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fuckit-hero-of-trains · 3 years

Note

Can we see red go apeshit :3 like some thing happened while they were split the boys are worried about them all yeah but he's been the most targeted as a suposed weak link up meanwhile blue green vio are slowly backing away while equipping fire protection gear?

Or the suggestion that since their bodies are crafted from the elements they have minor bending powers?

I saw "Red go apeshit," blacked out, and wrote this. Also inspired by the fwof prompt of a very similar kind!

Warnings: Graphic depiction of injury. If this was on ao3 I would rate it Teen so be careful if this kind of thing isn't your bag. Please check the TWs in the tags.

The first one to go down is Vio.

It's a lucky shot that gets him. Not anyone's fault. Wrong place at the wrong time. The purple wearing smith simply leaps out of the way of one of Sky’s lizalfos punches at the same moment that Blue ducks a tail swipe from another.

It’s just bad luck that the mace-like tail of Blue’s enemy connects with the back of Vio’s head.

The sickening crunch of metal on skull that follows echoes over even the sounds of battle. The tiny, punched out gasp that slips from Vio’s shocked, slack lips is somehow even louder. The crackle of displaced grit and rock as he collapses to the ground is loudest of all.

Or maybe it just seems that way to Red.

Red can’t seem to hear anything else; not the hiss of success the monster spits out, not the concerned shout that pushes its way out of his own throat. Even the pounding of his heart in his ears has gone horribly silent.

Red can’t seem to see anything else either. Can't look away from the sight in front of him. It’s like the world has narrowed down to Vio, the pool of red sprouting from his head like a halo, and the monstrous lizard that stands over him, rearing back, ready to throw another punch now that it’s target can’t get away.

Red doesn't even register himself moving forward. Doesn't even think about it, really. It’s instinct, a burning tangle of fear and anger in his stomach, in his veins, that sends him diving forward, shield outstretched to deflect the blow.

The beast, not expecting to be denied one again, is thrown off balance with a confused hiss, which Red cuts off with an angry shout and a slash to the things belly.

He turns, sword held at the ready to take on the one that had landed the hit in the first place but Blue is already there, a snarling, unrelenting tide of sword and hammer, protecting Vio’s other side. A decisive mallet swing to the lizalfos' head sends it flying with a crack and a tiny whimper of pain.

They lock eyes for a moment, tsunami meeting lava, and with a quick nod, they take up position on either side of Vio, twin swords a blur.

On Blue’s far side, Red catches a glimpse of Green shoving his own lizalfos away with his shield before turning tail, ducking seamlessly under Blue’s latest swing and skidding to a stop at Vio's side.

Something like warm relief begins to flicker in Red’s chest as Green tosses Vio’s arm over his shoulder and begins to drag the other away.

A flickering relief that is smothered out in the blink of an eye.

Or, rather, in the flash of an arrow.

Between the glint of his own blade and the flurry of punches and tail swipes sent his way by the group of lizalfos in front of him, Red catches sight of one of Wild’s lizalfos lining up a shot too late. He barely has time to register the familiar greenish-yellow energy Red remembers surrounding Wild’s shock arrows before the thing is loosed.

The arrow sings through the air, an arc of crackling ozone that flies across the battlefield, through the swarm of lizalfos bearing down on them before finally diving directly between Red and Blue’s shoulders.

Red doesn't have to look back to know its found its target.

The distorted, jittering scream and acrid smell of singed hair and flesh speaks for itself. As does the thump of two bodies crumpling back into the dirt.

Red feels something inside him crackle at the sound. Feels the moment that the fear and anger twine together in his stomach, twin blazes eating up all the air inside him until he feels breathless with them.

Red also sees the moment that the sound registers to Blue.

And sees the second the dam breaks, releasing the flood.

“Blue, no!”

The warning comes too little, too late. The words are hardly out of Red’s mouth before Blue dives forward with a guttural yell, straight into the swarm of lizalfos, leaving Red to take up position in front of their fallen counterparts, feeling less air in his body by the second.

From there Red only catches glimpses of Blue cutting his way through the hoard. Sees a familiar blade coated in blood, the too fast swing of a mallet as it connects with a head, a flash of dirtied blonde hair. And he sees injuries appear on enemies. A slashed open throat here, a collapsed skull there. Crushed ribs, ripped bellies, torn tails, gauntlets so dented that blood leaks onto metal.

Any that are injured and foolish enough to stumble Red’s way are taken down without hesitation. Red can’t afford to waste his time with them. He’s too busy glancing back at Green and Vio to make sure they’re still okay, still breathing, too busy craning his neck to try and keep track of Blue.

There is a break in the swarm and Blue crashes into the middle of it, looking bruised and battered but standing. Still standing and snarling and swinging at anything that comes within reach. He’s a tornado of strength and momentum and blade and hammer but he's moving too fast, too wildly. Red can see how each swing pulls him that much more off balance, how every frantic turn tangles his legs further and- and–!

Blue swings his hammer into the chest of one lizalfos, pivots to slash at another creeping towards his back and the momentum of both is just too much for him to handle. His front leg slips in the dirt and Blue goes down hard with a growl, his shoulder and face taking the brunt of his weight.

He’s barely hit the dirt before the lizalfos descend on like vultures, gauntlets and mace-tails raised to strike, completely hiding him behind a horde of green scales and unforgiving steel.

The sound of blunt metal connecting with skin and an infuriated but pained shout is the flint.

Or maybe the spark came earlier, from the electric arrow, the jolted scream.

Or maybe it was there from the beginning of this mess, the kindling a crunch and a gasp and a thump.

Or maybe Red was always on fire.

That's what it feels like at least. It feels like he's on fire. It feels like the burning fear and anxiety and anger have left the confines of his stomach, have coalesced, sparked up his veins, charred his lungs and burned up his throat and he’s screaming.

In an instant, his shield has left his right hand, replaced by the searing grip of the Fire Rod.

And now the fire has reached his skin and it feels like he's caught alight. No longer is fear distinguishable from anger, from rage, all that matters is the heat, the power, and the pain. The heat beginning to gather at the end of the Fire Rod. The pain of blisters bubbling on his hands as the temperature swells higher. The power just waiting to burst forth.

Red screams and screams and screams, a mixture of agony and anger and more, bears his teeth for the lizalfos to see despite the tears boiling down his face, raises the Fire Rod, and lets the world explode.

Everything is a blur of crimson after that. Flames lick at the ground and pull themselves swirling through the air, clawing at anything and everything that stands between Red and Blue.

There might be brief moments of green scales and glinting metal in his vision, seconds when claws and tails and gauntlets score him, bruise him, slice him open, but all it does is add more crimson. More places for flames to escape his body, making it that much easier for Red to cut them down and set them ablaze, filling his sight with scarlet once more.

At once, Red can both feel the heat and feel nothing. Pain and power. Each breath in is agony, filling his lungs with sparks and smoke, and each exhale is ripped from him in a scream, burning so hot that it feels like he might actually be breathing fire.

A roar fills his ears, but Red can’t tell if it's his heart or the sound of the flames or the screams of lizalfos as they fall.

He doesn't care what it is either.

Not with the fire around him. In him. Fueling and fueled by him. Breathing his air and stealing it.

All that matters is watching everything turn to ash and–!

A hand, warm but no scalding, catches his wrist.

Red whirls around, intent on wrenching his arm away, in letting the fire burn and burn and burn until it can burn nothing else.

And then he looks down and sees Blue.

Blue who is looking up at him from behind purpled, swollen eyelids. Blue, with blood dripping from his scalp and nose and a cut open cheekbone. Blue, whose left arm looks to be broken even as he holds Red’s wrist tightly with the other.

“It’s okay, Red,” he says, voice hoarse and lips bleeding. “You got them.”

The words enter Red’s ears, but he doesn't quite understand them. The hand that Blue had caught flexes slightly in its hold and the Fire Rod responds to the call of his magic, sparks beginning to sprout of the red gem once again.

“I-” Red coughs, swallows, tries again. “I got them?”

Blue gives him a nod and a weary, bleeding smile.

“You got them,” he confirms in a voice softer than Red thinks he’s heard in a long time. “We’re gonna be okay.”

“We’re…?”

Reality, their situation, it all slams into Red and he whips around, looking back. Behind him is a path of carnage, a path of blacked, scorched dirt, torn and burning scaled bodies, metal gauntlets and tails reduced to misshapen, half melted hunks of steel.

But there, behind the burned dirt and cloud of smoke, beyond any danger, is Green and Vio, the former awake if shaky, still holding on to their unconscious counterpart.

“We’re okay,” Red repeats slowly, numbly, turning back to look at Blue. “We’re safe.”

His body must register the words before his brain does because suddenly his knees are hitting the dirt, bringing Red to sit next to Blue, who wraps his good arm around Red’s shoulder and pulls him gently into his side.

The pain in his lungs and the skin of his hands and any other parts of his body that had been licked by flames, unfortunately, flares to life then, overpowered only by the bone deep exhaustion that comes with using the amount of magic he did.

“We’re safe, we’re okay, we’re safe, we’re okay,” the words keep spilling from Red’s lips in hoarse whispers, even as his throat fails him, and his vision begins to blur.

In the distance, Red thinks he sees eight shapes breaking into a sprint to get to them.

“We’re safe,” Blue agrees, his voice barely making it through the cotton that has stuffed itself into Red’s ears. “You made sure of that.”

Red just hums and nods, letting everything go lax.

They’re safe.

They’re okay.

And knowing that, Red drifts off into the dark, a barely there smile pulling at cracked lips.

#lu four #lu red #lu blue #lu green #lu vio #tw:blood #tw: broken bones #tw: injury #red can go berserker mode #as a treat #red is at the heart of a lot of fours emotions #including seething unstoppable wrath #train writes #can you tell I like elemental symbolism?#linked universe #linkeduniverse

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inlustrissss · 3 years

Text

Last Time

“The woman was scared to die all alone in a foreign country”

SPOILER WARNING!! CHAPTER 138

Edit: Thank you for 200 notes 😊😚

Levi x fem!Reader

TW! : slight angst but also mentioning of death, dw, got some nice and bittersweet moments as well

Summary: Levi and his fiancé are part of the survey corps and on a dangerous mission to stop Eren Jaeger in his plan with the rumble. On Marleyan ground, right before everything crumbles down, (Y/N) sees her life flash before her eyes

As Falco had caught on to the Kirschtein man, Connie looked devastated, the scene before the strong soldiers of Paradis unfolding into a complete disaster as Armin was about to detonate the bomb right around where Erens nape connected to it's bone-ish body.

"We need to get out quick!! Armin's gonna blow those bones to pieces!"

Having held down on to Piecks cart Titan body, (Y/N) loosened her grapple-hook, the gravity pulling her towards the ground as the hook returned to it's place at the ODM-Gear. At the same time the black haired woman Pieck emerged out of the Titan form, letting herself fall and hugging the (H/C) haired woman tightly.

Facing the ground, Falcos wings caught the women: "The armored Titan should be able to withstand the colossus Titan explosion—", seeing Jeans concern of their fellow old comrade, she tried to ease his worries as she sweated, "And most of all: Reiner's prepared for all of the consequences. To let this opportunity get away would be to let that go to waste!"

As suddenly Falcos Titan body increased its speed and flew up higher into the sky, (Y/N)s reflexes kicked in, making her close her eyes in fear. She felt an arm hug her waist tightly. Caught off guard, her (E/C) orbs opened frantically and her head swinging into the direction of the arms owner: it was her fiancé, the very man who had asked for her to marry him right in the middle of the war. Gifting the strongest soldier of humanity a subtle smile as a thank you, and maybe even slight reassurance for herself, she seemed to melt at his touch, getting lost in the rare colour of his cool blue eyes. Sighing, his tense shoulders relaxed for a second: "You okay?" His deep voice almost hoarse as it came out as a whisper, "Don't do anything reckless, stupid." Nodding speechlessly the woman noticed the bright light from behind her-- the bomb had been detonated and a loud, ear piercing bang sounded throughout the trampled battlefield of Marley.

Wide eyes glancing towards the direction of Eren whereabouts, hands covering ears, the ring on (Y/N)s finger sparkled whenever the warm rays of sunlight reached the beautiful material.

Was the battle finally over?

There was no time to think of the answer to that question, there wasn’t even any time to think of the question in the first place. It was a bittersweet moment, when Falco finally landed on the ground in front of those Marleyans and Eldians who had survived the ramble up until now. Leaving his titan body Falcos eyes searched the crowd for his parents. The little yet brave girl Gabi doing the same, running up to her mother and aunt, hugging them tightly just as Pieck did with her parents. Carefully jumping off of the bird like titan body, (Y/N) and Connie took a hold of Levis weakened body, making sure he stood on his feet before Connie adjusting his arm and placed it around his neck. The engaged woman never leaving her financés side, she held him by his torso, looking at the children that had been with them for a long time throughout the war, finally reuniting with their parents. The sight of Gabi smiling made her forget all of her worries. With Levi close to herself, nothing could beat them now.

“It’s not like I don’t have any regrets but-”, Connie looking around, seeing all the crying faces, “we did the right thing, didn’t we?” “We stopped the rumbling..”

“Wait!”, Gabi suddenly called out, running towards the cliff, almost falling off of it if it weren’t for (Y/N)s reflexes to catch the impulsive girl, “Watch it Gabi!”, the woman said with concern lacing her sweet voice, “But Reiner is still fighting.. and Armin?!”, looking back to the battlefield, they saw Reiner on the ground with Armin walking over to the cliff where everyone had been.

“They’re okay.”, said Jean as he patted Gabis should, but something had caught their attention.

It was the centipede- like looking creature, which had taken control over Eren when he had transformed into the founding titan: “Hey, look over there!!”, yelled Connie while pointing at the thing, “It survived the explosion?” “What the fuck is that thing..”, mumbled Levi with a disgusted look, “Who knows, love.”, said (Y/N), “But all I know is that we can’t let this thing survive.”, with a determined look she glanced to her comrades, tightening her grip on to Levi. A bright light emitted behind the colossal titan, the place where Erens corpse had been. “I didn’t think it’d take that much to kill you..”, said Jean as he was looking towards the bright light, seeing a titan form in the distance.

Long brown hair dancing with the wind, it was Eren.

“We can’t let Eren get to that thing down there!”, yelled (Y/N). Right when she was about to turn towards Levi and possibly get him ready for another fight, she noticed him groaning and his head hanging low, “Levi? What’s wrong?!”, brows furrowing, she tried to take a hold of his eyes with hers. “Just a headache.”, he whispered.

A headache- come to think of it, Mikasa had been having headaches throughout the fight with Eren too..

Noticing how Gabi had crouched down with the others, (Y/N) decided to let her finacés headache slide and see what was going on. “What is this smoke?”, asked Gabi, “Smoke?”, inspecting further, (Y/N) saw how the creature had deflated, leaving only smoke behind, which soon covered a large space and devoured almost all of the mountain where they had been seeking their cover. “Is that thing finally dying?”, Mikasa groaned as he raised his brow suspiciously at the thing. But Connie had another answer: “No, it doesn’t smell like a dead titan”, his hand covering mouth and nose at the smell. His heart dropping and hands growing colder with each second, he was under shock: “Isn’t it the same they did in...”, he swallowed, “..In Ragako?”

Only hearing the confused voices speaking in the background, it was completely silent among the group. No one dared to mutter another word, it had all come to an end.

She wanted to cry but she couldn’t, her heart stopped to fear it only started to clench in worry, “Levi you have to get out of here”

It only rung louder and stronger, it was like his head was killing him slowly, praising him with a painful dead, it was like his instinct was punishing him for his failure. No it can’t be instinct, he truly did love her, he was no servant. Yet his DNA was telling otherwise.

“No don’t do this to me-”, the Ackerman males murmurs were cut off by his beloved soon to be wife, “Pieck, Mikasa! Get on Falco and hurry!”

“Please oh god don’t do this to me-”

“Levi, it’s okay.”, softly touching his cheek, being careful not to hurt his injury under the dirty and sweat stained bandages, she held his paled face. This very face she saw all those years ago, when he was captured by commander Erwin with his fellow friends Isabel and Farlan, oh how she has missed them all. Recalling their first interaction when Hanji ran off to greet them at their first expedition, praising them on their skill with the ODM gear.

She glanced at his eyes. Those eyes she first truly started to take in the night he was at his worst, crying under the moonlit night, cursing himself how he could’ve been stronger. Those seemingly cold eyes that would always watch over squadleader (L/N)s doings. Those very eyes that would always gaze at her with love and tender were struck with fear and disbelief now. She knew he was too weak, she was scared he wouldn’t be able to handle another death.

Levis nose stung, his eyes burning, this is it, he was close to crying. But as he heard her sweet voice, it was as if there was no war raging, “It’s okay my love”, she said with an almost inaudible whisper, forcing herself to not break down and cry herself. “You need to get out of here Levi”, her voice calming his penetrating headache, “You need to survive” Foreheads pressed together, (Y/N) swiftly let go off of his face to look at her right hand, “Here quick, take the ring honey-”, sliding off the engagement ring, she took Levis weak hand and pressed the warm yellow gold into his palm, she smiled softly, not noticing a single tear slip, “I’ll see you again Levi”

Pressing her warm lips tightly against his cold ones, she took a hold of his shoulders and hugged him.

He hesitated, needing to take in what just happened but hugged her back just as tight, patting down her messy hair, just like hed always do to keep his beloved tidy. As they slowly parted she whispered “You need to hurry.”

Their moment seemed as if took hours.

Seeing Falco take off with the one she devoted herself to, (Y/N) finally broke down. Her life flashing by her eyes and even all the talks she had with Levi about her future, she played it all out just how it could’ve been.

Remembering how he had asked her to be his wife in the middle of war, because he was scared he wouldn’t survive, thinking of all the reassurence they both gave themselves until now. Dreaming of a future together, knowing it would stay one.

She cried.

Hot tears streaming down her flushed cheecks, she wasn’t even able to keep up with the flow of her tears anymore, (Y/N) just gave up on trying to dry them. The woman was scared to die all alone in a foreign country.

“So this is how it ends, huh?”, (Y/N) stopped.

It was Jean who was pulling her close towards himself, Connie on his other side, hugging the taller male as well. “Guess so..”, said Connie. Turning towards Jean with an indifferent expression he scoffed, “Remember the night of the entrance ceremony?”, Jean nodded, “This is your fault we’re here right now.”

At their bickering right before the end made, (Y/N) had to laugh, “Stop it you guys, now’s not the time” Connie groaned, “Come on, when’s ever the time..”, but Jean apologized, “I’m sorry Squadleader”

Growing only sadder at the title, (Y/N) sighed: “Drop the act Jean, we’re only human after all.”

“Right.. (Y/N)”

She wished she could look into Levis warm eyes again.

She longed to see, she would do everything,

just to see him one last time

Closing her eyes, she let the sunrays hit her skin, making her look angelic with the golden glow. Will it hurt? Will it be quick? Her mind growing ever so slight when the worries ceased, she didn’t want those things to be the last thing, worry should not consume ones life.

So when the time finally came, she only thought of Levi Achermann, the man she had loved the most in her life.

Seeing his beautiful steel gray eyes in her mind set her at ease. So she rememniced his lovely touch for one last time.

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lilyofthesword-writes · 3 years

Text

Continue - Part 3

Summary: You have been ripped away from your world and tossed into one that is supposed to be pure fiction. You know the stories, how they are supposed to go. Despite your knowledge, you are unable to change the fates of the Fellowship you had grown so close to.

Pairing: Legolas x Modern!Reader

Word Count: 1,957

Warnings/Disclaimers: Violence, mentions of blood.

A/N: So this one turned into a beast. I wanted to write in some of the Battle of Helm’s Deep to try something different. Hopefully, this worked out, and I didn’t jump all over the place too much.

Masterlist

“Please, reconsider,” Legolas pleaded with you. “What if the binding magic activates, again? If we are separated, you will be defenseless amongst the chaos.”

You chewed on your bottom lip. He had a point, but still...

Squeezing his fingers, you tried your case again. “Legolas, I understand. I truly do. But I want to help you all on the field, not hide away in the caves. In a battle like this... Every person counts.”

Thunder from the impending storm nearly overshadowed the elf’s sigh. He unlaced a hand and cupped your face, stroking the apple of you cheek with his thumb. “There is that endearing determination, again.” Pulling you forward, he laid his forehead on yours. The tenderness of the action made your heart flutter. “I will not be able to convince you, will I?”

