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hyperfixiation-station · 2 months

Note

Hi!!

I am totally obsessed with your fics!!! Your writing 🤌💕

I just wanted to request a fic where the reader is new to the task force but she's experienced and tough. Vibez similar to Ghost to elaborate she's more scary than Ghost cuz of her past maybe she was experimented on or trained brutally....

Reader is working hard to prove herself even if everyone knows she's the most lethal person. So one time she gets injured badly while protecting someone from the 141( probably Ghost 👉👈) and she wakes up has an emotional moment Ghost comes know about her Trauma . More like hurt/comfort....

Happy Writing 💝

Guilt-Tripped

CW: Mentions/references of kidnapping, torture, canon typical violenece Part 2, Part 3 Hiii Anon!! First off, thank you! Secondly, I am so, so, so sorry for how long this took😭 I did make this a two parter, the first part is kinda like backstoryish and the second part will be the actual story. I was gonna wait until I finished both to post but you have been waiting for way to long so I'll give you the first part now instead of waiting, again I am so sorry! I hope you like it :)) Summary: F!Reader was a part of a special program(LMK if you can guess what it is) and once she was released she joined the military.

WC: 1467 As always, I didn't proof read so lmk if there are any mistakes :3

Life had not been kind to you. Ripped from your family at a very young age, you had never known the type of love and safety a nurturing home could provide. Instead, you grew up in the confines of a Russian base, with cruel instructors and a dwindling group of girls as your only companions.

From the moment you could walk, you had been told you were a weapon. A lethal force to be honed and trained, nothing more than a tool for others to use to further their games. Brainwashed, tortured, and trained into submission, a perfect puppet. Both your brain and body were sculpted into absolute perfection, a rigorous process most people did not survive. By day, they trained to be a lethal force, an unstoppable, unnoticeable, killing machine. At night, you were handcuffed to your bed, listening to the screams of students who did not make the cut.(to this day you sleep handcuffed)

You watched, at first in horror, then with a sense of detachment, as your friendsrivals bit the dust, unable to keep up with what the program demanded of them. It got better as you got older, less girls died from their tasks. But in some ways it got worse. It was a competition now, a fight to see who would remain victorious, to see who would come out on top. It was not a place for friendship and comradery, and you learned that quickly.

You stopped trying to make friends with the other students when you were forced to shoot your best friend in the head after giving her some of your dinner when she was being punished. You were 8. And you stopped trying to even just be friendly with the other girls at 10 years old, when the instructor broke every bone in your hands after your bunkmate framed you for something you didn't do. To this day your hands are not the same, always hurting and forever scarred.

Your world was kill or be killed, and you'd be dammed if you didn't come out on top.

And come out on top you did. You graduated top of your class, a position you had fought and killed for, won through bloodshed and pain. If you had a conscience, it would have been screaming at you for the things you had done to get to the top(You laid awake every night consumed by guilt and grief)

The program was disbanded(re: destroyed) when you hit 18, just two weeks after your 'graduation'. You were given two options: Join the American military, or face a life sentence in prison.

You had a lifetime of sins to atone for, and knew there was only one way to even begin to ease your guilt. Two days later your background was sealed up and you were shipped off to boot camp.

And you excelled. This was nothing to you. What was a six mile run when you used to run until you passed out, then wake up and keep going? What was surviving on four hours of sleep when sleep deprivation had been the norm your whole life? What was any of this compared to what you had been forced to do everyday since you were five?

You scared your instructors. And the other recruits. And everyone else you came into contact with. And you were fine with that. You didn't like when people got close to you anyhow.

Love got you nowhere in the world. It was a lesson you learned hard and fast. You did not care for others, they did not care for you. And you liked it that way. Until you met the 141.

A woman named General Laswell came to you one day with a job offer. Well, not a job offer exactly, but more of a…transfer of positions. A small, (mostly)four-man team that she oversaw.

You had gotten disciplined for beating the ever-loving shit out of a recruit the week before, and Laswell had watched it all unfold. She went back to her office, read your full file, and decided you would make a good fit for John's team.

You took a look at your bunk, at the trunk that held zero worldly possessions, realized there is nothing for you here, and said yes.

Price had not wanted a new recruit, and told Laswell as much. She simply said he had a penchant for picking up strays and left your file on his desk. It took him a week to actually get curious enough to read it. A paper copy, the only one in existence that had your full, undisclosed background. He pretended he didn’t see her smug grin when he hit accept on your transfer application.

You had been trained since youth to fight and to kill, yes, but your true purpose was espionage. You were trained to study those around you, to lie, to mold yourself to the expectations of those around you. You excelled at fitting into your surroundings, at assimilating perfectly with your peers. It was all you were good for, in your opinion. So you asked Laswell for files on your new teammates. And she gave them to you. They were full of gaping holes and redacted information, but there was enough there for you to profile them.

Soap would be the most receptive to you. He most likely would also be the one to not give up in trying to get you to be open with them. Gaz would be receptive as well, but you know that your sealed background would put him on edge, Ghost, well…Ghost was a lot like you from what you could piece together. Yet another person who learned that the world was cruel and unforgiving, who had learned the lesson that love does nothing but hurt. And because he was like you, you knew he would trust you the least.

You felt a small pang in your chest when looking at this masked photo that you hadn’t felt in years. Not quite sadness, but…pity? No. It was different, it was sympathy. It weirded you out.

It was hard at first, joining the 141. You had court-mandated therapy you had had to attend, and you had slowly come to realize that some trust was good, necessary even, for life. You knew you wouldn’t be able to open yourself up to them, that you would never be able to feel the sense of brotherhood you had seen amongst other soldiers, but you wanted to try.

It was harder than you thought it would be. Hard joining men who already had comradery, who had a bond that had been forged with blood, sweat, and tears. men who weren't sure how to fit another person, much less a female, into their group.

As you suspected, Soap was the most receptive. He was fun, you thought. His Scottish accent and affinity for filling the silence made him a very pleasant conversationalist. You didn’t have to do any of the talking.

Gaz was wary of you, but did a good job of not showing it. As you suspected, he stopped inviting you out after you said ‘no thanks’ for the third time.

Ghost didn’t like you. You could see it in the slight tensing of his muscles when you walked in the room, the way his eyes pinched when you spoke.

It was a rough, rocky start, full of distrust and misunderstandings. Everything about you set his senses on high alert. They way you could sneak up on him completely silent, the way you could hold your own when you sparred with him, even the way you moved had his hair standing on end. It wasn’t until a mission that would have ended with Soap's death if you hadn’t risked your life to shove him out of the way that Ghost began to trust you.

And then he began to notice something else about you. And the more he noticed, the more concerned he grew. He noticed the way you threw yourself into battle, what little regard you held for your own life. He noticed how you never instigated conversation, never gave away the slightest bit of information that could be used against you. Noticed that you always wore gloves. In fact, he's never once seen your hands.

His constant observations of you had an unintended side effect. The longer he watched you, the more he realized you were a lot like him, the more he was drawn to you. And vice-versa.

You found yourself willfully seeking Ghost out, willingly sharing information with him. Nothing about your past, no, you would never tell anyone the things you had done. But little things, how you liked the food served this week, how your mission went, that your new pants were really itchy. And he told you things too. Told you really bad jokes, told you Soaps stupid Scottish saying of the week. And slowly you branched out, agreeing to go to the bar the next time Soap asked you, telling Gaz that you liked his new sunglasses.

It was nice, having people who looked at you like you meant something to them. Having people who didn’t know what you’d done, people who didn’t look at you with disgust and distrust. It was nice to have…friends.

So of course everything had to go downhill from there.

End scene :3 let me know what you think!!6 and be on the look out for pt.2, I hope you're ready for a buttload of angst >:) Also requests are open <3

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noxturnalpascal · 8 months

Text

The Hunted

SerialKiller!Joel x F!Reader (8.2k)

DARKAU! POV will switch between Joel and Reader. This is dark compared to anything I’ve ever written before. I am a spooky girlie at heart and I wanted to give this idea some legs. If it’s not your thing, that’s okay. Spooky Halloween everyone!

Summary: This Ken is a Ski Instructor. This Ken is a Veterinarian. Well, this Joel is a Serial Killer. The canon Joel is actually kind of a serial killer too, if you think about it. But this version is No-Outbreak, 56-years old, and a Violent, Deranged, Serial Killing Loner. When a new victim practically falls in his lap, he doesn’t take the time to see that she could be his undoing.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI. This is a little dark (for me). Murder, Dead Bodies, Sex, Kidnapping, Bondage, DubCon (they want it but they’re tied to a chair), creampie, blood, violence, semen, crime scenes.

A/N: This is: creepy plot with porn at the end. It’s my first posted tumblr story. Spooky Season is upon us!! Please be nice 💜

He’s been enjoying the silence of the cabin in the woods all afternoon. The only sounds surrounding him have been the soft bird songs and din of cicadas drifting through the open window from the outside, and the rustling of his own body moving about the small rooms inside.

The sound catches him so off guard, that at first he looks around the inside of the cabin, trying to figure out where the hum could be emanating from. The cabin is not hooked up to electric, so what could be making that sound? Then he realizes it's coming from outside. He looks out the windows and sees a figure hunched in the bushes, a stone’s throw away from his front door.

He steps to the front door and quietly opens it, watching her at the wood’s edge. It’s definitely a woman, he can tell by the double braids winding down the back of her head, ending in pigtails. She is wearing dark wash blue jeans, a green jacket, and has on a rust-colored backpack. He can hear her humming even clearer now, the melody traversing the short distance to his ears.

He watches as she stays hunched over, reaching into the bushes and rustling the leaves. Nearly a minute passes before she finally stands, wiping her hands off on her thighs. He notices a small wooden bowl at her feet, stuffed full with berries. She is sucking on her fingertips, stained a light purple, when she turns and meets his eyes.

“Oh!,” she says, startled by his presence. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think anyone was in this ol’ thing.”

She gestures towards the cabin. She has a point. Even at first glance, the woods surrounding the cabin appear to be putting forth their best effort to reclaim it. The roof is covered in fallen leaves, moss and lichen cling to every surface, and the front steps - made of flattop logs - are sinking down, seeming to retreat back into the forest floor. And what he knows that she doesn't - yet? - is that the musty smell of the forest has permeated every square inch of the old log cabin’s interior, and everything inside of it.

He puts on his warmest smile, softening the way his eyes are squinted, and blinks slowly. “Yeah, she’s not much but she keeps me honest,” he says, and he notices the way her body relaxes at his gentle, comforting tone.

“I’m guessin’ I’ve wandered too far. Sorry, I didn’t notice any signs posted.” The gentle lilt of her southern accent hits his ears like a sweet melody.

“Yeah, state land ends at the treeline at the bottom ‘a that hill,” he gestures to the distance, her gaze following where he points. “But I don’t shoot or bite or nothin’, so don’t worry about steppin’ on my property,” he chuckles. He can see her continuing to relax under his welcoming reception.

“I appreciate that. I’ve got one ‘a those little vans in the clearing down there, ‘n I expected more people to be around if I’m being honest.”

He notices she’s said I, not we.

“It’s gettin’ the end of camping season, so there’s fewer ‘n fewer out here, I think,” he waves his hand, hoping to convey how little he even notices the campers on the adjacent land.

“Well I’m sorry about stealin’ your berries. You want ‘em?” and she takes a few steps forward, closing the gap between them, holding the small bowl in her outstretched arms.

The pigtails make her look young. So does the innocence in her eyes, which are partially hidden behind her thick-framed glasses. She stops short of the steps, still about six feet away now, still holding out the bowl.

“No, ‘course not,” he gives her a sideways grin. “Those were gonna get eaten by birds before they got eaten by me. You enjoy ‘em little bird.” His guts twist at the smile that breaks out on her face. The way she looks down, almost bashful.

She turns to walk away and then stops, turning back to look at him. He watches her as she gives the outside of the deteriorating cabin another once-over, and then looks him up and down. “Can I ask you somethin’?” and before he can even respond, she continues. “Is it safe around here?”

His stomach clenches. He gently furrows his brows, “yeah, sure it is, why?”

“I’ve heard a couple things recently about people going missin’. Hikers and campers near here,” she gestures in a circular motion with her finger. “You heard anything about that?”

She is worried. He can tell because she looks worried. God, every emotion she has is playing across her face right now. He can read her like a book. She is so vulnerable. She’s a young woman camping all alone in the woods and she is worried. She should be.

“I haven’t heard anything myself, no. But that happens every year. People underestimate it.”

“Underestimate what?” she interjects, her doe eyes scanning his face.

“Nature,” he replies, and now he gestures around with his finger.

He gives her another soft smile and blinks his eyes slowly. She lets a genuine grin break through her worried features and she nods, taking in his response.

“I wouldn’t worry too much, there’s no one out here to cause ya trouble,” he offers, hoping she notes that he is clearly not a danger. “Besides, if anything happens, you can come back here.”

This time her smile falters a bit. He’s pushed too far. She’s worried. She’s alone. She’s not looking to seek refuge in a stranger’s cabin. He backtracks.

“I’m sure the worst thing that’s gonna happen is ya find a spider in your van,” he continues, “But please don’t come back here for that!”

He gives a low chuckle and is glad to see she does the same, good humor returning to her now relaxing face. She gestures to the bowl of berries and flashes a toothy-smile as a thanks, before turning to retreat down the hill. He hears her call out a goodbye after she turns and he calls one back in response.

He goes back inside and finishes watching her leave until the trees hide her departing figure. He has about seven more hours until dark fully takes hold. Seven more hours until he can seek her out in the clearing with the safe knowledge of remaining undetected. Plenty of time for him to finish prepping the cabin and get himself some dinner.

*****

He thinks he might be getting too old for this. His lower back is aching, his thighs are on fire, and he’s had a stabbing pain in his neck for the last twenty minutes; all due to the fact that he has been hunched against this tree for over an hour. Usually he wouldn’t still be here. He’d have made some observations, taken some mental notes, and planned for additional reconnaissance later on.

But he doesn’t know how long you’re going to be here. You haven’t unpacked anything - not even a folding chair - to indicate that your campsite setup will be anything more than a one-night stay. If you’re gone tomorrow and he has missed his opportunity, he’ll regret leaving now. He has spent the last eight hours thinking about nothing but you.

He’s thought about the way your delicate lips wrapped around your fingertips and the gentle melody you hummed before you knew he was there. He has thought about the kind way you offered him the berries you picked and the way your jeans hugged your ass as you sauntered away. What would your eyes look like if he took your glasses off, if he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, if he wrapped his big hands around your delicate throat?

No, he has to do it tonight. He can’t wait any longer.

Your van is all black. Besides the windshield, there are windows only at the two front seats and the rear double doors. However, you have all the windows covered with blackout panels. Smart. You’re a young woman camping alone, keeping your privacy is a smart thing to do. And keeping peeping eyes out of your space is probably important to you.

You’ve been playing music inside the entire time, though he doesn’t recognize any of the songs. Sometimes he thinks he can hear you humming along. He imagines you’re eating the berries you picked from the bushes outside his cabin. Maybe you’ve changed into more comfortable clothing, maybe you’re sitting on your bed, maybe you’re reading a book. Maybe you’re even thinking about him. He tried not to make an impression earlier but part of him hopes he did.

He really can’t wait any longer.

He moves slowly, not just because his body is quite literally creaking, but because he has to keep his head on a swivel and continue to make sure there are no eyes watching him. He makes his way towards the van, choosing his steps carefully. His head moves back and forth, checking in front of and behind him, watching for any movement. The night is so quiet all he hears is the gentle wind rustling the tall grass and the constant cricket song.

He finally reaches the side door of the van. The music inside is louder from here but he still doesn’t recognize the song. He pats his pockets, obsessively triple-checking he has the supplies he’ll need. He pulls a small tool out of his shirt pocket and sticks it in the door lock. He feels rather than hears the soft click that he knows means he now has full access to you.

He puts his hand on the door handle and inhales a breath, holding it with full lungs. He closes his eyes and imagines what he’ll see when he opens the door, warm light spilling onto him from the inside. What will you be wearing? Will you look excited to see him? Frightened? Will you scream?

“Hey there little bird,” he says quietly as he throws the door open. Confusion falls across his face. He looks down onto the floor of the van, where a single bluetooth speaker sits, still playing music. The single overhead light from the van’s interior barely illuminates the inside, but it doesn’t matter, since there isn’t anything to see.

The inside of the van isn’t a camper. It’s an empty utility van. There are no seats and no wall panels. In fact, the entire inside of the van is covered in thick plastic sheeting, which vibrates a strange buzz from the reverberation of the bluetooth speaker.

He has barely taken it all in when he feels a pinch in his neck. He grabs at it with his hand but there is nothing there and before he can react further, everything goes black.

*****

You hear a couple deep breaths and then some grunting. Maybe this means he’s finally waking up. You walk around in front of where he sits bound naked to a chair, and bend over, hands on your knees, face close to his, cooing gently for him to wake up sleepyhead.

Standing up straight, you watch as he slowly opens his eyes, bit by bit, working to focus. He is blinking long, slow blinks, and his eyes raise to your face. His pupils start going big and then small, his eyes start rapidly blinking as his swirling thoughts begin to come back to him.

Then you see it - recognition.

He crinkles his brows, the crease between them going so deep. His mouth begins to form a question but only a short, dry croak comes out. You can’t help yourself, you laugh at him. A quiet, melodic chuckle.

“Sorry, I think I gave you too much back there,” with two fingers you brush some hair off his forehead that has fallen forward. “I thought you were fatter under all these clothes, but you’re doing alright for yerself there.”

His eyes fall to your shirt - well, his shirt - and then to his own lap. He’s just realizing he’s naked. Then his eyes trail back up your body as he takes in the fact that you’re wearing all of the clothes you stripped off him.

His mouth opens again but you don’t let him even try to speak this time. You grab his face and his eyes snap to meet yours. “Remember when I asked if you knew anything about those campers and hikers goin’ missing?” You drop your hand from his face and step to the side to reveal a folding table set up behind you. Along the table you have laid an array of different souvenirs he had plucked from his victims.

“You told me you didn’t know anything,” you continue, as you watch his eyes grow larger as they rake across the table, taking in the items he had hidden away in his cabin. “But honey, I think you know a lot more than you said you did.”

His eyes slowly come back to yours and you can’t hide the smile you now have plastered across your face. “I don’t-” he starts. You quickly shove your finger overtop his mouth in a shush motion.

“Don’t even try that honey, we’re way past denial now. I already found all yer little trophies.”

Now he flexes in the chair. Your finger drags down his neck and across his shoulder as you walk around the chair, circling him. You watch him continue to strain, testing the ropes, checking to see for himself if you knew what you were doing when you tied him to the chair. You did.

“So what is this?” he mutters, “One a’ them yer friend? Your brother or sister or somethin’?” He continues to push against the unforgiving ropes. “This some kinda revenge plot you got brewin’?”

You can’t help it, you laugh again. “Oh honey, is that what you think?” You place your finger at the top of his forehead and slowly run it down his face, “You think you’ve hurt me?” over his nose, “Think I’m your victim?” over his lips, stopping on his chin. You lean in and ghost your lips right over his. “I’m not your victim honey,” you whisper against his lips, “you’re mine,” pressing into him with a kiss.

You stand up and take a step back. “I know what you are. I know exactly what you are because I’m the same. Well, almost the same,” and you laugh again, breaking eye contact. “When I was young, my adoptive father recognized it in me n’ taught me how to direct it. He called it my dark passenger and I-”

“Y-yer what?” he interrupts.

“What?” You’re back to looking him in his eyes.

“Did you say your dark passenger?” He looks past the folding table strewn with his trophies and sees the ‘camper van’ parked with the side door still wide open, inside still covered with plastic sheeting. “Dark passen- isn’t that from that fuckin’ TV show? Dexter?”

