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intricatechaosofyou · 4 months

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Sewing Lessons

Fandom: The Bad Batch; Star Wars

Summary: Life Day is quickly approaching, so you and Omega set out to give your boys some gifts.

Using the prompts “Did you get us matching pajamas?”

Warnings: sewing needles (no one gets poked, they just exist), kissing, I am unaware if mistletoe is a thing in the Star Wars universe but it is now so deal with it

Author’s note: Happy Life Day Exchange @wizardmandoo !! It was great getting to write for you. I hope you enjoy this story and have a fantastic Life Day season, babe!

And thank you to @cloneficgiftexchange for putting this together!! This was my first exchange and I’m so glad to take part!

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Strands of green hung around Omega’s door frame as she sat in the gunner’s mount that served as her makeshift room. The young girl had never experienced a real Life Day before. Kamino wasn’t known for their festivities; the long-necks claimed they took away from their work time. So although the boys didn’t have much experience actually celebrating the holiday either, they all tried their best to give Omega a perfect first Life Day.

Hunter had let you all stop for a few days on a snowy planet. With enough supplies, he figured you could take a break somewhere festive for the holiday.

Wrecker had let Omega sit atop his shoulders to hang up homemade garland around the Marauder.

Tech had taught her about the history behind the holiday, telling her everything he had learned from the Holonet.

Crosshair had taught her to make the perfect snowball and helped her perfect her aim.

And Echo told her stories every night before bed he had heard back during his days celebrating Life Day in the 501st.

Yes, all the boys had done their best to give Omega a perfect Life Day. But Omega was even more excited to give them a perfect Life Day. The girl had the biggest heart, so that’s how you found yourself crammed in the gunner’s mount with her, carefully watching as she stitched her design.

She had wanted to give the boys gifts, and when you recommended pajama pants, she jumped at the idea. The boys only had their blacks and sometimes the Marauder could get cold, even for them.

So the two of you found the perfect red and black pants that would match the team’s colors, and Omega was insistent on adding the Clone Force 99 symbol onto the pants, skull and all.

“It’ll be perfect!” She claimed.

So you found the sewing kit you kept in case someone’s clothes needed repair and showed her how to sew.

The girl was very intent in her escapades, listening and watching your stitching intently. She put her all into making the design. And when she was disappointed about her stitches being crooked, you reassured her that her brothers would love them no matter how they looked.

“I’m done with Tech’s,” she announced, holding up the pants to show the freshly sewn design on the left leg.

“Perfect, Megs. Now only Echo’s and Hunter’s left.” You took the garment from her and folded them up to add them to the pile of finished gifts.

She nodded and began to thread her needle when Wrecker called her name from the cockpit.

“I got something else to hang up!” He called.

Placing her supplies down, she rushed down the ladder to help Wrecker hang up another decoration.

You laughed and climbed down from her room as she took off. You smiled at the small girl before looking to your left, finding Hunter leaning against the wall, arms crossed across his chest.

“Hey there, Sarge,” you smiled.

He smiled and glanced over at Omega. “You two are certainly spending a lot of time up there.”

“Just having a little girl time.”

His eyebrow raised at your response. Although it wasn’t a complete lie, it wasn’t the complete truth either.

“Anything I should be concerned about?” He questioned.

You adamantly shook your head. “Nope!”

He smirked and leaned in to whisper in your ear so Omega wouldn’t overhear him. “No Life Day gifts hidden up there?”

You gasped and gently hit his arm. “How dare you accuse us of hiding something!”

He rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t move away from you. “Don’t worry, I won’t ruin the surprise, cyar’ika.”

“You better not,” you retorted as Omega came rushing back up to the two of you.

She immediately grabbed your hand and tugged you back towards her project. You didn’t resist the girl’s pull and sent Hunter a wink before heading back to Omega’s little room.

———————

The seven of you sat in the middle of the hull of the Marauder. Omega had practically been bouncing off the walls as the time to exchange gifts came around. She happily handed each of them their gifts. Even though you didn’t have enough credits to wrap them in something nice, it was clear by the look on their faces that they appreciated the gesture.

As they unfolded the garments, Hunter smiled at you. “Did you get us matching pajamas?”

You nodded and gestured to the girl beside you. “Megs is the mastermind behind this one. She wanted to do something special for you boys.”

“Do you like it?” The young girl asked, eyes sparkling in anticipation.

“They’re perfect, Omega,” Echo replied.

“They’ve even got our symbol on ‘em!” Wrecker shouted, glee evident in his voice as he held up the pants. “Looks great!”

Omega smiled and happily retold the story of sewing the symbol on as the boys listened, indulging her in the exaggerated tale. Even Crosshair had a small smile on his face as Omega spoke.

You happily listened along from your spot on the floor when you felt a hand on your shoulder. Looking up, you found Hunter standing above you. Subtly, he tilted his head towards the doorway of the cockpit.

Getting the message, you nodded and stood up, careful not to interrupt Omega’s story as you two made your way to the cockpit.

“What’s up, Hunter?” You asked, voice barely above a whisper as you stood in the doorway.

There was a pause as he considered his next words, fingers twitching as if he was twirling his vibroblade between them.

“I wanted to thank you. For the pants,” he finally said.

“Megs and I just want our boys to be comfortable,” you responded, heat blooming in your chest. “Thanks for not spoiling the surprise.”

A smirk made its way onto his face and he leaned back against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. “So you two were hiding Life Day gifts.”

“We weren’t hiding anything. We just evaded your senses,” you lied, smiling innocently at the sergeant.

