slapping, his occasional moaning, and you calling his name in desperation. Soon you were close to finishing and you tightened around him, tugged slightly at his hair.

‘Sev, I’m- I’m close…’

‘Mmmm, so am I…’ he rolled his hips faster and harder, and you felt yourself close to climaxing. Right when you were about to come, you heard footsteps in the hall. Severus heard them too because he pulled himself out and stood rigid, listening for the sound again. You locked eyes and Snape had an extremely agitated look on his face. He grabbed his wand and waved it at you, immediately you were clothed. Racking your brain for an idea, suddenly you thought of your cupboard. You ran to it and wrenched the door open, motioning for Severus to get in. Snape looked livid at the idea, but the steps were getting closer and he didn’t seem to have an alternative.

‘I’m sorry Sev, don’t worry, I’ll sort this out.’ He sneered but didn’t reply. You looked down and saw him still extremely hard and quivering, before pressing a sloppy kiss onto his lips and closing the cupboard door.

Your office door burst open just as you saw Severus’ robes, laying a pile on the floor. Grabbing your wand, you gave a frantic wave and they slid into an open desk drawer. Minerva burst into your office just as the drawer slammed shut. You gave a shaky exhale and tried to pat your hair down. You pretended to be grading papers when McGonagall reached you.

‘Oh! Y/n!’ she seemed surprised to see you here. ‘I thought I heard something from this room…’ she trailed off and scanned your office, eyes resting on the cupboard behind you.

‘Right, Minerva, listen, that was just Peeves wreaking havoc.’ You motioned to the papers that had been pushed off your desk while you and Severus were in the throws, relieved to have such an easy excuse. Her suspicious eyes glanced down and she straightened.

‘I see. Well, then, I guess that’s that,’ she turned to leave, but paused and spun to face you again. ‘You haven’t seen Severus by any chance, y/n? We need to discuss the upcoming Quidditch match, his Slytherin’s are out of control!’ You suppressed a grin, thinking of how Snape let his kids run wild and cause chaos. Trying to plaster an innocent look on your face, you looked up at Minerva and replied.

‘Last I saw him, he was heading to the Astronomy tower muttering something about Gryffindors pranking him…’ you trailed off to add the effect of drama, and it worked. Minerva suddenly looked shocked and darted out of your room, calling out an apology over her shoulder.

‘Must go! Sorry to bother!’ The door slammed behind her and you waved your wand at the lock. As it clicked you got up and opened the cupboard up.

Severus was crammed in an awkward position, a look of pure contempt on his face. You laughed a little and reached for his hand, giving him an apologetic kiss on the cheek.

‘I’m sorry Sev! I should have listened when you said you needed to hurry up!’

He rolled his eyes, a satisfied look of triumph on his face. ‘Don’t lock me in that terrible thing again,’ he deadpanned, stepping close to you, still hard, ‘ever.’

He flicked his wand and you were naked again. ‘Let me make it up to you Sev.’ You grabbed his hand and led him to your office chair, pushing him down into it playfully. He leaned back and looked up at you expectantly. Climbing onto his lap, you pressed your lips against his and straddled him. He moaned and kissed you back, harder. Snape’s hands skimmed all over your body, leaving goosebumps everywhere. Finally, after letting you grind on him for a little bit, his hands found your waist and he guided you down onto him. You felt his dick slip inside you and you were washed with a feeling of pure bliss. Again, you resumed your rhythm, both of you very close.

‘Ohhhh, Severus!’ you whispered frantically into his ear.

‘Mmmm, you’re so tight…’ he thrust harder into you, ‘I’m… gonna… come…’

You were on the edge of your orgasm as he said it, and you bounced harder on him, rocking your hips down deeply. Warmth was spreading over you as your breath hitched and your orgasm washed over you in a wave of pleasure.

You let out a long sigh just as Severus came in you, his low moan matching yours. You both rode out your orgasms and then sat tangled up in each other, panting.

‘Wow… that was-’ you started.

‘Much. Needed.’ Severus cut you off, a look of relaxation on his slightly sweaty face. You gave him a quick kiss before getting off of him. Waving your wand, you cleaned up the mess and your office, before dressing yourself and turning to face Snape.