“What the fu-,” you slap your arms against your thighs in frustration. “Don’t tell me you get fuckin’ Showtime in that piece a shit cabin. There wasn’t even a fuckin’ TV in that shithole.”

“Well I don’t fuckin’ live there sweetheart that’s just where I-” he stops short but just rolls his eyes at you. Then he gives you a look like he’s embarrassed for you.

“Oh well excuse me for wantin’ to add a little flair to this situation!” you yell out to the ceiling. “I guess we can’t have any fuckin’ fun around here.”

“So what’re you gonna do now Dex, chop me up and take me out to the ocean?” a cocky fucking grin settles on his face..

“Jesus Christ what’d you watch the whole fuckin’ series?” You look down at his smug face. He thinks he has the upper hand again. This motherfucker. Naked. Tied to a chair. Still thinks he’s smarter than you.

“You know how much fuckin’ work it’d be to chop your fat ass up?” and you watch his grin get wiped off his face. “Think I’m gonna take the time to dismember you? You? I could leave you just like this in a shallow ditch ‘n not one person would even miss you honey.”

“Then whatcha’ fuckin’ waitin’ for, huh?” He snarls, his smugness gone. “Get it over with, let’s go.”

You walk behind him and grab a second chair, dragging it noisily across the floor until it’s parallel to his own chair but facing the other way. You plop down in the chair and lean closer to him.

“I really don’t know how you’re still not gettin’ it,” you say quietly. You drag your finger along the ropes across the front of his chest as he lowers his chin to watch you. “But you are not in charge here.” He lifts his head and his hard eyes meet yours.

“Now… I’m gonna ask you some questions and you’re gonna answer me honestly.”

“And why would I fuckin’ do that?” he says calmly, quietly.

“Cuz otherwise I’m gonna call 9-1-1 right now. When they get here they’ll see I’ve done all their work for ‘em.” you hitch your thumb back to point it towards the table behind you. He sighs a deep breath and - growls? - under his breath.

You point to the table again and ask, “How do you choose your victims?” He shakes his head, tries to shift in his chair but the ropes are tied too tight to allow for much movement. You really do know what you’re doing. He still doesn’t seem to believe it, flexing his arms and chest against the ropes yet again.

“I don’t.” You give him a beat to add more to the sentence but he just stares at you with black eyes, mouth closed and tight-lipped.

“You’re gonna have to do a little better n’ that honey,” you gently coo. He suppresses another growl. You can tell that your little nickname for him is finally starting to grate on his nerves.

“That’s my answer,” he grumbles, refusing to elaborate, staring ahead at the folding table.

“Okay hun, no problem,” you reply as you lean forward and pull a cell phone out of your back pocket. You punch in the lock code and begin to dial. You type in 9 and you see him watching you out of the corner of your eye. You quickly type in the 1 and then hover your finger over the button, ready to repeat the motion. You pause and look up, meeting his eyes.

“You wanna call my bluff or you wanna start talkin’?” and then you smile as you hear jesus fuckin’ christ muttered under his breath and watch him spend some more time straining against the ropes. “Get it over with, let’s go,” you repeat his words back to him in a bad impression of his gruff voice. His scowl deepens.

“I don’t,” he repeats. “I don’t choose ‘em.” He sighs, and you open your mouth to protest that he’s still holding back but before you can speak he continues, “I just take what’s there.”

“You don’t have a type?”

“You seem to know everythin’, look at ‘em,” he nods towards the table where you have placed cut out photos from the missing posters next to the trinkets you found in his cabin. “Does it look like I have a type?” You remember the photos of men and women from all backgrounds on that table.

“So you just take whatever… whoever you can get?”

“Easier that way. Don’t have to go findin’ something specific.” He’s not making eye contact anymore, even though you have leaned in so far your faces are just inches apart. “Less suspicious that way too. Looks less like one person is pickin’ ‘em all off.” He shrugs, then quiets.

You lean back in your chair now, thinking over what he’s said. He’s been doing this for years. You could connect some of his souvenirs to known missing people but he had more items stuffed in his floorboards than you had pictures. So who knows how high his number really is.

“Is that all of ‘em?” nodding your head back towards the table again. His head is still down, seemingly very interested in a freckle on his left thigh. But you see a smile tug at one side of his mouth. He tries to hide it before you can see but it’s too late.

“Yeah,” he lies, unconvincingly. He doesn’t see you roll your eyes. God he’s shit at lying.

You raise the phone up and wave it in front of his face, showing the 9-1 still dialed in. “Is that your final answer, honey?” He lets out a big sigh, like you’ve spoiled his fun. That’s right, we can’t have any fun around here, can we?

“Not exactly,” he grumbles. “Camping season is short ‘round here. Winter comes on quick. I have somewhere else I go sometimes,” he vaguely adds. He doesn’t elaborate further.

“Do you have sex with ‘em before or after you kill ‘em?” you ask, not even taking time to absorb his previous answer. His head snaps up to yours, his eyes wide.

“What?”

“Do you have se-”

“I don’t fuckin’ do that,” he spits, face contorted in disgust.

“Yeahhhh. But that’s what they all say. And, spoiler alert,” your voice goes high and teasing, “they ALL do it.” His face is still tight, mouth curled into a frown.

“Well I fuckin’ don’t,” he looks back down at the freckle on his thigh, continuing to curse under his breath how disgusting you are for asking. “Killin’ doesn’t get me hard,” he snarls.

“Oh honey, I don’t know why you’re goin’ all shy on me now,” you coo, he’s still looking down, shaking his head now. “I’ve been in your little hidey-hole, ya know. It smells like fuckin’ loam ‘n body odor. I took a black light. That place is truly fuckin’ disgusting.” You adjust your glasses on your nose and continue, “I didn’t find a single cleaning product in the whole place. And now you’re gonna act like you’re not in there sprayin’ blood and cum all over the walls?” He doesn’t raise his head but his eyes meet yours under his eyebrows to scowl at you. You lean in till your noses almost touch. “A black light,” you repeat.

“That’s a huntin’ cabin sweetheart, and it wasn’t always mine. So I can’t tell you what yer little black light saw but it wasn’t me doin’ - that - with any ‘a them,” he nods to the table.

Now you consider what he’s said and decide if you believe him or not. He’s a terrible liar, right? Maybe. Or maybe he’s just been playing you this entire time. You don’t give a shit that he’s a murderer. Anyone would murder under the right circumstances. But sexual assault? That’s a line you’d never cross. In fact, most of the men you’ve killed have been guilty of it themselves. Pigs, all of them, who’d stick their dicks anywhere for a moment of pleasure. They deserved what they got. Is this guy one of them?

“Well like I said, that’s what they all say, n-”

He interrupts, muttering jesus fuckin’ christ again, and more curses follow in whispers. “Is there fuckin’ evidence that I did any ‘a that? Any… sexual assault?” he spits the last two words out with particular venom, speaking the term for the first time.

“You’re askin’ if there’s any evidence on the months-old decomposing body parts found half-eaten in the woods?” You poke the freckle on his thigh he’s been seemingly obsessed with. “Surprisingly, no, there was not any evidence of sexual assault found.”

“Well then, there ya go,” he grunts out, as if that settles it. He clearly doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. You can’t tell if it’s from shame, discomfort, or disgust. He’s doing a good job pretending it’s disgust. Is he pretending?

You try to ask another question but he is done talking. He won’t look up from his lap now. You even hold up the cell phone again but he doesn’t flinch. He knows by now you’re not going to dial the police. He’s shut down. So you get up and pull your chair away, disappearing behind him for a moment.

When you come back in front of him you sit on his lap, facing him, straddling his legs with yours. He looks up at you with cautious eyes and opens his mouth to say something - but say what you’re not sure. When he feels the sharp poke just under his ribs he stops short. He looks down and sees the 5” knife you have pressed into the soft spot where his sternum ends.

“I guess it’s time then, honey,” you hum. The hand not holding the knife traces the side of his face. He looks almost sad for one singular moment before his eyes turn hard and all the muscles in his face pull tight.

“If ya expect me to beg, you’re wastin’ yer time.” His pupils are blown wide. “Just do it.”

“How about you stop bein’ so bossy on our first date?” You lean in and kiss him on the nose, then the right cheek, then the left cheek. “Well….. Our last date,” and you kiss him on the mouth.

You press your lips hard into his and wait. When he doesn’t relent you take your free hand and squeeze his cheeks, hard, forcing his mouth open. Risking him biting your tongue, you push it into his mouth. Your gamble pays off when he doesn’t bite but instead pushes his tongue back and forth along the length of yours.

You wrap your free arm around his shoulders, bracing yourself and grinding your body down into his naked lap. You press your chest into his as your hand moves to the back of his head and fists in his wild curls. You continue kissing him, tongues wrapping around each other, lips moving sloppily across each other’s mouths.

You move your wet kisses down his jaw, mouthing at the patches in his graying, scruffy beard. You grab a handful of his hair and squeeze your fist, tugging gently at the roots. He grits his teeth and groans, attempting to buck his hips up.

Of course he can’t move against the restraints, but you grind down again, and you can finally feel that he’s gotten hard through the baggy jeans you’re still wearing. You let a low chuckle slip out.

“I thought killin’ didn’t get you hard,” you smile against his mouth.

“Who am I killin’?” he mutters, still simmering with anger at the topic.

Oh yeah, you giggle, your breath ghosting across his neck. “I guess I’m the one who it’s gettin’ hard,” you whisper.

You can’t help it. The anticipation of the kill is thrumming through your veins. It’s always like this, the energy, the electricity. Killing makes you feel more alive. You usually aren’t making out with them though. Never, in fact. This time feels different. You’re not sure why.

You lick a stripe up his neck, rolling your hips over his hardened length, and now he bites, nipping gently at your jaw. You squirm and the knife pokes harder into his abdomen. He inhales a sharp breath through his nose at the contact. You silence any additional protest by kissing him hard on the mouth again.

You pull back, face flushed and panting. He is looking at you with wild eyes and puffy lips, his hair pulled at strange angles from your hands running through it. Do you want to fuck this guy? You just brought him here to kill him but now you think you want to fuck him. This is a morally gray area. He’s bound to a chair and you have a knife at his ribs. Can he consent?

“Why’d ya stop?” he huffs out, bringing your attention back to him. “Are we doin’ this or what?”

“It feels kinda fucked up,” you say meekly, the first time he’s seeing any hesitation from you. You look down, twirling the knife against the rope crossing his chest. “It’s not gonna change my mind ‘bout what happens here ya know.”

“I didn’t say it would,” he says quietly, and you look back into his eyes. His eyes are dark, like fresh brewed coffee. They’d be kinda nice if they weren’t about to be on a dead guy.

“You…. you want this?”

“Why not?” he immediately answers.

“Because I’m gonna kill you after,” and even though you’re sure he doesn’t need the reminder, you poke him lightly in the ribs with the knife again, leaving a little red dot from the tip. He doesn’t react this time. He just lets a small smile ghost across his face and his eyes soften as they land on yours.

“What a way to go.”

It’s all you need to hear. You get up and uncinch the belt that is the only thing holding his pants up around your waist. As soon as it’s loosened, the pants fall to the floor, the belt buckle tinkling as it hits the concrete. You’re not wearing any underwear but the view of your cunt is obstructed by the long flannel shirt draped over you.

You take the knife and stick it in the edge of the shirt about breast-high, just above where you have the first button done up. You slowly drag the knife down the placket, cutting each button off easily with the very sharp blade. The buttons clatter to the floor one by one and when you’ve reached the last one, the shirt opens up a bit.

It’s just enough to see the valley between your breasts, a line of your soft stomach, the patch of hair on your mound, and your pink folds peeking out between your legs. You watch him looking you up and down, devouring the sight of you. His brown eyes now black with hunger. Now you can finally take the time to admire his body.

Yes you had stripped him naked and then tied him to the chair. The whole process had taken nearly thirty minutes. Your hands had been all over him, this grown man you had to maneuver while he was unconscious. But that wasn’t about sex. That was just a body. And you’ve had your hands on plenty of bodies. It’s not sexual.

But now…. now you can really admire him. He has a long and muscular neck, a broad chest, and freckle-dotted shoulders with strong muscles that continue down his thick arms. He isn’t very hairy but he does have soft arm hair, a little chest hair, and a trail of hair that starts beneath his belly button and continues down to a large patch around his cock.

His cock. Now you can appreciate what you were feeling on his lap. Why does it look so good? Cocks shouldn’t look this good. It’s fully hard, leaking precum and leaning against his stomach, his balls pulled tight at the bottom. You’re surprised to notice his pubic hair isn’t growing wild, it looks as if it was trimmed but has grown out a bit. His cock is both a little larger and a little thicker than what you know to be average. It’s not the biggest you’ve ever seen but that’s alright. In this context you aren’t looking for something that’s going to destroy you. You need to be able to walk later, you’ll have a body to dispose of.

You look back at his face and his eyes are meeting yours. You wonder if he can see the same hunger in your eyes that you saw in his. He’s smiling again but this time it’s not the same cocky grin as before, this one is genuine and filled with excitement. Your heart is pounding. You feel intoxicated. Is this the thrill of the kill or the sex?

Double ropes make an X across his chest, fastening his torso tight to the back of the chair. His arms and wrists are also bound to the back of the chair, causing his arms to be extended stiff at his sides, hands dangling towards the ground. Another X of the double rope crosses his thighs, attaching him to the seat of the chair, and his ankles are tied to the chair’s front legs.

You consider for one brief moment if untying any part of him would increase your enjoyment but quickly decide that’s not a good idea. Even if you might want his hands on your body, if you find them on your throat, it could all get very messy very quickly.

You give your shoulders a slight shrug and his flannel begins to fall off your shoulders, brushing down your arms as it falls to the ground. Now you stand before him completely bare. You don’t miss the fuuuck he silently mouths. Jesus christ what is this guy doing to you? You swear you just felt your clit twitch.

It is now obvious more than ever the effect he’s having on you, as your unobstructed cunt is so wet that the cool air hitting your thighs makes you realize you are a fucking sopping mess down there. Not wanting to wait any longer, you straddle his thighs again. This time you don’t put your legs on either side but rather rest your legs on top of his. Your feet rest inside of his thighs right under his balls and your ankles and shins lay on top of his thighs. This position is you going give you the best leverage to raise and lower yourself, since you know he can’t help with driving his cock into you.

You can see his arms straining against the ropes. By now he should have learned that they’re too tight for him to move but you think this might just be out of habit. He wants to touch your body, you can tell by the way he moves his head forward - the only thing he can freely move forward - and laps his tongue anywhere he can reach.

You grab his face with one hand and crash your mouth onto his, a mess of teeth and lips and tongues. With your other hand, which is still holding the knife, you carefully use two fingers to tilt his cockhead directly under you and you slowly sink down on it.

You both let out wanton moans into each other’s mouths at the sensation. You continue to press down until he’s seated all the way inside you, and then you pause to let your body adjust. He feels bigger than he looked. Maybe it’s been a while since you’ve been with anyone but this feels borderline painful. You don’t move up and down but rock forward and backwards ever so slightly, giving yourself some more time. He groans a little bit, maybe impatient but you don’t care, and you just smile against his mouth.

You feel your own wetness dripping out of you, down around him, and you feel like you’re ready to go. Pulling your face back from his, you look in each other’s eyes, almost tenderly. You put both hands on top of his shoulders, careful to have a good grip on the knife but not have it too close to his skin. You don’t want to be the one to do anything prematurely in this situation.

You start slowly at first, ignoring the quiet groans coming from him. He’s not whining but he doesn’t sound or look pleased with the pace you’ve set if the pained look on his face is any indication. You continue moving but grab his face to ask you good? The pained look immediately disappears from his face as his eyes snap open. He grunts and mutters a quiet it’s been awhile before he closes his eyes again, trying to focus.

“Don’t you end this early on me,” you warn. It’s a little funny to you when you realize that his punishment for doing that would be death. It shouldn’t be funny but it is. Probably because you’re fucked in the head. He barely reacts and just mutters I won’t between clenched teeth.

Your pace starts to pick up and you alternate between quite literally bouncing up and down on his cock, and grinding forwards and backwards on it. Each time you switch movements he lets out a strangled groan, clenching his eyes tighter. You can feel your orgasm start to build as a little ball of energy deep in your torso.

You picture what it would be like if he could put his hands on you. You take your own hands off his shoulders and run them up and down your thighs, careful to not let the blade hit either of your bodies. You run them across your stomach and up your ribcage, grabbing your breasts, the cold blade of the knife pressed against one of them. You cry out at the sensation and notice he has opened his eyes now and is watching you intently.

You throw your head back, squeezing your breasts, and bring two fingers to pinch each nipple until they’re over-sensitive and stinging. You look back down and watch his face, inches from your breasts, mesmerized. Without warning you shove one of them right into his mouth and he greedily accepts it, tonguing and biting your nipple.

You continue to move on his lap, driving his cock in and out, up and down, filling you up, hitting all the right spots inside of you. Your bodies are sliding against each other, lubricated by the sheen of sweat covering them. The sounds of your skin slapping echoes off the walls. The slurping noises of his mouth are turning you on even more. You can feel your orgasm now just below the surface. You know you’re close.

“I’m gonna come honey,” you moan. Jesus fuckin’ christ you hear him grunt beneath you, mouth still full of your breast.

You push yourself closer to him, pressed up against his chest, his mouth popping off your nipple. You wrap both arms around his neck and pull him tight, rutting hard and deep on his lap. It’s just there, so close. Then he latches his mouth onto your neck just below your jaw, and he sucks.

A white-hot release immediately hits your body, spreading from the core out. It hits you so hard that you actually scream. Your movements stutter and slow as you work through your orgasm, feeling your pussy contracting on his cock.

Seconds later you hear him against your neck, a long and drawn-out moan, as you feel him releasing repeatedly inside of you. You continue gentle rocking motions against him until you feel his cock still. His mouth is still against your neck, breathing heavy breaths in between curses of jesus fuckin’ christ, and holy shit.

You push yourself up off him using the leverage from your shins on his thighs just enough for him to slip out of you, your combined release dripping out onto his lap. You lay your head down on one of his shoulders, gently kissing his neck. At the other shoulder, your arm rests with the knife dragging up and down along where his carotid artery lies.

You sit like that for a while, both of you catching your breaths, getting your bearings back. You are vaguely aware of the mess on his lap you’ll have to clean up later. It’ll have to wait. You think that orgasm made you dizzy. You’re pretty sure your legs will be jell-o for a bit. You haven’t felt like this in a long time. Fucked out and cockdrunk.

He is the first to speak.

“Can I ask you a question?” he says tentatively, “before ya…. ya know.”

“You have a question for me?” you scoff, “I’m flattered,” which is true, even considering what you’ve just done.

“Were ya serious about doin’ this before? The killin’ part?”

“Well yeah, what makes ya think I wasn’t serious?” you lift your head to look him in the eyes just in time to see him roll his.

“Probably the part where ya pretended to be Dexter-” he starts.

“Oh my god I can’t wait till you stop breathin’ so I don’t have to hear about that again. I was just trying to- ya know what? Nevermind,” and you push the blade forward into his neck a little. It’s hard enough to pierce the skin. It draws a couple drops of blood but you’re mostly just teasing him, since you have no desire to clean five liters of blood off the floor of this rented garage. But you can’t help the thrill that shoots into your stomach at the way he clenches in fear.

His body relaxes after a few seconds when he realizes you haven’t pushed the knife in any further. He had clenched his eyes shut, not letting you see the panic in them. Now they flutter open and meet yours, barely able to focus, your faces are so close together.

“My question was somethin’ else,” he mutters, barely audible over the sound of your pounding heartbeat whooshing in your ears. You say nothing, just continue to stare at him wide-eyed, unblinking. “My question was… why. Why do ya do it?”