“Not this time, no,” you breathed, a ghost of a smile adorning your face.

With a light huff, Legolas pulled away to help you secure chainmail and light armor. If he couldn’t coax you into staying safe inside the caves with the others who were unable to fight, then he would at least ensure you would have some protection. The goal would be for you to stay by him as much as possible in the upcoming battle, but both of you knew that most likely would not happen.

Just as you remembered from second movie, there was a commotion at the gate. With knitted brows, Legolas took your hand to head outside where you met with Aragorn and King Théoden. Before you stood an elven army, Haldir at the forefront looking as stoic and regal as ever. Relief and hope visibly flooded the Ranger’s body. So much so, that he pulled the elf into a hardy embrace.

Out of all the characters you knew of, the Marchwarden was the only one whose fate was up in the air. There was no mention of his death in the books. Then again, he had not led an army to Helm’s Deep. The second film added drama with his appearance and fall. But… Could that change?

This version of the world seemed to meld the two forms of media together. You had been able to meet Tom Bombadil and his wife Goldberry after leaving the Shire which definitely hadn’t happened in the movies. And then there was the time when Frodo had to be rushed to Rivendell after being stabbed with a Morgul blade. That played out like the film with Arwen cradling his weakened form and speeding away on her horse. You had only caught a glimpse of Glorfindel after meeting Elrond. So maybe… Just maybe…

It wasn’t long after Aragorn released Haldir from the awkward hug that orders to get into position were sent out. Squeezing your hand, Legolas motioned for you to join him with Gimli at the higher parapet where you all could use arrows until the enemy tried to clamber up the walls. Lightning cracked the sky as you reached your station, the accompanying thunder booming off the stone. Your elf had placed you in between Gimli and him. Despite the dwarf not knowing of the magic that tethered you, he cared for you like family. It was almost like you had your own bodyguards.

Checking your bow one last time, you noticed Gimli struggling to see over the wall.

“What’s happening out there?”

“Shall I describe it to you?” Legolas turned his head towards the dwarf who met his gaze with a hum and arched brow. “Or would you like me to find you a box?”

And there was that lopsided smirk that partly caused Gimli’s boisterous laugh. It wasn’t often you saw that kind of smile sneak its way onto Legolas’ face. You bit back a chortle just as the rain plummeted down on the battlefield.

Then the chaos began. An arrow was loosed early into the throng of Uruk-hai and orcs, sending them into a frenzy. Between firing attempts and dodging projectiles, you didn’t notice the ladders hitting the walls.

A sweaty, snarling orc head popped over the edge next to you. It was close enough to smell its rancid, putrid breath. Swallowing your shriek, you took the arrow you were about to notch and shoved it into the creature’s throat. A gurgled screech tore from its mouth as it feel backwards off the ladder. What moment of triumph you had was short lived as a new round of orcs quickly followed. You opted for your sword instead, strapping your bow on your back for later.

You weren’t sure when you ended up on the ground level. It was all a blur. You were fairly sure you had fallen from the stairs at some point, probably in the middle of defending yourself. You at least remembered laying the mud and scrambling to reach your feet to dodge the next blow before lodging your sword in the orc’s side. Another orc rushed towards you, leaving no time to gather your bearings or look for your companions. After barely managing to take down that opponent, an explosion rumbled from the other side of the keep.

Aragorn.

Adrenaline coursed through you, blood pounding in your ears, as you sprinted off in that direction. By the time you reached him, the ranger was mostly back on his feet. You had only been able to make sure he regained his balance just as an Uruk-hai bulldozed its way to you from the newly breached wall. Jumping away from each other to miss its crudely forged blade, Aragorn and you then lunged forward with your swords, the steel penetrating the thick flesh not hidden away by armor. The Uruk-hai fell into muddy water, its black blood nearly indistinguishable from the muck.

Now focused on containing the breach, a handful of soldiers joined you and the ranger. A mess of Uruk-hai and orc were pouring through the opening. It wasn’t going to be enough. Aragorn called for everyone to start falling back. Just as you were headed off, a flash of red caught your eye. Your breath caught in your throat. Haldir was still on the upper level, making sure his soldiers were able to escape, and he was being surrounded rapidly.

Ripping the bow from your back, you shot at some of the orcs rushing up the stairs. You at least nailed a few of them. Your throat constricted lightly as you fired, either from your exhaustion or the magic warning you about interfering again. You weren’t quite sure at this point. Then, Haldir was hit, his entire world thrown off kilter. He spun wildly to defend himself from the onslaught. An Uruk-hai was readying his blade for the Marchwarden.

Magic be damned. You couldn’t just stand there and watch. Not again.

Sucking in a breath, you closed your eyes and raised your bow. Your chest tingled as you pointed in what you thought was the general direction. Flinging your eyes open, you made a last second adjustment to your aim. Just a touch to the left…

You were able to let go of the arrow just enough to let it fly from your fingers when your lungs froze and muscles locked you in place, leaving you unable to do anything but watch the following events. Your arrow hit the Uruk-hai’s bicep - non-fatal, but enough to cause it to falter. It also recalled Haldir’s focus, enabling him to dispose of his attacker.

He turned to find his savior, his eyes widening upon seeing you. At first you thought he was just surprised, but then you noticed movement in your peripheral. The binding magic still had you rooted to the spot and had ramped up. Your breathing was thin and ragged, vision blurring at the edges. You couldn’t even adjust your gaze to see what was approaching you at such a speedy gait.

An arrow whizzed past your face. A squelch sounded as it pierced the flesh of your supposed attacker. As the orc dropped to its knees, the spell chaining you down released. Gasping and choking on a torrent of oxygen, your burning muscles loosened and you fell back on the tower behind you.

Your head was pounding, muffling out the sounds of the battle still taking place. Warm hands encased your face and lifted your gaze. Panicked blue eyes bore into yours.

Legolas breathed your name. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” you hoarsely replied while nodding, your throat feeling like coarse sandpaper.

The sound of more Uruk-hai and orcs stole your attentions. Legolas let go of your face and snatched up your hand instead, pulling you along with him. The Marchwarden had made it down the stairs and joined you in the retreat. With the three of you, you were able to brute force your way to the inside of the keep.

Cheers and laughs echoed through the Golden hall. The Battle of Helm’s Deep was over. Saruman had been defeated, locked away in his tower with his lackey Wormtongue. Merry and Pippin were safely back with the company, celebrating the victory with the rest of Rohan. You, however, had chosen to go outside near the beginning of the festivities. There had barely been a moment’s rest between everything. All you really wanted was to decompress.

The cool breeze caressed your skin as you breathed in the clean air, your lips tugged lightly into a smile. You had done it. You had managed to bypass the stupid binding magic that kept you from changing anything. Albeit barely and your muscles still ached from how tightly the curse had wound them, but you still did it.

Leaning on the railing, you looked up at trillions of stars in the night sky. This world was truly beautiful. You could get used to living here if you were never to return to your own. Maybe by then, the curse would ease or end completely.

“Meleth?”

You swung around, facing Legolas who had been standing almost directly behind you.

“Legolas!” you gasped, before sniggering. “You always manage to sneak up on me!”

The elf laughed along with you and joined you at the railing, resting his hand on yours. “Are you well?”

“Never better.” You rested your head on his shoulder. “Thank you, by the way.”

He hummed questioningly while nuzzling your hair.

“Back at the keep. You were right about the binding magic. It did almost get me killed. If it weren’t for you, I may not be here right now.”

Tiny tears began to sting your eyes. This was just as real as your world and you could die just as easily. Legolas and the others had been vital in keeping you breathing. And you just had to try. It was only a fraction of a second that stood between life and death for both Haldir and you. It could have all gone wrong within moments.

Lacing his fingers with yours, he spoke softly, “I will admit, I was terrified when you disappeared. Even Gimli was unable to say what happened. I managed to find you when the air changed again. Seeing you frozen with that orc so close… My heart nearly stopped.” His voice nearly broke at the end.

“I-”

“Just promise me,” he stopped you, turning to where you were facing each other. “Promise me, you will be more careful.”

Gingerly cupping your face with his free hand, his thumb stoked your cheek.

You nodded, “I promise.”

Legolas then kissed your forehead. “Now, you did save the Marchwarden’s life, did you not?” He pulled back, tugging you with him to head inside. “That is added cause for celebration.”

“I guess it is,” you laughed and allowed him to bring you back to the party.

Tag List: @thisbreakableheaven @beakami

#legolas x reader #legolas x you #legolas #legolas imagine #lord of the rings #lord of the rings imagine #lotr #lotr imagine #aragorn #theoden #gimli #gandalf #merry #pippin #haldir

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pseudofaux · 3 years

Note

omg, i'm so shy to be asking this, but if you're ok with it, a drabble about Ikesen Kenshin getting oral and accidentally giving MC a facial (and maybe he feels guilty about it, but it doesn't mean he didn't like it.)

I am sooooooooooooo okay with this, thank you for asking for it! This is a brilliant scenario for Kenshin! I put in some MC-wooing-him talk to carry the scene through, because I could see his sweet bun[s] having trouble, uh, letting go. I hope you’ll see this and enjoy. (Requests are closed, readers, but there are a lot to be filled in May and likely June, too! Feel free to follow along or just check in and enjoy as many as you like. A masterlist will go up when they are all completed.)

She had never thought much of worshiping a man. Maybe because Kenshin worships her she feels safe to return his ardor in kind? She’s certainly doing that now, curling long trails with her tongue and kissing him every time she finishes. He feels good under her tongue, he feels good in her hands, he smells good and he tastes good, and it makes her want to bow formally before him. But she’s not going to stop what she’s doing.

The thing is, as long as he is certain she is safe, he lets her do what she wants. If there was a way for Kenshin to comb through the entire country and then put it under a dome of glass, like a prize cake, he would probably let her walk around unguarded.

Well. Maybe not completely unguarded. But she has come to realize that when he knows she is as safe as he can make her, he relaxes considerably. And he always says yes to her requests, seemingly calm and pleased to be able to indulge her. Which is why they are here in his room and he has his elbows on his desk and his kimono undone and his beautiful throat-- his whole beautiful front-- is exposed to the air. And to her, on her knees between the strength of his legs.

Not that she can spend much time looking at the beauty of all of him, since she is very focused on what he gave her when she asked for it: an opportunity to put her mouth on him and just love him for awhile. This precious chance to touch him and show him how much she adores him without having to withstand his own overwhelming attention is rare. When she glances at his beautiful hands, she can see the tendons of them flexing... but he keeps them to himself, because Kenshin is a man if his word and his word was he would let her have her way.

He is all beautiful masculinity before her. Those hands, hanging tense off the edge of his desk; the black cuffs artfully (and only partially) hiding the strength of his wrists; all the lovely strength of his chest and stomach. He’s mouth watering. She’s grateful for that, because a wet mouth makes it easier to move her tongue over him and give him the kisses she knows he likes. It feels nice to have this kind of permission to drool over how gorgeous and glorious he is in her hands. The skin of his shaft is the most perfect, malleable warmth over his unforgiving hardness— she has poked herself inside her cheek many times expecting him to somehow bend. He doesn’t. No wonder she cries out every time he puts himself inside her. His intensity is one thing, but his body is a true marvel.

There is no crying out now. She’s been noisier than she meant to, though. It just feels so good to love him! She is so glad he let her do this! It’s everything to her, to be able to mouth at him, breathe him in, use her tongue and suck to draw forth his pleasure the way he endlessly seeks hers. Even now, she feels like he has only paused his constant search for ways to make her moan... and she is moaning anyway.

Instead, she tries to articulate the feeling in a way he will understand. It’s important to be direct with Kenshin. “I love how you feel,” she murmurs. “Thank you for letting me do this.”

His sound is strangled by his own throat, but she understands him perfectly.

“Do you want me to keep talking?” She’s careful to whisper the question right onto the tip of him and make her breath gentle and warm before she slowly takes him back into her mouth and as far into her throat as she can.

The dragon of Echigo hisses and his thighs flex beneath her hands. “You know I love your voice. Speak if you wish to speak,” he manages to say.

She sucks, lets her tongue drag along him until distance parts their bodies, and then she goes right back down. When she comes back up she whispers, “I love you,” and kisses, then sucks, the tender space below the head of his cock, just as beautifully as the rest of him. “I love you, Kenshin.”

His entire body stiffens against the desk, and his legs flex again-- more powerfully-- below her hands and around her body. She’s on her knees, tucked into him like a swallow in a nest. “It makes me happy to give you this attention,” she says slowly. It makes her feel very powerful to use her tongue on him. “It feels good for me to love you this way.”

Kenshin is always, always elegant, but he makes a noise that is not. It fits perfectly in her soul, like a jewel he ordered to be cut just for her.

“I know you are so, so strong,” she whispers, kissing him again, “And I’m grateful that you would let me take over.”

She slides one hand over the bump of his knee and brings it to her own body. “Do you know,” she asks, “That when I have you on my tongue I feel it here?” She pushes herself onto her hand to show him exactly where she means.

“Woman,” he says hoarsely. “Why would you feel such a thing?”

“Because I love you,” she whispers. “Because your body is perfect, and every time I touch it I want you. Sometimes just to hold me. But right now I want you so much more than that.”

His beautiful face scrunches up in disbelief, pleasure, and confusion. It’s no small thing to send a god of any kind into such a tizzy. “This is torture,” he manages to grit out.

“It’s not. I love you,” she tells him again.

He stutters over a curse and clears his throat. The sound is very low, not a growl but not far from one, either. “Let me touch you,” he demands. “I need to touch you.”

“Soon,” she promises, slipping her hands all the way to his, palms open and up to supplicate him as she laces their fingers and squeezes him. “I will. Please give me just a little more time.”

He lets her take him back into her mouth, slowly and fully, even lets her love him with her tongue again before he speaks. But when he does, it is too late.

“I don’t have—nrgh—”

Kenshin cuts himself off with a cry of her name, and pulls back his hips to splatter his cum all over her face instead of in her mouth. She catches a glimpse of his cock standing so proud and beautiful, and she wants to watch it, but she closes her eyes and opens her mouth, gently putting out her tongue to catch what she can.

It’s not as though he’s never come in her mouth. But he’s never done it without touching her— usually she is coming along with him, licked and lapped to senseless pleasure by his tongue while his hands keep her safe as her soul tries to fly.

There’s warm wet on her face. Enough that she knows there’s a lopsided mask of it across the tops of her cheeks and nose, and a thick, slow dribble flowing down the side of her face. He seems to be done, so she opens her eyes. His are narrowed and lusty, and that little bit frustrated he gets when she one-ups him sexually. She does not think it is possible to love Kenshin any more than she does right now.

“Thank you,” she says, cupping her hands to catch his cum before it drips onto the floor.

He gasps, or perhaps he’s only winded. “How could you— why would you do that, why did you stay there instead of moving?” he demands. He pushes her hands away, then touches the slow-moving fluid on her face. His eyes get wider. His tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip and she can’t tell if he’s so quick about it because he’s trying to hide the movement or if he doesn’t even realize he’s making it. But he is definitely into this like she is, and that makes her burn even hotter for him, that steady fire stoked so much higher.

She puts her hand carefully over his, because even when his interest is clear to her, it helps to be clear about it right back, so he has many chances to see it. “Because I wanted you to do that,” she tells him. “I like making you feel that good.”

“I would never dishonor you with this mess,” he breathes. But he is not looking at it like it is dishonorable. He looks like he wants to pin her down, and like it will be a matter of seconds before he does. “Your beautiful face,” he insists. He looks so wonderfully torn between distress and arousal.

“I’m kind of hoping you’ll do this to my face again sometime,” she confesses.

His eyes get even wider and he launches himself from the desk, catching her back and leaning her down to the floor like they are in the middle of a battlefield dance instead of his room. His cum immediately begins to slide toward her ear and she fidgets from the tickle.

“No,” he says, swiping it gently away with his hand and flicking it off with the same finesse she has seen him use to throw blood from a blade. “Take off your clothes. Now.” He is already yanking at her loose robes and stroking the skin of her belly with his knowing, oh-so-skilled fingertips. And one is just a little slick on her, his cum clinging like an oil. It makes her shudder.

“I will do anything you ask,” Kenshin says, pulling one of her legs out, then the other, so she can rest more comfortably on the floor. “Even that, if you wish. But another time. Now it is your turn.” He is so solemn and fierce it is hard not to grin, knowing what she is in for. Already there is the hazy look in his eyes that means he is planning her pleasure. “It is only right for you to make a mess of my face,” he tells her, wiping tenderly at her nose with the edge of her clothing.

He sees to it with all the precision of a god, and in the process makes her feel like she is receiving heaven’s every blessing. When she is a lax heap of limbs on his floor, he crawls back up to her mouth. Their kisses are sweet and slippery indeed. But the mess is manageable, and well-appreciated.

#ikesen fanfiction #ikesen fanfic #ikesen kenshin #pseu slings #SO GOOD!!! nonny I hope you know this whole idea should be a giant feather in your cap because DAMN I love this idea sooooooo much!!!!

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shimmersing · 3 years

Text

“Ah, Lieutenant!” Erithon swallowed hard against the wave of apprehension that was gathering in his throat as Duke Organa flagged him down. “A most splendid representative of our allies in the Republic. Come!”

He managed not to squirm like a cadet when the Duke clapped him on the shoulder, turning him toward the ballroom’s grand stairway. It wasn’t that he didn’t like parties. This was just a few steps away from the usual military shindig: salute a few times, don’t spill anything on the dress uniform. Nobility wasn’t that far removed from the brass, right? Same kind of handshake deals that meant something a little different to each party, and something else altogether for the people under them. He shrugged inside the stiff sleeves of his jacket, not exactly uncomfortable, just… unfamiliar. It fit fine. But it didn’t feel quite right. Like this whole scene.

“Ah, excellent,” Organa drawled, slowing as a commotion drew everyone’s attention. Flashes sparkled as various holocams swarmed like killiks around the newest arrival. The duke glanced sidelong at Erithon while the soldier craned his neck to get a better view, squinting past the glare.

He knew – obviously; he wasn’t a complete nerf herder – that it would be his Jedi, the same way he knew when a blaster was about to overheat. He just knew. Was that how the Force worked? He didn’t think so, and a question like that seemed so utterly childish he almost laughed aloud. Would she, if he asked? Nah, she wouldn’t. She’d smile and offer him a gentle analogy like that morning, when he’d gathered enough nerve to ask her how he came to be sitting next to her on the transport and not in a body bag.

“Force healing is…” Aitahea had replied, their shoulders nudging companionably as the transport rumbled back toward the palace, “…hard to explain.” Her cheeks had flushed a little, the darting glance from below her lowered lashes full of shy apology. “But I’ll try.” She’d explained her method, which to him didn’t sound all that different from any other medical scanner he’d been in, only a lot more pleasant if his experience was any example.

“My sister on Brentaal is a nurse. Thought it was a little funny when we were younger. We always had medical droids to take care of everything, right?” The Jedi had bobbed her head, eager to hear his next thought. “But after I woke up in a kolto tank the first time alone, I mean, no personnel…” He’d flailed for some explanation of the isolation he’d felt, but it had been hard to recall while her shoulder had been jostling against his. He’d shrugged, grinned, and continued, “Now I think I prefer seeing someone friendly on waking.”

She’d gazed at him with a solemn wonder that had quickened his breath, had him doing everything he could to memorize the ever-so-slight parting of her lips before they curled into a smile.

Just like they did now.

Erithon was so preoccupied with following her gaze that the sudden smile blooming in his direction took his breath away. Again. Aitahea was resplendent. Gossamer enshrouded, bound hair freed from utilitarian plaits and tumbling over her bare shoulders – he throttled back a ridiculous urge to elbow Duke Organa and point out that she had shoulders, and weren’t they nice, too?

Organa smoothed his hands over his lapels, looking pleased with himself, while Erithon struggled to recall his higher vocabulary. “I expect the press will want a holo of our heroes.”

“A holo of-” he began, but she floated over to them right then, luminous and exquisite. It became quite clear who the press would want a holo of. The Jedi offered the duke a generous curtesy, and Erithon found his looming panic - particularly at the words “press” and “holo” - replaced by fascination with the way her earrings brushed against her jawline. Duke Organa caught her hands as she rose and enfolded her in a paternal embrace.