Hunter clicked his tongue. “Nothing evades my senses, cyar’ika.”

You tensed slightly, wondering if that was true. Could he hear the way your heart was fluttering in your chest? Could he see the way you smiled just a little bit bigger when you saw him? Could he feel how your skin was always warm when he was around?

Hunter opened his mouth, no doubt to tease you again, when Crosshair’s voice rang out through the ship.

“The mistletoe seemed to evade your senses though.”

You glanced at the team’s sniper, brow furrowing before looking above your head.

There it was. A small plant hung from the cockpit’s doorway: the new decoration Omega and Wrecker had hung up a few days prior.

Glancing back at Crosshair, you found that the rest of the team was staring at you.

“What‘s so important about mistletoe?” Omega asked innocently.

“It means they gotta kiss,” Echo explained, a teasing lilt in his voice as he glanced at the two of you.

“Technically—“

Tech was quickly cut off when Wrecker shoved him.

“Shush!”

You turned back to Hunter, slightly confused when you saw the small smirk on his face.

“Hunter…”

One of his hands came up to cradle your jaw, tilting your face towards his.

He leaned in, nose brushing yours. “I told you. Nothing evades my senses.”

Before you could respond, you felt his lips press against yours. It was completely intoxicating, and you grabbed his shoulders to keep yourself steady. The kiss was filled with such precision, every movement careful but filled with such feeling, you felt like you were drowning in him.

As Hunter pulled back from you, the rest of the world came crashing back on you. The cheers of his brothers, the feel of his blacks beneath your fingers, and yet you could only focus on his eyes and how they remained fixed on you.

You, stumbling over yourself as your mind tried to catch up.

Your head spun as you connected the dots, the fact he brought you over here purposely, knowing the mistletoe hung above you.

Just to kiss you?

It seemed surreal, the ghost of Hunter’s lips still on yours. But it was real.

A smirk spread across your lips. “I’m glad you liked the present.”

“That’s all you have to say?” He asked.

“Happy Life Day,” you whispered, before reconnecting your lips, earning another round of hoots and hollers from his brothers and Omega.

And as you two rejoined the group, Hunter’s arm draped across your waist, you smiled to yourself. Happy Life Day indeed.

#LDE23 #the clone wars #hunter tbb x reader #tbb hunter x reader #clone x reader #tbb starwars #hunter tbb #star wars tbb #star wars the bad batch #star wars the clone wars

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pinkishpearls · 22 days

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bobo 🧸

christopher sturniolo x fem!reader

fluff | minimal/fluffy angst 💐

The past week for Chris has been horrible. From multiple meetings to his clothing brand’s website temporarily shutting down due to technical difficulties. Nothing had been going right for him this week, and the constant travel didn’t make him feel better either. He’d been complaining to me about how hard it’s been the past few days over the phone and how he couldn’t wait to come back and see me, I couldn’t wait too see him to.

I lay on my bed mindlessly scrolling on my phone, hoping the time would just go a tad bit quicker in order for Chris to come home. Scrolling on Pinterest unfazed, I get pulled back into reality with a notification from Chris, a cheesy smile then plastering across my face.

chris 🧡:

Coming home rn. I miss u ily

You:

can’t wait to see u 2 ugh i’m so excited !! i love u tooooo

I sigh a sigh of relief, I’ve been missing Chris so much and he was finally coming home now. I couldn’t wait to greet him and cuddle him again, one week was enough for sleepless nights. But I knew that Chris was going to complain about how restless his week was, but I didn’t mind that. So I sat up and patted my hair into place before sitting cross legged on the bed, preparing for what I was going to say.

The door handle turns before opening and revealing the blue eyed brunette figure. “Hi, Chris!” I smile, and run up to him as he rolls his suitcases away from him before he holds his arms out for a hug. He plasters you a sad smile, and you heart breaks little. “You’re alright.” I coo before engulfing him in a warm, tight hug. “Missed you so much.” he mumbles into my shoulder, his cold arms wrapping around my body making me wince. “Oh baby.” I break away from the hug, “Your cold, let’s go have a shower, hm?” I ask and he nods his head in return. “It was so cold outside.” he whines before I grab his hand and lead him into the bathroom.

“Feeling better now, Chris?” I ask as I lay my phone down on my nightstand, “Yeah, thanks.” he says dryly, and I only feel the tiniest bit concerned. “Anything wrong?” I question and I can see Chris fight the emotions that threaten to spill out. He’s had a rough week, and even though he was fine now, it’s always ok to express your emotions. “I- I’m fine. Let’s just go to bed, please?” he pleads and with a sigh, you comply. “Fine.” you huff, turning the sheets over you as you were already laying underneath them. “I’m gonna get Bobo really quick.” he says before making his way to his suitcase were Bobo was supposedly stored.

Bobo was Chris’s childhood monkey stuffed animal, he’d had him since he was 3 and he was the only stuffed animal that survived the tragic house fire that burnt down Chris’s family home a few years back. Chris cherished it, and although he didn’t sleep with it every night like how Matt does with Mr Winkleton or how Nick does with Richie, he brung it with him as he says “When I sleep with Bobo when your not here, it feels like your right next to me. I don’t know, I find comfort in Bobo like I find comfort in you, I guess.”