‘You should probably go find Minerva,’ you watched him get dressed as you spoke.

‘Yes. I don't want her to think we’re,’ Severus paused and whipped around dramatically to face you, ‘up. To. Something.’ He had a malicious smirk on his face and you couldn’t help giving him a long, wet kiss before shoving him playfully towards the door.

‘Go on.’

He cocked an eyebrow and flounced out of your office, cloak billowing, but a little bit more of a spring in his step…

#severus snape #severus x reader #severus snape fanfiction #snape #snape smut #snapedom #Pro Snape #halfblood prince #no sn8 #snape imagine #snape headcanon #hp fanfic

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badger-writes · 3 years

Text

Star Wars OC Ship Week 2021 - “for light and life”

Day 4 - Action/Adventure

Then...

Sskeer came at him like a feral Nexu, leveraging a ferocious primal strength into a totally unrelenting barrage of lightsaber strikes. He assaulted Kelto’s defense with a flurry of fast, sweeping slashes, battering his sides with wide swordstrokes and raining down heavy overhead blows from above - the hallmarks of the Aggression Form, Ataru, his skill at which he had honed to razor keenness over the long period of his Knighthood.

Kelto wished he had foreseen that the intensity of his friend’s fighting style would match that of his demeanor. More than that, though, he wished he had kept up with his saber practice. His style was that of Resilience, Soresu, a style which valued ultimate defense - a fitting form for a practitioner of the healing arts, but not for a duelist. As the Rodian himself now proved, being buffeted as he was around the sparring circle, preventing the Trandoshan from landing a blow by last-minute movement or the skin of his teeth.

Kelto had assumed working in the medical ward precluded the possibility of encountering lightsaber combat in his daily life. Sskeer had made it his mission to thoroughly deconstruct that notion.

“Focus,” he hissed over the electrical crash of their plasma blades. “Do not let the fight dictate your reality.”

“I’m not,” Kelto protested. “I’m - I’m enduring!”

“Survival alone will not guarantee victory. If you spend all your energy waiting for a counterblow, you will lose. You must seize control, not wait for it to be given!”

He lifted his blade as if to strike Kelto’s right quarter, then swung instead for his feet. The Rodian jumped back, landing unsteadily on his feet, and attempted to reestablish his guard. With a thrust, Sskeer pushed it away.

“Just give me a second,” Kelto grunted, swatting away another incoming blow.’

“Your opponent will show no mercy. Why should I?”

“Just - just slow down! I can’t - I can’t keep up with you!”

“You’re in over your head,” Sskeer lectured. “Becoming flustered. The fear, the anger - it is taking hold of you.”

“Sskeer, please--!”

“Without balance, we lose discipline. Without discipline, we lose control.”

With a cry, Kelto lashed out - a clumsy, sloppy swing that was born of no style save frustration. Sskeer dodged it easily. Then he reached out with his free hand and seized the front of the healer’s tunic in an iron-clawed grasp. This was followed with a leg sweep that knocked his feet out from under him and a simple throw that sent him definitively down to the mattress. The impact forced the breath from Kelto’s lungs and his lightsaber from his fingers, its training blade disappearing with a sad hiss as it deactivated.

Sskeer held the point of his own saber over Kelto’s heart where he lay. His reptilian face was sympathetic, but pitiless.

“And that is why we must drill,” he said.

Groaning, Kelto forced himself up on his elbows. He was panting hard, sweat shining on his face and darkening the collar of his robes. By contrast, Sskeer didn’t seem to have a hair out of place, insofar as one could say such a thing about a Trandoshan.

“Dammit,” the Rodian gasped. “I just -- I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

“You were unwise to lower your defenses,” Sskeer began, fixing his hilt to his belt. “Your last swing created a clear angle of attack on your center.”

“I figured that part out, thanks,” Kelto snapped, drawing his knees to his chest. “It’s everything else that’s a problem.”

“The fault isn’t yours alone. Soresu prioritizes defense above all others, but a shield alone cannot win a battle. You must bring a sword as well. That is what I am trying to show you, Kelto.”

“Well, all you’re showing me right now is that my shield sucks.”

“A problem that can be solved. But not by ruminating on your failures.”