“Thank you, it’s beautiful,” Erithon heard Aitahea whisper to the duke.

“Superb timing, my dear.” The duke’s eyes crinkled merrily around an affectionate smile. He turned to nod at Erithon, adroitly pressing one of Aitahea’s hands into his, then stepped expertly into the background with a final, grand pronouncement: “Our Paladins!”

A cascade of flashes set Erithon’s vision shimmering, but training swiftly rose to meet unfamiliarity, and he managed to remain stoic even as his heart clanged wildly against his ribs. Clever fellow, that Organa, he mused, and with a smirk as bold as he could muster, he deftly hooked his arm under the Jedi’s hand and guided her away from the press. The Duke’s laughter echoed through the hall behind them, but Erithon couldn’t hear it and wouldn’t have cared anyway; he was busy memorizing the sound of her restrained giggle at his shoulder.

“That was a bold move, diplomatically speaking, Lieutenant,” she said playfully, drawing them to a stop to hold him at arm’s length. Flashes sparkled again, unnoticed by either. Her scrutiny didn’t bother him, and it did give him an opportunity to reciprocate.

“You’re… you look amazing,” he breathed, unable to push his awe aside. She could have been a daughter of any of the noble houses on Alderaan, only she couldn’t because none of them were as radiant, as otherworldly. She couldn’t, because even without her lightsaber (that he could tell, anyway), she remained a veritable force of nature. Unexplainable and irreplaceable, flushed cheeks and wide eyes and little white flowers caught up in her hair. Because when he’d said something as trite as ‘you look amazing’ her eyes lit up like she’d never heard anyone say it before this.

“Pardon me, Master Jedi? Lieutenant?” A fidgeting Haley Organa interrupted as politely as possible, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “We’re ready for you.”

Erithon blinked, overwhelmed with the sudden lurching feeling that he hadn’t studied for a test. Hadn’t he just deftly navigated them out of this nonsense? “For…us?”

Before the young page’s nervousness could escalate to panic, Aitahea intervened: “An introduction. The formal presentation. It’s mostly for the holonet, so they can put a name with your holo, and hopefully spell it correctly.” Her brows lowered, and he caught a glimpse of solemn concern behind her light tone. “It shouldn’t be unlike one of your military events.”

He inclined his head, discomfort ebbing away. He didn’t think it was a Jedi thing, not this time. “Smile, but not too much.”

“Just so,” she replied softly, reaching up to brush away some unseen particle from his collar. He straightened, willing his face back into a mask of quiet confidence. Her own features settled into practiced serenity, but her eyes, fixed on his, danced.

Just another kind of battlefield.

[BREAK HERE]

“Republic Lieutenant Erithon Zale of Havoc Squad and Master Aitahea Daviin of the Jedi Order.”

The cluster of press at the foot of the grand stair disappeared momentarily behind the coruscation of flashes. Beyond them Aitahea briefly glimpsed, through the sea of elaborate costume and outlandish headwear, the dancers at the center of the hall. Over the buzz of voices, she could hear the notes of a familiar waltz. Haley Organa gave her a relieved smile as he slipped away to his next charges, leaving the Jedi and the soldier to descend the gauntlet together. Beneath her hand, Erithon’s arm was reassuringly steady.

Uncertainty flickered in his eyes only once they reached the last stair and the press drew close again. Erithon looked down, one brow raised in a wordless plea: What now? Aitahea laughed and nudged him toward a knot of familiar faces.

“Guess we made an entrance,” he admitted, sparing a last glance toward the lingering press, and turned toward Elara Dorne and Arik Jorgan, both in military dress like their commander, and a beaming Brant Sonn. “Hey, we know them.”

They exchanged greetings; the more formal commentary was punctuated with the chatter of battlefield allies good-naturedly enjoying each other’s company. Aitahea listened to the companions, struggling to keep her eyes on the others and not so frequently on Erithon. Grasping rather tenaciously to his arm was helping but had to be forsaken well too soon for her preference when Tharan and Holliday approached, asking that the Jedi make introductions for them, it wouldn’t take but a moment.

“Of course,” Aitahea agreed, all politeness, turning back to Erithon to excuse herself. He winked at her and caught her free hand in a quick squeeze when she began to pull away. Aitahea found herself suddenly and agreeably conscious that neither of their finery required gloves. His hands were warm.

“Hurry back,” he said, eyes crinkling with mirth, and Aitahea nearly forgot to let go before being ushered away by a harassed-looking Tharan.

‘Hurry’ became three different conversations with seven different nobles from at least two houses and a science corporation headquartered on Organa lands. At last, Aitahea was finally able to withdraw from the conversation, wandering over to where dancers traded partners and minced steps rather than words or plans. It was one of her favorite court dances, learned and practiced enough in her youth that even now she felt muscles tensing for steps she hadn’t taken in years. Orderly and precise, patterns were traced and rewritten, dancers finding each other again, over and over.

“Thought I’d find you here.”

Aitahea was so entranced that she startled when Erithon spoke at her shoulder and laughed a little breathlessly. “Forgive me, I was so preoccupied with the dancers.” He offered her his arm and another charming grin, and she accepted, grateful that only she knew how an adolescent glee had settled so comfortably under her superficial calm. “I haven’t heard this since I was a girl – an initiate, in the enclave, that is.” She winced at her rambling explanation.

“Pretty.” He hadn’t seemed to notice her discomfort, occupied with carefully watching as the dancers divided, exchanged partners for a cursory bow, then returned to join hands. “Do you know the dance, too?”

She nodded. Well, if you’re going to be preposterously transparent may as well carry on, she thought vehemently, but her voice and expression remained blithe. “It’s traditional on Alderaan. Are you familiar with it?”

He grimaced at the dancers, chagrin drawing his brows low. “Um, no. But,” he offered cautiously, “I’m reasonably good at following orders. And you’ve kept me from embarrassing myself so far.”

“I’ve never… I haven’t in years, I don’t know if I can recall all…” Aitahea focused determinedly on his eyes while she tried to hold fast the wild fluttering in her chest, something delicate and precious that had lingered, and after a moment she found she liked it there simply fine. She inhaled slowly, then asked, “You’re certain?”

“I trust you.”

Erithon had made his mind up to ask if she wanted to dance before he’d even spotted her. He might not have any empathic sensibilities, but he’d watched her seek out the dancers even while they were walking down the grand stairs. Even he could tell she’d wanted to be out there, and if he could just manage to stay on his feet long enough to give her the chance, he’d handle any ribbing from his crew later. She deserved it.

“Listen,” she murmured over her shoulder as they waited, poised at the edge of the dance floor. “Can you hear the rhythm? One, two, three?”

“Mmhmm.” He nodded, swallowing hard when she stepped back against him. “Got it.” He shifted, hovering at her side, and hoping his heart wasn’t thumping in her ear like it felt like it had to be. “I think.”

Humming her amusement, she turned herself expertly into his arms and placed her left hand in his while she raised their right hands to her shoulder, fingers entwined. “Just start walking in time with the music.” She tapped a finger into his left palm. “Begin with your left.”

He took a breath and nodded. The dance was stately but leisurely, giving Erithon plenty of time to hear the next step whispered over Aitahea’s shoulder. She made it effortless, her body easy to follow, featherlight touches guiding his motions.

Good thing that was all he had time to focus on.

After a few minutes of mostly successful instruction, Aitahea uttered a warning about the impending partner change. Erithon swallowed hard, nodded, and next thing he knew, he was tripping over the shoes of an unfortunate noblewoman with what looked like an entire miniature thranta nest perched precariously on a tower of powdered curls. Thankfully, the exchange ended quickly and Erithon was relieved to have Aitahea guiding him once again.

“I didn’t think anyone in the whole Core was still powdering their hair,” the Jedi bubbled unexpectedly into his ear. He laughed a little too loud and swept her gratefully – though perhaps a little too enthusiastically – back into the progression. He liked this part best, he’d quickly discovered. The leader – his role apparent, though he might have disagreed technically – picked up their partner for a little lift and turn. Aitahea had warned him verbally the first time, but the second time he’d wrapped his hands around her waist he’d been too busy looking into her eyes and had missed the lift.

Erithon was determined. This round he got everything perfect: an effortless lift gave him a few moments to enjoy when her eyes widened and smile bloomed. If he put her down a second or two late, she didn’t seem to mind.

The song wasn’t quite through when Aitahea’s steps slowed, drifting out of the pattern. Erithon tensed, an arm already around her waist, and opened his mouth to ask if she was all right when she stumbled. He caught her easily; she was breathing much harder than one should be for a Jedi in fighting form – and the shadows beneath her eyes seemed suddenly more pronounced.

Alarm buzzed through him. “Are you okay?” She still had her feet under her, so he kept hold of one of her hands and curled the other arm securely around her waist. Just in case.

“Yes!” she exhaled quickly, leaning into him, and added a breathy laugh. “Perhaps we should get some air?”

“Here, come on.” Guiding her past guards in Organa livery, the terrace appeared mercifully empty while the festivities continued inside. Erithon led Aitahea to one of the benches by an elbow, easing her down first before sitting beside her, keenly aware of his now-empty arms. “Better?”

“Much, thank you,” she replied, swiping at her hairline with the back of one hand before she lifted her face to smile at him. “That was lovely. I’m so sorry it had to end that way, and so soon.”

“Me too.” He smiled, unexpectedly pleased with her response. “You learned that here, as a kid?”

She shifted, easing back against the stone. “Yes.” She glanced sidelong at him, a droll smile playing across her lips. “No doubt the Duke has already regaled with you with mortifying stories from my youth.”

“He didn’t get to that,” Erithon said with a roguish wink. “Not that I’d believe a word of it, of course.” Erithon frowned back at her, worry wrinkling his brow. “You look tired.”

She sighed noncommittally and closed her eyes, leaning back against the cool stone behind them. Underneath the surface flush, she was still pale, almost sallow. When she opened her eyes again, the glitter in them was past the dazzle of a party and looking almost feverish.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Erithon shifted uneasily as the silence stretched out, trying not to guess at her silence and just leave her some space to breathe.

“I am… carrying a burden.” She paused, twisting her fingers while she seemed to search for words. “I’m shielding several masters who were infected with a Force plague, standing between them and madness, perhaps worse. Even my own master…” She trailed off, staring into her hands, dropping them to rest open in her lap.

“Anything I can do?” He meant anything. He’d face down more Sith, however many it took to disengage her from this burden and give her some peace. Anything.

Aitahea looked at him with eyes suddenly glittering with tears; her expression nearly stopped his heart. Her voice was a whisper, her eyes dancing again. “Erithon…” Her focus shifted, gaze flickering past him just as Erithon himself caught the sound of approaching footfalls. He ground his teeth to keep from muttering the curse he caught grumbling in his throat, instead giving Aitahea a bemused grimace as he rose and offered her a hand.

The Jedi was a portrait of ethereal serenity again, eyes that only moments before had shone with desperate anguish had shuttered, hiding the woman who’d whispered his name like a plea, leaving only the Jedi, glorious as she was, incandescent but incomplete.

“Ah, Master Jedi, I’ve been hoping to track you down all evening. I’m Hallam Organa, head of House Organa’s diplomatic corps.” The broad fellow made a brief bow, then indicated his companion. “This is my younger, more handsome brother, Lew.”

Lew Organa gave his brother an indulgent look. “Please, Hallam. You do yourself an injustice.” His lips twitched. “Your age gives you a stately difference.”

“My lords, it’s an honor to make your acquaintance,” she replied, eyes crinkling with amusement, then turned to Erithon. “Allow me to introduce Lieutenant Erithon Zale of the Republic, commander of Havoc Squad.”

“Ah, the liberator of the Spears! What an opportunity, having our newest Paladins side by side, such fine company!” Hallam exclaimed, offering Erithon a deep bow that Lew also made. Erithon glanced at Aitahea, uncertain how to respond, and she inclined her head, giving him an encouraging smile. He copied the motion, appreciative but still a bit mystified by all the pomp and circumstance.

Rising, Hallam returned his attention pointedly to Aitahea. “Master Jedi, I’ve been told you’re seeking Master Sidonie Garen.”

She hovered close to Erithon’s side, her hand curled around his arm. “It’s urgent that I speak with Master Sidonie as soon as possible.”

“You just missed her, I’m afraid. She’s already left for the peace summit,” Hallam explained. “A peace summit on Alderaan! Imagine that!” He slapped his thigh, shaking his head incredulously at Lew, who nodded thoughtfully in response.

Erithon watched Aitahea’s lips thin almost imperceptibly, but the next moment she was tilting her head, tranquil and erudite. “Indeed. Can you put me in contact with her?” Erithon could feel her tensing, fingers tightening on his sleeve. Master Sidonie must be one of the infected Jedi masters she’d mentioned a few moments ago.

“I can call her, certainly.” Hallam flicked another glance at Erithon, considering. “The location of the summit is a secret for obvious reasons, but I’m sure she’d welcome your assistance. Meet us first thing tomorrow morning, diplomacy wing?”

He felt her shudder, but she nodded affirmation. “Thank you, my lord, the Council will be eager to hear any updates.”

Their shoulders brushed again and again as they walked, sending her heart skipping every time. He hadn’t let her go further than arm’s reach since she’d stumbled out of the dance progression, nor as they wandered back to their suites after finishing the stilted conversation with Hallam and Lew Organa.

She slowed, eyes flickering to the nearby door of his suite, then back across the hall to her own door before she turned to face him. “We’re here.”

“Right.” He caught up the hand she’d left lingering on his sleeve and offered one of those extraordinary lopsided smiles. “I’m glad we found each other again.”

She returned the expression with delight. “As am I. Thank you for…” She began the elaborate thank-you she’d begun contriving as they’d walked back to the guest wing, but when he reached up with his free hand, twining one of her loose curls around a finger, every word fled her all at once. The silence between her heartbeats was impossibly sustained, well more than enough time for him to notice her gaze lingering on his mouth. When he drew closer still and smoothed his thumb over the curve of her cheek, she lost track of them entirely.

“Do you think we’ll ever dream of each other again, like Taris?” he asked, low and earnest.

Some resolve she’d fashioned in the wake of their dearly-won victory, Yuon’s coy encouragement, and the bravado of familiar surroundings fractured at his innocent question. The connection that often lingered after healing blazed with unfamiliar sensations that she hadn’t the strength to unravel now. Even without the physical contact, even with all her practiced resolve and Jedi training, his emotions wound around and through her, as impossible for her to ignore or deny as a starship could the pull of a gravity well. Waiting for her answer had allowed him plenty of time to sweetly tilt her face up to his.

With an austere resolve she was distantly surprised to find intact, she pressed a hand to his chest, where not long ago she’d smoothed her palm over his bare skin in the wake of the most desperate healing she’d ever undertaken. Aitahea answered, her whisper breaking on a last fragment of jagged verity: “I never stopped.”

She closed her eyes against the onslaught of overwhelming, unshielded, achingly reciprocated need, and pushed him away. She bit down hard on the soft sound of loss that threatened to escape her throat when he jolted back, the sudden distress and regret that tolled through her – no, him – no. Through them both. She struggled to inhale a tremulous breath.

When she could bear to open her eyes again, Erithon looked physically pained, his confusion and concern shearing through her own exhausted disappointment. He’d stepped back, hands open and empty, doubt beginning to tarnish the bright threads that had encircled them. “That was out of line, I’m sorry.”

“No, I was… You – I’m not –” Aitahea pressed her lips together hard to keep them from trembling, but it couldn’t stop the stinging in her eyes, the ache in her chest. “I’m sorry.”

“No. No.” He shook his head, vehement. “Don’t be. Please.” Erithon hesitated, trying to work up a friendly grin in contrast to his stiff posture, but only managed a wan quirk of his lips. “I told you on Taris that we’d do something better.”

She exhaled in a rush and allowed a smile to flutter across her face. It didn’t reach her eyes. “Yes, you did. Thank you.” Better! It was wonderful. Too wonderful. I never wanted to stop. We should have finished the song. “I should… retire for the night… if I’m to pick up Master Sidonie’s trail tomorrow.” She glanced toward her door, promising the solace of isolation and hopefully sleep. She was exhausted, utterly, but couldn’t resist one last watery smile. “Thank you, Erithon.”

His usual ebullient charm at least marginally recovered, he offered her a bow as crisp and practiced as any noble in the castle. “Goodnight, Aitahea.”

Aitahea waited for the door lock to engage before she sank back against it, hands over her face, about to release the pent-up sob clawing at the back of her throat.

On the suite’s balcony, Qyzen Fess shifted carefully but deliberately, his armor creaking in the silence. The door rattled noisily as she flattened against it in disbelief, reaching for a lightsaber that was not there. Of course not.

“Apologize if I startle you, Herald.”

Disquieted by her own panic, Aitahea bit back an uncharacteristically sharp retort, closing her eyes to draw a calming breath in its place. After releasing it, Aitahea raised a carefully neutral face to her friend. “I’m sorry, Qyzen, I wasn’t expecting you. Well done, you successfully snuck up on a Jedi.”

“Was not aware of such challenge.”

She sighed. “An attempt at a joke, Qyzen. A failed attempt, apparently. To add to the rest I’ve made this mission.” Aitahea sank gratefully into an overstuffed chair, letting the beautiful but unfamiliar shoes slip off her suddenly aching feet. “What changed your mind about the castle?”

“Mind not changed. Will return to ship after speaking.” Qyzen hovered near the balcony doors, clearly uncomfortable and anxious to depart. “Must see how Scorekeeper’s Herald fares.”

Aitahea tenaciously schooled her expression to serene but was unable to shake the tendrils of failure and regret that clung like shadows. “Tired, Qyzen. Thank you for checking.”

“Herald will rest.” Aitahea couldn’t decide if that was a question or suggestion, but either way, she agreed.

“Yes.”

AN: It's been such a journey to get here, to this chapter in particular that I’ve been imagining for such a long time. I’ve been stuck here since 2020; I’m so glad you’re still here with me. With us, I suppose. Enjoy. May the Force be with us all. Thank you.

Thank you to the ever-present, dependable, and brilliant Taraum for beta-reading.

#swtor fanfic #swtor fanfiction #star wars the old republic #fanfiction #jedi consular #republic trooper #alderaan #adventure #romance #fluffy #oc: aitahea daviin #oc: erithon zale #erithon/aitahea #chapter 8 #chapter eight #NEW CHAPTER #UPDATED

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gullivertravelstowonderland · 3 years

Note

Since Doomguy probably got all or most of his clothes shredded in the Divinity Machine Incident, imagine him going to a nice Sentinel tailor or seamstress to get fitted for some new clothes and armor. :)

Ficlet under the cut!

The Doom Marine awoke slowly, vaguely aware of the fact that he was laying on the floor, shrapnel of some kind pressing into his bare stomach. A distant voice was frantically calling to him, a strange weight settled on his arm and harshly pushing at his temple.

He slowly blinked the sleep from his eyes, absently shifting to drag a hand over his face with a groan. Whatever was on his arm flinched away, falling from its perch with an audible 'oof.'

"Watch it, you damnable oaf!" The Doom Marine froze, confused; he knew that voice. That was… God, right, the Divinity Machine!

He shot up, the back of his head connecting with something as he let out a pained growl, one hand slamming into the ground as he searched for the source of the voice. His eyes narrowed as they fell on the creature curled on the ground, staring up at him with both anger and fear in its eyes. His own eyes widened for a split second as he processed what had happened.

"You… What the hell did you do to me?!" The human barked, wrapping his free hand around his sore throat after he'd spoken. His voice rumbled low and gravelly, grating against his vocal chords for reasons he didn't quite understand, head spinning as the Makyr cowered under him, covering his ears and fixing a glare on the soldier.

"This wasn't supposed to happen! You weren't meant to become a monster!" Samur fumbled back off of the floor, running a hand along the curve of his mask with a frustrated sigh. "It must have something to do with your biology reacting poorly to the machine— either way, we're both going to die if we waste any more time! We need to work together if we want to get out of this, understand?"

The Doom Marine growled, trying to position himself so he didn't feel so… exposed as the Makyr tried to explain his plan.