You are taken aback. Literally and figuratively. You physically pull back from him, resting on your heels back where his knees are. Your hands remain on his shoulders, one still clutching the knife against his neck. Someone is looking for the answer, you think to yourself. It’s almost sweet that he thinks you have it.

“I do it for the same reason you do it.” You scan his face, searching for that smug smile, waiting for deception to play across it, for something. For anything. It doesn’t come. He genuinely doesn’t know. “I do it because it fucking feels good, honey.”

He just keeps your gaze, nodding his head slowly as he takes in your answer. He doesn’t ask anything else or add to your answer. He’s just considering it. You get up off his lap and fold up the knife in your hand, dropping it on the floor on top of the discarded flannel. You walk behind him again and grab the pre-filled syringe you set up. This is the way you like to do things. Clean. Efficient. No stains or smells to deal with later.

You walk up behind him, standing so you are pressed to the back of the chair, his head resting against your bare stomach. You put your hands down on top of his shoulders, the syringe in your dominant hand tapping against his skin. He looks down at it and then tilts his head back to look up at you.

“Why me?” he asks. Not whiny, like most people are. Just a curiosity. Why him? Why did you pick him? Out of everyone in the world, why is it him? It’s almost romantic.

“I thought it’d be fun. I mean, it’s always fun. But I thought it’d be more fun than usual, huntin’ someone like me. Well, almost like me. I’m better at it,” and you tap the syringe against his clavicle a few times, “obviously.”

“Well you weren’t exactly playin’ fair, were ya sweetheart?” he says in an accusing tone.

“How do ya mean?” you ask, your eyes going wide, insulted by the implication. “You knew people would be lookin’ around and askin’ questions, maybe even the police.”

“Yeahhh,” he concedes, “but the police‘re idiots.” He keeps his eyes on you, watching you nod your head in agreement. “I didn’t think I was up against someone like you.” He pauses and then flashes you a cocky grin. “Someone smart.”

“Oh stop, now you’re just tryin’ to flatter me,” and you swat the syringe on his shoulder.

“I’m not,” he says, still smiling.

“Kinda seems like you are, ya ol’ flirt.” and you wink down at him.

“No, what I’m tryin’ ta say is…” and he finally looks away, staring straight ahead before he delivers the next sentence. “I bet you couldn’t do it again.”

“Do what again?” You continue to look down at him but he’s still looking straight forward, not meeting your eyes.

“Catch me.”

Now you’re annoyed. “Honey it really wasn’t that fuckin’ hard the first time. I highly doubt th-”

“But,” he interrupts, “I bet you couldn’t do it again.” His cocky smile is back, head thrown back staring up at you again. “You couldn’t do it now that I know you’re lookin’ fer me.

You push off his shoulders and walk around the front of him. Bending over, you pull his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans laid on the floor. You’re gonna wipe that smug grin off his face once and for all. “Well Joel Miller,” and you read off his home address in Texas, “I really do think I could find you again.”

“Then do it.” His smile is gone. His face is expressionless. He’s just staring at you. “Find me again,” he taunts.

You drop the wallet back to the ground and sit down on his lap, almost considering what he’s saying. You run your hand on the side of his stupid smug little face, syringe still in the other hand. You lean your face to his and gently pepper his face with kisses.

“Honey, I don’t want you sufferin’,” you coo between smooches. “Yer gonna miss me too much if I let you go.”

“How long you think I’d have to suffer?” he counters, “Hmm? How long you think it’d take you?”

“It took me less than a week this time honey. So probably not long,” you continue the kisses down his neck.

“Then come find me,” he growls, stilling your motions. “End my sufferin’.”

You pull back from him. Fuck. The thought of it made you undeniably excited. You were practically vibrating with anticipation and you weren’t even thinking about killing him anymore. This was about a chase. An honest-to-god chase with someone that might be something close to a challenge.

He had a point. You didn’t want to admit that to him, but he didn’t know you were looking for him. He had no idea there was someone like him in the area, whereas you had begun to suspect last summer, and had spent the last year putting pieces together and planning your trip this way.

It did take you less than a week of moving around to different areas of the state land with your van, finding different places to camp, until you ran into him and his filthy little cabin. But you had spent much longer than that reviewing his victims, studying his patterns, and getting yourself into his mindset as best you could.

He has confirmed your suspicions that he moved on after the summer to hunt somewhere else. But where else? Where he lives in Texas? Another off-the-grid cabin? It could be anywhere. It doesn’t matter. You’ll figure it out.

The phone you’ve been threatening him to dial 9-1-1 with is actually his phone. You'd used his fingerprint to gain access while he was out cold and then changed the passcode to something that only you know. You can gather a lot of information on him from his cellphone. That will help and he doesn’t even yet realize you have it.

You already have an upper hand on his little proposition. You’re already outsmarting him.

You press your lips to his one last time and stick the syringe’s small needle into his neck, pressing the plunger halfway down. With open eyes kissing him you see his eyes go wide and then shut. His entire body goes limp under yours, including his lips. His plush lips. You feel his heart still beating strong under your hand so you take the time to indulge, holding his head up and stealing a few more kisses before you have to start cleaning up.

*****

Joel wakes a while later, how long he’s not sure, but the room he’s in looks very different. The van is gone, as is the folding table covered in trophies and photos of his victims, as are you. In fact, very few things remain in the room.

His clothes are folded in a stack on the floor in front of him. Next to them are his wallet and truck keys. Finally, there is a folded note stuck to his leg. It’s pinned to him with your five inch pocket knife having been driven into his thigh.

The restraints around his wrists have been cut so that he can reach forward to take the knife out of his leg. When he does, the note drifts to the floor a few feet away. He ignores the searing pain and blood now streaming from the wound on his leg and manages to work himself free of the rest of the ropes.

He moves to stand up out of the chair and immediately his legs give out, collapsing him unceremoniously onto the floor. He is free of the chair for the first time in - judging by the physical state of him - what has probably been half a day. With shaky hands he reaches out and picks up the paper where it had fallen, unfolding it.

In pretty, looping handwriting it reads: ‘Catch ya later! xoxo’

*****

READ THE NEXT PART HERE (THE CHASE - PART 1)

#joel miller x reader #SerialKiller!Joel x F!Reader #joel miller smut #Serial Killer Joel Miller #joel miller #patti7dc #pedro pascal characters #noxturnalpascal

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lincolndjarin · 9 months

Text

Best Kept Secret

chapter twenty one : te mirci't

ao3 link ✿ series masterlist ✩ main masterlist ✧

pairing : bodyguard!Din Djarin x afab!princess!reader

rating : 18+ mdni

word count : 9.0k

summary : reader does a lot of thinking, and a lot of expressing of said thoughts

warnings, etc. : language, angst, canon typical violence, smut smut smut smut, p in v smut, food play sort of kind of, din djarin nearly creams his pants over the concept of domesticity, sort of a dom/sub thing, switch!reader & switch!mando, din has a breeding kink and it's addressed, reader has like zero chill this chapter, dirty talk, men whimpering (hooray!), light bondage, use of handcuffs, unprotected sex

a/n : ik y'all are hype about breeding kink din but i'm gonna real quick say that i will not throw in like a surprise pregnancy in this fic, cause it hasn't been tagged with that thus far and sometimes it irks me when i'm knee deep in a fic and suddenly the reader is pregnant without warning and it wasn’t tagged,, so yeah. it would be different if i advertised this as a pregnancy fic from the get go but i didn't so i'm not gonna spring that on people. (reader could still potentially end up pregnant at the END of the fic (possibly maybe who knows) but there will not be any surprise pregnancy, sorry!) that's it lmao, just wanted to throw that out there.

“It means I love you.”

You aren’t entirely sure how long you stare at him, looking rather silly with your jaw practically on the floor.

How many times has he said it without you even knowing? How long has he loved you? Maker, your mind is racing as you try to recall when the first time he said it would have been.

You’ve already said it to him.

Albeit you didn’t realize what you were saying but you’d said those words to him. And hearing you say them had worked him up so much that he’d fucked you like it was his last night alive.

He doesn’t seem to have much to say now that he’s dropped that bomb on you. You just stare at each other in this blistering silence for an eternity. Until the smell of burning has you shooting out of bed, scrambling towards the oven as you grab the lone oven mit off the counter, removing the smoking baking trays quickly, propping open the single window above the sink and tossing the ruined cakes under the faucet.

“Kriff.” You lean up against the counter, staring at where he’s currently getting up from the bed to join you. Are you a terrible person if you just ignore it? Because currently the last thing you want to do is think about it. “I’m gonna start a new batch, I lost track of time with this one.” You whisper towards him, never actually meeting that thin black line of his helmet.

“You don’t have to say it back.” He whispers back to you, taking a seat at the table.

You know you don’t have to.

Honestly the pressure of having to say it is the least of your worries. The most troubling part of this situation is the question that now plagues you which is, do you love him?

You rinse out the last batch of batter from the bowl before starting a new one.

You’ve always been so hesitant with him. Even from the start. You wouldn’t let yourself think about him, then you wouldn’t let yourself feel for him, care for him, want him. At one point you wouldn’t even let yourself like him.

So to think about if you love him?

The only thing you’ve ever let yourself do is hate him. And you never even really did that.

“I didn’t mean to upset you.” He leans forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees.

Shit. You’ve been quiet for too long.

“I’m fine, sorry, just… upset about the cakes.” You both know it’s a lie. But neither of you says a thing. He just nods. You work in silence, willing your mind to think of anything else as you scrape the burnt cake tin off into the sink before refilling it with the new batch of batter. As you slide the tin into the oven you turn, unable to face him you turn your gaze elsewhere, to the single shelf in his home.

A few days ago when you were here it was covered in assorted pieces of metal and scrap. Now it’s mostly bare. In a desperate attempt to change the subject you walk over, picking up one of the few remaining scraps.

“What happened to all your stuff? You hold a small metal ball between your fingers as he walks up behind you, resting his head on your shoulder as he leans down. You feel the chill of beskar against your skin.

“I used it all.” He’s still being far too vague about all this and you frown, holding the ball up in front of his face.

“You forgot this piece.” He takes it from you as you say it, you don’t remember him taking his gloves off but they are, his bare hands holding it like it’s a precious gemstone.

“This isn’t a part of my secret project,” He murmurs, rolling the ball between his fingers. “this belonged to the kid.”

You have to remind yourself not to pry, that you promised yourself you’d let him talk about it on his own. His free hand snakes around your waist as he stares longingly at the metal piece, you say nothing, giving him the option to go on if he wants. After a brief moment of pause, he continues.

“I tried to buy him a proper toy. Just once. He used to play with this, I thought maybe he was just bored because we spent so much time on the Crest. On one of my jobs I stopped and got him this little stuffed frog toy.”

You think of the frog he picked up from the lake all those moons ago. A pang of sorrow in your chest.

Every time he talks about the kid it seems like he’s talking more to himself than to you, this time is no different. He adjusts himself, standing up straighter so his chin rests atop your head now. He sways you gently to a song that only he hears.

“He tried to eat the damn thing, I tried to explain that it wasn’t for eating but he didn’t seem to care. Once he realized I wasn’t gonna let him eat it he lost interest, threw it into the fresher and went off to find this again.” He sets the ball back onto the shelf and just holds you for a moment. Just when you’re about to reach down to touch the hand he’s resting on your stomach he speaks again, in a whisper, like he isn’t sure he wants you to hear what he’s saying. “I used to worry that he was bored. Spending so much time on the ship with just me, without any of the things a child usually grows up with.” His grip on your waist tightens. “I thought for the longest time that he’d be happier somewhere else. Now I wonder if maybe he was content with what we had.”

The more you let him talk out his feelings the more you realize that deep down Din is one thing above all.

Someone who doesn’t think he is deserving of love.

You turn around in his grip so you’re facing him and don’t hesitate to wrap your arms around his waist, holding him tight. You might not be ready to tell him you love him but that doesn’t mean you can’t show him that he is cared for. He doesn’t move for a moment but eventually holds you back.

He makes no effort to pull away so you don’t either. Staying like that until you have to get the cakes out of the oven before you burn another batch. He follows you in silence as you set the new batch on the table, he reaches for one and you smack his hand away.

“You’re gonna burn your hand, stop that. And I still need to frost them.”

You turn back to the book for the recipe, happy that the two of you seem to be in mutual agreement to not talk about the current situation. As you start pouring the sugar to make the icing you hear a hiss of air, on instinct you turn to face the noise, not realizing until it’s too late that you shouldn’t.

You should feel regret.

But Maker, how could you.

Your eyes fixed on the way he parts his plush lips to take the chunk of pastry he tore off into his mouth, his finger lingering on his bottom lip and that tongue. Darting out to lick his fingers clean. The way the corners of his mouth turn up ever so slightly. You know you shouldn’t look, he’s got the helmet pulled up just enough that you can see the tip of his nose which means he doesn’t even know you’re looking, there’s metal between his eyes and you. You can’t, this is so bad, shit. You just keep finding reasons to not look away, especially now that he’s smiling. You always thought his smile would be condescending, maybe a triumphant smirk, but it’s so… dorky. He’s got such a dopey grin.

Stars, he’s got a dimple.

Are you still breathing?

And you can finally see the facial hair you’ve only ever felt brush up against you. Surprisingly well kept, with a few small bare patches. You want nothing more than to lean forward and kiss each one of them but you’re quickly reminded of how bad this entire situation is as you hastily turn back around. Stirring the bowl in front of you, acting as if nothing happened. Only a few seconds after you’re facing the counter again do you hear the airlock reseal.

You hear a sharp inhale and a part of you worries he knows you accidentally looked but he hisses again before cursing.

“Fuck, that’s hot.” You can hear him breathing heavily through his mouth into the modulator.

Thank the gods.

“I warned you.” You chastise him, turning around and pouring a generous amount of the cinnamon sugar icing onto each of the cakes while they’re still hot so it absorbs into them. “These need to sit overnight in the conservator.”

“Okay, should I put them in now or when I get back tonight?”

You know what he’s really asking.

He wants to know if he’ll be staying with you or coming home alone.

The answer is obvious to you as you nudge the conservator open with your foot, sliding the tins onto one of the shelves.

“I’ll do this now since you won’t be around to. Should we go?” You slip your shoes back on, watching as a bit of tension leaves his shoulders.

“Sure.”

★

It’s a quiet walk back but it isn’t really uncomfortable. You just want to get him back to your room, where he’ll hopefully help you forget about this whole mess.

You waste no time when you get to your chambers. You drag him to the closet, struggling to remove his armor, carefully setting each piece on the floor while he simultaneously lifts your shirt up over your head. Once you have every piece of beskar removed, you find yourself tumbling to the floor as he practically tackles you into the blankets. Both of you fumble for the lamp until finally you manage to flip the switch and it’s like he can’t get the helmet off fast enough because in what feels like a single second, you’re shrouded in darkness, you hear the the sound of air, a thud onto the ground, and his lips are on yours.

You’re waiting for something more to happen, he’d been so urgent just a moment ago but now that you’re here he’s just kissing you.

Of course you aren’t complaining. Every kiss with him feels like a blessing from the Maker themself. You’re just a little surprised.

You had sort of hoped he had plans to ravage you solely for the purpose of distracting you from the question, still searing your every thought, demanding your attention. But instead he kisses you one last time before laying atop your chest, arms wrapped around you. You think about teasing him but there’s something cathartic about this. His willingness to just be with you without searching for more. So you let him.

And when he inevitably falls asleep, his monstrous snores filling the small space, you’re left alone with your thoughts.

Well, thought.

Do you love him?

Do you want to love him?

Loving him means too much.

You tangle your fingers in his curls, in an attempt to soothe yourself.

Loving him is complicated. It means you’ll have to finally answer the rest of the questions you don’t want to so much as think about.

Kids? Marriage? Kodo? Any sort of future.

Loving him puts him at risk.

He’s always been at risk. His choice to love you meant putting his life on the line. Everyday he wanted to be yours was a day that he could be dragged off by one of your husbands unlimited guard members and killed.

Loving him means understanding that you’re on a clock. A clock to get off of Naboo as quickly as possible, to somewhere far away to hunker down. To hide from the inevitable onslaught of search parties that would come after a missing royal.

They’d send bounty hunters.

Kodo doesn’t even like you, but if you ran off with the man he hired to protect you? He would stop at nothing to get you back. The thought of what he would do to Din when he inevitably found the two of you makes your blood run cold.

But you need to push those thoughts away. Yes, they are important but they shouldn’t impact your feelings. Because at the end of the day you either love him or you don’t.

And you can’t even seem to figure that out.

You’ve never been in love before, you don’t really have a frame of reference.

You’ve certainly never felt for anyone the way you feel for him.

Is that love?

If you weren’t already married would you have said it back?

You aren’t even really a wife at this point.

You’re a prisoner.

You aren’t sure when he woke up but he brings you back to reality with a kiss to your chest.

“You should be asleep, princess.” His voice is gravely, still thick with exhaustion. You run your hands along his vast shoulders in an attempt to soothe him back to sleep.

“So should you.” You whisper into the darkness, he hums softly in response.

It goes quiet again. His arms tighten around you and you know he remains awake, every so often he’ll place a chaste kiss to your breast.

Would it be cruel to bring it up again?

At this point he doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest that you didn’t reciprocate the sentiment and you can’t keep fighting these battles alone.

If you love each other, talking about these things is something you would do.

It might be nice. To not be alone with these thoughts for once.

“Din?”

He hums again in response. You feel the scratch of his stubble against your chest as his head turns in your direction.

You should let him sleep. Shut up and not bother him with this.

“What does love mean to you?”

It’s such a corny question but you really are curious.

“What did you say?” For a moment you’re worried you’ve upset him but his tone makes you think he genuinely didn’t hear you.

“What’s it like, to love someone?”

He chuckles softly and a wave of relief washes over you.

“That’s an awfully complicated question, cyare.”

“Okay, then, how did you know?” You purposefully avoid saying the words, “that you loved me.”

“It sort of snuck up on me. It started my first week with you, when being with you started feeling less like a job and more like an honor.”

Does he have to be so good with words? Even in this state, barely awake, he manages to be a goddamn poet.

“Eventually it got to a point where I couldn’t ignore it anymore.” He mumbles his words into your skin.

“When was that?”

“When you gave me a birthday.”

Right before he had ended things.

You don’t have to ask to know now that that's why he did it.

“And that was when you were sure?”

“Yes. That was when I knew I loved you.”

If he’s upset about you not saying it back he doesn’t make it known, he says it so casually.

“What does it feel like?” You run your fingers along the scar on the back of his head.

“It feels like being afraid. There is a certain vein of fear that I had never known prior to meeting the kid, when I los-“ He hesitates. “When he left, I didn’t think I’d ever feel that fear again.” He sighs. “When I met you I learned how to be afraid all over again.”

You sort of understand that feeling.

You felt it when you thought Kodo knew. And you felt it when you imagined Kodo’s reaction to your hypothetical children with Din.

You felt it just moments ago. When you asked yourself if you loved him.

“It’s like all the air leaves the room, replaced with terror. That terror eats away at everything until there’s nothing left.”

All you can think of is the night you found him in the hallway, and you’re certain you’ve never felt that level of fear.

“It’s not all fear though. I assume it’s different for everyone but the fear is only a part of it. For me it mostly feels like devotion and temptation. I know what it is to be devoted, for decades I followed my creed without question, and when I finally did abandon it, it was a matter of life and death, fueled by that fear.”

He sounds half asleep as he says it, like he’s telling himself a bedtime story, and you don’t dare interrupt.

“That’s how I feel about you, except in your case, nothing could make me question my devotion to you, not even a matter of life and death. And as far as temptation goes…” He laughs quietly to himself. “I was unfamiliar with that feeling before you.”

“Temptation?” You whisper to him.

“When will you understand what you are to me, sarad’ika?” He sits up a little, you can’t see him but you feel his nose bump against your jaw as he rests his face in the crook of your neck.

