My Favorite Ship Dynamic :-)

my favorite ship dynamic :-)

Hey :) hope you are doing ok.

I was wondering if there is gonna be a pt2 of The Safe house story ??? I just wanna say that I totally loved it and hope you will continue🥰

Have a nice day 😘

The safe house 🤍 (Pt. 2) (Captain Wilco x reader)

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TW/WARNINGS: having a gun pointed at you, concussions and being dazed, having to remove peices of armor from an unconscious person, blaster marks, mention of wounds, collapsing, fainting, having to care for a grown person, dead relatives, broken arms

A/N: Tysm! I'm so glad you liked it! And yes, there's going to be more than a few parts, they'll just come out very slowly 😭

@littlenephilim999uriel

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Grumbling, you crouched down, setting down your new companion gently against a tree, breathing hard.

You had taken to slinging his arm around your shoulders and moving him that way, though his legs still dragged behind and your back was screaming with the effort of not collapsing under his weight. He had to be at least a foot and some change taller than you, making it even more difficult not to get his legs caught on things along the way.

The most nerve wracking part, though, was making sure he was still breathing normally and not slipping into some sort of coma.

You kneeled next to him, patting his chest plate and eventually his cheek insistantly to try to get him to open his eyes. Luckily, it worked, as it had the other three times, though he was just as out of it.

"9980…What?" He mumbled, blinking slowly.

You breathed a sigh of relief, he had been mumbling a series of numbers (who you guessed were, sadly, his brothers) and nonsense every time you had woken him up, but at least he was waking up.

"Okay, thank you, dear. You can go back to sleep now."

He hummed, closing his eyes again and resuming his light breathing.

You grunted, taking his arm around you again and pushing both of you to your feet once more.

After a few more hours of this, you finally reached the discreet, familiar path that led down to the safe house. You nearly sobbed with relief, your back and legs clearly sharing the sentiment.

You sped up, the decline allowing you some ease with your precious cargo. When you finally reached the door, you typed in the short code quickly, thanking the maker that you had memorized it as young as age five.

The door swooshed open, near good as new, and you almost dropped him in preemptive relief as soon as you passed the threshold. Instead, you continued to drag him, tapping along the hardwood floor with your foot until you found the hollow sound you seeked.

Finally you kneeled, still supporting his weight, and pressed firmly on the spot. You laughed lightly as the hatch rose slowly, always in awe of your grandfather's workmanship and his ability to bring older practices into the modern day so efficiently.

You poked your head into the space below. It smelled like dust more than anything, but you could make out faint traces of the incense he used to burn to flush out the smell of the game he would prepare in his workspace. Feeling along the wall, you found the switch, bathing the room in a soft orange glow.

You huffed, beginning a careful descent of the wooden steps that led into the space, yelping when you accidentally smacked his armored shoulder against the hatchframe.

After a few minutes of struggling, you finally got him down onto one of the three cots that lay collecting dust in the small room attached to the main living quarters.

"Oh, thank the maker-" You wheezed, bracing your hands on your aching back. You were so eager to just get everything in the storage rack unpacked so you would have food and medicine to actually live off of, nearly out the door to go do all of that before you passed out beside him, but you stopped.

One more time, just to be safe.

You beat the dust out of the cot beside him, moving him over. His breathing was still even, which you thought was a good sign as you leaned over him, trying not to invade his space more than you needed to to check on him.

You patted him quickly, "You still there, uh- sir?"

His eyes opened slowly once more, squinting as they adjusted to the lamp light.

You smiled down at him, brushing his hair back, "Good."

Slowly, your eyes came to rest upon his armor; you had to remove it, didn't you?

Would that be crossing a line? Maybe, but you would have to to inspect the blaster mark that marred his chest plate and to get a splint on that broken arm. It was necessary, even if it would probably be uncomfortable for both of you.

Carefully, you decided to start on his bad arm. He groaned as you undid his shoulder plate, making you wince.

"I know, I know- I'm sorry." You nodded, moving to his Rerebrace.

By the time you got to his gauntlet plate, you felt eyes on you.

You looked up and right into his dilated, honey irises.

"Oh, hello." You managed to laugh lightly, genuinely surprised that he had enough energy to stay awake for more than a few seconds.

He continued to stare, and you eventually went back to sliding off the last piece of that arms plating, placing it on the pile at your feet.

Setting his arm down as gingerly as you could, you went about unclipping his chest plate, placing the pieces on the floor and checking for damage to the chest of his black body glove that lay underneath. There didn't seem to be any blood or even a burn mark on it, thank the maker, it must have been a glancing shot.

Satisfied with your inspection, you got up, going to look for one of your grandfather's old medical journals to find how one actually went about making a splint. Or, you were, until he grabbed a hold of your wrist with his good hand.

You turned, confused as he squinted up at you for several moments.