I over hear Chris struggle with his suitcase zip, seeming as he might’ve overpacked or not’ve folded his clothes, but I mind it knowing that he’d sort it out. Or I thought, before I hear a soft gasp escape Chris’s mouth. I jolt up immediately, “What, Chris?” I inquired before a horrified gasp escapes my lips. “Bobo!” I gulped and I glance to see Chris, his eyes glossy and his lips trembling, my heart shatters at the view. Bobo’s arm and left part of his body were torn off, my heart throbbed as I saw Chris start to sob “Bobo! He-he got c-caught in the zipper of my suitcase a-and I tried to get him out but- Oh God! He got stuck more and more and it’s all my fault!” he cries before burying his face into his hands, muffling the tragic sounds falling out his mouth. The rip didn’t seem too bad, and it looked like something I could mend with my little sewing kit I had stuffed underneath my bed, but right now all I could focus on was Chris. This must’ve been Chris’s breaking point, as he doesn’t stop sobbing. “It’s ok Chris! Your alright!” I coo as I bring my hand to rub along his shaking back. “Let’s get in bed, hm?” I quaked before Chris and I lift off the floor and onto my bed.

His head was buried into the crook of my neck, he’d stop crying by now and was now fast asleep. His mouth was slightly agape and his hair was all scruffy, but I thought he looked beautiful like this, I wish I could savour this moment. I couldn’t fall asleep, my eyes were fixed on Chris, but I decided to move them around, examining the room. I looked sadly at Bobo who was still laying on the ground, his arm detached as he lay there, his dark marble eyes looking up into nothing. Slipping out of bed, I reach for Bobo, being careful not to tear anymore of the fragile fabric, before reaching down and equipping my sewing kit. I smile sheepishly, knowing I was going to please Chris, he was going to be so happy when he wakes up.

- in the morning ☀️

I open my eyelids, followed by a morning groan escaping my lips. The sun seeps through the gaps of my blinds, and my eyes squint, readjusting to the lighting. “Baby!” Chris beamed as soon as he saw my eyes open, “Bobo!” he rejoiced, bringing Bobo to my face and swinging him around. I sweetly smile at Chris and he smiles back, his pupils big and full of love. “I love you.” he says, placing a kiss to my forehead, then my nose, then my cheeks, and then, my lips.

“I love you too, idiot!” I giggled, before he places his lips back on mine.

#chris sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo fanfic #christopher sturniolo

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scrollsaplenty · 8 months

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Clawing Fear

Hello, everyone!

Here is another little one-shot of my OC, Mara, and Astarion.

TW for blood and injury.

One-shot under the cut! Enjoy.

“Then it’s settled,” Mara muttered as she drew a few symbols on the map, “Tomorrow at first light Karlach, Shadowheart, Astarion, and I will head into the Underdark to start looking for the path to Moonrise Towers. While we head forward, Lae’zel, Wyll, and Gale will finish clearing the goblin camp and then follow our trail. Does anyone have questions?”

The group was silent. Between their exhaustion from fighting Ethel and the impending anxieties associated with the journey ahead, everyone was eager for bed. As the group dispersed, Mara carefully folded the map and began tucking her things into her pack.

“I can feel you staring,” Mara muttered as she closed her pack. She turned towards Astarion and folded her arms over her chest.

Astarion’s gaze softened at the sight of Mara in his tunic. The tunic dwarfed Mara’s smaller frame, allowing one of her elegant shoulders to poke free from the collar. The badges Shadowheart applied to Mara’s chest poked through causing something to stir in the pit of Astarion’s stomach.

“Come,” Astarion reached for Shadowheart’s discarded healing kit and motioned for the edge of the camp, “It’s time to change your bandages.”

Both knew it wasn’t time for Mara’s bandages to be changed. But Astarion’s tone was short and commanding, leaving Mara little room to argue. She sighed and followed Astarion toward the water's edge.

“Sit,” Astarion commanded as he knelt beside Mara, “Take off my tunic so I can work.”

Mara sat cross-legged next to Astarion. Tension filled the air as she strained to lift the tunic over her head. Mara grunted as she tossed the garment aside. The cold air met her bare flesh causing Mara to shutter. She was thankful for the thin undergarments she purchased from the grove. The thin linen fabric was a pathetic attempt at modesty, but it was something.

“If you wanted to get me naked again,” Mara’s voice shuttered as Astarion’s nimble fingers carefully unraveled her bandages, “All you had to do was ask.”

Normally, Astarion revealed in their flirtatious quips, but today he was in no mood for Mara’s sarcasm. Just hours ago Astarion was forced to watch as Ethel brought her monstrous claws down upon Mara’s chest. Astarion was certain he would never forget the blood-curdling sound of Mara’s screams nor would he erase the image of her body crumbling to the ground from his memory. He would never forget the horror that rushed through his body at the thought of losing the strange young woman.

“Trying to corner the hag by yourself was stupid,” Astarion snapped as he tossed the dirty bandage to the side. He dipped a clean rag into the river and began dabbing dried blood off Mara’s pale freckled flesh.

Mara hissed at the sensation, “If I didn’t distract Ethel then Mayrina might be dead.”

“To hells with the stupid girl,” Astarion hissed. He hated Mara’s selflessness; her inability to turn away from another's suffering all while ignoring her own. Astarion hated that Mara threw herself in dangerous situations just for the greater good. Astarion hated that moment he felt utterly helpless.

But most of all, Astarion hated the feelings he still refused to acknowledge building in the pit of his stomach.

“She is foolish,” Mara agreed as Astarion dipped the rag into the river, “but that doesn’t mean she deserved whatever Ethel had planned.”

A part of Astarion wanted to scream at Mara, but he knew Mara would never understand his fear. He didn’t even fully understand his own fear, and he hated it.