—

When the Elite Sentinel Guard found the human, he was pressed against the wall with his knees to his chest, settled into the indented ring that surrounded the remains of the Divinity Machine. Samur had ordered them to bring a large sheet of fabric, crafting some story about a betrayer of some sort giving him access to the machine, and using it to make him a weapon more powerful than anything the Argenta had ever seen, in order to defeat the demons that invaded their land. The Doom Marine's job was mostly to stay quiet about who brought him there and comply with their demands until Samur was done with him.

To say the soldiers were shocked to find him in such a state would be an understatement. They were terrified, although you wouldn't know it at first glance: they had their weapons raised and stances defensive as they approached the giant. Two of them stepped forward, holding the fabric out to him, ready to spring into action the second things went wrong.

He hummed to himself, carefully raising a hand so they could see before he slowly reached towards them, gently taking the cloth from them with a small nod in thanks.

The two Sentinels quickly retreated back into the safety of their group as he unfolded the plain fabric, mentally planning how he was going to cover himself with it as he waited for the group to empty the room so he could clothe himself. When they made no move to leave, the Doom Marine turned his attention to them, fixing them with a peculiar stare.

"Can I… be alone?" He mumbled, deciding to ignore the pain it caused. An embarrassed blush crept over his cheeks as the soldiers cautiously complied, looking down at the cloth with a sigh before slowly standing in the small space once he was completely out of view. He had to be careful not to hit his head on any of the floating pillars as he stood, experimentally wrapping the fabric around his waist.

Fuck, this wasn't really gonna work, was it? He couldn't walk out of here wearing nothing but a scrap of cloth wrapped around him like a towel. He tore the fabric off with an indignant huff, his eyes scanning the room for anything he could use to sew it into something more fitting.

He grabbed some wires and a thin metal pole from the remains of the Divinity Machine, using his teeth to shape one end of the pipe into a loop before threading the wire through it. He laid the fabric out, using a piece of sharp metal to tear through it where he needed to and doing his best to turn the heap of cloth into a decently wearable pair of shorts. They weren't bad, considering the limited materials and circumstances he had to work with, just a bit loose around the waist; a problem easily fixed by tearing some tubing from the machine and tying it around his waist like a belt.

Once he was finally dressed, he slowly inched his way towards the door, peeking out at the soldiers gathered outside waiting for him. They sat amongst themselves in an anxious huddle, exchanging whispered words in their native tongue. A few jumped to attention once they noticed the giant looming in the doorway, offering an awkward wave as they brandished their weapons.

"Come on, we don't have all day. The shop closes in an hour." One of the higher-ranking Sentinels grumbled as he approached the Doom Marine, he and a few others ushering him out of the room, edging towards him with their weapons raised.

"Shop?" He questioned, stumbling as he tripped over his own weight. The Sentinels corralling him flinched, darting out of the way as he struggled to regain his footing, an apologetic cringe crossing his face.

His entire balance was off, despite his body seeming to be completely proportional— if a tad bit more muscular. Maybe it was just a side effect of the machine, or something had changed besides his height; whatever it was, the Doom Slayer wasn't really willing to dwell on it.

Civilians and soldiers alike stopped to gawk at the giant as he passed by, sheepishly curling in on himself at the unwanted attention. Why did this have to happen to him? Why did they have to drag him into town and make a huge spectacle out of him when all he wanted to do after the incident was curl up and disappear?

He was snapped out of his self-deprecating thoughts by a concerned shout, belatedly realizing that he had almost knocked someone over when the group suddenly stopped.

"S— sorry." He mumbled, turning his attention to the building they had stopped beside as a few of them made their way inside, most likely to speak with the owners. "Is this… a tailor shop?"

"Of course. You didn't think you'd be wearing that into battle, did you?"

His head snapped to the source of the voice, his eyes falling on the higher-ranking soldier from earlier. His brows furrowed inquisitively as he carefully lowered himself to the ground, afraid he misheard the small soldier. They all stepped back as he crouched, the group readying their weapons again.

"Battle?"

"Of… of course. You've proved your worth in the arena, and you would clearly have an advantage on the battlefield: not to mention you'd need to find some way to repay our people for the resources it would take to keep you alive… it's just the most logical solution." He muttered, fidgeting nervously with his armor under the Doom Marine's imposing gaze.

It didn't take long for the shop's doors to open again, the owner emerging with a quiet squeak of shock, turning to the soldier beside them and whispering something in the alien language. The giant settled himself on the ground with a sigh, the chill of night creeping ever closer, seeping into his exposed skin with a shiver. The superior soldier noticed, and quickly spoke up.

"Is there any way we could do this inside? I'd rather not make my troops suffer the cold any longer than they must— including the giant. I'd hate to imagine the amount of medicine it would take to cure a cold at that size…"

The giant stifled a laugh, following as the tailor led them around the building to what seemed to be a delivery entrance. The Doom Marine made his way towards the garage-like door, careful to step over the others this time as he forced it open and slipped into the blessedly warm space, ignoring the cries of shock and alarm at the action as he settled himself amongst the fabrics. The others followed suit, standing guard as the tailor closed the door and made their way towards the giant, gingerly extending a hand to touch his knee, and clambering on top of it when the giant made no move to stop them.

He sucked in a shocked breath, the sensation of another living, breathing person walking along his legs sending goosebumps crawling over his skin. He felt his face flush as he held his breath, watching the small tailor as they tested their footing on the odd surface. Once they'd seemingly found their balance, the tailor curiously padded over his lap, seemingly fascinated by the giant as they prodded at his limbs and torso, eliciting an odd noise to come from the back of his throat in response.

The tailor chuckled lightly as they held one end of the measuring tape out for the marine to hold, carefully making their way down the giant's leg until they ran out of tape with a huff. They decided instead to settle themself on the giant's knee and scribble the measurement into their notepad.

The Slayer shifted slightly, unsure of how to act in this odd scenario. The Sentinel soldiers would raise their weapons at the slightest movement, eyeing the larger man wearily; that he was used to. He was always the outsider, or the gruesome warrior, or the enemy— he was used to being stared at in mistrust or disdain— but this? This strange, casual fascination? Not normal.

The procedure continued semi-normally, the soldiers eyeing him warily as the tailor did their job, occasionally glancing up at the giant to mutter a request in that odd language, miming whatever it was they wanted. They didn't seem to speak English, but they certainly understood it, as they could respond to the human's questions rather easily. They seemed to truly enjoy working with the unusual client, despite the obvious difficulties. The Slayer, however, couldn't quite say the same.

It proved to be increasingly difficult to sit still during the strange procedure, as the comparatively small tailor clambered awkwardly over his much larger frame. The sensation felt… oddly familiar to the marine, though he couldn't quite place why. Of course, that wasn't much of a surprise. He had spent far too many years traversing the unforgiving planes of Hell and Argent D'Nur to retain much knowledge of his life before; he couldn't even remember his own name anymore.

At some point, while the tailor was measuring the length of his arm, a slight misstep and the ensuing twitch of the giant's muscles nearly sent the Argenta tumbling to the ground, the swift movement of the Slayer's reflexes startling the guards into defensive positions, ready to attack at the first sign of danger. The marine wasn't even fully sure what had happened by the time his brain registered the fact that an actual, living person was literally in his hand, sending his heart into his throat as he scrambled for the words to explain himself, trying to force his breathing to return to normal.

The tailor suddenly seemed so fragile, making the Slayer almost afraid to move, lest they fall to pieces. He could feel the Argenta's heart hammering in the small, almost doll-like chest. Each panicked breath wracked their whole body as their brain struggled to comprehend where they were and how they got there. They looked around briefly before locking eyes with their savior, the shocked and slightly panicked expression visibly relaxing as they caught their breath. For a moment it was as if time had stopped, as no one in the room moved or made a sound, just… froze.

Then, the tailor laughed, sending small tremors through the giant's hand with the motion.

It wasn't clear if it was from relief, shock, or just the pure absurdity of the situation, but the sound quickly broke the tension in the room as the others joined in, each for their own, unknowable reasons. The Slayer chuckled in relief, mostly, but also the utter strangeness of the whole day, culminating in the restrained, nearly hysterical laughing fit he had now, shaking his entire body as tears crept from his eyes.

His attention turned to the tailor when he felt the Argenta shift in his hand, softly clearing their throat before speaking, eyes locked with the Slayer's, a hand gently squeezing his thumb.

"Thank you, amiixus." The small person smiled, placing a fist over their heart in what the Slayer understood to be the planet's general sign of friendship, and he carefully shifted his free hand to mimic the gesture with a nod.

Friend. He liked the idea of finding a friend in all of this madness.

—

//In the end the tailor gives the Doom Slayer a small selection of outfits, as well as his custom-fitted Praetor suit— with a bit of help from the Maykers and a team of assistants, of course! Anyways, I really liked this idea and got a bit carried away lol. Hope you like it!

#g/t #giant/tiny #giant tiny #giant #tiny #doom au #doomguy #doom slayer #doom #doom eternal #doom 2016 #giants #giant doomguy #g/t writing #amod #a monster of divinity

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square-blunt · 3 years

Text

You're in my heart, in my heart, in my head.

chapter two fucking finally. take it. fucking take it.

TW- MCD (major character death), suicide, like the fic ends in suicide and it's not good. Angst. there is so much angst-

WC: 2034 Ao3: :) First chapter: :)

Jimmy didn’t tear his eyes away from Scott once.

After they got ripped apart, all the neurons in his body were screaming at him to stop struggling and to go limp- he could feel the muscle in his back ripping apart but he had to. He didn’t feel the physical pain. But his heart was hammering so hard and he was screaming much louder than he thought was possible- screaming to Scott, praying and hoping that he could hear him over Joey- and maybe he did.

Because Scott never stopped looking at him.

And then, Scott smiled at him.

It was sweet, and weak, and it was tired. It should have been full of life, but instead- Scott used all his energy to give Jimmy that smile. It was sickeningly comforting- Scott, who was about to be sacrificed, about to have a knife through his heart- was comforting him, and Jimmy couldn’t sob any louder. He knows his screams and sobs and pleas won’t do anything to stop the inevitable. But with a sound that Jimmy will never be able to get out of his head, the inevitable comes to fruition. As the knife falls, Jimmy does too. The hooks that held onto his back retract and Jimmy crashes to the ground, rocks cutting into his hands. Part of him is grateful that he fell when he did. Whatever higher power was looking out for him must not have wanted him to see the knife going into Scott’s chest.

But that doesn’t mean he can’t imagine it.

As soon as he hits the ground he looks back up, just in time for Joey and Xornoth to disappear into smoke, and for the obsidian altar to crumble into dust- and Scott's body to roll off. Jimmy catches sight of Scott's limp hand and he turns away, holding his side, trying not to throw up.

He focuses on that.

Trying to keep the contents of his stomach down, swallowing thickly, he focuses on the burn of his head, his throat, and his heart.

His heart hurts.

It hurts more than any weapon could ever come close to inflicting.

After looking at Scott for so long, promising himself that he'd never look away, it's funny that now he physically can't bear to look up.

It's because Scott was alive then.

And now he, and possibly everyone else, is dead.

But he can't stop himself from crawling, very painfully, over to Scott. Only then does he notice how much blood there is. His, Scott's, it doesn’t matter- or it did.

Because Scott's blood should have stayed in his body.

Why didn't Jimmy speak up?

Xornoth had told Jimmy everything.

Their plan, why they were doing it- how they knew it was going to work.

They told Jimmy about a past life- a past three lives to be exact. And Jimmy remembered. It was like Xornoth had a key that finally gave Jimmy what he knew he was missing. And of course, he had fallen in love with Scott.

Of course, it was Scott.

Of course, it was Scott who came to his rescue. Everything else was a blur, of pain and hurt, but the kiss. Jimmy knew he had to. He had to let Scott know that he knew- that he remembered.

It was worth every second.

And even now he can feel the phantom of Scott's lips on his own, Scott's hair between his fingers, he can feel it more than the dull throbbing of his heart and his back. Physical pain couldn't reach him, his mind was already too busy imploding on itself to register anything else.

He feels the phantom of Scott's warm hand in his own.

He reaches out and takes his cold, real hand again.

Jimmy brushes away the dust and the blood, rubbing his thumb over the knuckles, and he stops at the ring finger. There's a simple silver band.

Jimmy spawned into Empires with a matching gold ring.

Only now does he know why.

He gently slips the ring off Scott's finger. He knows he shouldn't, but if it's all he can have of Scott- he's gonna take whatever he can get.

He moves up, noticing the detail on the sleeve of Scott's shirt. He wasn't wearing anything fancy, but he was still the most beautiful living thing Jimmy had ever seen. Scott had been wearing a sky blue t-shirt and brown pants- one could die in a more regal manner, but Scott still looked more amazing than any star in the night, any bird in the air… any flower in the field.

"It felt right," Jimmy says, voice unrecognizable even to himself. It only makes him cry more. Scott was his everything- Scott completed him. And Jimmy doesn't know who he is without Scott. He knew he was one half of a whole but didn’t know whose half, and now he has to live as a half without his other.

His communicator buzzes.

He doesn't care.

It's probably a death message.

He hopes Xornoth won't torture his family the way they did his lover.

He knows they probably did.

It buzzes again.

He grips Scott's hand tighter, maybe if he squeezes hard enough, it'll squeeze back.

Please, please, squeeze back.

Jimmy takes a deep breath.

At least Scott's eyes are closed.

His communicator buzzes again.

He still doesn't care.

He thought he'd be more distraught.

Looking down at Scott, his perfect, sleeping face, he thought he’d be screaming at the skies, clawing at his heart- trying to scratch the pain away, but he’s not. He should be mad, he should be trying to find Joey, at least, and hurt him as much as he had been hurt, but he’s not. He should have tried to swap back, but he knew his life wasn’t the end goal. He should be crying, letting the tears wash away all of the dust and dirt and blood but he’s not. He’s not doing any of it.

His communicator buzzes.

He’s holding Scott’s hand.

He’s holding Scott’s face.

He’s kissing his forehead.

He’s smoothing out his hair.

His communicator buzzes.

He notices Scott’s necklace, and that’s when he cries.

It’s a gold poppy flower- crudely made, rushed, unpolished, it was something Jimmy made. Jimmy himself was crudely made, rushed, and unpolished, so it makes sense that anything he made would be too.

His communicator buzzes.

He had given it to Scott a few hours before they arrived on the battlefield and Scott spent the next minutes staring at it while Jimmy got some things together.

Jimmy spent those minutes staring at him.

And then he died and lost everything.

Scott’s his everything.

And he’s lost it again.

His communicator buzzes.

He cradles Scott's head in his lap, staring down into his face.

He closes his eyes.

The ground under him changes. Rocks stop digging into his knees, and instead, there's soft wool. The smell of dirt and blood is replaced with clean linen and firewood.

What's worse, he can't feel Scott in his hands anymore.

Jimmy's eyes snap open.

His communicator buzzes one last time.

He's kneeling on cyan and yellow carpet, this must be somewhere in Rivendell. But it feels suffocating. It feels wrong.

Jimmy looks up and sees why.

Outside the windows the sky is red- this really is the end of the world. But the elephant in the room is that Xornoth is standing right in front of him. One of the last living things on this planet. Jimmy doesn't give them the victory of meeting their gaze.

"Codfather, Solidarity, sweet swamp boy- you hold many titles, don't you, Jimmy?" Xornoth says, manic glee in their voice. It makes Jimmy want to throw up.

"Just kill me. Please." Jimmy whispers, pain raw in his voice.

"No. I won't kill you, and you can blame your beloved Scott. The whole "can’t hurt you" condition in his heroic sacrifice doesn't feel heroic now, does it?" Xornoth looms over him, a shit-eating sneer of terrifying joy on their face. “Besides, why would I kill you? You were the key to the lock, the final piece to the puzzle, the gear that made this entire plan work- I should be thanking you. None of this could have happened if you weren’t there. He would still be alive if it weren’t for you- they all are dead because of you. Thank you, Jimmy. You seem to be often thanked for causing things that you stand against in the end. But that’s the way of life, is it not? People taking advantage of you for one reason or another, and then rubbing it in your face when they use you to get what they want. But don’t worry, no one will ever be able to use you again. Isn’t that what you wanted? You were pushed around by everyone, and now both you and I are free.”

“I’m nothing like you,” Jimmy says, maybe if he pisses them off enough they’ll just kill him anyway.

“No, you’re not. I am powerful, you are pitiful. I am armageddon, you are a disappointment. If death is theater, then I am Shakespeare, and you are a prop, a pawn. You were meant as something to be used. I was trying to offer a hand because as much as you hate yourself for it, you were the only reason why this plan worked. But if you insist on continuing to pretend that you have even a sliver of honor left then I will leave you to rot. But I promised not to lay a hand on you. In hindsight, not being able to kill you might have actually been a bad thing. See my plan was, Jimmy, I was going to kill you after all this, but your death would be instant and painless, but it seems that Scott has fucked something else over for everyone else. I was going to show you mercy, I wouldn’t torture you with a long and painful death or make you watch as- well, I guess I already did that, huh.” And they laughed . They laughed and laughed like it was the funniest thing in the crumbling world. They laughed at Jimmy, at his pain, it echoed off the walls of the dying church, sucking the last good out of the air to fuel the hysteric voice of insane victory.

Jimmy’s hope was flooding out with it.

Xornoth snaps their fingers, still laughing, and the world around Jimmy changes again, soft carpet to hardwood floors, still air to blistering wind- he's in his alliance tower.

He takes the heads down without looking at them, he can't bear to look.

He goes straight down the tower without looking.

It's a good thing he didn't.

He would have seen the bodies of everyone- ally and enemy- swinging from the rafters.

At the bottom of the ladder, he finds a rope of his own.

He doesn't even question it.

He silently finds a nearby tree and gets to work.

The Empire is deathly quiet- even the wind has died out.

He feels eyes. They're watching him. It feels familiar- watching a final soul end it all after everyone he knows is long gone.

He finishes the knot, throws the other end up and over the tree to tie it off.

He decides to build his own gallows as well.

Three blocks should be tall enough.

He puts the noose over his head like a medal- a winner's medal. That's what he was.

He won.

He takes the step.

And he's back in Scott's arms.

Finally.

#gremfics #empires #empires smp #flower husbands #flower husbands angst #suicide tw #scott smajor #he's fucking dead everybody dead #solidaritygaming #jimmy solidarity #solidarity gaming #sweet swamp boy #i hate writing

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themilky-way · 4 years

Text

intimacy {bucky barnes}

gif credit: bishopl on tumblr

pairing: bucky barnes x female! reader

summary: you tend to your boyfriend’s wounds after he returns from a mission and you share an intimate moment.

warnings: minor mentions of violence and blood. oh also kissing? it’s not angst but bucky’s injured so yeah❤️

author’s note: uh yeah i love sergeant james buchanan barnes so i had to write this shit w him bc duh he’s an angsty boy n we soft yolo 😔👊

-------

james buchanan barnes was a man who fought till the end and never gave up. his ego wouldn’t allow him to. hydra had brainwashed him and used him against his will to achieve whatever sinister goals lurked in their minds, and when he escaped from their grasp, he became determined to defend himself.

so when an enemy tried to get under his skin and use his background to debilitate him mentally, he whirred his left metal arm and plunged him across the battlefield. he was angry-furious-and anyone else who attempted to land a blow on bucky was smart enough to know that their life might end if they did so. he strided over to the now injured opponent and fisted his shirt with the same arm, lifting him up high enough to slam him back down again. attacker number three: eliminated. everything after that was almost like a blur, and bucky was constantly moving around throwing punches and casting harsh kicks to multiple adversaries. he received a couple of hard hits here and there too, and although it stung at the aimed area, it never matched to the strength his gave.

the mission ended successfully (on the avenger’s part), and he obviously took down the most bad guys, which boosted his ego a little higher. on the plane ride home on the quinjet, he began to feel the stinging and aching of his injuries throughout his entire body and face. he tried to not contort his face in pain, knowing full well steve would want to send him to the medbay as soon as they landed. bucky knew, however, that he’d decline steve’s request because he already had his own personal nurse. he didn’t need any type of mediocre hospital to tend to his wounds because they didn’t do it like you. his girl.

this led to your current situation, bucky seated near the edge of your bed with his hands folded neatly in his lap, with you on your knees in front of him with your entire first aid kit laid out around you. he watched you carefully as you furrowed your eyebrows in concentration, putting more hydrogen peroxide on a cotton ball to disinfect the lashes on his forehead and cheekbones. to him, you were beautiful like this. focusing on him and his well being, with your touch so sweet and gentle, and your eyes hiding the smallest hint of tears. that part made his heart ache much worse than the bruises he had on him right now, and all he wanted was to hold you and assure you that he’d be alright. thanks to you.

you muttered soft affirmations to him whenever he grimaced because of the shots of pain that ran through him. i’m almost done, just one more stitch. you’re doing so well, honey. no hospital, no medbay nurses, would do this. they wouldn’t touch him like he was made of glass and could break at the faintest touch, they wouldn’t bend down to press soft kisses to his bloodied, calloused hands as you switched tools. they weren’t you.

as you finished stitching his last cut, you sat down on the heels of your feet to gather your materials and place them in your baggie again. all the while, bucky observed as you tried to keep yourself as calm and collected as possible, but it was as if he could see right through you and knew that you were near your breaking point inside. he waited until you had properly finished and you let out a long sigh before looking back up at him with woeful eyes. he smiled back sweetly before he extended his arms out, inviting you in.

