THE CAPTIVE MASTERLIST

◣THE CAPTIVE MASTERLIST◥

summary: you are a resistance pilot and after a mission goes wrong, you are held captive by the first order. the general of the first order knows your potential and brings you to his side.

word count: 10115

warnings: angsty, fluffy, nothing too intense

[PART 1]  [PART 2]  [PART 3]  [PART 4]  [PART 5]  [PART 6]  [PART 7]

updated: 10.21.19

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A/N: a little Knight of Ren!reader x Hux Drabble for ya. Hux whump of COURSE.

“REN!”

All the Knights were standing in a circle briefing the next mission when you all turned to see Hux making his way towards the group. An odd thing to call out in a group of people who went by Ren but everyone knew who he meant, including your Master, Kylo Ren who turned and walked towards Hux. “Something I can help you with, General?”

“Why yes there most certainly is. Did you tell the Supreme Leader my men were not up to the Utapau mission in favor of your men?”

“I told the Supreme Leader the facts. This is a significant mission and I believed my Knights were the superior team to be trusted with this mission. He made the decision himself. Besides, do you really think I tell the Supreme Leader what to do?”

Hux smirked, “I think you’re certainly self important enough to try.” You smirk and let out a small laugh that draws all eyes on you. You look horrified as you hang your head a bit, “I’m sorry, Master.” You whisper as they go back to their conversation. You couldn’t explain it but you kind of always had a soft spot for Hux. He was strong and never backed away from your Master and that was respectable. Not to mention he was kinda cute. They finished their conversation and Kylo returned to the brief. As he concluded, you all agreed upon a rendezvous spot and went to walk away. “Oh and [Y/N],” you wince at your name and slowly turn around, “Yes, Master?”

He smiled a sadistic smile, “We’ll be helping with ship security this evening. 12th floor. Monitor the halls until the rendezvous time.” You try to suppress your sigh. Great. No sleep before a mission. “Yes, Master.” You really need to learn to shut your mouth.

——-

1:15am

You’d walked the same halls at least 10 times now. You stopped for a moment to yawn and close your eyes.

“Ahh!”

Your eyes snap open when you hear the cry. Without a moments thought you head in the direction of the noise continuing to hear grunts and groans as you drew closer. Rounding the corner your a little shocked at what you see. It’s General Hux on the ground looking like he’s struggling to get back to his feet. There’s a cut on his head which looks to be bleeding pretty heavily. “General! Are you alright?” You rush over, offering a hand. He bats away the offer, “I don’t need anything for your kind.” You pull your hand away looking a bit indigent, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He stopped trying to stand, “One of his little attack dogs.”

“Oh.” You shrugged a little. “Kylo? I wouldn’t call us attack dogs exactly...” he tries again to grab onto the rail along the hallway and pull himself up. “Here...” you go in grab him round the waist and help him up but he turns and snaps at you, “I said I’m fine!” You back away and watch as he struggles before collapsing back into the ground. “This is you being fine then?” He sighed before looking up at you, “Did you come here to mock me?”

Your eyes go wide, “No. I’m just trying to help you. That cut looks pretty bad and it seems like maybe you broke a leg or something.” You shrug again, “Besides, I’m only here because I laughed at what you said to Master Ren. Seems like destiny, me being here with you now.”

Hux sighed, “We can’t go to the medbay.” You smile, glad he’s given in. “Okay.” Leaning down you grab him around the waist and hoist him up, guiding his arm around your shoulders. Slowly you guide him back to your room. He doesn’t protest or say much at all as you take him into your sparse quarters and let him down onto your bed. “I’ll be right back. Make yourself comfortable!” You shout as you go into the bathroom. Hux looks around as he goes to prop himself against the wall. There’s no indication that and individual lives here. No personal effects, nothing is out of place, no additional luxuries, it looks like when it was first issued. Moments later you return with a shocking amount of medical supplies and Hux looks shocked. You see his face and give a little shrug. “We don’t really use the medbay either so everything is taken care of in house.” You pout some antiseptic on some gauze and begin to dab at the cut on his head earning you a hiss in pain from Hux. “Sorry.” you whisper as you continue, “so... what happened?” Hux frowned and turned away but your hand followed, “None of your business.” You raised your eyebrows and gave a little nod. “Okay.”

Silence fell as you continue to clean the wound. “So. Ren punished you.” He finally spoke up. “Yeah. It’s not that big of a deal. Happens a lot actually. The way you deal with him... I don’t know... it makes me laugh.” You smile and his eyes look over to you and he smiles back. “Well I’m sorry I suppose.”

“Don’t be!” You shake your head as you finish closing the wound, “I think you’re brilliant! It’s not like any of us could ever talk to him the way you do.”

Hux smiled for a moment before his face turned. “The Supreme Leader... well he’s my Ren, I suppose.”