The Rodian sighed violently, glaring between his toes. Turning towards the edge of the circle, Sskeer reached out and used the Force to levitate a canister of water into his waiting hand. Then he sat cross-legged on the floor beside Kelto, offering Kelto the canteen. He took it like a secondhand trophy.

“This time you lasted much longer,” Sskeer informed him as he gulped down the cool liquid. “Against an Ataru as aggressive as my own, that is no easy feat. I commend you.”

“I still lost,” Kelto observed grumpily.

“This is true. When your attitude about saber combat changes, this will change, too.”

“That’s just it, Sskeer - I don’t think it will.” Kelto let out a guilty breath. “Saber combat was never important to me. It never felt - right. A pacifist shouldn’t carry a laser sword. And neither should a healer.”

“A pacifist can be a healer, and a peacekeeper as well. More than that, he ought to be able to defend himself. All of these concepts can coexist.”

“I understand that, but - come on, you don’t really believe we’ll be having lightsaber duels again, do you? The Sith have been extinct for ages by now. Who would strike at the Jedi or the Republic on such a scale again?”

“I don’t know,” Sskeer said slowly. “I hope such a conflict does not occur for many generations to come. But I believe in being prepared for the galaxy’s sake, if not only my own. And so should you.”

“But - but I barely leave the Temple,” Kelto protested. “I barely even leave my quarters!”

“You cannot rely on routine and habit to shield you from the world. The future will find bring you to many dangers, Kelto, whether that be a patrol in the Coruscant underworld or a mission of peace and relief to the Outer Rim. It may even bring danger to you, here, in the place where we Jedi feel safest. Will you feel very wise then, if you allow yourself to become comfortable and complacent? Will you feel safe? Will those in your care?”

Kelto had no answer. He went back to staring uncertainly at his toes.

Sskeer heaved a breath through his nostrils. “If I upset you, I apologize. It is a matter I care deeply about. For the sake of the galaxy - and for your own. It is… the way of the Guardian.”

“I know.”

“When we continue, I will… slow down, and offer more suggestions for improvement. From now on, we proceed at your pace, not mine.”

“...Thank you, Sskeer. That… means a lot.”

The Trandoshan reached out and rested a palm on Kelto’s shoulder. “I seek only to serve you, Healer. And to help.”

Kelto offered him a shaky smile, covering his hand with his own. “Don’t we all?”

Now…

Oh good. The pirates had sliced a loadlifter.

Kelto swore under his breath and ducked as a Class B medium cargo container went hurtling through the air overhead, smashing through part of the hastily-erected CSF barricade. The ziggurat platform of the derrick major squatted over them all, offering the criminals and their reprogrammed muscle an opportunity for raining blasterfire and shipping crates down upon the police frontline. The sting operation had clearly failed; the pirates weren’t leaving without a fight, and the police were horribly outnumbered.

And the only thing standing between them and death by volleys of laser fire was Kelto and Sskeer.

One thing Soresu was good for was deflection training. As bolts of sizzling red plasma plunged towards them, Kelto intercepted them with his blade, sending them harmlessly into the ground or off to the side. Beside him, Sskeer, too, was bouncing shots off the edge of his saber, though his technique lacked refinement; in trying, perhaps, to reflect the pirates’ own shots back at them, they instead bounced wildly back into the loading bay, spalling off chunks of permacrete or ricocheting off the surface of blast-resistant cargo pods.

“Injured to our left,” Kelto called out as he sensed them. “I’m going to get them.”

“I’ll give you cover,” Sskeer nodded. “Let’s move.”

Carefully, they sidestrafed through the wide open space of the cargo landing. Kelto relied on intuition to lead them to the wounded, and for intuition, he trusted the Force. It brought them to the foot of a gantry crane where two dockworkers and a security official were taking cover. The officer was slumped against its foot, bleeding slightly from the mouth, a darkly-singed crater on his stomach where a blaster bolt had breached his body armor.

“Give me cover,” Kelto ordered, and Sskeer obliged; he held his lightsaber out before him through the Force and made it spin until a single spear of light became a dazzling electric-blue shield, almost completely circular in the perfection of its cycle. Incoming fire was all but spattered harmlessly away.