“I know how you feel about me, you tell me quite often.” You’re only half-joking.

“Not how I feel about you, what you are to me. You are so much more than the one I never meant to love, I swear you were created just to tempt me.” You let your hand rest on the nape of his neck as he absentmindedly brushes his lips up against your throat. “If you asked me to remove my helmet, I would.” He murmurs against your throat.

That’s a rather serious claim.

“You could have asked me from the moment I met you. It took time for me to realize I loved you but I have always, been sworn to you.” His fingers trail up and down your torso. “From the moment I first saw you, when you tried to remove my helmet, I promised myself that if you ever tried again, that I wouldn’t stop you.

Maker.

How the fuck do you respond to that?

“We can talk more in the morning. Get some sleep.” He kisses your temple and lays back down against your chest.

He can be annoyingly eloquent when he wants too. You can’t help but wish you were as capable of putting your feelings into words the way he does. Seriously, how are you supposed to top, “When I met you I learned how to be afraid all over again.”

Maybe tomorrow you could try and show him how much he means to you. Since you can’t seem to find the right thing to say, and even if you could he’s already asleep again, snoring at an ungodly volume like he didn’t just profess his profound love to you.

But talking to him helped, from how he describes it, you might just love him too.

★

This morning is much more coordinated than your last.

Din wakes you up before the girls arrive. You have plenty of time to pick out one of the simpler pink gowns in your collection, along with a matching pair of slippers. You leave him there with plenty of time to spare.

The girls don’t question it this time either. Neither of them tries to go into the closet and they waste no time dressing you. Lysa finds you a nice pink nightie from the dresser but you honestly aren’t all that thrilled about it this time around.

It’s getting harder and harder to care about this.

Being dressed up like a doll every day.

Din certainly doesn’t care about what you look like so why even bother at this point? You’re antsy to get back to him and you’re about to hastily thank and dismiss the girls as they finish but Elaine speaks first.

“Princess, would you join me for tea this morning?”

You have no logical reason to refuse and you do enjoy time spent with Elaine.

You just want to be with Din.

But you can’t tell her that.

“Certainly, shall I meet you in the gardens again?”

“I will see you there, my lady.” Both girls give you small bows before leaving. Only a few seconds after they’re gone the closet door opens and there stands your Mandalorian. He makes his way to you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close.

“Shall I escort you to the gardens, my lady?” He leans down a bit so your eyes are level with the line of his visor.

“Lead the way.”

It’s a short walk and you’re once again surprised by how quickly Elaine has set things up, a table and chairs wait for you in the gazebo.

“Do you think you could find something to do for a few minutes on your own?” You say quietly enough that you know only he can hear it as you approach.

He doesn’t respond but as you step into the gazebo he doesn’t follow you in, once you’re seated he walks off into the garden.

“Seems like things are better between the two of you?” She pours you a cup, making it the way you like it before handing you the saucer.

“Much better.” You smile as you take a sip.

“May I speak freely ma’am?” She sets her cup down and crosses her arms, staring at you. Her tone has gotten so serious so suddenly you’re a bit stunned.

“Of course.”

“Lysa and I stopped coming to help you undress in the evenings many moons ago, we stopped waiting for you to summon us.”

What a strange thing to say.

“Okay?” Is all you can manage, still unsure as to what she could possibly mean by that statement.

“Well, my lady, we just assumed you didn’t need the help anymore…” She stares at you expectantly but you’re still giving her a confused look. “You know…” Her eyebrows are raised but you just shake your head slowly, giving her a blank stare. “With getting undressed.”

Oh.

Not much you can really say about that, she’s right, and you hadn’t even noticed because someone else was undressing you. Still, she can’t expect you to outright admit that.

“I don’t need you to say a word, my lady, I just needed to talk to you, to warn you.” Something about her tone makes you shiver, even out here in the sun.

“About?”

“You’ve been reckless, princess.” You set your cup down.

“Spit it out Elaine, you’re making me nervous.” You laugh anxiously but her expression remains stern.

“Kodo won’t take your absence from dinner lightly. And you’ve been too blatant about your friendship with the Mandalorian. You should act with more caution.”

Well, you had wanted her to be blunt, you can’t be too shocked about that.

“He is not a man who takes kindly to disrespect. He will retaliate if you aren’t careful, that’s all.” You nod as she takes a sip of her tea.

That’s all she says on the subject, quickly moving on to another topic.

Her warning was genuine and you’re thankful for it but you push it from your mind. You will right this wrong and attend dinner with Kodo this week.

★

Tea is short after that.

You aren’t in the mood for small talk anymore, you just want to spend the rest of the day with Din.

You whisper a genuine thanks to her before she departs, and you rush over to where he stands in the flowers.

“Cabin?” He asks. Thankfully he doesn’t risk holding your hand in broad daylight but he lets his knuckles brush against yours.

“Cabin.” You follow him towards the pond and once you’re close enough he scoops you up into his arms to keep you out of the water. “Din! What if someone sees?” You whisper yell at him, eyes scanning the vacant gardens.

“This isn’t any less damning than you walking in on your own. Besides, no one’s around, promise.” He pushes open the door before setting you down, locking up behind the two of you. “I’ve lived here for long enough to know that nobody comes out this far except us. Now, what do you want for the rest of the day?” He kicks off his boots and you set your slippers next to them.

It’s past noon at this point, you have nothing planned.

“Do you want to just stay here? I think today I just want to stay here.” You walk over to the bed, lifting your skirt and taking a seat.

“Works for me, I’m going to get some chores done if you don’t mind.” He removes his gloves, tossing them on the table before kneeling beside the dresser.

“I don’t mind at all.” You scoot back a bit to rest against the wall, you’re actually quite curious to see what he’ll do, and you need time to think of how you’re going to show him how much he means to you.

You watch as he takes out different weapons and tech that you don’t recognize. He tosses his gloves to the side and starts methodically cleaning every item.

You’re sort of hypnotized by his attention to detail, it lets you think.

What does he like?

Green, you, the kid, classic ships.

None of those things can really show him how much he means to you though.

He’s setting different things aside as he finishes any maintenance required, every so often he looks up at you before returning to his work. You feel a little useless just sitting here so you get up to take the cakes out of the conservator.

Suddenly you have his attention.

You don’t dare say a word, letting him just observe in peace. He drops whatever he’s working on, you don’t look but you can feel his visor trained on you.

You take the tins out, setting them on the table before finding a dull knife. Each cake is small enough that you can fit your hands around each tin if you hold your fingers in the shape of a circle. You carve each cake out of its tin and he watches you intently the entire time, you can see him in your peripherals.

So he likes… watching you do a shitty job at taking cakes out of tins?

It’s crass but you go through the list of things that have worked him up before. Things you’ve said to get him to give you what you want during sex.

Two instances come to mind.

The time you unknowingly said I love you.

And then last night, when you told him he could finish inside you.

And now? Your head tilts up just in time to watch him adjust himself in his trousers before sheepishly tuning back to his work when you catch him watching you. It takes a second but eventually things start to click.

He likes watching you look at home in his cabin. He likes the intimate feeling of a simple life. Watching you bake, saying I love you, having kids.

Things a normal couple might do.

He tosses something up onto the bed, you stare at it for a moment as he starts putting other things back into the dresser.

Handcuffs.

Thick, padded, and metal.

You know he intends on using them on you but you act fast, hurrying over to him, taking his hand.

“What are you doing mesh’la?” He chuckles as you sit him down on the bed.

This is gonna be a shot in the dark, but if you’re confident enough, (and right) it’ll be worth it.

“Just, let me take care of you.”

“You already take care of me.” He insists, starting to get up but you firmly plant your hands on his shoulders, pushing him back down. Your plan is rapidly forming in your mind.

“I mean it, now stay put.” He sighs loudly but nods, tilting his head to the side in confusion. No sense in being coy, might as well be clear with your intentions to see if he’s actually into it. “Don’t be a baby, I know you get off on this kind of thing.” The moment you say it he scoffs but you’re already across the room, taking one of the little cakes and putting it onto a plate.

“Excuse me?” “His voice is already terribly defensive but you just laugh it off.

“You’re not the only one who can make observations. You think I didn’t notice the way your tone switched when I offered to bake for you?” He starts to argue but you cut him off. “And I’m definitely not going to ignore how quickly you came when I told you you could finish inside of me.” That surprisingly shuts him up. This might actually be the only time you’ve caught him so off guard that he doesn’t have a response.

You bring the plate over to the bed, setting it on his nightstand.

“You like domesticity.” You lean in to whisper to him. “You want me to take care of you, don’t you Mr. Tough Mandalorian?” You can’t gauge his reaction because of the helmet but you can gauge the tent in his pants perfectly fine.

“Djarin.” He certainly doesn’t sound stern now.

“Djarin?”

“Din Djarin.” You hadn’t even realized until just now that you didn’t know his last name.

You straddle one of his thighs, spreading his legs with your knees.

“Well then, let me take care of you, Din Djarin.” You like the way his name feels in your mouth and based on the way his cock twitches against your leg you’d reckon he does too.

He’s always been so open with you and you’ve always kept him at a distance.

Right here right now, if you weren’t dealing with the worst possible circumstances (your husband), you know that you’d tell him you love him, that you ache for him, that you know fear because of him. You know you love him. And you’re pretty sure he knows it too.

You just aren’t ready to say it.

So you’ll have to show it. (And maybe say a few things that you are ready to say.)

You love each other, at the end of the day you can’t keep censoring yourself when you think about him, he doesn’t deserve that.

You want to show him what he deserves.

You reach behind him and grab the cuffs. As you do his hands wrap around you to tug at your corset strings, an act that he’s getting rather good at.

“You gonna put those on for me, mesh’la?” He drawls. Once he’s loosened your corset enough so that you’ll be able slip out of it you lean back again.

“No.” You grin at him and he immediately shakes his head.

“Absolutely not.” He says the moment you start smiling.

“You’re always in charge, just let me be in charge, I’m doing this for you.” You grab one of his wrists but he easily pulls it away.

“You were in charge last time.”

True, but irrelevant.

“Do you love me?” You stick your bottom lip out a little.

“You’re terrible.”

“I know.” But it works, because when you grab his wrist again he doesn’t pull away.

“You know I can get out of these right? Very easily.” He says, watching you close the first cuff around his wrist, removing the belt around his torso and the one around his waist.

“I know that too, but you love me, so you’re going to leave them on until I take them off.

“This feels less like you’re taking care of me and more like I’m your prisoner.” He mumbles.

“Oh hush, you’d be happy either way.” Once again he seems at a loss for words as you cuff his other wrist, he sets his hands in his lap. You smooth out the fabric of his cowl before carefully removing it, folding it and walking it over to the table and setting it down. “I’ll make you a deal.” You say, turning back to face him. “If you don’t like it then I will stop and we can do this your way. But if you don’t then I will assume I was right, and you do want me to take care of you.” You straddle his thigh again and play with one of the releases on his chest plate.

“You’re being purposefully vague. What does taking care of me entail?” The impatience on his voice trails off as you start releasing his chestplate, finding the little locks, undoing them one by one.

“Well… I just think that you like certain things, and I think you’re too embarrassed to admit it.”

“What things?”

You click the last release and remove his chest plate, walking over to the dresser to set it down carefully before returning.

“You like that I baked for you.” You remove his gauntlets, setting them on his nightstand.

“Who wouldn’t like that?” You swear you almost hear him stutter.

“Oh but I think you really like it. Because you know I did it just for you.” You remove his pauldrons and kneel between his legs to remove the pieces of armor on his thighs. “You like when I hold you, you like seeing me here, in your home, in your bed.” You slide his remaining armor down his legs, setting them aside before standing again and spreading his thighs with your knees to slot yourself between them, your hands grip the edges of his helmet.

“Can I?” You whisper.

After a moment's hesitation he nods.

Your fingers snap the airlocks and you gently lift.

Before closing your eyes you allow yourself one peek.

You’re graced with a bashful smile, and you know that it’s okay, so you squeeze your eyes shut and completely remove the helmet, setting it on the bed beside him. Almost as if on instinct he leans forward and you feel his lips on yours as you gently push him back.

“Let me do it, Din.” You laugh softly. “You don’t have to do everything.” You lean forward this time, hands on either side of his face, running your tongue over that bottom lip you wish you could see. “I’m going to take my dress off.” You mumble into his mouth before pulling back, you turn around and quickly slide your gown down your body, you grab the plate on his bedside table before closing your eyes and turning back around. His restrained hands play with the front of your nightie.

“What are you-” His unfiltered voice is like warm honey, deep and raw, but you silence it by putting two fingers from your freehand to where you assume his mouth is. He starts to speak again so you gingerly slide your thumb between his lips and you hear any more questions he might have flicker out.

“Can you go more than five minutes without asking me a question?” The moment you say it his lips purse like he’s going to ask again, you place your thumb over his tongue. Once you’re certain he isn’t going to interrupt your actions again you remove your hand from his face and tear a chunk of the cake off of the plate. “Open.” You laugh softly as you bring your hand towards his mouth, he immediately starts to protest again but you take the opportunity to stuff the pastry into his mouth, you get lucky and actually manage to get it in on the first try.

If you’re being honest, you aren’t completely sure if this is going to work. You’re still acting on a hunch. A very presumptuous hunch, that deep down he wants nothing more than a quiet, soft life.

A home.

Unless of course you’re wrong. In that case you’re going to be rather embarrassed. Which is starting to be a worry as you realize he isn’t moving, two of your fingers just barely past his lips, he still hasn’t moved and you fell you nerves starting to get the best of you, just as you’re about to withdrawal and apologize for the entire silly affair, his lips close around your fingers. You can’t help but gasp at the feeling, accidentally taking a step back in surprise.

His fingers immediately grasp at what fabric they can on your undergarments, trying to pull you closer again. You’re about to say something smug, along the lines of “I told you so.” But you’re stopped dead in your tracks.

Because Maker, he whimpers.

You let him tug you back between his legs. The cold metal of the cuffs brushes against your thighs.

You reach down and tear off another chunk of the cake, his bound hands guide you back to his mouth, which you're shocked to find is still open as you gently feed him. This time you don't flinch back, his lips close around your fingers and his tongue licks them clean.

This is the temptation he spoke of.

You respect his creed. You’ve sort of taken your own creed, a vow to yourself not to look. But right now it takes all of your restraint to not look. Nothing could possibly make you happier than knowing what he must look like right now, lips wrapped around your fingers, trying to pull you closer.

But just like him, you resist those temptations, finally pulling your hand away.

“I told you I’d take care of you.” You whisper, a slight teasing edge to your voice.

“You’re a strange woman, sarad’ika.” He whispers back.

“So you don’t like this?” You tear off a piece for yourself, popping it into your mouth, feeling the icing coat your tongue. You bask in his silence before picking up the remaining pastry, gently feeding him, tossing the plate blindly onto the bed.

The only answer you need to your question is the way his tongue drags across your palm when he’s finished, you waste no time after that to push him down into the mattress. Letting your lips find his.

His mouth tastes just like it did the first time you kissed.

Vanilla.

His arms go over your head, trapping you in his embrace.

“Tell me I was right.” You pull back from him, grinning.

“I wouldn’t exactly go so far as to say that you were right.” His mouth latches to your chin, peppering a trail of kisses back up to your lips but you pull further back, as far as his arms will let you, eyes still shut.

“You’re a terrible liar, you know that right? Because about thirty seconds ago you were quite literally eating out of the palm of my hand.” He continues trying to kiss you to silence you but you keep turning your head to the side, he settles on your jaw eventually.

“That doesn’t prove anything, I’ve barely eaten anything today, maybe I was just hungry.” He mumbles against your skin.

“Mhmm, sure. Are you sure you don’t like playing house? I think you like imagining me as Mrs. Djarin.”

Whoops. Where the hell did that come from?

“Don’t say that.” His voice isn’t playful anymore as he sits up, keeping you in his lap.

“Kriff, I’m sorry Din, that was too fa-” You hear a metal thud behind you on the floor and his hands are no longer cuffed, they hold your waist now.

“If you don’t mean it, don't joke about that.” His breath is hot on your face and his grip on you tightens.

If you don’t mean it.

So you were right.

Your mind screams at you to be rational. You have a husband, there are a million reasons to apologize and to move on from this.

Stop using the husband that was forced upon you as an excuse.

You can’t keep holding back when it comes to Din. It isn’t fair to him. Not when he gives you everything.

“If I do mean it, can I joke about it?” Your voice is the quietest it’s been all day.

He takes your hands and brings them up to his face, so you can feel him nod.

“I’ll keep joking about it if you tell me I’m right. I’ll joke all night long.” You laugh a little as he brings one of your hands to his mouth so he can kiss your wrist.

“You’re right.”

You can’t help yourself.

“About?”

“I like this.” He drags his lips down your arm before dropping it. “I like when you take care of me.”

“Turn the lights off.” He doesn’t hesitate once you say it, the curtains are all already closed

Once the lights are off he flips you onto your back, you hear everything on the bed clatter to the floor as he tosses it aside.

His bed is lower than yours so his hands grab you by your hips, lifting your bottom half into the air a little, making you squeak in surprise.

“Tell me another joke.” He says under his breath as he spreads your legs so he can grind his still clothed erection against you.

“I thought you were going to let me take care of you?” You scoff at him, hearing his zipper.

“I am,” You gasp as he drops you back down onto the mattress, climbing on top of you. “I’m letting you tell me jokes.” You can practically hear his grin as he guides the blunt head of his cock into your folds. Lazily rubbing it against your clit and leaning down to whisper to you. “You started this with all your talk, is that all it was? Talk? I thought you said you meant it?”

You’re trying to remember how he got the upperhand so quickly but it’s hard to concentrate when he keeps nudging himself against your most sensitive spot.

Everything always happens so fast with him, just once you’d like to turn things around on him and have it work.

“I-I meant it.” Is all you really manage to get out, he brings his cock down a bit to tease your entrance, never actually pushing in. His voice has that condescending tone to it that tells you he’s willing to play this game for a while and you hadn’t really factored in just how aroused you’d get during your display a few minutes ago. You’re soaked and there’s a good chance he’s going to draw this out in retaliation. He swipes his tip back up to your clit, the both of you hiss in unison.

You still have one ace up your sleeve as you recall your conversation from last night.

“So you liked one of my offers?”

“I might have been interested in one of them”

One thing you know he wants.

“Come on, sarad’ika. Where are your jokes?” He chuckles against your skin as he kisses your shoulder.

“I was just trying to think of a baking joke. Can you give me a second?” You gasp out as his free hand reaches underneath you to squeeze your ass before coming up to rest on your hip.

“I know you can do better than a baking joke.” You can feel him grin against you now, his teeth lightly graze your shoulder.

“It’s a shame, you would have liked it.” He goes back to teasing your entrance, pressing himself into you just enough to make you squirm but not enough to actually be inside you. You try to shift your hips downwards but his hand keeps you pinned in place.

“I liked your jokes about Mrs. Djarin.”

It’s now or never.

“Well you liked my cooking as well, so I thought I’d make a joke about a bun in the oven, you’d like that wouldn’t you? Filling me u-”

His hips buck forward and his grip on you tightens to the point of a sharp pain. To seemingly both of your surprises, in an instant he’s buried nearly to the hilt in your heat.

“Maker, Din!” You’re gonna have a brand new set of bruises tomorrow.

“Sorry! I, fuck- sorry.” He’s grunting in your ear, not bothering with your shoulder anymore, burying his face into the pillow next to your head.

“Dank farrik, Din…” You’re reeling from the sudden motion, your head tilted back into the mattress. You need to catch your breath but the muffled groans coming from him distract you. The sting from the sudden stretch you're experiencing is quickly fading and you bring your hands up to his head, one resting in his hair and the other at the nape of his neck.