Finally, he cracked a slight grin, letting out a flirty, slightly slurred, "Heyyy~"

You both stood like that for a second, staring at each other, until you snorted softly, detaching his hand with little effort, "Hey."

-

When you finally returned, armed with your new knowledge, a first aid kit, and a cool cloth, he was passed out again, snoring lightly now.

You placed it over his forehead, smiling when his pinched expression softened at the sensation.

Moving an old wooden chair to the side of the bed where his bad arm rested. It was a task to move it from his stomach in a way that minimized his wincing, but you managed, wrapping the area with the most swelling in a gauze bandage firmly.

Placing the splint along his forearm, you fastened it with straps of old fabric as tightly as you could without hurting him, avoiding the wound itself, and at last, you placed the arm carefully in a sling. You were shaking with nerves by the time you were finished, too nervous that you might've messed something up, but he didn't seem to be going into shock so you were most likely good.

Rising from your spot once more, you left the room, sending him one last look in the doorway before turning the corner to begin unfreezing a few portions for a decent supper for the two of you.

You were only a few minutes into beginning the cooking process on your small stove when you heard a bang from the other room, making you jump.

Getting up quickly, you rushed down the hall to make sure your new companion hadn't hurt himself by rolling off his cot or something, but when you arrived in the doorway again, you could only really stare in shock.

The man had somehow managed to get to his feet, albeit not steadily, shaking and swaying in a way that had you walking slowly and carefully over to him, nervous of startling him but terrified he would collapse and hit his head/arm.

Unfortunately for you, he was still awake enough to draw one of his blasters quickly when you did startle him, pointing them directly at you.

I really should have thought to take those off of him, you thought.

But you had been so concerned with getting him safely to the house that you had completely forgotten about the weapons, even though that's what you had approached him for in the first place.

The only thing you could do was stare like a dugar dugar in headlights as he trained them shakily on you.

Your eyes trailed from the barrels of his blaster to make contact with his, pleading in a way you hoped would show that you weren't a threat.

His eyes widened as they locked with yours and, slowly, he lowered his weapon, letting his arm fall limply to his side.

You let out a sigh of relief, not breaking eye contact as he stared at you, seeming almost in a dazed sort of awe. Though, your relief was cut short as he stumbled, falling to his knees as his eyes closed once more. You scrambled to his side, allowing him to collapse into you and sighing as his head came to rest on your shoulder, now breathing lightly again.

It wasn't a huge operation hauling him back up onto the bed, but you were still shaking from having a blaster aimed at you. You frowned down at his sleeping form, exasperated as you took the guns from his hand and holster.

This was going to be one long and wild ride, wasn't it?

Riptide: *a strict leader with a focus on the republic cause, willing to forfeit everything for the mission, stone cold*

Also Riptide after cyare joins their battalion: "You said you hurt your finger, ad'ika?" *kisses it better*

Title: Scorched Earth.

A Grab Bag For A Very Lovely Anonymous Commissioner.

Pairing: Yandere!Warrior x Reader.

Word Count: 1.3k.

TW: Unhealthy Relationships, Mentions of War/Death, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, and Kidnapping.

You saw the torchlight hours before he reached your cottage.

Bright and brilliant, a red stain ebbing through the trees and bleeding into the dark sky. The forest was dense, the canopy stifling, yet somehow, the light he and his soldiers carried was awful enough to pierce through it all, to burn away every behind them and fill the open air with thick, choking smoke. You could’ve tried to flee, it wasn’t as if you couldn’t guess what was coming for you, but you didn’t keep a horse, and you knew better than to stave off the inevitable. He’d catch you, no matter how far you ran, no matter how many times you refused him. He’d promised as much, the first time he declared that you’d be his.

Rather than escape, you stayed where you were, perched on the rotting wooden steps leading up to your door and watching the oncoming flare. His scouts, dressed in black and prone to circling your meager home like vultures, reached you before he did, then sergeants, piling in by the dozen, well-armed and jeering and carrying his insignia with a sort of heady arrogance. Finally, he emerged from the growth, surrounded by his lieutenants and mounted on a sleek, grey steed larger than any you’d ever seen before. He was a far cry from how you’d seen him last – his bandages gone, his pitch-black hair grown down to his shoulders, the rags you’d been able to lend him traded out for shining armor clean enough to catch the torchlight and glow scarlet. A great-sword sat at his hip, two more curved blades crossed over his back, but you couldn’t seem to find much joy in his fortune. Not when you’d soon be counted among one of his many, many precious things.

As he dismounted, the movements practiced to the point of thoughtlessness, you rose to meet him, hyper-aware that this would likely be the last time you’d be able to stand on equal ground. “Wren.”