“c’mere, sweetheart.”

you obliged and stood up, carefully waiting for bucky to move further back on the bed before placing your legs on either side of his hips. you were seated in his lap, and both of you allowed your arms to envelop your bodies in a loving embrace. your fingers toyed with the loose strands of bucky’s hair on the base of his neck, while his hands rubbed gentle, concentric circles around the small of your back. a couple of minutes passed like this before you leaned back slightly to tenderly cup his face in your hands.

you looked around his features to examine his cuts, pressing a warm and caring kiss to each one. at last, you reached his pink, yet also bruised, lips and your own hovered momentarily over them before they finally connected. your lips moved slowly against his, not rushed nor hungry, but passionately. you felt his tongue swipe along your bottom lip and you opened your mouth slightly, allowing him to find your own. it was a kiss that represented something far greater than words could ever tell, love and the kindest of sentiments dripping off of it.

you pulled apart and laid your forehead against bucky’s as small breaths escaped each of your mouths’. you felt one of his hands move to hold your waist in place while his left one began to slide slowly up and down your back, comforting you. your hands then fell back to rest around his neck, and your eyes met his beautiful, icy blue ones.

“i hate seeing you like this,” you murmured. “all bruised and in pain. it hurts me more than you know.”

bucky thought you might start crying then, but he knew you weren’t; you never allowed yourself to cry in front of him when he was hurt, staying strong just for him.

“it hurts me more knowing that i caused you that pain,” he whispered. you knew what he meant. he let his forehead fall forward so it could rest against your chest, your chin automatically finding its way to the top of his head. he breathed in a large whiff of air and caught the sweet scent of your perfume. vanilla.

“you’re so good to me, honey,” he exhaled. you planted a loving reassuring peck to his hair. and another one, just for good measure. i’ll always be good to you. i care about you more than anything.

he leaned back and you lowered your head now, but instead of looking at him, you peered curiously at his clothed torso. your hands naturally found their way to the hem of his now dirty white t-shirt. you looked back up at him first.

“can i...can i see you?” he leaned in to press his lips to your chin and nodded. the heat from your hands collided with the warmth from bucky’s skin, and he swore sparks flew. as your hands worked their way up his body, the shirt scrunched up along the way, and eventually you helped him pull it over his head.

your eyes started to sting, but yet again you controlled yourself. your fingers danced lightly on the bruises forming on his delicate skin, and all the while bucky’s intently watching you. it sends shivers down his spine-the way you look at him. the way you touch him.

“oh bucky...” you quiver out. your right hand stills on a particularly large bruise that’s colored red, just barely shifting to a deep purple. he knows you can take it. you’re strong, so strong. stronger than him. but you can’t torture yourself like this. so he hooks his fingers around your wrists carefully and pulls them back up his face. your eyes turn to him, and his eyes never move from yours as he presses gentle kisses to each of your palms. he stops, lacing his hand in yours before bring it right back up to his lips again. this time, though, it’s the top of your interlocked hand that his lips ghost over.

“i love you so damn much. you have no idea how much joy you bring me, sweetheart. i need you to know that.”

your eyes widen at his words, but then they lovingly soften when you realize that he meant it. bucky barnes, the winter soldier, just told you he loved you.

“you mean the world to me, james buchanan barnes. i love you,” you smiled. it was here, in this moment, that you both realized your lives’ would completely disintegrate without each other. that there was no bucky without you and no you without bucky. a team, a pair, a couple.

soulmates.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x y/n #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes #sebastian stan #the winter solider imagine #the winter solider fanfiction #the winter solider x reader #marvel imagine #marvel #mcu #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #bucky x reader

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shanastoryteller · 4 years

Note

Would you mind writing more about Achilles? Also, a gods and monsters story about Helen would be interesting to see. :) have a nice day!

It hadn’t been a game.

He is seventeen years old, the strongest soldier inhis father’s army, the fastest runner and most skilled archer, and if he’s notquite the best swordsman on the island, well, give him another couple years. Dionis his brother in arms, his dearest friend, and Patroclus had thought theywould live together and die together on the battlefield. He’d thought Dion wasbeautiful and warm and that his hands were the perfect size for Patroclus’sown, if he could ever must the courage to take them.

He is seventeen years old when he’s proven wrong abouteverything he thought he knew.

It’s the middle of the night and he’s walking homefrom a long day of running drills, and then staying later than everyone else towork on his sword dances again and again until he feared his bones would popout of his arms. He’s almost home when he hears a woman scream, and then he’s pushinghis tired limbs to run before he can think better of it. W.hen he finds a manforcing himself on a crying girl in an alleyway he doesn’t think anything aboutpulling him off of her and punching him in the face.

Then it’s Dion looking up at him with a bloody noseand all the air leaves Patroclus’s lungs.

“What are you doing?” he asks, lips numb. Herecognized vaguely that they’re blocking the exit of the alley, that the girlis pulling her torn dress back up and can’t run until they get out of the way,but he can’t bring himself to move.

“What am I doing?” Dion wipes the blood from his face.“What are you doing? What’s your problem?”

He’s incredulous and pissed off and not evenremorseful, isn’t acting like he did anything wrong, and for a moment Patrocluswonders if it’s just a misunderstanding, if he’d interrupted something heshould have left alone, but he looks back at the girl, who’s their age, who’s huddledback against the alley wall with wide, frightened eyes, and knows that it’snot. “I’m telling my father about this.”

“About what?” Dion presses. “What are you so angryabout? You can have her if you want her so badly.”

Rage floods his body chases away any tirednessremaining in his limbs. “You – how could you act like this? You are in myfather’s army, your actions are his actions, and you attack a citizen, and thenpretend it means nothing? I’m telling my father about this, and when he hearsabout it, he’ll kick you from the army and you’ll return home in disgrace!”

Dion gets closer, scowling, and shoves him in thechest. “Are you out of your mind? My father will disinherit me if I get kickedout, don’t play around with me.”

“No one’s playing,” he says darkly, and shoves himback. “You’re pathetic. You don’t belong in my father’s army. If your fatherdenounces you it’ll be the least of what you deserve.”

“I’m not going to let that happen,” Dion says, and thecoolness of his answer makes Patroclus’s hackles rise, lets him know there’sgoing to be a fight based on his tone alone.

He doesn’t remember who makes the first move after that,but then they’re fighting, properly fighting, not sparring or messing around,and Patroclus is losing. He wouldn’t normally, but he’s been training for hourswhile Dion had left with all the other soldiers, and his friend’s hands arearound his throat and as his vision starts to go dark all he can think is thatperhaps Dion’s hands are not so lovely after all.

Then he can breathe again, and he’s coughing as he rollsover and pushes himself to his knees.

Dion’s blank eyes stare up at him as blood poolsbeneath his head, a bloody rock a few feet away. He looks up a little higher,and the girl is there, shaking with her hands wrapped around herself. “I – I’msorry, he was going to kill you, I didn’t mean – I was just trying to stop him!”

Right. Okay.

“Go,” he says, looking at his dead best friend.

“What?” she repeats, and she holds out her hands likeshe’s going to try and pull him upright, and he flinches. She freezes and deliberatelytakes one step back, away from him.

“You’ll be killed,” he says, knows vaguely that he shouldprobably be gentler about this but those thoughts seem so far away from himnow. “He’s a general’s son, and they’ll kill you for what you’ve done. They won’tcare what he did to you or me. You have to go.” His father outranks Dion’s, buthe doesn’t think that’ll matter to his either of their fathers.

“I’ll tell the truth, for both of us, okay? Don’tworry about me. Neither of us will be hurt,” she insists.

Her clothes are simple but fine. She might be a lady’sfavorite servant, or maybe even a low ranking noble, but even if she’s someoneimportant enough that she’s right, that still means telling the truth. Thatstill means everyone knowing exactly what Dion had done, and the thought makesacid rise to the back of his throat. “No. I know what he was about to do to you,but no. You already took the man’s life. At least leave him his reputation.”

She swallows, leaning back from him. Before he can tryand apologize, she asks, “But what will you do?”

He’ll take the blame, of course. Otherwise they’ll golooking for Dion’s killer, and they’ll find her. “Go. If you die, then he’sdied for nothing, understand? If you’re both dead, then there was no point toany of this. So you have to live.”

She tries pleading with him, but he doesn’t listen, doesn’tanswer her, and eventually she leaves.

He stays in the street with Dion’s corpse until dawn, untilpeople start to fill the streets. They see him and scream. He’s silent as he’staken in and when he’s questioned he woodenly states that it was because of agame, that it was an accident, because if he says anything else, if they killthat girl for killing Dion, then it was all worthless. And he can’t have that,can’t stand that, even at the cost of his own life, his own reputation, hisfather’s reputation.

His father won’t look at him as he sentences him totwenty years of hard labor. Most people don’t make it past five, but he’s youngand he’s strong, so maybe he has a chance.

Patroclus hopes it kills him long before five years.

But he never makes it there, instead of being cartedoff he’s brought to a palace room in the middle of the night. Inside it is KingPeleus, the ruler of their small land.

“Your majesty,” he says dropping onto his knees andbowing his head. This has even reached his ears? He’ll never be able to bearliving now, with his king thinking he’s a murderer.

“Rise,” his king commands, and he listens, because whatelse can he do.

He notices, standing, just behind him, is the girl.

“This is Princess Polydora,” he says, and Patroclus’seyes widen. He’s heard of his king’s daughter from a different land anddifferent marriage, but he’d never met her, hadn’t known what she looked like. “Shetold me what happened, what you did for her, and what you were willing to sacrificeto protect the memory of your friend.”

“Yes, your majesty,” because he can’t think ofanything else to say.

The king is silent for a long time. “If you’re truly committedto ensuring your friend’s memory remains pure, then I can’t pardon you, and youcan’t show your face here again.”

“I understand,” he says. He doesn’t ask for a pardon.

A smile curls around King Peleus’s lips. “You’re agood man. I have work for you then, if you’ll take it.”

He inclines his head, because of course he will, forthis man who knows the truth and is good enough to offer him a pardon and kindenough not to force him to take it.

“I have a son,” the king announces, and Peleus doesn’thave the energy to be shocked although of course this new is shocking. “He’sunder a dangerous prophecy to befall a terrible fate should he ever become involvedin war, and so when he was born my wife took him and hid him in a far away landso that the Fates could not find him. She hasn’t even told him that he’s aprince. You will go to him, and protect and serve him, for your life is nowhis.”

He’d thought Queen Thetis was dead, but clearly not.

“Yes, your majesty,” he agrees, because going faraway from all of this to serve a prince, dedicating his life to his king’schild, may be the only thing left worth living for.

“Good,” theking says, and leaves without a backwards glance.

Patroclus is left kneeling, confused, and Polydora comesforward and offers him her hand, pulling him to her feet. “My brother’s name isAchilles,” she says, smiling, “and I think you’ll like him.”

gods and monsters series, part xxxii

read more of the gods and monsters series here

#gods and monsters series #greek mythology #patroclus #if you want to know achilles #you got to know his lover #anon #asks

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justaghostingon · 3 years

Text

A Soldier’s True Enemy

Kodya wasn’t used to this. He new how the army worked. Grit your teeth, do your job. Shoot or others will shoot you first. Nevermind that you never wanted to be there on that lonely battlefield, no one did, no one cares. Your dreams could stray back to the woods of your birth, hunting with your cousins and cooking the spoils with your mother over your own hearth, but your body? It did as it was told.

But here in the Room of Swords? It didn’t work like that, and Kodya couldn’t wrap his mind around it.

He could understand if it was just Gyrus. He knew Gyrus was different the second he’d opened his eyes to meet those bright purple orbs. He’d thought at first that Gyrus was a more experienced soldier, the type who looked out for rookies out of the urge to protect something, anything that actually mattered in the face of pointless war. But it rabidly became obvious that Gyrus was no mere soldier. He was a Colonel, nay, higher. The right hand man and co-founder of the whole opperation. And he’d jumped in a freezing lake to save a mere rookie.

It was stupid really, everything Kodya knew about war and strategy told him so, but he’d known right then and there he’d follow this man to hell and back. Anything to protect a leader that actually cared.

But it wasn’t just Gyrus, it was this whole damn place. On the surface, it seemed much the same, rations for food, bunks for beds, everyone working on a job, and the new recruits got the ones the older members didn’t want. And yet it was all wrong. Most people left the two rookies alone, no hazing, no drills. They had to pull their weight, but chores were just a part of life, even at home, and they were trusted to go wherever they wanted and fiddle with weapons and training or anything else they wanted to do when those chores were done. At night, everyone would gather together, Don would play the guitar while the others listened and talked and laughed.

And all they ever talked about was home. From the cultures, to hobbies, to those strange little stories every family has. It was...warm. Nothing like the cold emptyness of the seemingly endless war Kodya had left behind.

By all rights, Kodya should have been happier with this turn of events, should have revelled in his time with a group that didn’t find his life expendible, that could sing together and laugh together and get along. But there was something uncomfortable that settled under his skin as he watchex the faces of those around the room, seemingly carefree. He wanted to stay, yes, to fight for these people and their warmth, but he couldn’t relax no matter how hard he tried.

He wasn’t alone though, he could tell, as he watched Gyrus’s gaze darken, eyebrows scrunched as he stared into space while Ragan continued to laugh beside him. This wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last, when their brave leader would get lost in his own head, trapped in the darkness every soldier knew.

“Hey, do you hear me?” Ragan asked, but Gyrus didn’t respond, and Kodya knew he couldn’t hear her.

He leaned forward, “Hey.” He deliberately made his voice louder, not shouting, but deeper, and full of authority, like his drill sergeant’s had been. It worked, Gyrus’ head snapped up, wide eyes meeting Kodya’s and Kodya squashed down a moment of pride that it was his voice Gyrus had responded too.

“Ah!” Gyrus startled. “What is it?”

Kodya frowned. “You okay?” He asked, more to spare the man’s pride than anything. “You were completely out of there for a while.” Kodya searched Gyrus’ face, wondering if there was a way to show through his expression how much he got it, that he could help, if only Gyrus would let him.

“Heh,” Gyrus laughed nervously, and Kodya’s heart sank. “Was I?” He looked sheepish, apologetic, like there was something wrong with showing any kind of weakness.

“Haha, well yeah,” Kodya laughed along, unwilling to let it slide without at least trying. “Hey maybe you should go to the doc.” With numbers on his side, he could probably get Gyrus to listen. “You need me to take you?” If he got Gyrus alone, he could express his similar struggles, and maybe get Gyrus to open up even if the doctor couldn’t.

But Gyrus merely flashed him a pained smile that made Kodya’s stomach turn. “Don’t worry about me!” Gyrus spoke with false cheer. “I was just...”

“Tired!” Don jumped in, citing some excuse to get Gyrus out of the room and away from the crowd.

“Night,” Kodya murmured as Gyrus and Don hurried away. He wanted to think Gyrus was in better hands, he’d known Don the longest after all. But then again, Don never seemed to carry the same weight that Gyrus did, never seemed as bothered by the horror of the world they inhabited. Which was fine, one of the reasons the Room of Swords was so warm was because its leader could always see the bright side. But it also meant Don didn’t fully understand what Gyrus was going through, and if Kodya was honest with himself, Gyrus always seemed a little worse after Don’s “help.”

“Jealous?” Nephthys whispered in his ear, causing Kodya to jump.

“Nephthys!” He protested as she giggled. Although, he thought as he ducked his head to hide the blush on his cheeks, she might have a point. Maybe he was being unfair to Don, he was trying his best to help his friend, and the warmth he created probably did help, even if it wasn’t as much help as Gyrus needed.

“You’ll get him next time,” Nephthys gave his arm a playful shove, noticing the more pensive mood that over took him as he reflected on Don and Gyrus. “Just keep trying.”

Kodya shot her a smile. Nephthys was right. He shouldn’t give up. Don could support Gyrus in his way, but he couldn’t do it alone. Kodya could help too, if not with Gyrus’ mental struggles, then by watching his back like Kodya had watched his regiment’s in the war.

Yes, Kodya squared his shoulders. He wouldn’t let Gyrus struggle alone. The next time he saw Gyrus, he’d ask if he’s take him on as an apprentice once again.

#room of swords #gyrus #kodya #room of swords fic #strawbarrow drabbles #pre-shipping #a look into what Kodya thought of Gyrus

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comrade-kenobi · 4 years

Text

Safe and Sound- Obi-Wan Kenobi

Obi-Wan Kenobi x f!Reader

Just some shameless Obi-Wan smut. Based on this post. I belong to the streets and I’m not sorry. Obi-Wan’s got a beard and i’m tryna wet it.

no warns, just gratuitous smut.

Your eyes met Obi-Wan’s across the field. For three days the two of you had led a bloody battle against the Sepratist’s droid army. The battle was won, but not without losses; losses that both you and General Kenobi felt deeply.

It took everything in your power not to sprint to him across the grounds. More than anything you wanted him to hold you, to feel his warmth covering every inch of you. There was nothing in the galaxy more comforting than his signature melding with yours, creating a peace within you that felt like home.

But it was impossible. You were Jedi Knights, Masters with positions on the counsel. Your code forbade such attachments. Besides, Obi-Wan’s reaction to your injury in battle yesterday raised a few eyebrows.

---

You had turned to help your Padawan, she was pinned down by ten droids with more on their way. Being so focused on what was in front of you, you failed to see the battle droids behind you; and you caught a blaster strike to the shoulder. Though your armour absorbed most of the blow it still scorched your shoulder and knocked you to the ground, sending a white hot pain throughout your body.

Obi-Wan sensed your pain immediately, as if it were his own. He ripped through the battlefield as fast as his legs could carry him, with Anakin following closely behind.

From the ground you let out a force push that sent most of the droids toppling over; their blasters clumsily shooting at one another as they fell. Thankfully your Padawan was able to take care of the ones that were still standing, you’d trained her well.

Before you could push yourself off the ground Obi-Wan was at your side, his large calloused hands cradling your face.

“Dear one! Are you alright?” He asked, his voice frantic as his desperate, crystal blue eyes darted around your features.

“I’m fine, love.” You whispered, reaching a hand out to push away the hair that had fallen into his eyes as he hung over you. He still had you cradled in his arms, as if you were made from a delicate paper; the kind that tears with anything more than a feather light touch.

You reached out to him in the force to calm the inky blackness that had seeped into his signature. No one was close enough to hear your words, but you were sure that any Jedi on the field could feel Obi-Wan’s fear in that moment. It was the kind of fear that only came from forbidden attachments. The kind of fear you felt when you think you’ve lost the one you love most.

The look that Master Windu had given you in the medical tent as Obi-Wan sat by your side confirmed your suspicions. He’d certainly felt Obi-Wan’s dread on the field, and the two of you would have to be extremely careful from now on.

---

Your body ached, and your heart was heavy with grief as you attended to your post battle duties. Sitting in a counsel meeting across from Obi-Wan was akin to torture. Normally you’d share little glances, smiling at each other as the other members blabbered on about politics. But not now, not when doing so could risk you status in the Jedi Order.

The meeting finally came to a close and you dragged yourself back to your temporary living quarters. It was a small building atop a hill, and it was thankfully far away from the others. The last three days, and every day leading up to them had been such chaos that the solitude was a welcome change.