Sheathing his own blade, Kelto crouched down beside the cop, examining his wound. “What’s your name, officer?”

“J-Joh,” the man sputtered. “Joh Andaris.”

“It’s good to meet you, Joh. I’m Kelto. You’re gonna be fine.” He took a stim-shot from a hip pouch and injected it into the man’s shoulder. “That’s to get you on your feet. In a couple of seconds my friend and I are going to have some words with those gentlemen up on the warehouse level, and when we do that I need you all to run back towards the police line, yes?”

“How are we supposed to get all the way back there?!” one of the workers, an Aqualish, quailed. “We’ll be ripped to shreds!”

“We’ll draw their fire.” Kelto lifted the man up onto his feet. “Be ready.”

“All by yourselves?!”

“It’s what we do. We are all the Republic.”

He turned back to Sskeer just in time to watch a blaster bolt slip through his defenses. It slid perfectly through a gap in his deflection pattern and sheared over the surface of his shoulder; the Trandoshan hissed, almost dropping his concentration, calling his saber back to his hand for a more conventional defense.

To the far right of their position, back across the way, Kelto sighted a Class C cargo unit - a long trapezoid of rust-colored durasteel, taller than him by quite a bit and by Sskeer by not much more. But size mattered not. He stretched out his hands and cradled it in the Force, lifting it - pulling it close to the point it blocked all the incoming fire that Sskeer was drawing.

The Rodian edged out behind it as the civilians used its cover to limp back to safety. Sskeer, in turn, took hold of the container as well; they moved in concert, step by step, pushing forward to the center of the plaza.

“How’s your shoulder?” Kelto called. He had to raise his voice, otherwise Sskeer might not have heard him over the hailstorm of blaster shots pitting the other side of their durasteel wall.

“I’ve had worse.”

Kelto glanced at the wound. It was oozing emerald green blood into Sskeer’s white-and-gold Jedi robes. “Not that by much,” he commented. “Sure you don’t want a stim?”

“Save it. Maybe one of the gentlemen shooting at us needs a pick-me-up,” the Trandoshan retorted.

“Hey, you wanted me out here!”

“Just be ready--”

“I’m with you--”

“For light and life!”

Together, they angled the container upwards - and hurled it through the air towards the pirates. They scattered back, falling away from the walkway above, as it crashed through the railing and rolled to a stop somewhere beyond the edge.

Leaping to a phenomenal height, Sskeer and Kelto followed after it.

Then…

When he landed, Kelto ducked into a roll, swiping out at Sskeer’s shins; the Trandoshan moved to push the blow away, realized there wasn’t enough time, and only just managed to jump back from it before it connected. He grinned even through his blocking when it was followed by an evenly-spaced series of strikes.

“Good,” he said over the clash of lightsabers. “Good! Seize the offensive. Build on your momentum.”

Kelto smirked at him through their blade lock. “Now who’s waiting for a countermove?”

In response Sskeer levered his blade away, moving his own smoothly back and up through the air for an overhead slash. Here, Kelto did something he did not expect; instead of intercepting his attack directly, he sidestepped to his right and brought his lightsaber upwards at a diagonal angle, following the edge of Sskeer’s blade in almost perfect parallel.

In spite of himself, Kelto grinned triumphantly as he made his attack. His saber’s edge would travel directly into Sskeer’s belly, framed by the position of his knees below and his arms above; it was a guaranteed hit. A guaranteed victory, even!

But then Sskeer reared back hard, forcing himself to bend at a near ninety-degree angle to the floor, supporting his body almost solely through pushing down through the balls of his feet. As Kelto’s strike swung harmlessly over him, brilliant turquoise energy passing right above his face, he pivoted hard on his toes, swinging out from under Kelto’s arms and pirouetting away from his opponent’s zone of control. Transforming a decisive blow into a near miss.

Spinning his saber in one-handed agitation, Kelto gave him a Rodian stink eye. “A giant like you,” he said crossly, “should not be allowed to move like that.”

Sskeer fixed him with a sly stare. “That’s not what you thought last Fete Week.”

“Don’t go there,” the healer laughed, pointing with his sword warningly. “Do not go there.”