It wasn’t his name. You’d misheard him, the first time you asked; made what you could out of the slurred syllables he’d been able to spit out and never found the time to look back. Even when he started to recover, when he was able to hold onto consciousness for longer than a minute at a time and more than just your clumsy stitching held the jagged cut stretching from his shoulder to his hip shut, he always failed to correct you. His real name – Wyvern, given to him as an unknown orphan after he slayed his namesake and delivered its head to a king who’d let him massacre armies and rampage through the countryside as he pleased – was something you had to learn the day he left, the day he told you who he was and why you’d found him bleeding out in a stream all those months ago. He’d asked you to come with him, back to the castle, and through tears, you’d told him that you wouldn’t have helped him if you’d known you were saving the life of a murderer. He’d tried to kiss you, and you slapped him and told him to get out of your cottage.

It wasn’t his name, but he smiled like it was, taking a step toward you. His soldiers started to close in, but he held up a hand, keeping them at bay. “Beloved.” It was a familiar petname. It used to make you blush, stammer, want to make flower crowns and kick your feet and learn to play some ridiculous stringed instrument. Now, it just made your stomach turn, your vision dim at the edges with rage. “I’m sorry I took so long to return to you. I had to gather a few friends – thought you should meet the future guests of our wedding.”

There was cheer from his soldiers, a flash of a grin from Wren. You stiffened, squaring your shoulders, but he remained unaffected, his expression only softening as you forced yourself to respond. “I meant what I said. I could never love a man with blood on his hands.”

If he heard you over the milling of his soldiers, the crackling of his torches and the distant sounds of the forest’s nightlife, he clearly wasn’t listening. Rather he closed the remaining space between you and him and took you in his arms. Your feet were off the ground in a moment, your chest against his chest in another, being spun idly as he let out a throaty laugh. “God,” he sighed, when he finally came to a stop. The sharp corners of his plated armor dug into your skin at odd angles, and his hold on your waist was tight enough to bruise. You’d had to ask him to be gentle before, to mind his inhuman strength when he touched you, but it was a lesson he just couldn’t seem to take to heart. “I missed the sound of your voice. I’ll have to take you with me on my next campaign - I don’t know if I could stand to leave you at court for all that time.”

“Put me down,” you hissed, hitting his shoulders with as much force as you could manage. He abided you, but didn’t let go of you – just moving his hold from your hips to your hands, taking them in his own before you had time to pull away.

“I couldn’t. I absolutely couldn’t. Most of the knights are absolute bastards, and you’re too sweet – they’d try to take you for themselves in a heartbeat. No, I can’t let you out of my sight for a moment, can I?” He paused, his face lighting up with apparent zeal. “You’ll adore the castle. I’ve already secured a cottage on the edge of the grounds, and you’ll have full reign of the gardens. We won’t have to—”

“Stop.” You attempted to wrench yourself out of his vice-grip, and when that failed, let out a ragged groan, tears already forming in the corners of your eyes. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“That’s not true.” His smile didn’t so much as waver. “You saved my life. You told me that you loved me, and I love you, too. How would either of us ever be happy if we were seperated?”

Something deep in your chest ached. It was impossible to look at him and not picture the countless mornings you’d woken up by his side, the countless days you’d passed teaching him how fish and tend to a garden, the countless nights you’d spent bundled beside a fire sharing stories with a man you thought you’d loved. It was impossible not to think about what he’d done and wish you’d driven that knife into his stomach yourself.

“I can’t love someone like you,” you said, finally, because you couldn’t bear to say anything else. “And I’m not leaving my home.”

At that, you could’ve sworn you saw something register in his dark eyes. He was quiet, his enthusiasm fading, and for a second, you thought he might’ve understood. For a second, you thought he might call away his soldiers, get back on his horse, and leave you to your quiet suffering.

Then, he leaned forward, his lips coming to rest against the top of your head. “Beloved,” his voice was low, stifled your skin. “You don’t have a home. Not without me.”

Abruptly, he pulled away from you, raising a hand and looking toward his soldiers. While you were left in the dark, they knew their signal, surging forward in a chaotic wave of yelling and footsteps. You pressed your form against Wren’s side, clenching your eyes shut and bracing yourself, but there was only a burst of heat, a sudden visible even through your eyelids. Another kiss, this one pressed into your cheek and chased with a soft chuckle.

When you could bring yourself to look, you found not a volley of arrows or a hundred swords all pointed at your neck, but your cottage engulfed in flame, shining golden in the oppressive night. Your shoulders fell, your mouth opening, but you failed to make a sound. Wren wasn’t as stunned, grinning as he pulled you close and pressed his lips into yours, the kiss delicate and tortuous all at once.

“Don’t worry,” he muttered as he pulled away, his tone so soft and so gentle, you could almost tell ignore the blood-soaked cruelty lingering just underneath it.

“The only home you need is with me.”

the trial of ahsoka tano, the true version

jail for ahsoka! jail for ahsoka for bringing her father and brother to a heart attack!

😘sexy💯 independent😈✨free-thinker😝🎱 roger, roger!🙊real🏅yes, we are hooman😇💫all your base are belong to us👍🙌🏼💋