An uneasy silence fell between the two. Astarion wasn’t a healer and knew very little of the science, but he tried not to fumble through Shadowheart’s kit. He reached for a cleansing balm and tried to keep from looking at Mara’s wound.

Mara noticed Astarion’s discomfort and frowned. Mara reached a gentle hand towards Astarion and cupped his sharp cheek. Astarion froze under Mara’s gentle touch.

How many decades had it been since Astarion felt tenderness? Tenderness with no ulterior motive. The tenderness that was true, gentle, and caring. But what terrified Astarion the most was how deeply he longed for more. More tenderness, more gentle caresses, more kind gestures, and more of her.

“I’m alive, Astarion. I will do my best to not put myself in such a position again. But I cannot promise that I won’t help those who need it,” Mara spoke with equal parts gentleness and determination.

It stirred those unspoken feelings inside Astarion, and he hated it.

Astarion said nothing, leaned away from her touch, and applied the salve to the four angry red gashes on Mara’s chest. Mara hissed as the salve seeped into the wounds but remained still.

A strained silence fell between the two once again. Astarion reached for a roll of bandages and began rewrapping the wound.

“There,” Astarion muttered, “Have Shadowheart clean the wound in the morning before we leave for the Underdark.”

The wrap was clumsy and Mara knew it wouldn’t stay in place throughout the night. Shadowheart would be livid in the morning when she saw that Astarion undid her work. Mara reached for Astarion’s discarded tunic and pulled it back on.

“Are you excited about going into the Underdark tomorrow?” Mara asked as she pulled her knees to her chest, “It’s dark and everything wants to kill you. It seems like a vampiric dream.”

Astarion stood as the unspoken feeling bubbles in his stomach, “You need your sleep, we have a long day ahead of ourselves. Good night, my darling.”

#astarion #astarion x mc #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate oc #bg3 #astarion fic #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #gale of waterdeep #writers on tumblr #female writers #fanfic #bg3 fanfic #bg3 oneshot

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multi-fan-dom-madness · 6 months

Note

Sooooo I may be a little in love with Drifter 🥺 because of that could we possibly get "your body was made for mine" or "i'll take good care of you, i promise." Whichever you think fits him more (or honestly any other of the prompts I'll take any of em!)

DEEJA!!! I'm just as excited by this ask as the day you submitted it, and I'm still just alandjsjamal over the fact that you asked for my boy Drifter!! I hope this feeds the brainrot <3

Favors and Promises

Summary: After returning from a long campaign, Drifter has only one thing on his mind.

Warnings: 18+ minors get away; f!reader x OC Captain Drifter, oral (f receiving), some slight angst, quiet yet intense feelings, I'm feral for this man & he's from my own brain

Word Count: 717

A/N: Three smut drabbles in one night! no idea where this all is coming from but I won't complain. if you'd like to learn more about Drifter, you can read here, here, and here!

Drifter stands at the edge of your bed, still in his full kit of armor. Only his helmet is removed, tucked under his forearm, propped on his hip. The scuffed forest green paint makes your heart squeeze for a moment, your perceptive eyes picking out all the new scratches and missing flakes of paint that catalog all the near misses he had on this latest deployment. At the very least, his face seems free of any new scars; his eyebrow piercing glints dully just the same. But the ache in your chest only soothes when he tilts his head, his dark gaze catching yours. His eyebrows lift in a silent question.

“Missed you,” is all you say. It’s all you can say—there are not enough words to express how grateful you are that he’s returned to you.

The ghost of a smile graces his features. He’s tired, that much you can tell; but there’s something else lingering in his glimmering amber eyes, something deeper, hungrier, that makes your blood thrill.

“Drifter?” you say, voice hushed, barely audible over the rushing of the incessant Coruscanti skylane traffic.

“Sarad,” he hums. “Can I ask a favor of you?”

Pushing yourself away from the snuggly cocoon of pillows and blankets, you sit up a little straighter. The low rumble of his voice washes over your skin with a shiver. You’re certain the goosebumps that erupt over your bare arms has nothing to do with the arousal pooling in your belly, and everything to do with the chill of the conditioned air.

“Of course, love.” You offer a smile.

He appraises you for a moment in silence. The longer he remains still, the shallower your breathing becomes. His gaze trails down your form, lingering on your bare shoulder where your shirt has slipped down and on your parted thighs where you sit cross-legged. You watch the subtle way he shifts his stance that can only mean one thing—and sure enough, his codpiece doesn’t quite lay flush as it should.

“Let me make you cum on my tongue,” he finally says. “Please.”

Your lips part in a gasp of “oh,” and then you nod frantically, shoving the sheets out of the way. Drifter doesn’t even bother to remove any of his armor, just sets his helmet on the ground with a soft thud before crawling over the bed to you. His lips find yours in a heated kiss, his beard scratching your face in a familiar, soothing burn. You moan into his mouth.

“Missed you,” you repeat, words muffled against his lips, “so much.”

“Me too,” he says. He nudges your face to the side with his nose, then presses hot, open-mouthed kisses down your cheek to your neck. When he laves over the one spot he knows drives you crazy, you arch into him, your hands finally flying to find purchase. One hand buries into his soft curls; the other hastily shoves your sleep shorts down over the swell of your ass.

Drifter nibbles at the juncture of your neck and shoulder as one of his gloved hands trails between your thighs and draws a feather-light trail up your folds. Whimpering, you drag his face back to yours to devour him, teeth clacking together and tongues sliding over one another.