You plopped down on your cot, far too tired to drag yourself to the refresher. Sleep was eager to take you but the person softly knocking on your door had other ideas. It was Obi-Wan, you knew that without even looking. You could feel the warmth of his signature through the old wooden door.

Obi-Wan kicked the door shut almost as quickly as you had opened it; and once he was certain no one could see you, his lips were on yours. His kiss was filled with a fiery desperation that pulled the air right from your lungs.

Your hands found their way into his soft, rusty colored hair as he guided you towards the wall by your hips. Pinning you against it with his own and, bringing your bodies impossibly closer. His hands ghosted their way up your sides until they reached your neck where they rested gently as he pulled away to nip at your bottom lip.

“Hello there” you joked, breathlessly. Obi-Wan chuckled as he rested his forehead against yours, lightly nuzzling your nose with his own.

“I thought I’d lost you.” He muttered, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth and gingerly rubbing his fingertips against the soft skin of your neck, to remind himself that you were really there.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily, General Kenobi.” You replied, smiling meekly as you playfully tugged at his beard.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, dear one.” He said, with a smile so sincere it warmed your very heart and soul.

With that he pulled you in for another kiss, this one was deep and passionate. His tongue hungirly swiping at your bottom lip, wordlessly begging you to let him taste you.

You obliged and your tongues danced together, the familiar sensation sending a shiver of excitement up your spine. Obi-Wan used his knee to part your legs, pressing his thigh into your dampening core. You squealed at the pressure and began to grind against him. Obi smiled into the kiss and, ever the gentleman, lifted his leg a little higher to help you with your ministrations.

His hands eagerly explored the familiar expanse of your body. Expertly sliding their way down to unfasten the belts of your robes. His mouth leaving yours only to trail hot, opened mouth kisses down your neck. Nipping lightly at your pulse point, then smiling smugly as you whined at the feeling. Your hips picking up pace on his thigh, futilely attempting to create more friction. The fabric of your clothes was making it near impossible to feel him in the way you wanted.

Never one to rush, Obi-Wan took his time undressing you. Pulling away to allow his eyes to roam over your figure, drinking in the sight of you. You shrugged off your overshirt and tunic and he watched as they fell to the floor leaving the softness of your chest and stomach completely exposed.

“So beautiful,” he mumbled to himself; his hands finding their way to your now exposed skin like they had a thousand times before. He took your breasts in his hands, admiring them as he lightly dragged the rough pads of his thumbs over your sensitive nipples, bringing them to attention.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi, you are a tease,” you quipped breathlessly. Smiling in amusement as he gave your breasts a lazy, but firm squeeze.

“Not a tease,” he corrected before bringing one of your nipples into his mouth. The scruff of his beard scratching at your skin as his tongue swirled around it. You keened at the difference in sensations, arching your back off of the wall behind you.

“I’m just smart enough to appreciate divine beauty when I see it.” He continued, before mirroring his previous actions onto your other breast.

“Mmm, you do have a way with words.” You moaned, carding your fingers through his hair and tugging as you grew impatient. Your panties were soaked through and sticking to your swollen lips in a way that drove you mad. Obi-Wan’s expert tongue wasn’t helping matters; as good as it felt on your tits, you knew of a place where it would feel even better.

Obi-Wan leveled his gaze with yours and smiled hungrily when he caught sight of the lust blown look in your eye. He placed his hands firmly on your ass and lifted you into his arms; you let out a surprised squeal before wrapping your legs around his waist.

As he made his way over to your cot you kissed down the hollow of his neck, he let out a low, almost pained groan as your teeth grazed over his adams apple. You licked up the column of his neck then lightly sucked on his earlobe before he tossed you back onto the mattress. He admired the way you looked as he stepped back. The way you looked up at him through your lashes as you leaned on your elbows, your chest flushed pink from excitement, lips plump from kissing, and hair a perfect mess went straight to his cock. Making it twitch against the rough material of his pants.

“Let me show you how grateful I truly am that you’re alright, darling.” He crooned before dropping to his knees in front of you. His fingers hooked into the waistband of both your pants and panties and you lifted your hips so he could tear them off with ease. Now you lay before him, fully exposed, with his large hands resting on the insides of your thighs to spread them apart.

Obi-Wan licked his lips at the sight of your glistening cunt, and you could have sworn, if only for a moment, you saw him lose his breath. You wiggled under his intense gaze as he brought a hand to the place where your hip and thigh met, just shy of where you truly wanted him, needed him.

Without moving his hand from where it sat he dragged his thumb up and down your soaked folds. Collecting as much of the sticky wetness as he could before bringing his thumb to his mouth. He licked it slowly, closing his eyes as he enjoyed your salty sweetness.

“Heavenly,” he groaned, the words rumbling in the back of his throat. Obi-Wan wasted no more time, he wrapped his arms around your legs, bringing his face as close to your core as possible. His beard tickled the skin on your thighs as he teasingly swiped his nose up your slit. You jumped when it brushed against your swollen clit and Obi-Wan chuckled. Maker did that man enjoy teasing you.

“Obi, please,” you begged. Bucking your hips towards his mouth feeling his breath hot against you.

“As you wish.” He replied dreamily before licking a slow stripe up your cunt, moaning as he savored the taste of you.Your fingers tangled in his hair as he lapped up your wetness, scratching at his scalp every time he hit just the right spot.

Eventually your hips started to move in time with his tongue, your hand keeping his head in place as he let you ride his face. He allowed you to guide him wherever you needed him, after all he was here to serve.

Obi-Wan sucked harshly on your clit, sending shock waves up your spine, and making you whine his name with an almost embarrassing desperation. The sound had him rutting against the mattress trying in vain to find some release. He buried two fingers in your pussy, eager to feel at least some part of you around him.

The way his fingers filled you in combination with the feel of his warm, wet tongue tasting every inch of you had you balancing just on the edge of release. You looked down at him when he removed a hand from your thigh to palm his throbbing cock, making himself moan with the slightest pressure. The sound vibrated against his tongue as it lapped away at your clit and sent you tumbling over the edge.

Your thighs clenched around his head as the warmth that has been pooling in your stomach spread throughout your body. You could feel him smiling against you proudly as he licked you through your high. Drinking every last drop you had to offer, your essence quenching a thirst in him like nothing else could.

He crawled his way up your body, watching as you laid there, fucked drunk and chest heaving. He licked his lips when he reached your face; the way his beard glistened with your wetness was positively sinful.

“Stars, you’re gorgeous.” Obi-Wan observed, his eyes filled with love as he toyed with strands of your hair.

“I’m nothing compared to you, my love.” You replied, earning yourself a hearty chuckle from the man holding his weight above you.

“Dear one,” he started, staring down at you with a soft smile as he ran his thumb over your bottom lip. “I find that very hard to believe.”

“Perhaps it’s my turn to show you how grateful I am for you.” You teased, reaching a hand between you to give his rock hard cock a firm squeeze.

“Darling,” he groaned, his hips rolling into your hand as you rubbed him through his pants. “Need to be inside you. Feel you.”

“Then take me, General Kenobi.” You sang, wetting your lips with the tip of your tongue and smiling up at him kittenishly as you pushed his pants down just far enough to release his throbbing cock.

Your words ripped a feral groan from the back of Obi-Wan’s throat. You’d pushed all the right buttons, and you knew it. His lips met yours with a renewed passion. Swallowing the whine he pulled from you as he dragged the head of his cock through your already sensitive folds. Stopping for a minute to tease your clit with it.

Satisfied with the way you mewled beneath him, he lined himself up with your entrance and pushed in slowly. Cradling your head in his hand so he could watch your face as he stretched you. Savoring the way your eyes fluttered shut when he filled you to the hilt.

Obi-Wan let his head fall beside yours on the pillow, his beard tickling your shoulder as he dragged himself in and out of you.

His breathing was rough, and ragged in your ear. The heat of his breath draws a shiver up your spine, making you arch your back and press your breasts flush against his chest.

“Faster Obi” you pleaded, trailing your hands down to his ass and giving it a firm squeeze.

“N-Not gonna last, d-darling” he choked out, nuzzling his nose against the side of your neck. “Feels too good. So warm.”

“It’s okay” you assure him, digging your nails into the softness of his ass. “Wanna feel you tomorrow.”

Obi-Wan sighs like he’s had the wind knocked out of him and instantly picks up speed. He’s breathily singing your praises into your ear as he thrusts; and you can feel the thick vein straining on the underside of his cock dragging against your walls as he twitches inside you. It makes your toes curl. You can feel your release building once more; like a rubberband pulled too tightly, bound to break any second.

“S-so close” you whine, using your hands against his ass to stop his thrusts and grind against his pelvis. His hips stutter as he tries to hold on and you can feel him nod against your neck.

Obi-Wan brings a hand between your bodies and starts to rub harsh circles against your sensitive bud, then begins thrusting again. He lifts his head to look at you, the blues of his eyes nearly disappeared, giving way to a lust blown black that drives you wild. You clench your walls around him at the sight and he comes undone with a primal yell.

The sound of him calling your name, and the sloppy circles he’s still drawing on your clit prove to be too much and you join him in ecstasy. Your walls milking him for every bit of his release as you raise a hand from his back to run your fingers through his beard.

Obi-Wan’s head falls to your chest with a contented sigh. You close your eyes and begin to play with the hair that curls at the nape of his neck. Though he can feel himself going soft inside you he can’t bring himself to leave your warmth.

“I love you,” Obi-Wan whispers, feeling more at home in your arms than he’s ever felt anywhere else.

“I love you too” you reply, feeling the heaviness of sleep start to fall over you as your breathing evens out.

“I’m so glad you’re alright.” Obi-Wan says aloud, though he knows you’ve already fallen asleep. Childishly, he thinks that maybe if the universe hears him say it enough, it’ll keep returning you to him; safe and sound.

#Obi Wan x Reader #Obi Wan Kenobi x Reader #Obi-Wan x Reader #Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader #Obi Wan x You #obi wan kenobi #Obi-Wan Kenobi #Obi Wan Fan Fic #Obi Wan fic

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straight-outta-kaer-morhen · 4 years

Text

The Rose of Temeria <Vernon Roche>

Some soft Vernon Roche mixed in the story. You can’t convince me he doesn’t have a soft side.

She fussed with her appearance in the small hand mirror. "You look gorgeous." Ves said rolling her eyes as her friend checked her reflection for the tenth time that night. "Take a shot of liquid courage." Ves offered.

"No, he'll be able to smell it. He'll be able to blame it on the alcohol." She dismissed.

Ves looked surprised, "thinking like a soldier tonight? So what's the game plan?"

Y/N sighed, "I'm going to get him alone, and then just say whatever comes to mind."

"That's it? That's your plan?" Ves inquired with a raise of her brow.

Y/N huffed, "I'm not like you Ves….the more I plan something the more it blows up in my face. It's best if I'm just as surprised as he is by what comes out of my mouth."

A light chuckle came from the blonde, "oh how I love that honest heart of yours."

•

••

•

Luck appeared to be in her favor, when she caught him exiting the tactical tent. "Commander." She called, stopping him in his tracks.

"Y/N." He said, turning to face her.

"Can I speak to you about a personal matter?" She inquired.

He nodded, his eyes taking in her body language. By the chewing of her lip and the fidgeting of her fingers he could tell she was quite nervous.

"I like you." She blurted, immediately cringing as soon as it came out. She felt like a blushing maiden with that sort of statement.

Vernon Roche raised his eyebrows at the confession. "I think you like the ide-," but she quickly cut him off.

"No, I've thought this through." She said simply. "I've been waiting years to tell you."

"This can't happen." He said flatly.

"Why, because people will talk?" Her brow furrowed, as she felt her heart slowly cracking. "I don't care what people say!" She said quickly.

"Because you deserve better than me!" He said throwing his hands up at her stubbornness. It would be easier for him to bury his feelings if she just walked away.

"That's not true!" She insisted, surprised he would even think that.

"What do you want me to do?" He cried exasperated. "Destroy you?"

"Yes Vernon, I want you to destroy me." Her shoulders were squared. "I want you to absolutely wreck me."

He knew it was impossible to avoid the inevitable. This stubborn woman was determined to follow him to the ends of the earth. A free Temeria or no, it didn't matter to her. She only wanted him.

He never believed anything could compete with his burning love for Temeria. That was until he laid eyes on the fierce, kind hearted woman before him. She was the only soul that could calm the raging storm inside him, but he fought her every minute of the way. Vernon couldn't fathom blackening her pure heart, so he was determined to keep her at arms length.

He had to admit she was absolutely cunning. Smoldering eyes gazing up at him through thick lashes, broke the rest of his resolve.

He found himself pulling her to him. A rough kiss found its mark. He kissed her like a famished man in the desert, drinking from an oasis. No matter how deeply he kissed her, or how tightly he held her, it was never enough.

He pulled her into the nearest tent. Fuck all the consequences, as he hoisted her onto the desk. Markers were sent clattering to the ground, as he pushed her thighs apart. He was in no mood for taking his time. He'd held himself back for years, and tonight he'd be buried in heaven.

Her blouse tore easily as his lips trailed across her exposed skin. His hands mapping the curves of her body, and taking notes of the sinful noises she made.

"Since you like speaking out of turn I want that filthy mouth to tell me exactly what you want me to do."

"I want you to fuck me against this desk." She said, pulling him closer by the chained medallion that adorned his neck, as she dropped into a sultry voice. "I want to see what that infamous rage of yours can really do."

•

••

•

"Y/N," a frantic voice pulled her from sleep. Her eyes fluttered open, taking in her surroundings. The tent was smaller than hers, but it wasn't lined with cots for the sick and wounded. A luxurious pelt had been carefully tucked around her for warmth.

It all came rushing back to her as the pleasant soreness was felt when she stirred. The table, sneaking back to Roche's tent for a slower, more sensual round.

It was no surprise the Commander was already up, ordering his soldiers around. She slowly sat up, taking care to keep herself covered. "What is it?"

Flustered the man quickly turned. Vernon Roche was not a man to be crossed, and the longer he lingered here with the Commander's latest conquest the higher his chances of experiencing the infamous rage the Commander was known for. "There was a soldier injured in a training exercise. He needs medical assistance."

A small sigh escaped her lips, slow enjoyable mornings were impossible with military life. Especially when men liked to attack each other with pointy sticks. "I'll be there in a moment." She said as the soldier quickly left.

Her body shuttered as soon as her feet touched the ground. She was half tempted to tunnel back into the nice warm cocoon of blankets. She began the tedious work of putting on her pants which included an excessive amount of hopping and shimmying of her hips to pull the tight pants over her ass. She then recalled her shirt was still in the tactical tent shredded in ribbons. She found one of Vernon's billowing shirts in the chest at the foot of the bed. She quickly pulled it on tucking the front of the shirt into the front of her pants before lacing the pants. The shirt was too big for her (petite/curvy/lean) frame. The collar kept slipping off one of her shoulders, but she decided it would have to do. She made the bed as quickly, and as neatly as she could. Before trotting over to the infirmary tent.

She set to work rolling the large sleeves up as she approached the cot. "What happened?" She inquired, taking in the large soldier who was gripping his left arm.

"The bastard sliced me, that's what it was." He gritted through the pain.

His comrade huffed, "I didn't mean to!"

"Let me take a look." She said leaning over the man to inspect the wound. Gently she rotated his arm, before pressing a cloth to the wound. It's deep, it'll need stitches." She said simply, as she reached for her suture kit. "I'll let your captain know that you shouldn't be using that arm until the stitches heal."

"Commander wont like that." The man murmured. She took a seat next to the man as she threaded the needle.

"I will speak to him directly then." She said simply.

"Work your magic on him, eh?" He said nudging her, soliciting a frown from her.

"This may hurt a bit." She said pouring some alcohol on the wound. His wince in pain felt like a small amount of payback for his earlier words.

She knew what she was getting herself into when she slept with Roche. The comments were exactly what she was expecting. Most likely the men would tease her, the higher ups may walk on eggshells around her, and look at her with a bit of disgust believing that she slept her way to the top.

She had come to the conclusion that it didn't matter what others thought. If she was happy, and if Roche was happy that was enough for her.

She quickly tied off the stitches. "I'll speak to your Captain as soon as I finish in here." She said dismissing the two soldiers.

"Ignore them." A female voice said from the corner of the room.

Y/N practically jumped out of her boots. "Ves, you scared me." She reasoned, relaxing when she noticed the blonde.

"I haven't seen him this happy in years." She commented, wrapping a bandage around a minor wound.

Y/N leaned against a table, "I hadn't seen him this morning." She admitted.

Ves smiled, "well I believe he'd be very disappointed to miss you in his shirt."

A small blush bloomed on her cheeks, "I didn't have any other options…"

A light laugh was pulled from Ves's lips, "and you don't think that was tactically planned?"

Y/N's eyes light up with understanding at Ves's words.

"Roche is always plotting, he's very good at getting exactly what he wants." She said with a shrug. She gave Y/N's shoulder a friendly pat as she exited the tent.

Ves was right. Y/N was almost positive no one had seen them last night. He'd pulled her to his tent. He wasn't so love drunk that he wouldn't have realized her tent would have been less suspicious. Someone had told that soldier where to find her this morning. If she wasn't mistaken then Roche wasn't planning on this being a one night thing, or some secret affair. Vernon Roche wanted everyone to know who she belonged to. For who would dare cross the Commander of the Blue Stripes?

She couldn't deny that this was exactly what she wanted. A relationship with the man, but she felt foolish that it never crossed her mind that he could be so cunning both on and off the battlefield. He was an intelligent man, and she felt like a foolish girl who followed her heart wherever it deemed to carry her.

"I can hear you thinking from over here." Vernon's voice cut through her train of thought.

"You and Ves really should announce yourselves." She said with a frown soliciting a chuckle from him.

He was quick to take her in his arms again, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips. His eyes flickering down to the shirt exposing her shoulder. Calloused fingers ran across the soft skin. "I knew you'd look absolutely sinful in this." His voice murmured.

"Vernon?" Her voice came soft.

His eyes flickered up at her, flooded with concern. "Is everything alright?" He inquired. "No one has given you trouble have they?" His eyes instantly burning with the need to fight and protect.

"Just some teasing," she admitted before quickly continuing on. "Nothing I can't handle."

His eyes softened a little at her words, "then what's the matter?"

"You're so cunning, intelligent, and I'm just...me." She said softly. "I worry one day you'll realize I'm just a foolish woman, who follows her heart too easily." She said looking away.

"Having a soft heart in a cruel world is very rare," he said, turning her to look at him. "I try to make Temeria a better place with my plotting, and fighting, but you..." He paused to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. "You use that sweetness to soften the hearts of men." He said simply. "I've watched many take advantage of that sweetness, but to remain kind after being hurt is a different kind of courage."

A shy smile crossed her lips, as she pulled him in for a kiss. "Vernon Roche, I had no idea you were the romantic type."

"I have something for you." He said reaching into a large pouch at his side. He pulled out a small bundled cloth. He unwrapped the cloth revealing a short stemmed rose. Yellow stained the delicate petals. Her eyes widened as she picked up a soft flower. Its petals still fragrant. As she inhaled its sent her eyes flutter shut for a moment.

He scratched the back of his neck, "I've always thought of you as the rose of Temeria." A bashful, boyish look came over his features. "I saw it while I was training this morning." He rambled on, his cheeks slowly flushing.

A warm smile graced her lips. The thought of the Commander cutting a flower, and then taking his time to delicately wrap it gave her butterflies. She cut off his rambling with her lips.

"Y/N, oh!" A couple shoulders echoed. "Commander, I'm so sorry." They said quickly, standing at attention.

"Meet me at my tent tonight." Vernon murmured against her ear, before pressing a quick kiss to her jaw.

"At ease soldiers." He said passing them by, leaving whatever medical mess for Y/N to look after. She placed the rose in a narrow necked bottle, before turning to the men. "What have you gotten yourselves into this time?"

#vernon roche #vernon roche oneshot #vernon roche x reader #the witcher oneshot

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dreamwritesimagines · 4 years

Text

Untouchable 10- Warmth In The Storm [Bucky Barnes x Reader]

A.N: Thank you so much for your feedback my loves, please keep it coming! <3

The previous chapters are on my masterlist<3

Pleasure has a price Bucky Barnes can’t afford. What happens when he falls in love with someone he shouldn’t have?

Summary: “Don’t you worry darling, I’ll take good care of your heart.”