He wanted to make this a game so you’re going to play, and you’re going to win.

You’re still panting a little as you turn your head to the side so you can whisper into his ear.

“Stars Din, it’s that easy to get you worked up, huh?” His breathing is starting to level out, his grip on you lightens up. “I thought I was easy to rile up but look at you, all this just at the thought of a bun in the oven.”

He isn’t making noise anymore, he’s still against you, listening intently as you run a soothing hand down his spine and back up again.

“I can’t imagine what you’re going to be like when you actually get me pregnant.”

You’re surprised by your own words, like your brain is on auto-pilot and you can’t filter yourself but he fucking whines so you don’t care in the slightest. High pitched and needy, muffled by the pillow. His hips start slowly rocking into you and you bite back your moan, wanting to maintain your advantage.

You tangle your fingers into his hair, pulling his head out of the pillow, savoring the whimper that comes from his as you do.

“Oh come on, you can’t even handle the thought of it?” You breathe out the words and his head falls downwards as you release him, he bites your shoulder. “What does it for you?” He unclenches his jaw, starting to bury his face back into the pillow but you pull him back up again.

“Is it just the idea of finishing in me?”

He doesn’t answer, to be fair you’re barely holding it together either at this point.

“Or do you just want everyone to know I’m yours? Want everyone to see that you knocked me up?”

You get your answer with that because he’s trying to bury his face back into the pillow. A low wail leaves his lips as he frantically ruts into you. How quickly everything’s escalated has you hurtling towards your climax and you can tell by the desperate whine that leaves his lips as he presses them into your collar bone that he won’t be far behind.

“I know you can do better than that, Din.” You mock his tone from earlier but he’s unfazed, pounding into you until finally you can’t tease him anymore because he’s reduced you to gasps and moans.

It doesn’t take long after that.

One after the other.

You first, when his hand travels downwards, it takes only a few precise circles rubbed into your clit and your grip tightens in his hair, your walls flutter around him.

Just like that he’s going over the edge with you.

He pulls out, finishing on your stomach.

You shouldn’t feel upset but there's the tiniest bit of disappointment as you feel his cum against your skin.

He collapses onto the bed next to you, pulling you into his arms.

“I love you.” He presses a kiss into your hair.

“I know.”

★

You sit in the quiet dark for a long while, until finally, you have to ask.

“Do you actually want kids someday?” Your voice breaks the silence of the pitch-black room. “Little Djarin’s running around?”

He rolls over so he’s hovering above you now.

“Are you trying to start round two?” He chuckles, resting his forehead against yours, your nose bumps against his. “I’ll need a few more minutes before I can go again, sarad, but I can keep you occupied until then.” He kisses you quickly, already starting to move his mouth south but you stop him.

It’s so effortless right now. To be happy with him, in the darkness, pushing away thoughts of royal responsibilities. Letting yourself be with just Din, even if it’s brief.

“I’ll take that as a yes?” You ask.

“Yes. Someday.” He kisses your sternum, laying down on your chest.

“With me?”

“No, with Elaine.” You smack the back of his head when he says it, he laughs against your skin. “Yes, with you.”

You let him lay on top of you as you nod to yourself.

“Is it weird that everytime we have sex it turns into a competition?” He starts to laugh once more as you say it.

“It’s weird that you keep losing.”

You smack him again.

★

Your peaceful break from reality is brief, as always, as you sit up.

“We have to go. I can’t be out all night.” The last thing you want to do is return to your room right now, you want to stay here, the cabin feels more like home than any room in the castle ever has.

He seems as unhappy with this as you are. The two of you dress in silence once he flicks the lamp back on, you turn around until you hear him reattach his helmet.

You hold his hand on the walk back. You don’t have much to say right now, you’re certain at this point that you’ve made it clear that you love him.

That you just aren’t ready to say it.

And he doesn’t seem to mind.

You’re ready to just sleep. Your blanket nest seems more and more inviting the closer you get to the castle.

The two of you sneak in through the back entrance and as always the castle is quiet at night. You keep your hand in his as you make your way up the steps.

It isn’t until you get to the hallway where your chambers are located that you hear it.

A persistent banging sound and someone yelling incomprehensibly.

Din immediately drops your hand.

Neither of you speaks as you walk but he shifts himself so he’s walking ahead of you, as you get closer you recognize the distinct, nasally voice.

In the dim light of the hall you see Kodo, banging on your bedroom door.

“Wife, come now, you can’t ignore me, I’m your husband.” He hisses, you can smell the alcohol on him from here.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Kodo, are you okay?” You plaster on a faux look of concern as you approach, Din tries to put his hand up to stop you but you ignore it.

He turns to stare at you, his clothes are askew and he isn’t even wearing his crown.

“Wife! Where have you been?” He slurs, leaning in for a kiss that you sidestep, he doesn’t seem bothered by your rejection.

“I went on a walk.” You answer quickly and he takes hold of your waist, you try not to look too repulsed.

“You skipped dinner yesterday, dear wife.” He teeters a bit, leaning towards you as you again try to avoid his kiss but this time he holds you firmly in place, it’s sloppy and you have to wipe a bit of spit from your face after.

“I did, I wasn’t feeling well.” Your voice is getting smaller and smaller as you feel fear bubbling in your chest.

“Where are your guards?” There’s no respect in Din’s voice, no “your highness” or “your grace.” No one speaks to Kodo that way, not even you, but he’s too drunk to even notice.

“I dismissed them, as is customary when one is visiting his bride’s chambers.” Kodo lurches forward, his hands sloppily grope the fabric of your skirt and you make an audible groan of discomfort.

“We should get you back to your own chambers, come now dear husband.” You try to sound patient, you know he’s capable of violence and you don’t want to push him in this state.

“Why would we do that, wife? Come now, tonight I shall join you in bed. I missed you last night.” He hisses the words and you know he didn’t miss you in the slightest, this is a punishment.

This is what you get for disobeying.

For skipping your dinner with him.

This is the inevitable thing that has made you unable to tell Din you love him. This looming promise of Kodo.

There’s nothing you could possibly do right now to escape the fate before you. The fear you feel right now is certainly not the fear of love that Din described to you.

But that quickly changes.

You don’t get a chance to react as Din takes a step between you and Kodo, he doesn’t even wind up, he just drives his fist forward and you hear the sickening crunch of your husband's nose just before he slumps to the floor.

As you stare at Din, you know your fear has changed. His shoulders heaving, his rage fills the corridor as you listen to his ragged breaths through the modulator. He turns around to face you, but you just stare at his hand, where the evidence of this potentially deadly mistake is dripping down his fingertips. You have never been more terrified for another person's life the way you are right now for Din.

You’re mesmerized by the little speckles of your husband's blood, a stark contrast to the yellow fingertips of his gloves.

And suddenly it feels like all the air leaves the corridor as you finally look into his visor, you don’t see Din though, all you see is what they’re going to do to him for this.

I am no longer doing taglists so follow @lincolndjarinnotifs and turn on notifications to be notified when new chapters are posted !!

#lincolndjarin #the mandalorian #best kept secret #bks #din djarin #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x you #din dijarin x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fanfiction #mandalorian smut #din djarin smut

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thought--bubble · 4 months

Text

In Need Of an Heir Part 3

Aemond (Canon Era) X (Baratheon! Reader)

Warnings after the cut.

In Need Of an Heir Master list

Canon Era Aemond Master List

Full Master list

Banners By @arcielee

Warnings: Forced marriage, panic attack(took from personal experience for this) Nothing else really 🥰

A/N: Sorry this took so long! I did get that promotion, by the way! (I am now a staff accountant. Yay! 🥳) prepping for finals was the opposite of a good time....(strategic management and policy form was actually a form of torture and not a class🫠🫠) one more semester until graduation! 💚💚

The end of that dinner could not have come soon enough, when it finally did come you and Royce were the first two to head out of the room.

Once you enter the corridor, your brother lets out a chuckle "Unbelievable"

"What?!" You snap at him, your soft, gentle demeanor starting to peel back.

"You'll be a princess in a few days' time." He taps her arm thoughtfully.

"Oh yes, such wonderful news, my warm and inviting future spouse has me weak in the knees" you hiss

Royce looks at you and raises and eyebrow "ahhh there she is. I was waiting for you to be the little storm I know you are"

You roll your eyes. "This isn't funny, Royce! That man is void of all emotion"

Royce looks around. "Keep your voice down. These walls have ears"

You huff, you know he's right, but at this moment, you just want to scream at anyone who will listen that you do not want this.

You and Royce continue back to your chambers in silence. You are hardly feeling sad or anxious anymore. The only thing you feel now is rage.

When you enter your chambers, Royce follows behind you.

"I know he seems......cold," he says as soon as the door closes. You shoot him a pointed glare as he chuckles, "but" he puts his finger to his chin as if in deep thought, "he may perhaps be different when the two of you are alone. He is a prince, he was raised to show the world a certain version of himself. I'm sure there is a different version of him that he would show his wife"

You again roll your eyes. Royce could be right, but you don't want to hear this right now. You just want to escape this situation.

He sighs. "All I'm saying is don't just assume the whole affair will be miserable"

"I just don't understand how father could still allow this to happen in the first place! What of the disrespect shown to our house? He murdered a messenger in our skies, kin may I mind you. Then, he runs off and marries a low born servant while betrothed to me!"

"That was a rumor from what I understand. No marriage took place. She was but a paramour, " Royce says as he pours himself some wine.

"Oh yes that's much better. A man of honor clearly" you look away from Royce jaw tight.

Royce chuckles again and shakes his head. "Men can be weak to the allure of women do not take it as a personal affront."

You grit your teeth. " I am not taking it personally. I am taking it as a testament to his lack of moral fiber"

Royce sighs and gives you an annoyed look before running his hand down his face. " You needn't love the man. Just act as a faithful wife and a kind and just queen, and when the time comes, a loving mother." he sits down in the armchair before the hearth. "Just perform your duties and stay out of his way"

"You wouldn't understand, you will marry some noble woman who will answer to you, you are not the one who will be at the mercy of some Targaryen psychopath who burnt down half the realm in anger! Do not try and pretend to understand the situation in which I find myself and the very real dangers I now face!" You calm yourself and look at Royce with despair."Is there truly no way out of this?"

He looks at you with sympathy. "With this marriage, Baratheon blood will sit the iron throne. There is no way out of this, I'm afraid"

"Life as a broodmare..... lucky me"

"You will be queen of the seven kingdoms .."

"A broodmare dressed in jewels is still a broodmare." You sigh and look toward the bedchamber.

"I wish to retire." You feel exhausted and defeated

"Very well," he says as he stands. "Since you can not change your situation, I would suggest you find the good in it." With that statement, he leaves your chambers.

You roll your eyes as you hear the door close.

'The good in it,' you think to yourself,'how exactly do I find the good in a situation in which I have no power or control?"

The next few days went by in a whirlwind. The lack of time to prepare for the wedding had the dowager queen Alicent scrambling to have as much of what was expected of a royal wedding as possible. You were constantly being dragged to dress fittings, while Alicent stood approving or denying the fabrics and designs of the dress. You stood there like a mannequin. Not one choice was yours. Not the dress, not the jewelry, not the hair style and certainly not the groom.

A groom which you had seen none of. There was no courting or getting to know eachother you simply prepared for the wedding with the dowager queen, and he was off doing something else you knew nothing of. You would be married off to a man you have only ever greeted.

This had you in a state of mild disassociation. You simply existed in your day to day movements instead of living in them.

The day before the wedding started like all the others. Invited to tea first thing with the dowager queen. You made your way through the winding corridors, having memorized the path from your apartments to hers.

As you come upon her door, you tap lightly. One of Alicents serving girls answers the door and ushers you in.

"You come around the corner to see the dowager queen sitting in her usual stance teacup in hand. " she smiles up at you gently as she waits for you to take a seat.

"So I think we are as prepared as we are going to get. You have a long day ahead of you tomorrow, so..... I think today will be a good time for you to take some rest."

You squint your eyes at her in disbelief. "Hmm" is all you manage to say.

"Though" she starts, and you think to yourself, "Here it comes' "there is one thing I hoped to discuss with you. Since your mother is unable to get here in time, I wished to......... guide you. . .. through the requirements of your wedding night"

You inwardly cringe at the mention of your wedding night. You had been taught as a girl growing up about the coupling that will take place between a man and his wife. How important it is to consummate your marriage, and it is certainly not something you wish to discuss with Alicent.

"Oh " is all you can manage to say as you wring your hands in your lap.

"Aemond will guide you just listen to his instructions, and you will be fine. Don't be nervous or scared, " you can tell she is trying to bring you comfort, but it only serves to make you more uncomfortable.

"I understand this is a subject he is quite educated on already." You regret the words as soon as they leave your mouth and close your eyes. "My apologies, your grace, that was most inappropriate"

She sighs and looks down at her lap as she picks her fingers. "It was....but I can understand your distaste for impropriety." she places her teacup down and makes direct eye contact with you. "I ask only that you do not judge him too harshly. A man at war is under an immense amount of stress and may make poor decisions. He is a good man, though, my son, and I have not one doubt it my mind that he will be a good husband."

You nod desperate for this conversation to end so you can take your leave.

She sighs again as she eyes you up and down. No doubt trying to dicern your thoughts. "Very well. You may go. Do take a walk through the gardens. They are most beautiful and are a wonderful place to clear one's thoughts"

You thank her for her hospitality before you curtsey and gently walk out of her apartments. The moment you enter the corridor, you place your hand over your chest, trying to calm your fast beating heart.

You are chastising yourself in your head for speaking so out of turn with the dowager queen. 'What was I thinking? What if she tells him? What if he takes great offense?'

"Ugghhh"

"Is everything alright, my lady?"

You close your eyes and freeze before slowly turning around and coming face to face with your future husband. You have been so busy fighting this arrangement that you had not taken the time to properly look at him, but here, in front of you like this, you can not help but gaze at him.

Tall and lithe. Long bonde hair top half pulled back . Sharp jawline and high cheekbones. His one purple eye boring into you.

"Oh... yes, my prince just.....ummm big day tomorrow"

"Hmmm," he clicks his tongue as he looks you up and down. "Are you due to visit my mother?"

"Oh no, just left her company, actually," you shift nervously from one foot to the other.

"Very well then, I will keep you no longer." he walks past you and gently knocks on the door to Alicent's apartments.

You perform a small curtsey and then continue to make your way down the corridor. Before rounding the corner, you look back at the man standing before his mother's door. His long slender frame stood perfectly poised with his slim waist and long arms tucked behind him.

You feel your cheeks warming up slightly as you look at him, a small smile coming to your face before you come to your senses, turning quickly and continuing toward the gardens.

You reach the gardens quickly and look for a place to sit. You decide to sit by some rose bushes and start to laugh, thinking to yourself,

'I'm marrying a Targaryen prince, a mass murdering kinslayer. Who I am just now noticing is most pleasing to my eyes.' You put your face into your hands.

"I've gone daft"

"You've always been daft." Your head shoots up to see Royce standing over you.

"May I not have a moment where a man doesn't just sprout from the ground unannounced!"

He looks at you quizzically but just shrugs it off. "I wanted to see you on this your last day of being unwed"

"That is most kind, brother, but at this moment, I would like to be alone with my thoughts"

"I will be leaving quickly after the wedding. I really would like to spend some time with you. I do not know when I shall see you again"

You feel a pang of sadness in your chest. Once Royce leaves, it will just be you and the Targaryens. You'll be a little storm surrounded by dragons.

You spend the entire afternoon with Royce. Instead of talking about your upcoming marriage, you choose to reminisce about your shared childhood at storms end. How you used to sneak out to watch Royce's sword training lessons or how you used to steal Cassandra's hairbrushes and hide them throughout the castle just so you could watch her and her serving girls as they looked for them frantically. The nights when there would be a particularly strong storm outside you and your siblings would sit together and watch strikes of lightning cross the sky and enjoy just being in eachothers presence without having to say a word. The memories fill you with joy as well as grief.

You never realized how important these moments were when you were in them. But now that they are just memories and you know you won't be making any more memories like this, a feeling of finality settles over you.

You have supper in your chambers, just Royce and you, and once he leaves and your chamber maid helps you out of your dress and into sleep clothes you get in bed and lay down staring at the canopy above you.

Everything changes tomorrow. You leave house Baratheon the only thing you have ever known, and join house Targaryen. Royce will leave, and it will not just be you and your new family. Your new husband

You fought with yourself all night, willing to sleep to come, and when it finally did, it felt like simply a blink of the eye before you were being woken up, 3 chamber maids bustling about your chamber.

"Good, Morn, my lady." Amber greets you delicately. "We have a bath prepared for you"

"What of breaking fast?" You groggily grumble, trying to blink the sleep from your eyes.

"After the bath, my lady.... lots to do today. " Amber stands beside the bed hands clasped in front of her as she waits for you to get out of bed.

"Yes, ok, you are right." You sit up and look around your chamber. There are 2 more chamber maids assisting amber with filling the tub. They have the tub filled and seem to just be waiting for you.

You slide your feet off the side of the bed, and they hit the cold floor. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, your stomach a mix of knots and nervous queasyness.

You stand up and head over to the tub. You put one finger in the water. It is warm and inviting but you hesitate. Completing this bath is one step closer to the Sept. Every single thing you do today is one step closer to that damned Sept.

Your legs begin to wobble a bit beneath you.

"My lady?" Amber asks while looking at you with a concerned gaze.

"Let's get this over with" you strip from your night clothes and sink into the warm water and the three maids surround you a maid on each side scrubbing your body while amber is washing your hair.

It's all so dehumanizing. Being scrubbed and polished. Like some kind of jewel or prize for your new husband. You stare blankly ahead as the maids do their duty lost in your thoughts.

When your bath is complete, you are dried off and changed into a very basic gown. No doubt so you can have your morning meal before the real poking and prodding begins.

You try to eat but end up mostly just pushing food around your plate. Once you finally admit defeat and accept the fact that you are not going to get much more down besides a lone strawberry and a few grapes the real preening is ready to begin.

First Amber combs and braids your hair. A beautiful design of twisted braids accented by little white flowers she placed along the crown of your head.

Before you even have time to marvel at the beauty of it, you are dragged off to be fitted into your wedding gown one final time.

As the soft fabric of the dress sails across your skin, it suddenly feels suffocating, stifling. You start to push at the fabric, trying to get it off.

"My lady?" Amber asks concerned

"I ... I can't wear this.... I can't do this!" You start pushing on the fabric more forcefully desperate to remove the garment.

"My lady we haven't much time left-" Amber is cut off by your screams

"You think I'm unaware of how little time is left?" You bark at her, shoving the fabric off of your arms, watching as the dress pools around your feet.

Your breathing is fast and your head is spinning.

"I'll get the dowager queen" one of the maids says frantically as she goes to leave the room.

"No!" Amber interrupts. "Get lord Royce"

The other maid nods and leaves the room

"I'm sorry I shouldn't have snapped at you that way," you say, clearly panicking. You look down at the gown.

"I.... I have to get dressed......" Your stomach lurches.

"Let's just take a quick break, my lady," Amber says, gently putting her hand out to you to help you step down from the pedestal you had been placed on.

You nod furiously. "Yes, a break. Yes, " your breathing begins to regulate as you step out of the dress and off the pedestal.

The first maid returns with Royce following closely behind. You look up at Royce eyes wide and burst into tears.

"Everyone out," he orders, and the maids all scurry from the room.

"Little storm," he says while walking over to you

"I can't, Royce. I can not do this"

He grabs you by the shoulders looking you directly in your eyes.

"You can do this, and you will. As is your duty to your house and the realm, storms don't bend they don't bow. They persevere"

You leap into Royce's arms "please Royce please don't make me do this"

"It is done, sister, you will be fine. You will be queen, and you will make the realm better for it"

He stays with you for a while gently rocking you while your breathing returns to normal.