He pushes you firmly onto your back, then pulls away. His eyes are wild with lust; without breaking eye contact, he shuffles down the bed and slings your legs over his pauldrons. The cold plastoid armor makes you hiss, but the discomfort is very quickly forgotten as soon as his hot mouth seals over your pussy and moans.

Fingers tangling in his hair, you catch your bottom lip between your teeth as his tongue darts out to draw light circles around your clit. You dig your heels into his armor, pushing him down into the bed and closer to you.

“D-Drift,” you mumble.

He licks a stripe up your cunt with the flat of his tongue. Already his face bears signs of your arousal, the dark hairs along his upper lip and chin shiny with slick. You whine when he pulls away.

“Shh, shh, mesh’la,” he croons. “I’ll take good care of you, I promise.”

He’s never broken a promise to you before, and he certainly doesn’t intend to start tonight.

Ragu: @dystopicjumpsuit @clonemedickix @freesia-writes @littlemissmanga @wolffegirlsunite @anxiouspineapple99 @wings-and-beskar @sinfulsalutations @523rdrebel @sunshinesdaydream @moonlightwarriorqueen @sev-on-kamino @starrylothcat @deejadabbles @starqueensthings @mandos-mind-trick @idontgetanysleep @eyeluvmusic21 @wizardofrozz @mythical-illustrator @sleepycreativewriter @bobaprint @lem-hhn @thorsterstrudle @droids-you-are-looking-for @goblininawig @cw80831 @dreamie411 @jedi-hawkins @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @9902sgirl @originalcollectionartistry

#clone oc x reader #oc x reader #captain drifter x reader #drifter x reader #rhiwrites #rhiplies #oc: Clone Captain Drifter #my ocs #my blorbos #star wars oc

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mama-qwerty · 4 months

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“I am not a warrior.”

Knuckles stood at the base of the Emerald shrine, arms crossed and brow furrowed as he watched Tails scurry about the Master Emerald, taking readings and notes on the energy output. The echidna wasn’t all that keen on letting anyone that close to the giant gem, considering he’d just gotten it back from the latest greedy villain who’d snatched it for their own gain, but despite everything, he trusted Tails completely. And he would be able to tell if the Emerald decided it had had enough of the fox’s curiosity.

Besides, the kit and Sonic had gone to great lengths, and great peril, to help rescue the Master Emerald. There were only a handful of people Knuckles trusted with the gem, and the hedgehog and fox were at the top of that short list.

“What?”

Sonic had been lounging beneath a tree nearby, resting from their most recent battle. He laid with his shoulders resting against the trunk, hands folded on his belly, one leg bent and supporting the other. He didn’t even bother to open his eyes when he spoke.

Knuckles lifted his lip in an annoyed snarl. The hedgehog’s lackadaisical attitude to these types of threats never ceased to infuriate him.

“You keep referring to me as a ‘big bad echidna warrior’. I am not a warrior.”

Keep reading on ao3

#sonic fanfiction #sonic the hedgehog fanfiction #knuckles the echidna #sonic the hedgehog #sth fanfiction

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kingsansa · 2 years

Text

One wave short of a shipwreck

word count: 654

tags: college/university, sororities, casual sex, sexual content

He’s barely dated enough girls to subscribe to a type, and loathes the idea of being predictable enough to have one, but it doesn’t exactly take rocket science to understand that whatever that type is, Sansa Stark is definitively Not It.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

She has a picture of her winning Miss Teen Pennsylvania on her dresser in her cluttered little single freshman dorm and the social media christened title of Miss Bamarush and a personalized, monogrammed jewelry box that could have very well paid a solid chunk of her tuition if her parents weren’t already doing it for her and more pink clothes than he thought was physically possible.

She carries a tiny sewing kit in her bag. Like an actual sewing kit.

Everything she knows about football is against her will.

When he asked her—with no small amount of surprise, he’ll admit, though it was completely unintentional—You got into Yale?—she stared at him, mouth curling into a sneer that was sugary sweet, It wasn’t like it was hard.

From that very moment, she decided she couldn’t stand him, which he supposed was fair.

The sex is insane.

She’s got this cross necklace, a flash of 22 karat gold just between her breasts. It triggers something like a Pavlovian response in him after they hit the two month mark, makes his mouth water and his breath quicken. It brushes cold against his chest whenever she rides him.

Jon is 20 when he recalls why sex makes people do the craziest things.

Eight years of gymnastics, she says, a little haughtily, when he marvels at the limberness of her body. She folds her legs perfectly over his shoulders so she can open wider, presses her knee almost flat against her stomach just so he can be deeper, arches her back when he’s behind her because they are now so in tune with what the other likes.

She likes his mouth, on her throat, sewing hickeys into her skin like glittering red sequins, and bracketed by her thighs when she straddles his face from above. Oh please, she snaps, when she’s just about had it with him and she’s gonna let him know, then: Please, muffled into her arm when his hands are on her hips and he’s pulling her back onto him.

He likes messing her up. He likes tossing her prissy little headbands to the side and leaving a rash from his stubble between her legs and shoving down her tube top and winding her hair around his hand, making it known on her body that he was here, even if the assholes stumbling over their feet on campus can’t see them, he knows—

He knows.

“You’re the worst,” She grumbles, dabbing concealer on her neck before she heads back to her dorm in time to get ready for date night.

Roaring 20’s is the theme.

Her flapper dress is the color of starlight. She tried it on in front of his mirror, and he pretended to do his homework while she twirled in front of the mirror.