Characters: Reader x Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

Word Count: 2806

Warnings: Mentions of sex, explicit language, 1940s.

Despite what your occupation would make people think, you actually had zero experience in boyfriends.

Clients yes, lovers no.

Would Bucky want you to stay the night? Considering you hadn’t slept together yet-

Would you sleep together?

You could feel your heartbeat getting faster by the thought of it, along with a smile pulling at your lips but you shook your head slightly, trying to put your thoughts into order. You stubbed your cigarette, reached for your lipstick and uncapped it, but before it could even touch your lips, someone knocked on your door.

“Come in!”

Shirley peeked inside, “There’s a package for you downstairs, and Linda is leaving.”

You rolled your eyes and put the lipstick down, then followed her to stop at the middle of the stairs as Thomas carried her luggage outside.

“I will miss you girls,” Linda said, “And remember, you can’t look anything less than perfect, even if I’m not here, hm?”

You grimaced, crossing your arms and leaned sideways to the railing as her eyes found yours. You tilted your head, shooting her a smirk and she narrowed her eyes at you, then turned around and walked out of the house.

“Should we open the champagne?” you muttered at Shirley, making her giggle, then she pointed at the huge package by the door.

“Thomas said it’s for you.”

You pulled your brows together, then went down, but before you could even approach it, Thomas had already came inside, then waved a dismissive hand.

“Don’t worry, I can carry it to your room.”

“Oh, thanks.” You said as he lifted the package and you, Shirley and him all made your way to your room. He put the package on your bed, then elbowed Shirley.

“What do you think is this?”

Shirley scrunched up her nose, “General started sending her jeweler bodies rather than actual jewelry?”

“The bastard doesn’t even have good taste, does he Y/N? I never saw you wear any jewelry outside.”

“She thinks they all have terrible taste,” Shirley said and turned to Thomas, “But I disagree, see, this necklace that I’m wearing was sent to her from another client.”

“Are we even allowed to talk about your other clients now? Or does the General want to think he is your first and only?”

Shirley giggled as you shot Thomas a repressed smile,

“I think that’s how we’re supposed to pretend,” you said, then lifted the lid off the box. The first thing you saw was a shiny dress but it was folded and on it there was another small jewelry box along with a letter. As soon as you opened the envelope, you could see that it was a formal invitation, and then your eyes skimmed the lines of the letter.

Birdie,

You will make every man at that ballroom jealous of me, I’m sure.

Miss me this week.

General Charles Richardson.

You scrunched up your face and gave it to Shirley so that she could see the letter with Thomas reading over her shoulder.

“He really doesn’t know how to do romance, does he?”

“He doesn’t care,” Shirley said, “It says here the ball is in two weeks though. Talk about enthusiastic.”

“People are still dying out there at the front and they’re having a ball?” you spat out, making Thomas heave a sigh.

You shook your head slightly, then pulled the dress out of the box so that all of you could look at it. It looked really expensive, you had to admit, it was a long, black satin dress, the fabric felt so soft underneath your fingers and it was embedded with sparkles over the dress. The long gloves in the box was obviously a part of it, along with the earrings and the bracelet. You couldn’t help the noise of discontent climbing up your throat and you shook your head, then hung it into your closet as fast as possible, putting the gloves and the jewelry into your drawer.

“It’s just disrespectful,” you managed to say, “Those poor people out there are still fighting, in terrible conditions, and what, when you rise up in the ranks you can just ignore that?”

“You can ignore pretty much everything when you’re rich, Y/N. You should know that by now.”

“Well it’s a disgrace.” You told Thomas and he held up his hands.

“Hey, I think the same. Doesn’t seem to stop higher class folk.”

“If anything, it’s a pretty dress.” Shirley commented and you shot her a look.

“Shirl.”

“Trust me, I know what you mean,” she said, “I’m in love with a soldier. I’m more than capable to seeing just how messed up this whole thing is.”

“I bet they’ll give a minute of speech for the troops out at the front and then eat and dance.” Thomas said, and you massaged your temples.

“I hate this. I will hate this.”

“You could say you’re sick?”

“That’s not an option,” you managed to say, and Thomas exchanged glances with Shirley.

“Well,” he cleared his throat, “I’m sure you have some….more pleasant plans until then.”

Shirley smiled instantly “I mean a week all to yourself?” she winked at you, “I would hope so.”

“I have a feeling it will not include ball gowns though.” Thomas grinned at Shirley and she giggled,

“Or any clothes at all.”

“Both of you, out,” you pointed at them and they pushed each other at the door, still laughing like children. You bit down a smile, shaking your head, then sat down on the seat in front of your vanity, fixing your hair before grabbing the lipstick.

***

You were slowly getting used to finding your way around Bucky’s neighborhood. Sometimes, it reminded you of your own neighborhood where you grew up in, it wasn’t as poor as yours of course, but the friendliness of people and the structure of some of the buildings were similar, in a way. You turned a corner to approach the coffeehouse you and Bucky would meet, but as soon as your gaze caught the sight of Bucky and Steve outside, you pulled your brows together, they seemed like they were having an intense discussion.

“Steve, I’m telling you, you can’t keep doing this.”

“So what, I’m supposed to-“

“Yes.”

“Just stay here while everyone is out there-“

“Yes, why not?” Bucky asked, exasperated, “There’s plenty of things to do in here, plenty of jobs-“

“Bucky, that’s not fair and you know that!”

Were you supposed to wait it out, or….?

“What if they accepted you this time? Hm? What the hell were you going to do out there-“

“Fight, just like you, just like everyone!”

“Steve, you could get killed out there!”

“So could you!”

Your heart dropped to your stomach.

“Listen, I get it, I really do-“

“You think I can’t fight.”

“Well, you like to prove that to me every week at some back alley so no Steve, I do think you can fight, just like I think you could get fucking killed-“

“Bad timing?” you raised your voice a little, so that they could hear you over their own voices and they both turned their heads.

“Y/N,” Bucky said and you tried to smile,

“Oh, the cast is gone,” you said in surprise as he turned to you fully, and he smiled softly before you took a look at Steve, who was still breathing hard.

“Hi Steve.”

“Hi Y/N,” he shut his eyes for a moment, “Sorry, I- I forgot you two had a date.”

“Oh no problem at all, you could join us?” you offered, “I mean, we’re just going to have coffee anyway.”

Bucky cleared his throat, “Yeah, at least I could keep an eye on you.”

Steve glared at him, and you looked between them.

“No thank you,” Steve said, and you nodded.

“Next time then?”

Steve smiled slightly, as if he knew what you were trying to do.

“I’m not really good at double dates, he knows that.”

“Oh I’m not getting you in any double dates,” you shook your head, “I already have a friend who I’m sure would fall head over heels for you if she ever met you, so I’m keeping you two away. I need my peace too, you know.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, as if abashed, “I doubt she’d fall in love with me.”

“I don’t, but I’ll wait for you to warm up to the idea.” you told him, and he put his hands in his pockets,

“Have a nice day,” he smiled at you, basically ignoring Bucky and walked away as Bucky heaved a deep sigh, shaking his head.

“Hi,”

“Hey there, Sarge.” You pecked him on the lips, then reached out to smooth the frown lines between his brows, and his face relaxed almost immediately, “Do you want to walk a little? To… get your mind off?”

Bucky nodded slowly, still deep in thought and you entwined your fingers with his, getting closer to him as he nuzzled his nose into the top of your head before pressing a kiss into your hair.

“I have fights with my friends too,” you said calmly after a couple of minutes of silence as you both walked down the street, to get closer to the river, and he pressed his lips together.

“He’s going to get himself killed one day,”

“Bucky…”

“He will. He’s trying to get into the military, and you should see his file, Y/N, it’s basically a chronological list of illnesses that can be fatal on battlefield.”

“You can’t blame him for wanting to fight.” You said as you stepped closer to a bench and sat down, Bucky following you suit.

“I’m sorry I cussed around you, I didn’t know you were there.”

You couldn’t help the smile pulling at your lips, “Don’t worry about it.”

“My ma would yell at me for hours if she heard I cussed around my girl.”

The simple statement, along with the term of endearment was more than enough to melt your heart and you tried to ignore the warmth spreading through your body.

“Am I your girl then, Sergeant Barnes?”

His eyes gleamed with his smile, “I would hope so,” he said, “Otherwise, it means that my heart has been toyed with, by the most beautiful girl in Brooklyn- no, in the world.”

You couldn’t hide your smile at all, “Well, we can’t have that, can we?” you heaved a dramatic sigh, “I happen to be fond of your heart, Sarge.”

“Are you?”

“Very much so.” You tilted your head and shot him a mischievous look, “My heart cares deeply about yours, for some reason.”

Bucky leaned in slightly, as if he was hypnotized,

“Don’t you worry, darling.” He whispered against your lips, “I’ll take good care of your heart.”

With that, he pressed his lips to yours, and you let yourself get lost in the feeling of coming home, somehow.

***

The weather seemed to have decided to contradict the warmth you were feeling, though. Just an hour or two after the weather got dark and the night fell, both you and Bucky caught up in a storm that interrupted your date. You squealed as Bucky pulled you through the street, making you laugh like crazy.

“I’m fine, I like the rain!” you insisted as both of you got to his porch, “Bucky, it’s lovely!”

“Doll, we’re both soaked,” Bucky let out a laugh as he unlocked the door, “You’re crazy, get inside.”

“Spoilsport.” You giggled, then followed him inside, and looked down.

“The floor will get wet though.”

“Don’t worry about that,” he told you as he walked to the fireplace to make a fire. You twisted your hair with the sleeves of your coat to get rid of the excess water, then checked your reflection in your small pocket mirror while he was still busy with the fire. You put it back into your purse, then held out your hands towards the fireplace to get warm as he straightened up.

“Steve had some clothes here, they would fit you-“

“No,” you stopped him, “I’m alright.”

“Y/N, you’ll get pneumonia.”

“I’m alright!” you insisted, then sat down to the floor, still holding your hands out, “Sit beside me.”

He heaved a sigh, as if he wasn’t happy with your stubbornness, but grabbed the blanket over the couch and dropped it over your shoulders. You snuggled closer to him as he sat beside you, then rubbed your arms.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Cold?”

You shook your head, “I grew up very poor Sarge, cold isn’t very unfamiliar to me.” You mumbled, still holding your hands out towards the fire, “I know how to handle it.”

“I’m sorry,” his voice was soft and you stole a look at him, then smiled.

“Don’t be.” You said, “It was a long time ago. Now I know how the world is.”

“How the world is?”

“I um….” You took a deep breath, keeping your gaze on the fire, “I used to believe that- I imagined my future different.” You let out a bitter laugh, “Obviously. But um- you don’t really have to be poor to be cold, I learned that.”

His gaze on you made you feel almost as hot as the fire you were warming your hands with. “You don’t?”

“Not really,” you muttered, “It’s strange, really. You can be surrounded by pretty dresses and jewelry and stupid compliments by wealthy people and still feel cold. It’s there to stay, sometimes.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see that he swallowed thickly, “And now?”

You lowered your hands, then turned to look up at him,

“Depends,” your voice was almost silky, “Will you warm me up if I say I’m cold now, Sarge?”

He looked almost taken aback, and his blue eyes fell on your lips before they snapped up to your eyes,

"Do you want me to?" His whisper was soft and you felt your heart skip a beat before you nodded, and he leaned in to capture your lips with his. You cupped his cheek, pressing your body to his, and his hands went to the back of your dress to unzip it, and as if on cue, you felt that familiar haze fill your mind again, making you pull back and shake your head at yourself, your hand pressed over his chest, feeling his fast heartbeat right under your touch.

Bucky pulled his hands back as if your skin had just burned him.

"Darling?"

"I'm sorry, I just-"

"Don't apologize," his voice was low, "You never have to apologize. We don't have to do anything-“

"But I do want to," you looked up at him, "I do, I want you. More than you could imagine, I just.... I don't know how to focus, I think. And I don't want to miss it, for once."

Bucky pulled his brows together, "I…don’t follow.”

"I’m just-" you dragged your tongue over your bottom lip, deep in thought. You had never felt the need to explain this before- not that anyone asked or thought about your comfort before, but he wasn’t just one of your clients, he was-

Well. You feared to name it.

"I feel as if I float away,” You managed to say, “When I’m… when I’m with somebody, when it happens. But I don't want to float away this time, I want to stay here."

His eyes searched yours and you swallowed thickly, desperate to make him understand but you didn't need to say anything else. He nodded slowly, pushing a strand of your hair behind your ear, making you smile and look up at him.

“I love you,” the confession left his lips in a whisper, and you blinked dumbly, not even daring to breathe. It wasn’t the first time, really, almost every client of yours had fallen in love with you sooner or later, but somehow, this time, it wasn’t just that. It didn’t even feel like it had anything to do with sex, it was just-

It was just your heart, and his heart.

As simple as that, for once.

“Bucky, you shouldn’t-“

“I love you.” He repeated, “I need you to know that. Is… is that enough to make you stay?”

You were more than aware of the fact that it didn’t mean just that. It didn’t mean just now, it was a promise, for a future neither of you dared hope for, and yet, the glimmer was still there.

Against all odds, it was there.

You looked up at him for a second in complete silence, then pulled your dress over your head and reached out to pull him closer to you. His lips met yours, and somehow, for the first time in years, a spark of fire reached that ice at the pit of your stomach, buried deep down.

Then, the warmth surrounded you.

***

@rhabakoli @rmwest94 @finnickfoxes @theskytraveler @asongofmarvelanddc @fictionwillneverdie @superwolfchild-fan @marauderskeeper @propertyofpoeandbucky @alwaysadreamingoptimist @lettersofwrittencollective @i-am-always-famished @small-round-and-angry @captstefanbrandt @flowers-in-your-hayr @writeyourmindaway @geekandbooknerd @mamaraptor @j-finco @the-omni-princess @supercarricat @anxietysucks @fortisfiliae @stopitchris @nea90sweetie @inforapound @theladybiers @aikeji @littledarlinhavefaithinme @marvelgirl7 @to-the-road @starkrobb @noisyinfluencerstrawberry @paramorefold @alytavzla @youclickedthislink @lexlikestoread

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes imagines #40s!bucky #Sebastian Stan #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel imagines #1940s bucky barnes #1940s!bucky #james buchanan barnes #1940s bucky barnes imagine #1940s bucky barnes imagines #Winter Soldier #winter soldier imagine #winter soldier imagines

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lilytriestoexist · 4 years

Text

Erawan With Bangs: A Sequel

I was stressing myself out over a physics assignment involving eyeballs so I decided the ideal stress relief was...writing fanfiction about EWB. Again. Really, it’s all physics’s fault. Also, I haven’t read all of K0A, so this is nowhere near what actually happened in canon, but it's probably way cooler. Featuring: @crescentcitysux @croissantcitysucks and @antisjmmemes. Obligatory tag: @erawanwithbangs . And it’s 12am here, so goodnight lol. (i think i 'peaked' with the first one. also, tw/ erawan kills people and there's talk about blood)

His new look, Erawan decided, was the most powerful weapon in his disposal. It had struck his Valg Princes and common underlings speechless with its sheer magnificence. Not one person had spoken out against his mighty bangs, for they were faultless and flawless, and most definitely not because he had snapped the neck of the sole demon commoner who had given his hair a displeased side-eye. No, the people had spoken, and his bangs were glorious.

But while he and his bangs carried his side of the war to victory after victory, Maeve was not doing as well. The nasty brat who styled herself a queen - what was her name, Alien? Ayla? No, it was Eileen. Yes, Fire Queen Eileen had escaped from Maeve’s clutches and was reunited with her mate, Ronan, her cousin Adrian, her friend Lydia, and a few other Fae males whose names he couldn’t remember. They all started to blend together after a while, anyway. The last he’d heard from Maeve through their Valg bloodlink, Eileen’s court was a thorn in her side, and one she was determined to rip out and incinerate. Erawan had opened his mouth, intending to ask about her strange obsession with Eileen and Ronan’s romance, but he’d caught a glance of his bangs in the tableware and decided he had other priorities. A strand of hair was longer than the others in his otherwise immaculate bangs; Maeve, Eileen, and Ronan could wait.

Anyway, the point was that Maeve was not doing great, but he was doing pretty great, and so the clear resolution to this was to go help her out. Which was why he was here, using his powers a few metres off the ground, skin bleeding wisps of shadow. His bangs flapped in the gentle breeze as he lead his army forward to meet Terrasen’s own, smirking as it registered on their puny faces that he himself was leading his forces. Shock, fear, horror, and resignation flitted across their tiny faces in quick succession, but still they raised their weapons and charged, foolish bravery etched into their bones. A slow grin spread across his face, revealing sharp, gleaming teeth, as black swallowed his eyes whole and he leapt forward.

After a while, severing heads from bodies and tearing organs from beneath fragile skin got boring, and the spurt of blood from open wounds no longer gave him a similar rush of satisfaction. How easy it was to steal life from humans, to toss them aside like puppets with cut strings. He had lived thousands of their short lifetimes, and he would live thousands more.

“ERAWAN!”

A cry rang out through the battlefield, and he looked up, brows raised, as he shoved aside the latest victim of his dark, blazing whips. And speaking of blazing, Eileen was making her way across the grass, stepping over the dead and dying bodies of her soldiers, twin flames surging from her upward-facing palms and casting warm light across her pale face. Sunlight gleamed off her gold armour, and a matching broadsword hung from her belt.

“Eileen.” He gave her a nod of acknowledgement, but she just stared, jaw dropping.

“Did you just call me Eileen?”

Erawan blinked, unimpressed. “That’s your name, so of course I did.”

She spluttered, flailing her hands around and sending tiny embers of glowing orange fluttering through the air. “I - my name is AeIin!” she snarled, baring her canines.

He gave her a long, hard stare. “I’m going to call you Eileen,” he announced. “Because you look like an Eileen.”

“AeIin!” A hawk came swooping down from the clouds and transformed into a man with short white hair and word-like tattoos sprawled across half his face, Eileen’s apparent name spilling from his lips.

“Ah!” Erawan looked him up and down. “You must be Ronan.”

Ronan pressed two fingers into the inner corners of his eyes, just below his brow-bones, and ignored him. “AeIin - “

“I told you not to come, Rowan,” Eileen snapped. “This is between me and him.”

“Ronan can stay if he wants,” Erawan said. “The more the merrier. I’ve always enjoyed slaughtering Fae. Do you happen to have any friends you could bring along?”

“Rowan, I can do this,” Eileen said, staring deep into his eyes before surging up to meet him. Erawan averted his gaze as Ronan returned her action with equal fervour, coughing into his hand and whistling a tune, tapping his foot in time with the clashing of metal on metal and the haunting song of warfare that flooded from the still-raging battle.

When he turned back around, they were still going at it. With a growl of annoyance, he sent a snaking tendril of darkness and made it slap them away from each other.

“Are you done?” he demanded. “Less making out, more taking out.”

Ronan looked torn, but finally turned back into a hawk and took off into the air, flapping his great wings and circling the battlefield before something caught his eye and he flew until he was only a small speck against a sea of blue.

The glow of an approaching fireball made him look at Eileen’s face, twisted into a grimace of determination. He batted away the fireball, sending it careening into one of her own soldiers and grinning as the poor man was turned to ash, but she kept them coming - fireballs that shifted between red, orange, and yellow every time he blinked, massive walls of flame that engulfed the nearby area, since thankfully people had the sense to stay away, whips that mirrored his own favourite attack that tried to wind around his arms and lash out at his legs.

When she jumped deftly over a rippling wave of night and curled her fingers, conjuring another fireball and flicking it at him, his hand rose to hit it away, like he had for all the others. But this one had been aimed higher than his chest, and his fingers skimmed through air. Instinct kicked in, sending him skidding to the side as the fireball just barely missed his head and continued through the air. Erawan breathed a sign of relief, hand reaching up to caress his bangs and summon good luck.

He knew something was wrong when he felt plain skin instead of the comfort of his bangs, lovely and golden and smooth as the finest silk. His gaze turned to the floor, where strands of hair floated to rest on the grass, burnt off by the fireball. He barely registered Eileen taking advantage of his momentous loss, but his powers kicked in, a shield springing up between them.