"You're right. I can do this. He is but at man at the end of it all"

Royce just smiles at you. "Now I will send the chamber maids back in. Can't have you married in a chemise." He chuckles.

He takes your hand and helps you back up on the pedestal. You step into the dress as he leaves the room and quickly the maids return, and this time, the dress slips on. The corset tightened. The sleeves puffed. The skirts fluffed.

A beautiful sapphire necklace is placed on your chest, and the baratheon maidens cloak is placed upon your shoulders.

The maids leave the room as you stare at yourself in the long mirror.

Who is this woman? Certainly, isn't me. You run your fingers over the sapphire that sits on your chest. Such an odd choice. You would have thought of a ruby or even an emerald.

When the dowager queen enters to do a final check and approval of your appearance, you don't feel as scared or nervous as you did at the start of this day.

This is my duty, and I will complete my duty with dignity and poise.

You are then led through the corridors of the castle. A few maids accompany you. One holding your train the other your hand to keep you steady on your feet as you enter the courtyard.

There in the courtyard stands Royce in some of his finest clothes next to a carriage with the door open. The carriage that will bring you to the Sept. Your last carriage ride as an unwed maiden.

You take a deep breath and walk towards Royce head held high. As he takes your hand and helps you into the carriage. He then follows you in and closes the door behind you.

"You ready?" He asks

"Actually,... I think I am"

Part 4

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weebsinstash · 4 months

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Ya know, I've made posts about the yandere Batfamily before, and I've been thinking lately about one person in particular, and I think I've decided that Alfred is probably the most dangerous and formidable person in that entire house and have been brainstorming what a formidable platonic yandere guardian sorta figure he would be

For one, he's the man that canonically kept THE Batman from going over the edge, basically THE sole reason Bruce Wayne grew into the man he is. Literally, in alternate universes where Bruce never had Alfred, he literally 9 times out of 10 becomes a murdering sociopath. Alfred doesn't just have intelligence, he has EMOTIONAL intelligence

We're talking about the tenured elderly man who is former MI6 and doesn't give a fuck about murder, has killed, and will kill again. Bruce finds someone attacking you, he'll beat them up and cart them off to jail to be arrested and rehabilitated. Alfred will pull a pistol on a robber and shoot him dead before he allows you to get even a single scratch on you, just puts the guy down, "oh dear, I suppose I'll be late making dinner tonight, it seems I'll have to give testimony to Mr Gordon again"

I've seen fics where the sidekicks kidnap Reader or disable them for Bruce's sake, but don't you think Bruce himself would cross that line for Alfred? This man cooks, cleans, does everything for him, is practically a second father and his greatest friend, really kind of RAISED HIM. I just picture Alfred getting attached to Reader like you're practically his grandchild and then you return to your normal life, move out after staying them for a period of time or whatever, and Bruce can tell Alfred is... out of sorts, a little sad frown on his old withered face as he absent-mindedly sweeps the same corner of the same room for an hour, sighing, thinking about how he wanted to teach you all sorts of things, but, you're just gone now. Siiiiiiiiigh. And Bruce can't stand seeing Alfred like, actually depressed, even making mistakes he doesn't usually make, dropping things, lacking his usual playful sarcastic wit, just kind of a shell of his former self. You don't think you'd be getting an extra super special Uber ride in the Batmobile from the Dark Knight himself after that?

But I also think Alfred would be capable of really putting his foot down. He once told a disrespectful Damian he should be thankful Alfred wasn't his father in a very "because I'd actually discipline you" coded sort of way, and, say Reader grew up without a dad, or any parents and maybe has some traumas and potential behavioral issues from that. I could see Alfred being the kindest, sweetest, most patient grandpa, teaching you how to bake, keeping you company in the library, teaching you all kinds of things, and then the second you do things like start getting drunk, acting out, THROWING things, then he's putting his foot down, "now you listen HERE! Your behavior is absolutely unacceptable and you will not be allowed to degrade yourself within the walls of this home!" and manages to simultaneously scold you without putting you down, leaving you in ashamed embarrassed tears over your behavior that you're standing there crying, and he pulls you to take a seat in a nice chair and starts combing your hair and telling you he just wants best for you while you're bawling for his forgiveness, and he tells you he's already forgiven you and that he can run you a nice bath before bed

I can see a captive Reader scenario where you manage to break out of the house while everyone else is gone and you think, oh, you're home free! Batman and everyone else is busy! Lost in your own hubris as if Alfred doesn't have perfect knowledge of everything in the Batcave including the equipment and vehicles. You're in an alley cornered by a bunch of drunks who just want to beat the shit out of someone and suddenly, is that Batman? Wait, the costume is different, and the height, and, the body shape, and, and, and it doesn't even matter because Alfred can still lay all of them flat, blood on his knuckles as he wearily regards you, "you're not going to make a tired old man have to carry you to the car, are you?" and after what you just saw, you know better than to put up resistance

But like I can't get over the idea of, Reader staying at the Wayne residence for a limited period of time, you're injured and Bruce is offering you safe harbor, you're being targeted by a specific criminal group and need protection until the thugs are caught, something along those lines, and, one day, when everything is better, you just. Leave unexpectedly. They had already offered you a permanant place in the house but you still seem to be falling into a depression until one day you're straight up gone, only leaving a note that Alfred is the one to find, only 3 word, "Thank you. Sorry." and hr suddenly??? Can't think straight??? You're gone??? Why??? Why didn't you tell them?? Are you hurt?? Did they do something wrong??? How is he supposed to know if you're sad or if you're hungry or if you're in DANGER if he doesn't know where you are and what you're doing at all possible hours?

Just visualizing the idea of Bruce coming home one day and you're suddenly in the house again and you're seeming very much distressed but Alfred is looking fit as a fiddle again and it is very extremely incredibly obvious to Bruce that Alfred straight up brought you back against your will. But. He doesn't care because he agrees with Alfred that OBVIOUSLY since you're a member of the FAMILY NOW that OF COURSE you have to stay in the house

Can you imagine yandere Alfred but Bruce and everyone else is just, totally normal and just hardcore mega coping with Alfred's sudden change in behavior and occasional questionable actions. One day Alfred is dusting and without turning around, "Master Bruce, would you care to fetch my granddaughter for me while i finish this room?" and Bruce is just like "granddaughter????" And Alfred looks to him like he just said something BEYOND stupid, "Yes, my granddaughter, about ye high, awfully broody much like yourself, currently housed in the spare second floor bedroom at the end of the hall on the right? You act as if she didnt help bake that casserole you and the boys absolutely devoured last night"

Nightwing going down into the Batcave for like actual mission stuff and Alfred is already using the Batcomputer to monitor all your online internet use. What's that, some young man is trying to slide into your DMs? O-oh no, there was, uh, suddenly a glitch and he received a threatening message with no traceable source that told him to stay the bloody hell away from you! Whoops!

You're just his captive little grandchild who he helps teach recipes to and teaching you anything you're curious about. You make an offhanded comment one day that you would've loved to learn to play piano "but I'm too old now/it's too late now/I probably wouldn't be any good at it" and later on, after Alfred has brought you back after trying to live alone again (you being drugged if need be), and when you wake up he's all smiles, telling you about all the new structure he's about to introduce to your life, and, of course, you have to pick a day of the week for your new (now mandatory) piano lessons :) on Mondays you'll go for walks and have tea in the garden, Tuesdays you'll read in the library, on Wednesdays you'll learn piano, on Thursday he'll teach you a new recipe every week, Friday--- this old man is gonna force you to be productive and happy is all I'm gonna say

#yandere x reader #yandere Batfamily #yandere batman #yandere stuff #sinprompts

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leossmoonn · 5 months

Note

Could you maybe do some head canons for like goth or alternative!reader x mike? Maybe he was intimidated when he first saw her or like Abby really likes the way she dresses and wants to borrow accessories from her and stuff? Idk this idea popped in my head you are such a good writer! 😺

yes! i’m not goth but i looked up some outfits and makeup and stuff. i know the media waters down goth style, but i hope this is what you had in mind!! this is also kind of all over the place sorry 😅

includes / warnings - reader fem, has piercings :D. hc format. after freddy’s.

————

first time mike sees you hearts shoot out his eyes like he’s in a cartoon

“what’re you staring at?” abby asks.

“uh,” mike trails off, not being able to answer as he literally locked on you. it’s when you glance over at him when his face get all red and he looks away and goes back to grocery shopping.

abby walks up to you after seeing mike’s interest and starts a conversation with you

mike tries to steer her away, but he can’t get to her before she says:

“my brother thinks you’re pretty.”

lmao if mike didn’t want to die before this, he definitely wanted to now

“oh, he does?” you grin at him.

mike visibly gulps. but he’s glad he’s closer to you and he can really see how hot you are lmao

“yeah,” he nods. “i-i really like your piercing,” he points to his own eyebrow where you have a piercing on your face.

“thank you. it’s new, actually.”

although mike was a little worried about abby running off to talk to you, in the end it was a good thing 😸

mike loves watching you do your makeup. he’ll sit there for hours staring at you for hours if he could

he loves watching your skilled hands paint eyeliner over your eyes. he likes watching you mix lipstick shades together to create the perfect shade you lay desire that day

“don’t you have to go to work?” you ask.

“i can be late if that means i get to stare at your pretty face.”

also, he’s just so impressed with how talented you are at doing makeup and will literally tell you how artistic you are just bc you know how to make a straight wing

mike loves the chunky heels and boots you wear. he likes when you tower over him 😼

not to mention, when the boots go up your thigh he lowk gets all hot and bothered by it lol

he also loves buying you new accessories to put in your piercings. the first holiday you spent together, he bought you a shit tone of necklaces and new pieces to put in your septum

mike loves taking you out. not only bc he loves showing you off in general. in his head he’s definitely walking around like “yeah i know i bagged the most beautiful woman in the world. all you other guys suck.”

but in all seriousness, he loves the dresses you put on. he always says you look like a vampire princess, and he’s not entirely wrong

the dresses you have are fabulous omg. there’s one where it all connects form a choker-like strap around your neck and has straps connecting to the sweetheart neckline of the dress (soz if this doesn’t make any sense lmfao). the dress is textured on the skirt and stops a little bit above your knees. and fuck if mike doesn’t just want to rip it off of you after also wanting to stare at you in it for all of eternity.

you also have this sleek, black, satin dress that has like a straight neckline and long sleeves and goes down to your feet.

everytime mike sees you wearing that he mouths literally waters

now, just to go back to the fact that he is super intimated when first dating you

he was so afraid he was going to be too boring for you or basic. and also just not the type guy you were looking for

but just to his luck, you think he is perfect for you

omg but in the first month or two do you two dating, i just imagine him finding out what music you like and trying to learn every word of every song to siouxsie and the banshees, specimen, sisters of mercy

it definitely does impress you and you think it’s so sweet

for your bday he definitely tries to take you to any concert he can get tickets to

now on the subject of abby, she is definitely obsessed with you

she’s always asking you to do her makeup for school, and you happily oblige!

mike always looking out for abby in his own way, so he was worried if she went to school caked with eyeliner, she would face some backlash, but he knows how happy it makes her — and you — to play with makeup

abby’s always asking mike she can get a tattoo and piercings

“abby, you just turned 11. you won’t be able to drive anytime soon, so no tattoos anytime soon.”

she’s always trying to have you convince him, but unfortunately you have to agree with mike

buuuuttt you do paint and draw designs on abby sometimes and she acts like their tattoos and that’s close enough for her until she’s older

you also buy her face piercings that hook on her nose and lip

mike does let her get her ears pierced once she promises she can handle the little needle poke and she proceeds to try and steal all your earrings lmao

luckily, you buy her copy cats of them so she can have her own

other random things:

mike definitely lets you paints his nails. this is not at all that crazy of an idea, but, it’s smth new he’s never done but he loves watching you get so excited. you can even practice nail art on him too

you have a couple of tattoos, specifically one that goes around the side of your thigh and it just makes him fall to his knees!!

Halloween you guys dress up as the Addams family !!!

so fitting cuz you’re a hot, powerful woman and mike’s like gomez: unwaveringly obsessed with you. and of course abby is wednesday hehe

————

taglist

@celestbarnes

#mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt #fnaf #josh hutcherson x reader #mike schmidt x you

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aingeal98 · 4 months

Text

I think there's a misconception among some fans who mostly get their characterisation from ao3, that the reason Cass and Jason wouldn't get along is that Jason kills people and Cass hates murderers. And like. You're 50% right but the key context being ignored is that Cass would literally fight to defend the right of a serial killer to live and change like she believes desperately in second chances no matter how far gone the killer is. She'll knock a man out and break his hand so that he can never shoot and kill someone again but if she sees someone feel bad about their kill or even like. Hesitate to hurt a child. She is all over that like she will fight the world just to save this one kind of shitty assassin and give them a second chance at life where they can do better.

Whereas Jason believes that sometimes there are bad people that are simply too far gone, too much of a force of evil hurting and draining actual innocents. And the best way to deal with scumbags like that is a bullet. He feels that some people don't deserve to live, and he's comfortable ending their lives. Judge, jury and executioner. Because no one else is going to kill these people and they deserve to die so that they can never hurt any victims again.

Of course all of this is kind of irrelevant in current canon since dc basically skipped over the reconciliation and development and went yeah Jason is a batfam member and he doesn't kill anymore. So currently in canon none of this conflict of ideals is likely to be addressed. But a lot of people are interested in writing fics that actually detail the steps of reconciliation which is great and I love those fics. I've just also noticed a trend of fumbling a little when it comes to Cass.

Because the root cause as to why they wouldn't get along is not just because Jason kills people. If Jason was a random crime lord Cass would probably try to help him get free of Gotham and start over somewhere else. Killing people and having conflicting emotions about it is the easiest way to get Cass willing to be your number one sponsor at murderer rehabilitation anonymous. It's Jason being someone personal to the family, and someone who believes that some deaths need to happen, as long as the person is sufficiently repulsive enough to Jason. Or even just as a means to an end to prove a larger point, if they're pathetic and evil enough. That's what would make Cass see red, because she projects herself on every single killer and Jason dismissing the possibility of redemption for them, writing them off as deserving of death, clashes fundamentally with not just everything Cass believes in, but also her whole sense of self. Of course it's not that deep for Jason like he's not going to believe Cass should die because she killed someone as a child. But for Cass is simply IS that deep and you throw in the fact that they're both Bruce's kids and yeah. They can maybe be civil in a room together with the family right up until one of them actually talks. Because like 99% of what they could say is guaranteed to touch a nerve for the other.

It's like: Damian says something hilarious and rude towards Jason and Jason jokes about that time he shot him and Cass immediately connects that with him not feeling bad about shooting Damian and starts grilling him as to why. Because Damian's Bruce's son? Or because he's a killer? Or just to get to the rest of the family? And Dick, Duke and Tim are so tired like Alfred cooked a nice meal can we all just eat pie for one night without having to listen to you two go at it.

Tim: I've literally shot you before do you think maybe we can cool it on fighting about Jason's personal ethics tonight. Because generally that ends with me in pain even if I do nothing but sit here.

Cass: You shot me with consent. Different.

Jason: How are you even more obnoxious than Bruce? Do you ever get tired of being so exhausting to be around with your bullshit righteousness?

Cass: If you're tired I can knock you out. Nice nap for you and fun for me.

Dick: And that's ten minutes in a room together before any threats of physical harm start flying around! Great job you two, a new personal record.

#dc #cassandra cain #batfam #dc rambles #jason todd #Ironically enough if Jason didn't focus on killing “bad” people #And instead was just a regular murderer with no greater point except Yeah I need this person to die as a means to an end #Cass is way more likely to look at him and go: Oh hell yes personal improvement project right here #Going up to Bruce like trust me dad he feels bad about killing that guy I saw his hand hesitate for 0.5 seconds before pulling the trigger #Whereas if Jason is like I'm killing this guy to prove a Point. The world is better off without him in it #Cass sees red like congratulations you triggered a solid 70 of her trauma buttons. Hope you like broken bones.

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milksuu · 5 months

Note

I’ve been on the Ezreal brainrot ever since I discovered Heartsteel. And my little brain has been scheming

How would a relationship with him work out if his partner is an idol too and they have to sneak out to have fun together??👀

(Btw, unrelated, but I love how you write, it’s super fun and easy to read)

Dirty Little Secret | (O1)

❥ prompt: Let's face it. You and Ezreal hardly have time for anything with your busy idol lives. Unfortunately, things get a bit messy after you first meet. Luckily, both of you share a secret hobby nobody knows about. And boy, does it come in handy. ❥ content/warnings: ecchi, drama bomb, forbidden romance ❥ characters/pairings: Heartsteel!ezreal x idol!f!reader , Heartsteel gang an: omggg tysvm anon! honestly, im so sorry but looks like your ask is getting a part two lmfao! guess i went overboard with my idea, and so, your actual req. will be fulfilled in the next part. i also blame all american rejects for my non-original title. thanks for understanding.

No one knew about Ezreal's secret hobby. When anyone asked where he was going with a black gym duffle bag, he gave everyone the same answer. "J-Just heading to the main studio to warm-up before you guys get there. Nothing else." Little did they know, that's not where he was going. Instead, he was heading to a photoshoot. A very specific kind: a cosplay photoshoot.

I mean, who wouldn't want to dress up as their favorite anime/manga character, superhero, or original fantasy creation? Even better, who wouldn't want to be photographed while doing it? Ezreal felt he could be anyone and anything. Adored with attention in more ways than one. Best part was, with so many cosplays to shift through, no one ever knew it was him. Except you did.

And that all happened because you went to that same photoshoot. It was a group event held in a public park, surrounded by retail shops. It was perfect for both slice of slice or nature-esque shots. It was by coincidence your character and Ezreal's character were canon together in the anime lore you were cosplaying. Which sparked you two being asked to pose romantically with one another, and pretend to be going in for a kiss.

You gave your consent and Ezreal tipped your chin up, his face mere inches away from yours. You squinted your eyes against his features and whispered. "You look kind of familiar." As if you had seen him walking around your workplace just the other day. Maybe somewhere else you frequented? You couldn't quite place a finger on it. Ezreal couldn't shake off the feeling either. He tilted your face another way for a different angle. He laughed nervously, whispering back. "That's funny. I'm pretty sure this is the first time we've met. Maybe we're at the same cosplay shoots a lot. And now we've just noticed each other."

You accepted the rational. Either way, you didn't want to press it, in case he flipped the coin around and started asking you personal questions. Cosplay and anonymity were one in the same for certain individuals—especially in your case.

After a couple more pictures, you parted ways. Ezreal felt his phone buzz. He checked his messages:

[Yone:] Where are you? You're late. I believe you said earlier you would be here before us to 'get in some extra practice'. [Yone:] Care to explain?

OH CRAP! Ezreal didn't realize how late the hour was. He'd been so distracted, he forgot to set his reminder. And now he was officially going to be late— or, well, late-er. Sweating bullets, Ezreal quickly let his fingers type:

[Ezreal:] i'm there! just in the bathroom. might be a while. lunch is kicking my butt. 😳🚽💩💩💩

[Yone:] Thank you for the TMI. Hurry up then.

Ezreal wiped at his brow. He was running on borrowed time. Yone was sure to find out if he wasn't back within the next fifteen minutes. Snatching his bag from the public lockers, he ran to the public restroom. To his utter surprise, there was a line for the men's restroom. Seriously!? That never happened. And it's not like he could waltz into the women's restroom (which, not surprisingly, also had a line). He went around, and found a private unisex bathroom.

VACANT

He flung himself inside, locked it, and striped away his cosplay. Something shifted in the corner of his eyes—it was you. And there you both were, standing in awkward positions down to your undergarments. You pointed at each other accusingly, and shouted at the same time; "I do know you!" You both recognized each other as idols; him being with Heartsteel, and you as a solo-artist. Even though brief, you two bumped into each other more than once at the company building.