“Try and stop me,” the Guardian said, huskily.

Kelto gave a cry of action and surged forward, clutching his sword like a spear--

And at the last moment Sskeer stepped to one side, and Kelto saw how close to the edge of the sparring circle he’d been standing. In a panic, he threw out his free hand and grabbed the front of Sskeer’s robe, his toes digging into the mat and dragging him to a stop, hanging almost completely over the short dip down to the floor below.

“Your next lesson,” Sskeer declared passively. Having an entire Rodian come to an emergency stop by clinging desperately to his shirt hadn’t so much as budged him. “Don’t blind yourself to your surroundings.”

“That’s not fair,” Kelto protested half-heartedly. “You distracted me.”

“That is the point.” He grabbed Kelto by the arm and pulled him back to his feet on the sparring mat. “I’m supposed to.”

“It wasn’t the fair kind of distraction.”

“No fight is fair, Kelto. You must adapt to anything and everything that your opponent may have in store for you. Focus on the reality of the fight, not temporary diversions.”

The healer crossed his arms, crinkling his snout puckishly. “Even if they’re big, tall, incorrigibly sexy distractions?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Especially then,” Sskeer chuffed, turning. “Now come - back to first position. Now that you’ve got the hang of things, let’s go again.”

“Lose the tunic first, big guy.”

He stopped, turning on his heel. “Exssssscuse me?”

“Hey - you wanted to train me to block out distractions, right?” Kelto strutted to his marker and crouched down into beginning stance, grinning. “So start being distracting already.”

Sskeer smirked. “As you wish,” he said, shrugging out of his top.

Now…

In the heat of the battle, Kelto’s awareness had developed into a kind of double vision - an immediate center of attention where his focus narrowed to encompass the most immediately pressing complication, and a wider, peripheral awareness where the details of his environment and surrounding happenings were sorted into neat piles to be confronted later.

The two men before him leveling carbines in his direction rated his immediate attention. Sskeer was to his right, on the other side of the warehouse; the pirates occupying that half, accordingly, became a secondary concern. The loading crane coming unmoored with an explosion and falling to the floor with a hideous crash was concerning - almost distracting - but ultimately of no consequence; he could safely ignore it, as it had landed on no one and nothing important.

The pirates in front of him didn’t realize this, and flinched, looking back over their shoulders. He seized the opportunity and sliced the barrels off their weapons before throwing them back against a cargo pod with a gesture, where they passed into unconsciousness and out of the fight. One of them had managed to pull the trigger before his saber ruined his gun; the bolt blazed a trail past his temple and nearly singed off his topknot, but aside from some lingering heat on the side of his face, he was otherwise okay.

Sidestepping to the right, Kelto next leapt the vertical meters up to the gantryway above, cresting the railing with a kick that caught a waiting sniper in the jaw and sent him sprawling over the side. The thump that he made when he hit the floor was a curiosity; equally unimportant, in the scheme of things, as the fallen loading arm. He duly discarded the thought.

Men shooting at him on his side of the catwalks? Immediate threat - he deflected their shots back at them in turn. Sskeer joining him on the upper level, opposite side, similarly engaged, carving through the opposition with his usual intensity? Important situational note - make an effort to link up as soon as possible.

A heavy repeater being wheeled out on a repulsorpad from behind a heavy warehouse door on their level?

Well, details like that tended to... confuse his ordering system, just a little.

“SSKEER!”, he shouted, pirouetting back towards a tall, thick support column. “E-WEB! E-WEB!”

Glancing, Sskeer saw - and jumped out of the line of fire just before the blaster cannon opened up. The warehouse rang from floor to ceiling with the staccato drone of its report as the dreadful weapon poured its destructive firepower into the Trandoshan’s general location; it pounded Kelto’s ears as he watched, heart in his throat, as Sskeer scrambled for cover.

The cannon’s operator must have been a genius among smugglers, for instead of trying to perforate a target that moved faster than he could aim, he shot the catwalk out from under him. It collapsed with a terrible crash and sent Sskeer spilling down to the floor; he recovered in a rolling crouch as the other gangsters, emboldened, turned all their attention to the fallen Jedi, blasters raised.