You face soured as you put away the antiseptic. “So, this is him punishing you?” Hux didn’t say anything, just gave you a small nod. “Whatever you did, couldn’t have warranted this.” You look up at him, sadness in your eyes and he looked back at you, letting the last of his wall crumble. You grab a scanner and run it over his injured leg. “Small fracture. Bacta should fix that by morning.” Hux nodded and began to push himself to the edge of the bed. “Wait. You shouldn’t move around too much. You can... you could stay here if you want. I’m supposed to be monitoring the halls anyway.” He stopped moving and looked around, “I don’t want to impose.” You smile and shake your head, “it’s nothing. I’ll get you all set up here and then you can stay until morning. After hall duty, we’re leaving for Utapau anyway.”

Hux nodded before screwing up his face, “Wait, when are you sleeping?” You don’t respond but shrug a little with a sigh. “You’re going on a dangerous mission with no sleep? Stars, he is such an asshole. Why do you follow him?”

You look at him plainly for a moment before a sad smile creeps across your face, “Why do you follow a man who broke your leg and split your skull?” He pursed his lips and dropped his head. “Touché.” You let out a big sigh before looking down at his leg. “I’m going to, um, need you to take off your pants.” Hux tried not to blush as he nodded and unbuttoned his trousers trying to wiggle out of them but scrunching up his face in pain when he moved the injured leg. “Here.” You offered as you helped delicately pull them down this time meeting no resistance from him. “Thank you.” He says as you try not to giggle as how silly he looks in his boxers and formal dress jacket. You apply the necessary bacta before dressing it. “There. Just needs time now. Um, do you want help with your jacket?” Hux looked down realizing how silly he must look, “uh, yes please.” You smile as you help him strip down to his undershirt; a much better match for his boxers. “Okay. Well I’ll be wandering the halls with no rhyme or reason for the next 6 hours if you need anything!” You smile and wave as you turn towards the door. “[Y/N],” Hux calls after you and you turn back before exiting the room, “Be safe. And come back. I’d, um, I’d like to take you to dinner. To thank you for this.”

You try not to blush as a smile spreads across your face, “Well then. I’ll be sure to come back.”

Fever

Pairing: James Moriarty X Reader

Requested By: Anonymous

Prompt: #22 - Fever - an abnormally high body temperature.

Summary: Reader has to take care of a sick Moriarty.

Warnings: Some light cussing, nothing too crazy.

AN: My very first ask! :D You made me happy! I feel like I rushed a bit to get this out before class, so I hope you like it. Cheers! 

~!~*~!~

You felt hot, almost too hot as your eyes slowly opened and you looked over at the clock. It was still early, the sun just starting to peek on the horizon and cast and orange glow within the bedroom. You brought your hand up, feeling the sweat on your brow as you wipe it away, wondering if you were getting sick. You curse yourself mentally, knowing you shouldn’t have stayed out so late in the cold the other night. You turn your head to look at Jim, he was curled up next to you with his arm wrapped around your waist, holding you close. You didn’t want to wake him, so you grabbed his arm and that’s when you realized it wasn’t you, it was him.

He was burning up.

You move your hand to his forehead, feeling the heat radiating from his skin before you ever make contact. You sit up carefully and maneuver yourself out from under his grip, watching as he curls up with the pillow you were just using. You smile, loving how cute he looked while sleeping, so innocent looking. You had to hold back the scoff of laughter at the thought of James and innocent in the same sentence, you knew better.

You make your way across the bedroom, grabbing your silk robe and wrapping it around yourself before making your way down stairs to get an early start. You make a batch of tea and pour some for yourself while you start a pot of chicken broth. You yawn as you start cutting up some vegetables, and before too long you have a nice pot of chicken noodle ready. You grab some lemon from the fridge and some honey from the cabinet, mixing them together with the hot tea and placing it on the tray along with a bowl of soup, a tall glass of water and a wet cloth. You know he’ll be awake any moment now, so you head up the stairs and back into the bedroom.

When you enter the covers are completely off the bed along with the pillows, and Jim is laying in the middle, stripped down to his underwear. You walk closer and place the tray on your nightstand, “James,” you say softly, sitting on the bed with one leg crossed beneath you as you reach out and stroke his sweat soaked hair off his face. “I made you some soup.” He opens his eyes and you pity him as he suddenly starts to cough. Jim hardly ever got sick, but when he did it was always awful, and lord knows Jim didn’t handle sick very well.

“I’m not sick,” he mumbles, batting your hand away weakly, “and don’t look at me like that.” You ignore him and grab the cloth from the tray, using it to dab at his face. He grumbles, something under his breath that you can’t make out as you fold cloth and lay it across his forehead. “I have things to do,” he says, his voice horse from the coughing, “I’m not sick.”