He didn’t know what he liked better—when she didn’t know he was watching or when she pretended not to notice.

“You could stay,” he offers, casual, like his heart isn’t in his throat, like she isn’t under his skin.

Sansa’s gaze slides over to him in the mirror as she strategically drapes her hair around her neck.

He breaks first, looking away.

This happens a lot with her.

“If I did,” She says, voice lilting and airy, “You’d never get anything done.”

Probably not. Then, as she makes his way towards him, he amends that, “Definiteky not.”

Sansa kisses him, soft and brief, tasting of cherry chapstick and him.

“Thanks,” it’s sweet and it’s quiet and it’s sincere and that’s probably the worst part of all, because that’s just who she is. It probably means nothing.

He doesn’t even want it to.

She isn’t even his type.

#answered #ficlet #jon x sansa #jonsa fanfiction #jonsa

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forest-falcon · 1 year

Text

Part One of my current WIP

Virgil lay on his stomach, his toes digging into the wet sand as the gentle tide swept over his feet. It was a beautiful day. A rare day where all the brothers had time on their hands. The sun had beckoned the engineer out from his workshop cave and into the warm and dappled light. He snoozed there, enjoying the unique soundscape belonging to their shoreline; sounds of the island birds, the trill of the palm leaves in the breeze, the foam against the rocks, the saxophone... what the?

Virgil's eyes shot open as the theme tune from Pink Panther blazed nonchalantly from inside the cover of the trees. Virgil clambered to his feet. Whatever prank his brother intended to play, he was not going to fall victim to it.

He reasoned that Gordon (because it had to be Gordon) would bank on him following the music in order to investigate said prank, so he tactically followed the shoreline back towards the villa. No way was he falling for that trap.

It was a warm day and it took Virgil's sun-addled brain a few moments to catch up with his feet as he stalked along the golden sand. Something was wrong. No, something felt wrong. Something felt...breezy. He stopped abruptly and looked down at his waistline only to discover that his swim shorts had vanished. Virgil frantically patted his bare legs as if doing so would magically cause them to materialize. He spun a full 360 on the spot, scanning the beach for his missing attire. Nothing.

"GORDON!"

Scott and Kayo were attending to some paperwork concerning a recent covert mission when Virgil entered the Comms room wearing nothing but a scowl.

Scott opened his mouth to say something but stopped short.

"Nope!" Virgil's no-nonsense voice was backed up with a hand, gesturing for silence. He held this gesture as he crossed the room, never breaking his stride. Once he had completely disappeared, the two onlookers erupted with laughter.

Scott and Kayo returned to the report they had been discussing, the odd chuckle escaping every so often as the fresh memory bubbled back to the fore. It wasn't long before the sound of numerous doors opening and closing disturbed their report writing once more. Scott followed the source of the commotion only to witness the final glimpses of red flannel disappearing behind Virgil's art room door. There was an audible locking sound before music began to blare.

"Copy that." Scott sighed and headed back to the comms room.

"Virgil's shorts magically disappeared? Bummer!" Alan smirked.

"The cheek of it! Well, I'm sure you'll get to the bottom of it!" Gordon chimed in.

Scott swallowed his laughter and schooled his face into its military commander mode.

"Guys, I know it was you."

"Hold up there Scottie, how do you know it was us?" Alan feigned his innocence

Yeah, how derrière you! Gordon protested.

"We live on a tropical island. As far as I'm aware, John's still in orbit, Kayo's been helping me square out some paperwork and Brains has been working on Four."

"...Could've been Grandma." Alan offered.

"I mean, she is a kickass seemstress." Gordon shrugged.

Scott signed and turned to his sister.

"Kayo, can you pull up security footage for the south beach?"

The holoprojector sparked into life and a blue washed image of the beach appeared before them. Kayo ran the minutes forward until additional movement alerted her to stop.

Gordon entered on screen, kitted out with a fishing rod and Scott's jetpack. He gestured to Alan, who had his music player, to a point somewhere under the cover of the trees. Gordon then flew up to a low, but concealed vantage point.

Kayo ran the footage forwards again until Virgil appeared, strolling through the shallow water. He sat down and admired the view for a few minutes before rolling onto his front and snoozing, his head cradled on folded arms.

Scott looked up at his two youngest brothers who watched the footage in glee as Gordon reappeared and, using a laser, carefully and strategically cut Virgil's swimwear. The fabric draped limpy over Virgil. It still took the aquanaut several attempts to hook the inner mesh of the material.

Scott paused the footage just before Virgil had a chance to react. He turned to his youngest brothers with folded arms.

"Fine! So what if it was us! We were just having some fun. It's not like we were the only ones arsing around!" Alan sniggered.

"And it's not like Virg is the butt of all our jokes!" Gordon beamed.

"You stole my jetpack so you could laser off your brother's swim shorts. What is wrong with you?" Scott continued to stare.

"Nothing. We're just...peachy!" Alan spluttered.

The youngest Tracys fell about laughing. Scott rolled his eyes and went to pour himself a drink. Given the symphony of cackles coming from the terrible twosome; he'd figured he'd have more luck holding an intelligent conversation with Virgil's lacerated shorts.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderfam #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #virgil tracy #gordon tracy #alan tracy #thunderbirds 2015

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dragonmuse · 2 years

Note

Is there a timeline where Jim meets Izzy and Eddy before they meet Olu? When Izzy and Eddy are still working together and Jim is angry and willing to kill? Maybe knowing Jim earlier helps Eddy come out sooner, but I can’t imagine they’re all good influences on each other…

(another anon asked what would happen if Lucius met Izzy as a college student without age changes and I smashed the two together. This one has a lot of implied darkness. Let's called "I may be bad, but I'm perfectly good at it')

-“Izzy!” Eddy calls to him and no matter how deep he is in work, Izzy rises. “Bring your kit.”