"G-get out! I was here first." You blushed, taking your moon-wand and smacking him with it. "Ouch—it said vacant!" He cried out, trying to block your magical melee attacks. "It was your fault for not locking it. How was I supposed to know?"

"I really don't have time for this. Do whatever you want." You tossed your wand into your bag, fetching your skirt. You shot a narrowed look. "Just don't look over here, or else."

"Fine." Ezreal huffed, rubbing at his sore collar bone. "Don't look over here either."

With grumbles and protests, the two of you changed back to back. All the while, still bickering. He heard you struggling, turned over his shoulder, and found you trying to reach your back zipper. He sighed, helping you raise it to the back of your neck. You turned sharply. "I told you not to look but...thank you." You peeked down and noticed his pants weren't zipped up. You reached and returned the favor. He blushed, suddenly feeling self-conscious. He gulped. "Don't sweat it. Thanks for catching that for me."

A silent truce settled between the two of you as you finished dressing, and shared the mirror to freshen up. Ezreal realized you were also in a rush to get ot the studio as well. He called an Uber for the both of you. His phone buzzed and buzzed, blowing up with messages. He opened his group chat:

[Aphelios:] yone is pissed btw. rip ez. ☠️

[Kayn:] YEAAAA YONE'S GONNA GROUND YOU. 😈😈😈

[Sett:] Sorry, Ez. We tried to cover for ya'h. Hope you're alright. 😓

[K'Sante:] I'm sure he's fine. For now. Once Yone finds him, we may not see him again in one piece. hehe.

[Kayn:] HAHAHA HE'S SO SCREWED HAHAHAAAAA

[Sett:] Watch it, Kayn. Else im tellin' Yone you snuck out on the motorcycle last night.

[Apehlios:] i have footage from the house cam. 😏

[Kayn:] YOU GUYS BETTER NOT ISTFG 🤬🤬🤬

Ezreal sank down into the back seat. Kayn was right—he was so screwed. You watched his whirlwind of expressions from the side of your lashes. You couldn't help but feel bad for him. You were right on time for your schedule. And it was all too apparent he wasn't. You stared out the car window. It really was tough to balance certain things as an idol, and some were better at it than others.

When you both arrived at the Riot building, and walked passed the double swinging doors, there was definitely Hell to be paid. A bead of sweat ran Ezreal's temple. Finding Yone standing with his arms crossed, and looking down with a razor-sharp gaze.

"Is this why you were late?" Yone directed the comment towards you. Ezreal bit his bottom lip. Yone tapped his foot against the ground. "You have exactly five seconds, or I'm addressing your conduct with Alune. And if that happens, I promise, you won't like the result of our conversation."

He stumbled to get the proper words out. "No—I—it has nothing to do with her—I was just—"

"Ezreal did nothing wrong. I'm the one responsible for making him late." You stepped forward, garnering Yone's interrogative attention. "You see. I'm absolutely crazy in love with him." The whole lobby fell to dumbstruck silence. "I blackmailed him into going out with me today. I even went as far as to give him this hickey," you pulled down the top his shirt, revealing the bluish bruise against his clavicle from when you smacked him. "I took a picture of it. And told him if he didn't finish our date, I would tell all his precious fans he was taken. So...." you trailed off, unsure of what else to say. Ezreal's eyes were as wide as saucers from the blatant forgery of your lie.

Yone narrowed his gaze against you, as if trying to siphon the real truth. You only stared harder in return, solidifying your stance. Yone breathed out a tensive puff of air. "I'll be speaking to your manager then. Whoever it is, they'll be responsible for reprimanding you. In any case, don't you ever come near him again. Or else you won't have a career in this business—I'll make sure of that. Do you understand?" You paused, then gave a veiled smile. "Of course."

Before Ezreal could speak up again, Yone snapped a finger, pointing for Ezreal to head in the direction of the recording studio. He took a breath, as if wanting to say something—anything to you. But Yone spoke with a silent bite. "Don't make the rest of your team wait for you any longer." Ezreal nodded, bit the inside of his cheek, and walked away. About to turn into a hallway, he gave one last glance over his shoulder. Catching his stare, you placed a finger against your lips, before disappearing with Yone into an elevator.

And all Ezreal could think was: he really needed to see you again.

to be continued...

#heartsteel #heartsteel ezreal #heartsteel x reader #ezreal x reader #league of legends #reader insert #x reader #request #reqs open #heartsteel yone #Heartsteel gang #yone going full karen mode #part 2 coming soon

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esamastation · 6 months

Text

Part thirty-one of Shizuroth, aka, the SOLDIER General's Self Saving Shizun.

Ao3 link.

Previous parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty

They've landed in Wutai after a frankly miserable plane ride in a windowless, seat-less troop carrier - which, why even call it a troop carrier when it's clearly not designed to be carrying people? The thing is filled with boxes and stuff, there was barely enough room to move!

Guess that's what happens with last minute takeoffs - you get what you get.

The first few minutes onboard were fine and kinda novel - being on a plane at all was kind of a mind trip, because, heh, plane, Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky, eat your heart out! But then it became just hours upon hours of boredom in a rattling tube of metal. Sword flying is clearly a superior mode of transport.

"We will have your things delivered to wherever you're going to be staying," Reno says, waving them off the plane, hiis attention fixed on one of the bigger boxes. "Rude, come give me a hand with this…"

"We should -" Rude starts to say, looking at the SOLDIERs.

"Yeah, yeah, now come give me a hand with this."

Angeal gives them an awkward, slightly relieved smile and then claps Sephiroth on the shoulder. "We better get out of the way," he says, and together they exit the plane.

Sephiroth had been bracing himself for a warfront, Angeal had even told him what to expect, but he… didn't actually know what that entailed.

Shinra troops had taken over a small town at the foot of Tamblin Mountain sometime in the past and are now using it as their forward base. That's where they land - in a dirt runway cut into the forest, just by the town. And it's…

It reminds him of old movies, the mixture of vaguely mixed Asian style buildings, with these modern canvas tents pitched in between them and on the roads. There are trucks that totally aren't jeeps that have worn grooves into soft streets, unprepared for such traffic, making everything messy and muddy. They've erected fences all over the place, sectioning parts off, and there are floodlights everywhere. There's also robots patrolling the place.

In the distance, on the rolling hills somewhere to the west, there are rice paddies and behind them mountains. All around them there's a lush wall of green that looks almost like a rainforest. It actually might be rainforest! It would fit the allegory!

The mental, ethnic vertigo is so strong for a moment that Sephiroth doesn't know which way to turn to look. He doesn't know what to think. Mostly he just feels kinda… unnerved.

Angeal returns to his side before he even realises he'd gone somewhere. "I talked to the Colonel. Come on," Angeal says, clapping him on the shoulder. "They've set up a place for us. We'll… debrief there."

"... Hn," Sephiroth answers, and follows him.

There's a lot of Shinra troops milling about, infantry mostly, but some SOLDIER Seconds and Thirds too. They all stop to stare. Some of them look excited, but most just look tired and dirty and worn.

Sephiroth wonders if the Colonel is in charge of them. Actually, it might be that they're now in charge of everyone here! They're SOLDIERs First Class. Isn't that the highest rank? He can't remember if Sephiroth being a General was fanon or canon, but hasn't he been involved with the war since the beginning?

Would he have to give orders now, orders to march, to fight… to kill?

Angeal shows him to a house that was clearly someone's home before Shinra took the place over. It's a single room with tatami floors and rice paper walls, and the military bunks clash with the aesthetic horribly. Their pillows are clearly seat cushions.

There's a fancy looking kimono stand that's being used to hang bags and ammo satchels.

"What happened to the people who lived here?" Sephiroth can't help but ask, staring at the stand and wondering where the kimono had gone.

"They abandoned the town ahead of the troops," Angeal says.

Sephiroth looks at him and then at the room. Did they really, or is that a nicer thought than they were all executed? "... Right," he says and picks up the seat cushions from the bunk, piling them up in the corner - wondering if there was a table here, and what happened to it.

"Are you alright?" Angeal asks.

Probably not! "What's our mission here?" Sephiroth asks, picking up bags and satchels from the stand and carrying them outside.

"... We have a day to acclimate. After that, there's a number of things that need to be accomplished," Angeal says, subdued, and takes out his phone. "We can start slow - there's no major engagements being planned just now, no one will mind."

"Mn, and what does starting slow mean?" Sephiroth asks, as he picks up stuff around the hut and gets rid of it.

"Well, there's a number of monster extermination requests around here - Wutai wildlife is high-level, and it's rumoured that they're being intentionally bred by Wutai people. They've been attacking patrols."

Sephiroth gets rid of most of the random crap in the hut and then considers the bunk beds. They're ugly and probably unpleasant, but… they have to sleep somewhere.

It takes just one swing of Masamune to improve the situation immensely.

"Um," Angeal says as Sephiroth finishes separating the beds and moves one of them to the other side of the hut. "... Why?"

"I am not sleeping in a bunk bed," Sephiroth says simply and looks around. "... Do you think they have folding screens around here?"

Angeal arches his brows. "I don't know for sure. I suppose we could ask around? I think there's a storage house where they've put the collected, um," he clears his throat. "Things that will be sent to Midgar eventually. Maybe we can requisition some of it."

Things to be sent to Midgar… that's nice. That's a nice way to say the spoils of war, huh.

Sephiroth looks away. It's the way of war, he knows that, nothing unusual about it. It happened in PIDW too - cut out all the smut and stupidity, and all Binghe did was plunder and loot and pillage. When he wasn't being handed tributes, anyway. It's just par for the course! Right? Right…

"You…" Angeal starts and then sighs and puts the phone away. "How about I'll go get a screen for you, if there's any available. Do you want anything else?" He sounds very indulgent and understanding.

"Two screens. And a table," Sephiroth says without facing him, feeling like a sullen little kid being placated. "... Thank you. Can you ask someone to get rid of the - stuff outside?"

"I'll take care of it," Angeal promises. "You just… take a moment to make yourself comfortable, okay? There's no rush."

Aka, pull yourself together, man, you're looking really pitiful right now. Thanks, Angeal-bro.

Sephiroth's waits until Angeal is gone before sinking down to sit on one of the beds, putting his head in his hands.

Though they'd not seen much from the plane, what with it not having windows and all, he can see it in his mind's eye now. Burned villages smoking in the jungle, scorched fields, muddy paddies ruined. He'd never cared much for any kind of war stuff, but he'd seen his share of first person shooters and letsplays.

It all feels very real all of a sudden.

And he's supposed to be the Big Bad here! The Demon of Wutai! Who knows how many people he's already killed in this war! And sure, it is a war, and that's what happens, and yeah, he has killed before as Shen Qingqiu, but -!

Going to war on behalf of the America-allegory of the situation? The invader, the hostile occupier, the - the evil planet-sucking dystopian megacorporation?!

Dragging his hands down his face, Sephiroth sighs and looks up.

There are calligraphy scrolls hung up on each side of the door. One reads Integrity and the other Honour. Sephiroth stares at them miserably for a long moment.

Yeah.

He's so going to end up defecting here, isn't he? Four days, four days in this world, and he's doing to fuck up the whole plot, right here and now. It must be some kind of record! But where the fuck will be even defect to? The Demon of Wutai, hello?! The locals probably want his head on a spike!

"I am so fucked," he mutters wretchedly and hangs his head.

#Fanfiction #ff7 #ffvii #svsss #Sephiroth #shen qingqiu #shen yuan #angeal hewley #reno of the turks #rude of the turks

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stxrvel · 3 months

Text

i don't wanna live forever (5)

summary: the time had come to destroy HYDRA and collect for all that had been taken from them...

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

words: 6k

warnings: descriptions of: blood, wounds, fights and weapons. probably gonna wake a lot of sadness since the begining. mentiones of suicide thoughts. heartbreak. stubborn characters. mentions of character deaths (canon). remember i'm not that good at writing action scenes and that English is not my first language!

note: hi guys! i didn't rest today at work. instead, i wrote 6k words for my actual hyperfixation and i'm actually exhausted. sometimes i write first in spanish and then in english, when my head is not up for the double translate, and leave the conversion to future me. this is future me talking and i hate myself for that. but i'm kind of proud how this one came out, so i hope you guys like it the same! feedback and reactions are always appreciated! see u guys next time <3

part 1

It was already getting dark when the small cellar you were in with your friends filled with applause and singing, a joy bouncing off the walls as you walked in Steve's direction with a grin from ear to ear. Your blond friend watched the small cake Peggy had gotten him that afternoon head towards him between your hands, setting it down on an upturned wooden barrel, a little damp, that they would use as a table.

Peggy and Bucky were off to the side, their faces matching your excitement as Steve reached down and shook his head.

“I don't even want to imagine how you got that cake in,” was the first thing Steve said when the happy birthday song ended, shooting you a grateful look. His eyes sparkled like you hadn't seen in many days and you felt Peggy's squeeze on your forearm as she came over to form a little circle just like Bucky.

“Trust me, you don't want to know,” Peggy shook her head, her smile matching the blond's.

You watched Steve split a piece of the cake with a spoon you had no idea where Peggy had gotten it from, your friend bursting out laughing when Steve raised his head and she smeared white cream all over his nose. At that moment you felt Bucky's body heat behind you, all your senses turning on at once.

“No candle, but you can make a wish before you take the first bite.”

Steve shared a look with his friend, still with that twinkle in his eye and the most relaxed expression he'd had in days. He was still wearing his uniform, having caught him by surprise to bring him into the warehouse after a long day of planning strategies for the next mission against HYDRA. You and Peggy had been thinking for several days about doing something, and being that it was rather difficult to throw a small party in the camp you were in, you decided to opt for something a little more ordinary and familiar. You couldn't say, however, that Steve didn't like it, not when you saw him smiling at everyone so openly, shoulders down and spreading laughter to everyone around him.

With the spoon halfway to his mouth, Steve closed his eyes and made a wish.

You smiled indulgently, watching two of your friends share a small moment as Steve took some more cake to give Peggy. With your hands behind your back, you suddenly felt Bucky's left hand make its way through your fingers, intertwining your hands very carefully.

“How's the taste?”

Steve shook his head nodding at your words, his brow furrowing in pleasure as he enjoyed the large bites he was taking of the cake. At that moment, all you could think about was how much you would sacrifice to stay in that bubble forever, even without knowing what was coming next.

“Are you okay?”

You heard his footsteps before you saw him, his body leaning against the second to last step where you had sat and turned away from the others. The routine you had had to get used to over the past few months, after believing you were going to change the world, had become a constant burden that was hard to shake off. Still, you took and cherished moments like those when you could go out and sit and just watch the vast sky stretching for miles. The stars shone so brightly there, in the middle of the forest, that they seemed like little beacons seeking to guide you to a better future; perhaps to a future that you did deserve. Steve also sometimes accompanied you in silence, having learned that he couldn't always argue with you about the meaning of life and the purpose for which you two had to carry out the unjust orders of superiors. You once saw one of his drawings, a woman sitting at the top of a flight of stairs and a starry night giving her a message of hope. Maybe he saw it the same way too after a while.

“Yeah,” you replied to Bucky with a tight-lipped little smile.

Bucky didn't know much about you now. As the weeks went by you realized it was true what he had once told you, when the America's couple shows and his platoon's stay coincided for the first time in months. You had changed a lot since the serum injection. And, well, who wouldn't, after all? That's why when you were together after so long he spent time very close to you, very aware of you, checking with his excellent senses that nothing was out of place. That you were okay.

You didn't know if he had believed you, by the way his face remained expressionless, barely a slight twitch of his eyebrows, but he didn't repeat the question.

“Do you think there's anything else for us, besides this?”

Bucky turned his gaze to look at the sky and you watched his profile, the curve of his eyelashes and his half-opened lips. Situations like that had become commonplace, too. Since you no longer spent so much time together and you had changed so much because somehow you had to adapt to the harsh reality against which you had crashed, Bucky constantly wondered many things about life that ended up being his own fears materialized in existential crises. For him his world was shaking. Since you told him that you had been invited to the Super Soldier project with Steve, everything had become uncertainty for him. Uncertainty about his life, about your life, about the life you wanted to have together, uncertainty about the future, uncertainty about life.

You had the conception that Bucky could never fully adapt to the abrupt change that meant his two best friends were involved in a private experiment that gave them heightened senses and more strength and speed than an average human. Now he seemed to looked at himself like the mere mortal who walked shoulder to shoulder with two gods. He seemed to feel that death would knock faster at his door and it drove him mad.

“Yeah, I don't think this is it,” you shook your head in assent, watching out of the corner of your eye as Bucky rested his forearms on his knees and leaned forward a bit. His hands interlocked and parted, his fingertips met and parted, his fists opened and closed.

“But you'll outlive me,” Bucky looked down, his blue eyes glittering focused on yours under the moonlight. You could barely hear movement in the back of the hold where Peggy and Steve were still talking. Your heart flipped at the vulnerability you saw through his eyes, lately more common than you'd like. You didn't like not being able to quell those thoughts that dominated his head; the insecurities and fears that made him doubt so many things in the middle of the night.

“We'd live the same amount of time,” you assured him shaking your head, your own mind refusing to accept that Bucky's fears could take more power over him. Whatever you could do to calm him, you would do, always.

“You have the serum. You and Steve will live for many more years. Hell, maybe you'll even be immortals,” Bucky tried to smile, but a grimace settled on his face and made his words bitter. He was subtly trying to untwist his shoulders, barely moving to your side trying not to show too much that he was kind of nervous.

“Why are you telling me that now?” you shifted on the wooden step, moving a little closer towards him. Bucky tensed visibly, not because of the closeness, but because he knew the moment was coming when you would stop following his lead and start asking him what was really plaguing his mind. For some reason, Bucky couldn't approach those topics of conversation naturally, letting his mind and words wander a bit before daring to take his fears by the horns.

“I don't know… I guess. It's a truth I have to accept,” he confessed, his voice so fragile and soft that had it not been for the extreme hearing the serum had granted you, you surely wouldn't have understood him. You felt your heart crumple and moved your hand from your lap to cradle his hands that he still could not let still.

“But it is a truth that is still a long way from being fulfilled.”

“And first we have to get through the war,” Bucky turned his hands to lace them with yours, his fingers intertwining with yours and giving them a squeeze.

“We will. I have no doubt about it. In fact, I have a plan to persuade Phillips,” you smiled at him trying to lighten the weight on his shoulders a bit.

Little surprised, Bucky let out a laugh, his free shoulders shaking in sync with his chest. A beautiful smile spread across his face, and you would've enjoyed it except you could still notice his tired eyes and the dark traces beneath them. It seemed that the moonlight intensified the reality of his emotions.

“You always have a plan for everything.”

“What can I say? I'm an optimist,” you lifted your shoulders, leaning against Bucky's side. His head dropped to rest on the crown of your head, his breathing synchronizing with yours for a moment.

“Between the two of us, you definitely are,” he murmured, taking a deep breath, enjoying the moment for several seconds. “Sorry for… coming to bring up those topics of conversation.”

“No, it's okay. I like to listen. And you tend to do that sometimes,” you shook your head over his shoulder trying to dispel the topic, Bucky's hands tightening around yours.

“What?”

“You suddenly talk about things you don't want to tell me too much about and then put a little light-hearted attitude on it so it doesn't sound so serious.”

Bucky lifted his head, causing you to move in time to meet his surprised expression as well. His lips were trying to twitch into a smile, but he didn't seem to know if he wanted to laugh or frown.

“Do I really do it that often?”

“A little, yes.”

“Ah, I'm pretty bad at dissembling I guess,” Bucky looked up, finally succumbing to the smile. The gesture satisfied you enough to delve into the emotion with him, taking a moment to further enjoy that scenario you could no longer be a part of lately; to enjoy those everyday moments where you could feel love materially spark around you, as if it was a novel written solely to satisfy human romantic desires and whims.