His partner was in danger. Intellectually, Kelto knew this should have bothered him. Instead he pushed through the spike of emotion and found his discipline again.

Then he went to work.

Darting out from behind the pillar, he sprinted at full tilt past one - two - three snipers on the catwalks, slashing each of them in passing. The cannon operator, he knew, would see him coming - and even now he was orienting the giant gun accordingly. He couldn’t possibly reach the cannon before it found a bead on him - so instead he brought the gun to him.

Kelto skidded to a halt, whipped out a hand, and pulled the mounted cannon towards him; the cannon, a slave to its hoverlift, jerked forward violently, throwing its gunner to the side when he had finished coming along for the ride. Sidestepping the drifting E-Web, Kelto slashed downwards through its barrel in passing, pivoted sharply on his heel, and delivered his booted heel to the pirate’s chin as he attempted to rush him with a vibroknife. The blow knocked him out cold, and Kelto noted with uncharacteristic satisfaction the crack it made when his foot collided with his jaw.

With the gun out of commission, he turned back to the warehouse floor below. He needn’t have worried, he realized; with brutal Trandoshan ferocity, Sskeer had made quick work of the pirates who had made the fatal tactical error of attempting to charge a single lightsaber-wielding opponent. He snarled his way through a final broad slash that sent two more men collapsing to the ground, growling in challenge at any unseen gangsters left bold enough or stupid enough to approach him.

“I got the gun,” Kelto reported, belatedly.

“Very good,” Sskeer called back up. “Lower floor is clear.”

“Was that all of them?”

“I believe so.”

Kelto vaulted the rail and dropped back down to the ground floor, softening his landing with the Force and landing in a crouch. “That’s a pity,” he commented, straightening and padding over to Sskeer. “I was hoping we could resolve this without much loss of life.”

“CSF casualties were low. And we are both still standing.”

“I meant on both sides.”

“Save your pity,” Sskeer sniffed. “If these Outer Rim scum are so low as to murder innocents for smuggled wealth, they deserve just what they got.”

“I suppose,” Kelto shrugged. “But I still feel conflicted.”

“Your compassion does you credit, Kelto. But don’t waste it on those who don’t seek it.”

“I offer it freely. It’s a healer thing.” He reached up to brush the suckers of his fingers against Sskeer’s injured shoulder. “A Jedi thing.”

The Trandoshan grunted, closing his eyes. “I know, I know. My… zeal, sometimes exceeds my beliefs.”

“We’re all the Republic, Sskeer. Even the baddies.”

“Thank you for reminding me.”

Slowly, Sskeer’s fingers reached up to touch Kelto’s where they lingered at his collar, brushing the underside of his cheek.

Then Kelto said, “You don’t think we’re forgetting anything, do you?”

The loadlifter droid crashed through the ceiling, landing on the permacrete with enough force to create a small crater, screeching at them in corrupted Binary.

“Dammit,” Kelto grunted as they ignited their sabers once more. “Dammit dammit dammit.”

“Keep calm. It’s only a droid.”

“I know, I know. Just wishing I hadn’t broken the big gun.”

Then…

Only a few short months of consistent drilling later, and Kelto was already matching Sskeer step for step in the dueling ring. And from the look on his face, he knew it, too.

“Surprised I’m doing so well?” he asked, striking probingly at his opponent’s left and right quarters.

“On the contrary,” Sskeer replied, batting them away. “I couldn’t be prouder. You learn well.”

“I had a good teacher.” Kelto ducked under a first horizontal sweep, and punished the second by needling the point of his lightsaber into the joint of Sskeer’s shoulder; on training setting, it made contact with only an electrical sting. “But not that good, apparently.”

The Trandoshan growled, pacing in a circle and rolling his arm in its socket, working out the pain. “I don’t recognize that move,” he said wonderingly. “That wasn’t Soresu, was it?”

“I’ve been doing some research in my free time. Been looking into the Persistence Form - Shien. Do you know it?”

“Hm. A more aggressive style than what you’re used to.”

“Certain parts of it, yes, I agree. But you were right - you have to cover a good defense with a good offense. There’s no room for clinging to ideology in a real fight -- ”

Kelto flinched suddenly to the right, provoking Sskeer into following him with his guard - then he juked back the opposite direction, capitalizing on the fake-out by swinging his blade into the underside of his wrists.