Shit. Is Eddy bleeding out or do they just need advil? Izzy grabs the first aid kit, better stocked then most and goes to Eddy’s office. They looks fine when he walks in but the kid crumpled in the guest chair is bleeding from a cut on the forehead that looks rough as hell.

“They stepped in front of a knife for me,” Eddy said with a frown. “That Ficus guy with the grudge. They fought like a fucking demon.”

“Nothing,” the kid hisses out. “Easy as breathing.”

“Sounds like you’re having a fuck load of trouble doing that right now,” Izzy frowned. “Stabbed where?”

They glare at him, at Eddy. “I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah,” Eddy says with a look in their eyes Izzy recognizes. An idea is forming. “But you don’t have to. You want to be sewn up or not?”

The kid doesn’t answer. Izzy can smell blood.

“You want to bleed on the furniture or you want to get patched up?” He demands.

“Fine,” they grumble and down their shirt. There’s a sluggish bleeding wound on their shoulder.

“Time to play seamstress, Iz,” Eddy decides. “Where’d you learn to throw knives like that?”

“Around,” the kid says. They’ve got dark eyes, long dark hair that hasn’t seen a professional’s scissors in a long time. But they’re fed, thin, but not overly so. Their lips are chapped, but otherwise healthy looking. Someone’s been keeping at least half an eye out.

“Why’d you stop that guy from taking me out?” Eddy presses on.

“Dunno. Not in the mood to see someone die because they were distracted by a cat.”

“A cat?” Izzy repeats, incredulously as he starts to clean the area around the cut.

“It jumped right in front of me,” Eddy says without shame. “Who expects a cat to come out of nowhere? Anyway, doesn’t matter. The kid was there. You got a name?”

They hesitate and Izzy wipes away a streak of blood. “We don’t need a fucking real one. Just something so we don’t call you kid all night.”

“I mean we might anyway,” Eddy says honestly.

“I-” They clenched their hands in their lips. “You can call me Jim.”

Izzy is up close and personal just now. They don’t look like a Jim, but that’s none of his fucking buisness. He’s just going to sew up their shit and hopefully send them on their way, no more the wiser. There’s numbing spray and he jets it on. The kid doesn’t flinch even though it’s cold.

“Nice to meet you, Jim,” Eddy sits on the edge of their desk, arms folded, legs crossed. “You still in school or what?”

“Or what.”

Izzy waits for the numbing spray to kick in, gets out the suture kit. He’s gotten better with this stuff over the years, for better or for worse.

“You finish out high school?”

“What’s it matter to you?”

It’s been a long time since someone sassed Eddy that way and Izzy has no idea how she’ll take it. It’s the kind of thing she’ll either think is hysterical or deadly serious.

Eddy laughs. Izzy picks up the needle.

“The thing is, Jim, I’ve never seen anyone fight the way you fought and I like new fighting styles.”

“That a hobby?” They grunted as Izzy pierced their skin. Still no flinching.

“That’s a job,” Eddy said evenly and Izzy paused, then pulled the thread through. They didn’t hire kids. It wasn’t something they’d talked about even, just a silent understanding. “If you’ve got a high school diploma.”

“I don’t need a job.”

“No? Not even one with full time hours, health insurance and a 401k?”

“...what kind of health insurance?”

“Everything, including dental and vision. ‘Course that’s cause sometimes your teeth get knocked out and we see a lot of sudden bright lights, but that’s part of the fun.”

“What the fuck do you guys do?” Jim asked. Izzy put in another stitch. It would take five or six, he could tell already.

“We’re security for hire. High-end only. Goods transfers, high-profile parties, chauffeuring the elite, whatever pays top dollar. Jobs go by seniority and skills required, but everyone gets paid.”

“What if I had...a side project?” They asked.

Izzy watched their flesh come together.

“You planning on getting caught?”

“No.”

“As long as it doesn’t interfere with the work and you stay off the radar, then I don’t give two shits what you do in your off time. The first time I catch wind that it is, you’d be terminated.”

“That sounds final.”

“I don’t leave loose threads.”

Izzy tied off the end. Six stitches. It’d heal clean most likely. A year from now, they’d have nothing to show for it, but a faint white line.

-Jim is 19 as it turns out. Izzy finds out as he photocopies their ID for the records. He brings the file to Eddy while Jim is waiting in the conference room.

“19,” he hands Eddy the folder.

“They’re already in it,” Eddy doesn’t take it. ‘What do you want? We can’t turn back the clock for them. But we can give them a place to be useful instead of waiting tables while they bide their time.”

And that was probably true enough. Izzy pulled the folder back to himself.

“Fine. It’s done. They’re legal name-”

“Doesn’t matter,” Eddy cut him off. “Who cares? As long as it runs clean, they’re Jim.”

“Jim,” Izzy sighed. “Guess it’s better than Fang.”

“I like Fang,” Eddy shrugged. “Anyway, I’m going to need you to train Jim up. Not like I’ve got the time.”

“And I do?” Izzy demanded. “With what extra hours in who’s extra day?”

“Dunno. But I think they’re more in your line than mine anyway. Can’t do anything until I get the Bellville job squared away, can I?”