Erawan sank to his knees, touching his fingers to what was left of his poor, poor bangs. The colour had been swallowed by ashy black, and a thin line of smoke wafted from the debris, twisting and twirling in the air, mocking him. Eileen was still hammering away at his shield. His hand went back to his forehead, measuring the wideness, touching where the hair had been burnt off. He could feel the tight coils of agony scrape against his throat, against the writhing walls of his stomach, and all he could do was let it out.

Darkness erupted from him as he screamed, pouring out all his pain and grief and agony into the one sound, loud and high-pitched and thick with mourning. It did not go to attack Eileen, though she took cover beneath a cocoon of flames, nor any of her followers. Instead, it danced around the blood-stained field before coalescing into a ring of black, rotating in mid-air, a thin glowing sheen of white barely visible within. His magic, acting on its master’s inner thoughts, summoning the only people who might understand.

Aelia, Lyn, and Salty appeared, stepping out of the portal and descending to the ground, confusion apparent on their faces as they took in Eileen, blanketed in protective flames, to the battle that was in the process of resuming, to him, hunched on the ground and shaking.

“Erawan with bangs?” Lyn asked, prodding at his shoulder. Another tortured cry ripped itself from the crevices of his throat at the cruel reminder, and she jumped, exchanging concerned glances with her companions. “Uh, Erawan?”

“It’s gone,” he murmured, covering his massive forehead with his left palm.

“What’s gone?” Salty asked with a frown, before realisation filled their eyes. “Oh no. It’s gone, isn’t it?”

“The bangs,” Aelia breathed, and winced as he howled yet again. “Okay, you can stop doing that now. How did it happen?”

“Her,” he whispered, limbs stiffening. “Her.” He pushed himself off the ground and extended a single trembling finger at Eileen, who extinguished her flames and blinked at the new arrivals and his fragile state.

“I didn’t do anything,” she said, embers flying from her fingertips in warning. “He’s trying to take over the world as we know it, I’m trying to stop him. I don’t know what lies he’s fed you, but it’s not true.”

Lyn waved a dismissive hand in her direction. “He hasn’t told us anything.” she said, “and he doesn’t need to. We already know what those in this world are doing with their lives, and I’m not a fan of either camp.”

“What?” Eileen’s brows shot up. “But I’m right! He’s literally an evil monster!”

Salty shrugged. “And you’re an annoying bitch who’s expressed take-over-the-world desires. I think both of you aren’t great. And I don’t really care.” Their expression hardened. “What I do, or did care about were those bangs. Those glorious, glorious bangs.”

“Always in our hearts,” Aelia said, resting her palm over her chest solemnly. “You will never be forgotten, bangs. We will remember you forever.”

Eileen sent a massive wall of flame at them, apparently losing her temper, but Lyn snapped her fingers and it disappeared. Eileen’s second attempt met the same fate, and then her third and fourth as well.

“You know, Erawan without bangs,” Aelia said.

“Yeah?” he replied, choking back a sob.

“I think we should give - wait, what’s this girl’s name? I thought it was AeIin.”

“No, it’s definitely Eileen.”

“Well, maybe we should give Eileen a little payback. You know, as a treat.”

A second later, he had strode over to where Eileen was desperately sending fireball after fireball at a cackling Lyn, his own night black flame cradled in his hand. She had no time to react before he’d coaxed it to leap through the air and onto the ends of her hair, crawling up the strands of gleaming blonde until her whole head was lit up, apart from the strands of hair that hung in front of her forehead. She screamed and writhed, but he had tendrils of shadow wrapped around her wrists and ankles, and more strips over her neck and chin, keeping her head immobilised. Within a minute, all her long hair had been eaten up, apart from the area he’d left untouched. She was almost completely bald, her hairless head shining like an egg.

“Here,” Salty said, handing him the pair of scissors he kept in his bedroom. “Don’t ask any questions.” He didn’t.

“Get away from me,” Eileen sobbed. “What are you doing, get away, get away!”

“You must face the consequences of your own actions,” Lyn declared, poking at Eileen’s pointed ears and looking very unimpressed.

He balled up all his rage and grief at the loss of his bangs, steadied his hands, and began cutting. Eileen dissolved into a string of whimpers as he ruthlessly cut her the worst fringe he could imagine having, all ragged and crooked lines, with no layering to break up the monotonous fall of hair, almost covering her eyes. When the final chunk of blonde fell to the floor, he waved his hand, ensuring that no strand of hair outside of his ugly fringe would ever grow on Eileen’s head. Aelia, Lyn, and Salty then each placed a finger on the fringe and said what he assumed to be an ancient, esoteric spell from their own world, sealing it with flashes from their rectangles. I wonder what magical properties the word ‘fuck’ has, he thought.

Once they had completed their spell, Erawan stepped back and waved away Eileen’s restraints. Aelia tossed her a mirror that he was almost sure came from his possessions as well, and they watched as Eileen ran quivering hands over her egg-like bald head, felt the fringe they’d left behind, and finally, looking like she’d rather be six feet beneath the earth, brought her face to the mirror.

Her ensuing scream of anguish was the most delightful thing he’d ever heard. He hummed the tune, the rising and falling in pitch and cracking of tone, as he grew himself a new pair of bangs the next morning.

#erawan with bangs #why am i doing this to myself

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marvelatthehottotties · 4 years

Text

James Buchanan Barnes - Chapter 1

A/N: Thanks for taking a peak at this! Don’t be afraid to give us feed back! Co-written by @keliza

Prologue Masterpost for the series

Warnings: Second hand embarrassment, bullying, sketchy frat dudes

Words: 3,092

A college freshman. Once again, the low end of the food chain. The bottom rung. Things tended to cycle like that, so you could stay humble. It was your job to learn from it and realize that there was no such thing as the top of the food chain. There was always going to be someone higher than you whether you realized it or not. The end of elementary school was the high end. Then it was middle school. Then high school. A never ending cycle that continued on. Once you finished college it would be you planting right back into the workforce on the bottom rung, like swimming upstream.

Everyone was just a salmon, hopping those little waterfalls. The only issue was you were scared to jump every time that jump happened. You could see the waterfalls were so close and everyone was jumping. But you could also see the shadows of those grizzlys looming, waiting with open mouths to crush you and devour you. Bears didn’t care if you were a big or a small fish, which made being a small fish especially hard.

This was an exhausting process, but the fear of being left behind made you jump finally and you were free to swim again, comfortable now that the bridge was crossed.

And here you were, this waterfall had appeared much faster than you had expected.

Peter had dragged you to a college party. Apparently, he knew some of the people, which honestly blew you away as the majority of the kids here weren’t kids at all. Everyone here looked like they had credentials, like they were legally allowed to drink, not just kegging to get the alcohol.

Peter. The scrawny pipsqueak that had grown up next door. The one your mother loved and your father hoped would one day be his son. Peter and you wouldn’t love each other like that. He’d always eyed the popular cheerleader. The perky homecoming queen. And you…. Well you just couldn’t tear yourself away from the fantasy men in your novels. You were rarely attracted to people. Well, real people anyway. The kind you had a chance with.

This battlefield was different. You need to jump this waterfall and just swim on but the anxiety of not knowing anyone was creeping up your throat.

“Excuse me,” an enormous, sculpted man with an accent chirps. He flashes you a flirty smile as he slides around you. In your horror (had your eyes seriously deceived you?), you stumble backward and away from the punch table, careful not to bump into the couple unabashedly making out in the corner.

The man’s arms rippled as he made a few drinks and quickly returned the way he came, shooting you another overly friendly smile. A horde of drunk girls squealed as he returned to them, passing off the second drink to a dark haired guy nearby and the girls converged like vultures on him.

You glanced around. The couple nearby wasn’t quite as desperate as the highschool students in their antics. It was softer, looked tastier. You darted your gaze away, feeling like you were intruding. Where was Peter, he’d been in the bathroom an awful long time now.

The pit of nervousness was filling you, sinking harder as it grew in your gut. You looked about for anything familiar, struggling to find something.

The Stark house was something straight out of a magazine. Perfect for the well off lawyer and his family in town. Nothing like your own family home. Soft and quaint, quiet even. This was loud and sharp and modern. It was too cold to be familiar in the way you wanted. It offered no comfort.

Neither did these older people. Most of them couldn’t be more than five years older but you still managed to feel out of place. Like a child at a PTA meeting. You wanted to go home so badly, but Ned, who’d driven, also seemed to be missing.

“Looking for a drink?” Someone asked, you glanced, because it was loud enough to hear over the music. You were surprised, however, to see a stranger making direct eye contact. A tall, dark and handsome guy with a crooked nose and an even more crooked smile. It made your gut drop nervously.

“No, thank you,” you managed, politely. “Just waiting on my friends.” Your hands tighten harshly on your purse strap as the guy steps closer.

“You sure? I’m making one myself, it’s no trouble.”

“That’s kind, but I'm the designated driver, can’t drink,” you lie. The guy gives a shrug at you.

“Are you even old enough? To drive? You look pretty young.” You give a non committal shrug and start glancing around, praying that Ned and Peter would appear. This man was making your skin crawl and you think it might be better to look for an out.

Nearby there are some college guys spinning someone in a desk chair. The kid looked like he was gonna be sick. Plenty of hollering sounds as he does hurl and give a drunken smile after.

“Ew,” the girl from the couple behind you hisses. So, she’d managed to notice as well. She grabs his hand and drags him away, leaving you with the dark haired guy.

“Brock,” the guy offers, and moves closer. You dance away a bit, uncomfortable with how close he now was. “Hey, sorry. I’m not some bad guy, just making conversation.” He doesn’t step back. Dread is sinking in your gut and you pick anxiously at the sleeve of your sweater.

“I should go look for my friends,” you start, voice dropping to prevent from it shaking.

The guy takes a step towards you, and you do the only thing you can think of as alarm fills you. You were not well known for being bold. You dart quickly only to knock into someone else so hard you nearly tumble back. You’re terrified as you look up into the face of another man. His eyes are hard as he glances over you quickly, then they dart to the guy directly behind you.

“Brock,” rolls a voice from the guy who’s hands are now on your waist, steadying you. Despite the casual way he says the name, it’s got a warning to it. “Why are you over here trying to scare girls?” He was helping you?

“I was just going to come looking for you,” you blurt before he’s even done speaking. Glancing up at this man, hoping he’d roll with your lie and focusing less on the fact that his hands were so warm. He adjusted immediately.

“Steve’s around here somewhere. Sorry for leaving you. Do you want to go sit?” He asks. His hands resting ever so gently on your shoulders now. You nod.

“Ain’t she a little young for you, Barnes?”

“My cousin is none of your business, Rumlow.” Brock looks pissed as he locks his jaw. You grasp the new man’s hand hard and without any hesitation, he leads you toward the stairs. “Let’s get some air on the upstairs patio, kiddo.”

Kiddo! Kiddo! Your savior thinks he saved a kid! Not a damsel? This was straight out of a romance novel and the lead (who was incredibly handsome) just called you his cousin and kiddo. Oh, but he smelled like motor oil, and that made your toes curl.

God was cruel.

“I’m eighteen,” you interject as he drags you up the stairs. When he flashes you a smile you catch your toe on a step and nearly die on those stairs. The guy hooks an arm under you to drag you up, however. Your cheeks heat as mortification fills you. But he’s so close…

“Mhmm. Focus on one foot at a time, okay?”

Kill me.

And you manage to make it up the stairs without too much more trouble. He navigates around the bodies with ease, meandering away. Finally, he arrives out on a balcony with you. A few people linger around. You took a moment to take him in. Hair pulled up in a little bun on the back of his head, a wide jaw, cute nose and cool blue eyes. Not to mention he had grease streaked on his arm. Whatever vehicle he was working on before this, he hadn’t showered between and it gave him a delightful metal smell. Complete with his tattered tee shirt and stained jeans and boots, he looked like he’d rolled right out of a novel.

“You’re gone five minutes and you’ve already got a girl?” Someone sighs. You snap your eyes to a tall, slim kid who’s lounging on one of the designer patio chairs. He brushes some of his soft blond hair from his eyes.

You were suddenly aware that you were still clinging to this poor man’s hand like my life depended on it. “Ah! Sorry, I-I didn’t… I didn’t mean to-”

“Relax, doll, you’re okay,” he chirped and lead me over. “This is Steve.”

“Hi, Steve,” You greet meekly. “Thanks for getting me out of there but I should be heading to find my friends Peter and Ned,” You try to excuse.

“Getting her out of there?” Steve repeats, and his awkward expression regresses into a stone cold one.

“Yeah, Rumlow’s ass was harassing her. Meet my cousin. I’m adopting her.” Your cheeks flare. Worse than being friend zoned. I swear.

“Brock?” Steve repeats, eyes flaring.

“Sit your ass down, Steve, it’s taken care off. Why don’t you sit down with us?” The last part is directed at you. “Your friends can come find you.” You almost deny it, but your savior… you want to learn more about him.

“I don’t want to intrude,” you offer.

“Non-sense,” Steve calls. “Sit.” You slowly sink down on a patio sofa, your hand relaxed in the guys hold. You notice the twitch of thick muscle beneath his shirt as he moves to settle beside you.

“So, what’s your name?” The cute guy asks.

“(Y/N),” you answer.

“Nice to meet you, (Y/N). I’m Bucky.” Your heart flutters uncomfortably in your belly. It was rare you reacted this way, but he’d been so kind. When Bucky settles beside you, his knee pressed against yours and you’re so caught up by it you don’t notice the knowing look Steve passes to Bucky. Or the grin that Bucky sends back to him.

“Have you graduated?” Steve asks.

“Yeah, I start at Avalon College this fall, do you guys go there?”

“Stevie does, I don’t.”

The casual conversation ate away at the wild adrenaline that sunk your gut. The nervousness easing in the presence around. Only the bitter awkwardness was gaining on you.

“So, what do you do?” Bucky glances down at the front of his tee shirt and you catch the name of the local mechanic shop. When he looks back at your embarrassed face, he flashes an amused grin and throws an arm over your shoulder. Being so close to the warmth of him. “Mechanic?” You manage to squeak. How had you not noticed the bright white lettering on his black shirt. It hid the grease stains pretty well. Probably do to his pearly white smile, or his sinful smirk.

He threw an ankle over his lap and twisted. “Yes, ma’am. What are you studying at school?” It felt so intimate how close he was leaning in.

“Uh, undecided,” you offer. When you glance at Steve, he’s trying to hide his big grin, warm eyes gentle on you.

“What are you doing at a party like this, it doesn’t seem like your normal scene.” He asks.

“My friends Peter and Ned dragged me with them. I’m usually the third wheel. To be honest they may have forgotten I’m here.” Steve frowns at me. “I guess Peter got invited by Tony earlier this week.”

“They don’t sound like very good friends,” Bucky rumbles, eyes narrowed coldly. It makes you gulp and retreat into the cushions a bit.

“No! They’re wonderful. They support me as much as I support them. They’re just easily distracted, you know?” Bucky still frowns at this answer and shakes his head.

“And leave you alone long enough that Rumlow starts to follow you.” You shift uncomfortably.

“You know, I’m going to grab a drink,” Steve offers awkwardly. “Do you want anything? Water? Juice?” He asks you.

“Uh, juice if they’ve got it,” you reply. He stands and leaves, not bothering with Bucky’s. You try to push the thought behind you. That he’s getting you something non-alcoholic for you. You teeter between grateful, and irritated. Was he doing it because they thought of you as a kid or because he wanted to make sure you weren’t taken advantage of?

You start to squirm away from Bucky a bit, as Steve leaves. “I’m gonna check my phone real quick,” you offer. He gestures for you to go ahead and watches as you drag it from your back pocket.

“Hey, Bucky!” You hear someone call. Light and airy, like a goddess. You lift your head from the lock screen to see a gorgeous blonde, approaching. Legs looking extra long in her leggings and heels.

“Hey, Lindsey,” You don’t like the twitchy nature she inspires in Bucky. His hand twitches by your shoulder, like he almost dragged it away as he moved to sit up straighter. Apparently he thinks twice about this move and sinks into a more natural position. She’s not even looking at him as she struts toward the chair on the other side of him.

A little voice nags in your head. They have history. You can see in the way he tries to act nonchalant. If you hadn’t seen that nervous (or eager, you can’t quite tell) shift, then you wouldn’t be able to tell. He keeps his voice even and his eyes never waver. You admired him silently for being able to hold his nervousness at bay like this.

“Who’s your little friend?” She smiles sweetly, a perfect facade to her real intentions. You briefly wondered if she was being sincere but the wording made your brain stutter with hesitation.

Bucky took a short intake of breath that you could feel against his shoulder as he switched from lounging next to you, to tucking you against his ribs. His expression chilled to something akin to the one he gave Brock downstairs. “What do you want?” He rumbles, voice still even. Her face flutters a bit, not expecting his reaction.

“Wha- excuse you? I was being polite!”

“No, you’re being passive aggressive. What do you want?” Her expression sours from offence.

“I came by to talk to you, James,” she hisses the name and it only makes him roll his eyes at her. “Rumlow said she’s your cousin. Looking a little comfortable there to be a cousin.”

“You always listen to what Rumlow says, Linz?” He didn’t bat an eyelash even though you were squirming uncomfortably. She turns her eyes on you, they burn into your soul.

“Can you give us a minute, hon? You’re kind of intruding on a private conversation.” Her hand drifts closer, reaching toward Bucky’s knee.

“Me?” You squeak. You wish it’d been hissed out but your lack of confrontation, shoved you down. Never in your life had you felt so offended. Were there really girls like this still?

Bucky’s hand tightens over your shoulder and his ankle slips from his knee. He doesn’t hide the fact that he’s sitting straighter now as you’re practically crushed to his side. His hand would be more exciting if the pettiness you feel rising in you wasn’t so raw. “Yes, you.”

“No, not her,” Bucky rumbles low. “She’s not going anywhere if she doesn’t want to.” To spite her, you deliberately bite back nervousness and place a hand on his thigh, near his knee. You hope it looks natural enough. You think it does as her hand falls away from where it hung in the air.

“I don’t want to,” you promise, your voice still soft. You cannot believe you’re being this bold.

“This is between us!”

“She was here first.”

“Fine,” she sighs, and moves. She turns towards Bucky more. It sends a bolt of unease through you. “James, I wanted to talk about getting back together with you. Don’t tell me you don’t want to, too.”

“Lindsey,” he states, and for a moment, you fear he will cave. His arms draw away from you, he leans close to her. “After this, you can go fuck yourself.” He says softly. Too softly. He’s mocking her. A little thrill floats through you. Amazed at how good this felt. She shoots a shocked look at him. Then you. Then she became furious.

“JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES! YOU’RE A FUCKING PIG!” She squeals in absolute outrage. As she flies to her feet. He tilts back against the cushions, expression ever cool. You couldn’t read him at all. “I’M SO SICK OF YOU TREATING ME LIKE SHIT! SHE’S LIKE FIFTEEN! THERE IS NO WAY SHE’S FUCKING LEGAL!” She twists towards you and on reflex you snatch up Bucky’s hand and squeeze tight. “Don’t worry, he’ll break your heart and leave you just like the rest of us, sweetie.”

“That’s nice,” you manage to squeak. She fumes, deciding to storm away, you hear her as she flies down the stairs, screeching insults along the way. “Wow,” you whisper to Bucky, flushing from the onlookers. Your savior snorts and bursts into laughter.

“Sorry about her,” he chuckles. “Guess we're even now, kiddo.”

“Does that mean I have to leave now?” You ask.

“No! No, you can stay as long as you want.” He shoots you a beaming smile.

“There won’t be any more exes, right?” You ask, only half joking. The mechanic throws his arm over your shoulder and tugs you against him, ruffling your hair playfully.

“Don’t worry, (Y/N). I’ve got your back. You’re too pure to let anyone bully you but me.” You peek up at your new crush in surprise.

“Yeah, but wait until the rumor mill gets ahold of the fact that we’re cousins and lovers,” you shoot back.

“Ah, fuck ‘em. Haven’t you heard, incest is in right now.” And his wink flutters your heart even as his words disgust you. This reminds you vaguely of the uncomfortable crush you had as a child on a distant cousin. The crush that you only ever spoke of once to Peter… when you were drunk. This crush would never be more than that, but for now, you’d let Bucky tug you a little closer than necessary, forgetting to check your phone all together.

tagging: @tomisbaeholland

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #college au #bucky au #avengers #the avengers #avengers au #modern #bucky x you #bucky/you #bucky/reader

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