You shook your head, returning to the subject.

“But you don't have to worry about my supposed immortality. I know we'll live the same,” you assured him once more, your arms wrapping around his right arm and squeezing it securely, hugging him, trying to send him some of the confidence you felt inside.

“How are you so sure?”

The truth was, you weren't, but you couldn't let him know that, much less let him know that you didn't expect his life expectancy to be as extensive as yours was now either. But how were you going to tell him that? He must've been martyred enough by his own thoughts during every moment of the day when they drowned him, and it wasn't as if you expected too much of a life after him either. You could have immortality served on a silver platter, but what would be the point if you had to spend it on your own? Bucky was thinking about not wanting to leave you alone, and you were thinking about the impossibility of finding a reason to live after him.

“Because I know I don't want to live forever if I'm not with you.”

Bucky stopped his light, ghost-like caresses on your fingers. He turned his face to look at you, his nostalgic expression disappearing in a matter of seconds. His blue eyes looked contrite, as if there was a storm inside them. You had never hesitated in your answer, no matter when he had asked. And yet you seemed to have taken him by surprise; it seemed that such a thing would never have crossed his mind even by accident.

“Y/N…”

“I'd be living in vain. Stolen time,” you shook your head, averting your gaze from the depths of his, an unknown kind of longing or fear furrowing across his features that you couldn't bear to see a second longer. You were there at that moment and you would see each other again later, why did you have to think about it too much?

Bucky sighed. Only when you felt his body relax against your side did you know he understood that it would do no good for him to try to antagonize you.

“Still, you deserve a life like this. After all you've been through,” his voice was barely a whisper that tore through the silent chill that surrounded you, but the implication of his words furrowed against your chest like a dagger. You shook your head before the memories could reach you.

“We all deserve it, especially in this world consumed by the greed of power and hatred.”

You saw him nod out of the corner of your eye, his hands wrapping around one of your hands, the one closest to his side and bringing it up to his lips to kiss your knuckles. His eyes were fixed on your profile, you could feel it, but you were afraid to turn to look at him and allow your emotions to come out. You were too sweet to succumb to strong feelings when you were with Bucky.

“Hey!” was Steve's voice, like a beacon in the middle of the ocean, making you both turn at the same time. “Peggy's just leaving.”

“Want a ride, Barnes?”

“Ah, it would be my pleasure, Agent Carter.”

Peggy moved, after saying goodbye to Steve and you, and walked in the direction of the huge forest that stretched into the distance where she had parked her car. Or Howard's car, you couldn't quite make out through the darkness.

“See you later, Miss I-don't-want-to-live-forever,” Bucky approached you with a half smile, having said goodbye to Steve, meeting him halfway to melt you in his arms. The tension in your shoulders eased considerably, a sigh making its way into your chest.

“Take care, Bucky,” you squeezed his waist, because you weren't tall enough to reach his shoulders in a hug, and he squeezed you back in response.

“Sure thing. I got to see my girl again, after all.”

You laughed between the hollow of his neck and shoulder, feeling your cheeks burn. Bucky broke away just barely to look at you with his own huge grin.

“Don't overdo it, Barnes.”

“Come on!” Peggy insisted, glancing at the watch on her wrist.

You broke away from Bucky, trying to push him to get into the car with his affianced friend, but he had other plans. In the midst of your struggle to push him away, he grabbed one of your wrists, using very little force to pull you close to his chest, his lips crashing against yours in a fleeting action, but not at all rough, barely a brush. Before you knew what happened he had already pulled away from you.

“When I get back, we have a lot to talk about.”

He never came back. He left in the next couple of days for the mission on the train and all you got back was a shattered Steve, his face dirty and sticky from all the tears he'd shed, his pleading eyes crystallizing on you the moment he had to tell you that Bucky had died. You could still remember how his voice cracked as he begged your forgiveness, repeating it over and over as if it would ease the burden he felt on his shoulders, the guilt for not being able to get him in time. You never blamed Steve for what happened, but it seemed like he did for a long time.

Reliving those memories was always a constant martyrdom. After Bucky's funeral you didn't think you could move on, but carrying all his pain in a sack of rocks, Steve assured you that they would avenge the reason Bucky had died. HYDRA. So you did and were able to carry on for a while until Steve was also declared KIA.

Peggy and Howard were a great help when you realized that you couldn't die on your own, because you healed faster than normal and could spend more time than humanly possible underwater. To say that you didn't try to leave the earthly world would be a lie, but your friends tried to help you in every way they could until you had to leave the United States. When you thought you would have to spend years hiding in Europe, Howard told you that wasn't necessary. Just staying under the radar and out of the feds' jurisdiction would be fine and he would take care of it. And one day, after spending a week in the apartment you were renting without getting out of bed for almost any reason, a knock on the door startled you.

“Correspondence,” rang through the silence of the apartment.

You only got up because you knew the mailman was wrong. You had given your address to absolutely no one and there was no way any person knew of your existence in that country. You thought you took pity on the man, when he handed you the letter and it did indeed have your name on it.

It was an acceptance letter from some university. Apparently you had enrolled to study mathematics.

You had a suspicion of what was going on, but something in your chest asked you to ignore it. The letter asked for an interview before classes started in exactly three days, and after that interview you received a letter from Peggy.

When Howard died you knew you couldn't go back to Europe. Largely because you had to find out who his killer was, but also because you wanted to watch over Peggy's life as you couldn't do for your other three friends. You were often terrified for your friend's life, especially having the job she had and dealing with all those powerful people who wouldn't hesitate for the blink of an eye to order her death.

Steve was right. You stayed with Peggy to investigate Howard's death. But you also stayed because she was the only thing you had left and you had to take care of her; you had to preserve her, to do everything you could to prevent another tragic and unnecessary death. You would've sacrificed anything in life just to allow Peggy to have the life she deserved. And so you did. You cared for her for many years, you were so attentive to her that her children called you aunt and then her grandchildren called you grandma; you were at all her family gatherings, giving gifts to her children at Christmas and celebrating each new year as you watched time pass through her eyes. Every January 1st you saw it as a win, a whole year in which so much sacrifice had been worth it.

Now… well, now everything was a bit more complicated.

Natasha had left the abandoned dam first after going over the plan one last time. You were supposed to go with Steve and Sam, even though Steve was reluctant to have you near the Winter Soldier again, as if you didn't have the same strength and agility as he did. Of course, his fear was rooted in something completely different than that, something he and Natasha had discovered with Zola.

“HYDRA spent years searching for you to recreate the super-soldier serum after the war. If not for the excellent work Peggy and Howard did, they probably would've found you more easily.”

Now, having such a palpable possibility of destroying HYDRA, you didn't think there was the slightest chance that they were still thinking about it, although Natasha stressed that it seemed to be that the soldier had two different missions when he found them in the middle of the city, one of them being that he was to keep you alive. Zhivoy, you recalled bitterly. Alive.

Steve didn't want to risk finding something else waiting for them when they reached the helicarriers, something that might lead you away from him. And yes, you understood his concern because it was the same one you'd felt for years and was more latent recently since Steve returned. But you weren't going to stand by like a fucking statue while they did all the work. You would take it upon yourself to destroy HYDRA completely and deprive them of any chance they might have to get close to Steve, you or Bucky again. Whatever you had to do, you'd do it.

“He's not the same,” you had told Steve, as you walked to the Triskelion in the company of Sam and Maria.

“But he'll remember us,” Steve assured, his hand tightly gripping the strap with which he held the shield. Steve had been repeating that to himself all day, even in front of Sam. You couldn't believe you were the one trying to maintain an objective demeanor in that situation.

“Yeah, maybe at some point. But right now it's not him, Steve,” you turned to look at him, his face fixed on the expanse of water surrounding the large building he used to work for. “He's not the Bucky we knew.”

Steve looked back at you, pausing for a moment. You knew he was mindful of it, you knew Steve was aware of how dangerous he was now; that there was a good chance he really didn't remember them and you wanted to make sure that wouldn't cloud his judgment; that he would still fight for his life.

But the resolve in his eyes didn't convince you. His lack of response fanned a hollow in your chest, your hands breaking out in a cold sweat as you stared at the empty space he left in front of you.

Steve was willing to bring him back and you were afraid of losing him.

For some reason, you felt it had to be different.

You heard Steve's voice over the speakers, running so you could find the helicarriers exit before they took off. Steve and Sam were supposed to meet you halfway, but you were already halfway there, fighting off a few agents, and you still didn't hear them nearby. Your breath caught in your throat as one of the STRIKE agents grabbed you by the throat while another plunged an electric baton into your side, the sensation of volts coursing through your entire nervous system sending you into a momentary state of shock.

You dropped your hands to stop struggling with the agent behind you and grabbed the wrist holding the baton with an overly strong grip, snapping the bone in place and jerking your head to strike the face of the man behind you as his grip wobbled for a second. Both agents fell to the ground, two bones broken in less than a minute. You grabbed the baton before departing, hitting them both in the head barely using half your strength, knocking them unconscious instantly.

As you exited the Triskelion facility to meet the gap you would have to jump over to intercept the first helicarrier, you heard Steve and Sam's voices closer. Oh, right, you forgot to use the communicator.

“Where were you?” Steve exclaimed, running alongside Sam closer to the chasm.

“You've got blood on your neck,” Sam pointed out, before spreading his metal wings and flying off into the sky.

“Put on your communicator,” Steve asked you just before you both jumped at the same time, a feeling of emptiness planting itself in the pit of your stomach.

You landed with your legs bent and leaned forward for a spin before getting up and continuing to run alongside Steve. You rummaged in one of your pants pockets, praying that the small devices hadn't been shattered during the fights you had inside the Triskelion.

Only one was spared.

Steve barely sent you a reproachful glance, shaking his head, as you approached a horde of HYDRA agents. You barely finished putting the small communicator to your ear when the hail of bullets came in their direction. Steve grabbed your arm to pull you behind his shield until he managed to hide behind two large containers. The fight was immediate.

The group of agents split up and you jumped right in front of two of them, sliding on the ground to use the baton from below to disarm them. You knocked one of them out with the high volts of the baton and the other tried to stab you from behind, but you stopped his hand midway and flipped his arm over, a shriek of pain escaping him as his shoulder dislocated. The man fell to his knees and, lifting one leg, you half-turned to strike his face with your full tibia.

“Cap, I found the bad guys you were talking about,” you heard Sam's voice, noting that, although that communicator was working, the voice you perceived sounded distant.

“Are you okay?” you heard Steve, as he came closer and you stepped on the handle of the staff, lifting it in a single stroke so that it landed in your hand.

“Not dead yet.”

Steve nodded, though he knew Sam couldn't see him and gave you a questioning look.

“Works?” he pointed to your ear, starting to pace.

“A little bruised, but does the job.”

Your friend shook his head, starting to run inside the helicarrier.

“Cap?” you smirked.

“Don't start,” the blond spoke through his teeth, moving toward his target. “Report location.”

You nodded in his direction, heading for the first agents who appeared to obstruct his path, clearing Steve's way in the direction of the helicarrier hub.

When you were done with the agents and Steve was finally able to enter the control center, you turned your attention to the voices ringing through the communicator.

“Ah, shit,” was Sam's voice, and the next thing you heard was gunfire around the helicarrier next to it.

“Fine, but you're going with me. I don't want to let you out of my sight,” Steve had said a few hours before they left the dam, leaving no room for argument in his haughty voice.

“That's unnecessary, Steve. We'd waste too much time,” you shook your head, trying to match his stoic, stern expression.

“She's right,” Maria nodded in your direction. “There are three helicarriers and three of you.”

“No,” Steve began to rise, your eyes following the movement of his body and his blue eyes fixed on yours. “Fury delegated orders to me, and that's an order.”

You indulged Steve until you lost sight of him, understanding he had said that out of pent-up fear. You grabbed one of the weapons that had been left on the ground and passed the strap over your head. The third helicarrier was a considerable distance away at a jump. You had to pick up too much speed to even make it to the tip, but you weren't going to stand there waiting for Steve when you could be doing something more; something necessary.

So that's what you did. Steve still hadn't reported state when you started running from tip to tip, your steps getting bigger with every second until you reached the gap and picked up momentum at the tip. That was insane. You felt the emptiness in your stomach again and out of the corner of your eye you could see a couple of explosions occurring in the harbor where the helicarriers had departed from. You stretched your arms out, counting on having propelled your body far enough, fearing a deadly fall as the other edge began to look higher and higher.

“Y/N, status,” you heard Hill, your heart in your mouth.

Your mind went blank for a second, when in the midst of the adrenaline you almost didn't even feel the moment when your left hand gripped the edge of the helicarrier tightly, the aircraft moving a little farther with each passing second. You had jumped at just the right moment.

Breathing hard, you propelled yourself upward until you could plant your feet back on the runway floor and replied to Maria, “Waiting.”

Steve must've thought you were still on the helicarrier with him.

As you ran, Sam reported that he had intercepted the second helicarrier after Steve, barely recognizing their voices amidst the tussle you were having with the agents who had appeared before you could reach the control room door.

“Y/N, where are you?” the voice of Steve came over the comm, a few minutes after you took down the last agent, moving in the direction of the metal door. You felt heavily for the programming card you had taken from Steve when he had pulled you close to get behind his shield, as you heard him ask Sam if he could see you.

You were about to reach the door when the scenery abruptly changed, a body appearing out of nowhere colliding into your left side sending you crashing to the ground hard.

“Shit.”

“Y/N?”

You ignored Steve's voice, moving to push off the heavy body on top of yours. Amidst the struggle you crawled away across the floor, a hand clutching at your ankle before you could move any further.

You recognized him by the coldness that ran through your body at the contact. You could almost be sure it had burned you.

This time he wasn't wearing the mask, those blue eyes boring deep into your head, the angry expression very different from how you had seen him last time. Although you would've liked to stay longer just watching, after spending so many years suffering his death, you pulled the leg he had held captive and tried to hit him in the face, his metal arm moving faster neutralizing the hit.

At that moment you stood up arching your back, planting your feet hard and running towards the soldier before he could catch you off guard.

You tried to strike his face, but he nimbly dodged every blow, just as you dodged his. He let out a grunt of frustration as you sent him to the ground with a kick to the chest, pulling a weapon from his side that he didn't hesitate a second to point in your direction. Feeling the air caught in your throat, you moved quickly on the ground, trying to escape his bullets while managing to find a place to hide.

You heard his footsteps approaching, as you hid behind a container, stopping just on the other side, and you moved to the right side of the container when you knew he was going to jump out and surprise you from above.

His body froze for a second, which you took advantage of to jump over the dumpster and grab him from behind, the baton you had on your belt wrapped around his neck, cutting off his breathing. You tried to hold him tight as he tried to push away your grip with his metal arm, almost as strong as your push to keep him in place.

The soldier began to slow his movements, but if you hadn't been so torn between he's the Winter Soldier and he's Bucky, you would've noticed one of his hands move over his vest, grabbing the handle of a knife and burying it in your right leg hard, all the way in, causing you to gasp.

Clearly your grip wobbled, the soldier taking possession of your staff and turning around as he pulled the blade out of your leg to direct his foot towards your chest, pushing you back to the ground where you fell with a loud thud.

The wound was deep. You could feel and hear the blood pouring out of it, but you didn't just stand there as you saw him leap down from the container, raising his arms to parry his attack as he directed the knife towards your face. His face contorted and scrunched up in concentration was all you could focus on, remembering that you couldn't let him win, but you also couldn't hurt him like he wanted to hurt you. You had to be objective, yes, but the thought of hurting him once more was heartbreaking.

You struggled with his hand until he let go of the knife, using your strength and trying to ignore the sharp pain in your leg from the effort to push him to the ground beside you with your hand on his neck and your leg around his waist, lying on top of him with one leg on each side.

At that moment, as you tried to keep your arm over his neck and he tried to weaken you by hitting your sides, you heard Steve and Sam's voices again. A small panic ran through your body which was enough for the soldier to push your arm away, grabbing you by the neck with his metal arm and bringing a gun close to your face as he rose up, taking you with him, until he slammed you into a wall with great force.

You raised your hand between your bodies to move the tip of the gun, the shot falling a short distance above your head, your exorbitant eyes watching his furious expression. His metal hand closed tighter and tighter around your neck, your breath hitching, but you didn't relinquish your grip on the hand still holding the gun.

In the midst of the struggle, you brought your knee up to strike his crotch. The soldier jerked away, a whimper dying in his mouth as you moved toward him again, pushing his arm away as he pointed the gun at you again and the shot landed somewhere behind you again.

You hit him in the face with your own head, one of your hands holding his right arm with the gun and the other trying to keep his metal arm that held the knife dripping with your blood at bay. You hit him full in the nose again, but even though the blood was starting to drip down, the soldier didn't budge one bit.

“Go!” you shouted to Steve and Sam, the soldier averting his attention for a tiny moment before struggling against your grip again.

You had to break free somehow to get the card to Steve. Your body began to give way with the soldier's thrust, your boots sliding on the floor like it was marble. The soldier began to close his arms and you tried to match his strength, but the blood leaking from the wound in your leg was slowly weakening you. And it was a vibranium knife again.

Suddenly you noticed Steve running towards you, the fleeting glance costing you restraint, as the soldier raised your arms and turned you roughly, his back crashing against your chest and his metal hand burying in your chest the knife hard, moving it from side to side as he did that cold night in Siberia.

In the midst of the pain and weakness from the blood loss, you laid your head on his shoulder, the adrenaline slowly draining from your body.

“Bucky,” you whispered like a prayer, your strangled voice barely making its way out of your mouth and the soldier tensing behind you. The struggling stopped for a second.

Then his body heat disappeared. Steve must've reached and tackled the soldier without missing a beat.

“Hey, hey,” you heard Sam approaching you, kneeling beside you and taking your hand that wanted to pull the knife out of your chest. Right through the center, near the heart. That pain was no match for the disappointment that was tearing you apart inside. Maybe that time you could actually die. “Don't touch that.”

“Give the card to Steve…” you barely muttered breathlessly, one of your hands moving to pull the card out of one of your lower pants pockets. “Run.”

Sam hesitated for a few seconds, looking between your knife and the fight that was still picking up steam in the background, until he clicked his tongue and stood up.

“Don't take that knife out!”

You saw him run in the direction of Steve and the soldier, his metal wings rising in the midst of the struggle. Steve and Sam began to get the upper hand, and at some point, Steve took off in the direction of the helicarrier control center.

You dropped to the ground, watching helplessly as the soldier overpowered Sam, dislodging his wings with the force of his metal arm. The pain was too much, but Sam was completely helpless. No matter how much training he might've had, fighting the Winter Soldier was disproportionate.

So in a matter of seconds you stood up, grasping between gasps the handle of the knife and pulling it out of your chest without a second thought.

The electric current of pain that coursed through your body was unbearable, feeling as if the hollowness you constantly felt in your chest from emotions had suddenly materialized, a constant pang that coursed through you from head to toe at every microsecond, with every movement. Sam didn't even have time to react when you grabbed the soldier by the throat, burying the knife in his leg and trying to wave him off.

You could consider yourself well served if at that moment that was your death.

The soldier grabbed the arm around your neck and leaned forward, lifting you up and flipping you over onto your back, falling hard and painfully to the ground. You looked at the knife in his leg before looking at his face again. He had a couple of cuts, his expression still angry, but he seemed to hesitate as he pulled the knife out like it was nothing and watched you lying on the ground, completely at his mercy.

His hesitation brought unease to your chest.

“Bucky,” you called again, tears welling in your eyes.

The soldier only frowned, his anger momentarily fading until he seemed to remember something.

He turned to look at the control center. Before running off, he sent you another disgruntled look, just like that time on the road.

Whatever had happened after that, death or not, was extremely painful.

tag: @samodivaa @rubyxx16

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