“Of course not, darling.” You say, getting off the bed and picking up the pillows from the floor. You set them up against the headboard, motioning for him to sit up and he does, a scowl on his face as he leans back against them. You readjust the cloth and then hand him the tea, he looks at it for a long moment, a staring contest to the death. Finally he gives in and takes a drink, a winch crossing his face as he swallows.

“I need to get ready,” he says, trying to hand you the cup of tea but you just stand there, hand on your hip, an eyebrow raised. Another glare, another cough, a huff and he drinks the rest of the tea. “Happy?”

“No,” you say, taking the cup back and sitting back down on the bed, this time facing him. “I’ll take care of business today, you need to rest.”

“Like hell, you haven’t a clue as to what needs to be done.” He retorts, the cloth falling from his face as he sits up in protest.

“Oh please, you have a lunch today at eleven with Mr. and Mrs. Foster, nothing too serious, just to get a feel of the two before you decide to go any further. Later I believe you are scouting out an area in downtown London, adding a few final touches before you contact your hounds and release them on that wicked old man that pissed you off last week.” You say with a smirk.

He clears his throat, “well, that wasn’t sexy or anything.” He says, leaning back into the pillows in defeat. He starts coughing again, his head falling back against the headboard and letting out a groan as he did. You turn until you are sitting next to him, pulling at him to lean against you, “no, I’m not a bloody child.” He says, but allows you to pull him as he lays his head down on your chest.

“Not at all,” you say, laughter in your voice as you run your fingers through is hair. You grab the fallen cloth and dab at his face again, watching as he closes his eyes and eventually falls asleep. You lay that way for a few hours, watching the steam fade from the soup you made. Watching the way he twitched as he slept, listening to his breathing. Luckily your phone was near by, you quietly made a few calls, one to the driver, the other to the doctors office.

“I’m not going to the doctor,” he mumbles against your chest.

“You’re going to the doctor, even if I have to hold you at gun point to get you there.” You say, the threat sounding in your voice

“Hmm, sound kinky.” He says, a smirk on his face as he looks up at you.

You only laugh and place a kiss to his forehead, making a mental note to add some extra rounds to your purse later before you leave. ~!~*~!~

Moriarty x Reader | ‘Always Take The Shot’

Hey! So this is gonna be my first ever Moriarty x Reader fic, I hope you guys like it. (It might be a series…)

Plot: You are a crime scene photographer working alongisde Sherlock, John and Lestrade. You capture something you weren’t supposed to… 

Warnings: None,

Guide: C/N = Client Name

*click*

The sound of your camera snapped a photo of the dead body in front of you. You quickly looked down at the screen and blankly stared before it disappeared again. You were a photographer. 

Well… You took a course at university to be a creative photographer but ended up being a crime scene photographer. You also worked alongside Sherlock and John. The two were very famous in the media, Sherlock was a ‘consulting detective’ whilst John was a blog writer and wrote about the two. Sherlock said you were the best photographer he’s ever seen and regularly uses your photos for evidence. John also uses your photos on his blog. It has given you quite good rep in the past. 

But you were just working alone this morning. Sherlock and John were caught up with a particular man called Moriarty. 

Keep reading

A/N: Requests from two anons. Now this one doesn’t have any smut but I loved writing it. And oh, there is so much more to come. ;-)

Words: 1939 Warnings: implied smut, fluff

Keep reading

Death Puns and Assassins (James Moriarty x Reader)

James Moriarty smiled.

One would think that it wasn’t a big deal. But, his genuine smiles (not his trademark smirks) were as rare as the instances where Sherlock was, in fact, incorrect regarding his deductions.

His smiles meant one of two things: Either Sherlock had fallen into one of his elaborate mind games or schemes, or Moriarty had just received a text from (y/n).

No one knows when these texts began. (Y/n) was hired as one of Moriarty’s assassins ages ago, and many agree that the texts became a ritual presumably from the first hit.

It goes something like this: Moriarty sends a  name, place, and time. And hour later, a text chime announces a confirmation that everything went well. The part that caused him to smile, though, was the strange method (y/n) used when providing evidence that the deed was done.

(Y/n)’s confirmation text only consisted of two things: A gruesome selfie with the corpse, and a cringe-worthy pun describing the death.

Tonight’s text was a prime example; (y/n) was posed with their arm around the body of a man who had (poorly) attempted to betray Moriarty. Now, the man was turning cold and had his eyes glassing over. And the cause of death? A couple dozen nails hammered into his skull. The hammer (y/n) had used was still bloody, and lying in the back of the photo.

The attached comment had only a simple phrase. “Nailed it.”

Why did Moriarty, the Napoleon of crime, find these stupid puns and photos amusing? No one has figured it out yet. But everyone agrees on one thing.

His smile is a beautiful, maddening thing. Even if it’s only shown because of death puns and assassins.