“But being able to fight isn’t what defines you,” Kelto finished. “What you fight for does.”

“Yesss,” Sskeer rumbled. “Yes. Exactly what I’ve been trying to show you!”

He threw himself into another series of full-power overheads, and grinned widely as Kelto countered each of them in turn. Under locked blades, the Rodian beamed back at him.

“Though I can’t help but notice that this revelation comes after a steady string of losses,” the Guardian snorted.

“Every failure is an opportunity to learn,” Kelto replied smoothly. “And I’ve learned enough to finally beat you.”

“Then prove it,” Sskeer demanded.

“You know -- I think I will.”

And then it was Kelto who broke the block, with enough force to send Sskeer staggering back a half step; and when Sskeer attempted to counter with an overhead chop, he sidestepped the stroke before it arrived and leapt, corkscrewing up the air and planting himself on Sskeer’s shoulderblades, pushing hard through the balls of his feet. The Trandoshan grunted with the extra weight, wobbling fatefully on his feet before finally tipping and falling face first to the padded floor, saber jarring from his grasp on impact.

One foot on the small of Sskeer’s back and the other on the thick slope of his shoulders, Kelto lowered the edge of his blade to rest against his opponent’s neck. “And done,” he smirked.

From the floor, Sskeer glared - and then began to laugh. A deep, resonant sound, from the pit of his throat. “Well done, little healer. It seems your training is complete.”

“The student becomes the master,” the Rodian preened.

“Indeed. Let me up now, so I can congratulate you properly.”

Extinguishing his blade, Kelto said thoughtfully, “I don’t know - I worked pretty hard for this. Feel like I’ve earned the right to rub it in a little, don’t you?” And so even as he was stepping off of Sskeer’s back, he was plunking himself down to sit upon the curve of the Trandoshan’s spine.

“Urk-!”

“Oh, yes,” Kelto giggled. “That sound just made it all totally worth it.”

Sskeer glared at him warmly as he straightened up onto his elbows. “You are lucky to be pulling this juvenile nonsense on me and not someone like Master Engle.”

“After the protracted thrashing I just took, you’re lucky you’re still with me at all!”

He chuckled at that, softening. “I am, aren’t I.”

“And don’t you forget it, mister.” Kelto tapped the emitter of his lightsaber against his temple to underline the point. Then he stood, and offered his hand. “C’mon, up and at ‘em. Let’s go again.”

The disparity in their sizes and masses meant that Sskeer ended up doing most of the work of standing up. “Again? I thought your training was through.”

“My training. Now I help you work on your defense.”

“Ah, of course. How unexpectedly generous of you, ‘Master’ Lem.”

“Not generous at all. I plan on giving as good as I got.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

Smiling at each other, they folded their arms and bowed.

“Now look - it’s not so much about where you put your blade as where you put your feet, see? Watch…”

Now…

The loadlifter must have attempted to break through the police line; it was the only way to explain the amount of carbon scoring pitting its chassis. But the CSF’s sidearms had clearly failed to stop the berserk droid; if anything, they had only made it angrier.

The Jedi had two things working in their favor. First, the machine’s primary offensive implement, its two massive lifting arms, made its attack pattern slow & easy to predict; second, its sheer mass made it difficult for the droid to attack them with any kind of subtlety or dexterity. This meant much of the incoming danger would be coming from wide sweep attacks, and easily dodged. This was about where their list of advantages ended.

The droid, meanwhile, had been fitted by its criminal masters with heavy hydraulic legs and a microscopically thin layered shell of energy-resistant material - neuranium, perhaps, skimmed from shipments bound for projects related to the Republic’s Great Works initiative? Kelto wasn’t sure, and frankly, right now he didn’t care. Either way it meant their lightsabers weren’t easily cutting through its hide, and it had the speed to match and catch their every maneuver. It was a heavy bruiser, and no mistake.

If this was what they’d managed to cook up right under their noses on Coruscant, imagine what they were up to beyond the frontier?

The machine screeched and rushed them yet again, blitzing across the warehouse at a blistering pace in an attempt to pancake them against the wall. With scant seconds to spare they threw themselves in opposite directions, Kelto landing in a roll and turning sharply; the machine, split between two targets, chose to pursue Sskeer.

It shattered the ground around it with its huge fists, apelike bashing aimed at squashing the Trandoshan into the floor. Sskeer moved with a deftness that belied his own size; his feet carried him out of or around the rapidly-shifting crush zone with supreme economy of motion and exertion, and above them, his body shifted minutely to maximize his effective positioning. His arms, meanwhile, slashed and jabbed at the droid’s reinforced chassis with his lightsaber, creating trails of shallow gouges in the metal where his blade had passed.

Watching from the sidelines, Kelto almost wanted to cheer him on. Then the droid caught Sskeer in the gut with a side-swipe and sent him flying into the far wall.

His focus remained on Sskeer, sitting in his own impact crater, long enough to see his chest heave; he was badly shaken, possibly stunned, but still alive. Then his attention shifted back to the droid, which had taken its first step towards finishing the job.

The cowling around its shoulder joint had come loose. Not by much - but perhaps just enough.

Kelto charged. Sliding under a wild reactive swipe, he rolled to his feet and thrust the tip of his saber upwards, straight into the chink in the droid’s armor. In attempting to pull away, the droid inadvertently drew the unprotected coupling which lay beneath its shell across the edge of the energy blade, and the limb fell away lifelessly. It screamed in Binary, orienting to smash the offending Jedi with its other arm, but Kelto jump-flipped up and over its shoulder, shearing away the linkages connecting its armored collar to its vulnerable neck.

“Sskeer!”, he cried, landing as the armor segments clattered to the floor. “Now!”

The loadlifter reared back for one last overhead smash. It never got the chance to deliver the blow. Behind it, Sskeer bounded across the floor and sprang into a corkscrewing leap which carried his blade into position to strike the droid’s head from its shoulders. He executed the wayward machine with a roar.

The head landed with a dull clang and a dwindling electric whine; the rest of the body shuddered and ground to a complete halt, like a grotesque junkyard statue. The same could not be said for Sskeer, who came down heavily to his hands and knees upon returning to earth.

“Sskeer!” Kelto rushed to catch him, dropping his lightsaber and pushing him back up straight by his shoulders. “Are you alright?!”

“Y-yes,” Sskeer hissed. He clutched his head in one clawed hand and screwed his eyes shut, still sitting on his haunches. “I’m alright, it’s only -- nng-- a concussion, perhaps.”

“Sure you don’t want that stim now?”

“I’ve… reconsidered.”

Obligingly, Kelto injected him with an ampoule of kolto - and one more for good measure. Soon enough, Sskeer could see clearly again, though the ringing pain in his head still remained. The blaster wound, though, had almost completely closed over.

“Nice footwork back there,” Kelto murmured with a smile, massaging his uninjured shoulder. “Good placement, good tempo - ever consider taking up tap dancing? You’ve sure got the rhythm for it.”

“They don’t make patent synthleather in Trandoshan sizes.”

“Hey, you gotta have something to fall back on in case this Jedi thing falls through.”

Wearily, Sskeer met his eyes, grumbling in his throat. “Always the joker,” he said, tipping the underside of the Rodian’s jaw with his knuckle. Then he stood, groaning. “We should inform the police the situation is contained.”

Kelto tucked himself under his arm, half-carrying his weight across his shoulders - well, more like quarter-carrying. “Not bad for my first big patrol, huh?”

“You were more than capable. In some places, you surpassed even myself.” Sskeer slid his hand back to rest on the closer of Kelto’s shoulders. “As I said you would, if you trusted yourself to.”

“Ah, you’re just saying that.”

Sskeer stopped him in his tracks so he’d know he was being serious. “You would have made a fine Jedi Guardian, Kelto Lem. And should you ever desire such a path, I would be honored to walk it with you.”

He stared up at him, bug-eyed. “You… really mean that?”, he asked quietly.

Sskeer shrugged. “Consider it something to fall back on, in case being a healer doesn’t work out.”

“And I thought I was the joker around here,” Kelto snorted, as they left the ruined warehouse behind.

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