And since it had been Izzy that had pointed that out earlier, he didn’t have a leg to stand on. Shit.

“Yes, boss.”

-Izzy trains Jim. It’s not hard to figure out what Eddy saw him them. They move fast, they learn quick and they are incredibly good with knives. But close up work isn’t all they do, so Izzy takes them to a shooting range and puts a gun in their hands.

“I prefer knives.”

“Yeah, how long do you think you’ll live holding a knife when the other side has semi-automatics? We don’t go out looking for that shit, but it finds us anyway. You gotta know which way goes bang at least.”

“Fuck off,” they hefted the gun, listened to the saftey lecture he gave, and then took aim. The first few rounds went wide, but by the end of the first session, they were hitting center mass.

“Come on then,” he took them to the backroom and handed them a clipboard. “Fill that out. Then meet me at the counter.”

They found him not long after. Their handwriting was good, a rigid clear copperplate.

“This shelf,” he pointed down. “Any of those’ll work. You can test them out first. I’d recommend it. Then it’s a 24 hour hold, you come back and pick it up.”

“I can’t afford-”

“Paid for by the company. It’s part of your equipment. On the job, you carry unless you get told different. Off the job, that’s up to you.”

“Even if I get the one with the ivory handle?” They ask, gesturing to it.

It’s an overdecorated piece, fake ivory and intricate carvings. It’s showy and ridiculous, but he knows the specs underneath and it’ll do the same damage as a bland one.

“It’s your piece. Guys’ll definitely give you shit for it.”

“Let them try,” they decided. “That’s the one I want.”

-So in theory training Jim is easy enough. They learn fast, they’re quiet for the most part. Sometimes they do shit that reminds Izzy that he’s dealing with a teenager like when they try to climb the side of a building and almost wipe out themselves and Blue Toby in the process or when they get a game of slaps going on a slow day (of course no one else as the excuse of being a teenager when they go along with it and Izzy give anyone trying to complain about sore hands extra bullshit work to do).

-In reality, it’s giving Izzy some sleepless nights and he doesn’t know why. Jim is cocky and sometimes over confident. If they’re like that in the wrong job, they’ll be dead, so there’s that. But there’s also...he just keeps thinking of the first time he took them out.

Routine job, easy enough. Nobody tries anything, they’re basically set dressing. That’s how it’s supposed to be. Nine out of ten times, that’s how it is. Jim struts around with their fancied up gun and their hair falling in their face. They kill flies with the tip of their knife and the guys are impressed enough by that that most of the hazing doesn’t go down.

There’s a perimeter breech, turns out to be nothing, but Jim sits beside him and watches the security feed so they can see how the guys run it down for next time. And they say easy as anything,

“I could knife ‘em from where Solmon is standing.”

And it was cool and calculated and Izzy knew that fucking tone. Maybe that’s what kept him up.

-”How’s Jim getting on?” Eddy asks when they come back from the Bellville job, cash in hand, none the worse for wear.

“Their quick. Too confident sometimes.”

“Worse things,” Eddy deemed. “Going to take them to Dublin next month?”

“If you want them there. Could be of use.”

-Jim kills a man in Dublin. They do it fast. Quiet. Izzy can find no way to complain. So instead, he shows them the protocol. The body is disposed of. He was undeniably a piece of shit that the world is probably better off without.

“Was that okay?” they ask him as they put their clothes into a bag to burn. They’re in a loose change, borrowed off Eddy.

Izzy looks at their wide eyes, the hard set of their mouth. It’s already done.

The first time Izzy had killed someone, Eddy had grabbed his arm with bruising intensity and not let go through the entirety of Hornigold’s interrogation. When it was over, she’d dragged him into a coat closet and given him a hickey so intense that he had to wear his collar turned up for a solid week. He’d touched that bruise like a talisman for months after it disappeared.

“Yeah, kid, you did good,” he says. “Let’s talk about what the fuck you don’t do for next time.”

-Jim is worth five other assholes by the end of their first year. They are efficient, not burdened with sadism or unwarranted softness. They throw knives with killer accuracy that’s only matched by their accuracy with bullets. They brawl with the best of them, uncaring of the consequences to their own body.

“You did good with them,” Eddy declares as they watch Jim knock out a guy by headbutting him. They’re just out for drinks, but the bar fight got going and it seems to be burning off steam for a few of them. Eddy and Izzy are standing at the outskirts, watching the mayhem.

“Did I?” Izzy doesn’t feel the usual fizzy pleasure at Eddy’s compliment.

“Yeah,” she put her arm around his shoulders. “Really brought out their potential or whatever bullshit they say on performance evaluations.”

“Sure.”

-”Come on you have too, boss.”

“I’m not your boss,” Izzy reminds them.

“Whatever, you basically are. And you call Eddy that all the time.”

“Because they actually are my boss.”

“Don’t be boring. Come out with me. Real ID and everything.”

He’d helped Jim with the name change paperwork. It had been a mercy to make them stop pestering him about it and then loudly complaining in his vicinity. They were a fucking pill. So now they had a real ID and fuck if they hadn’t turne 21 right on time to put their mitts on it.

“Take one of the guys.”

Jim glances over at the conference room. They’re not rowdy today, just watching some shitty day time programming and talking about some woman on the shows tits. Not their best showing. Jim turns back to him.

“I just want...” they trail off.

It’s their fucking brithday and there’s no one. Izzy knows that. Knows the date. Knows that he spend his own twenty-second standing guard over a bored socialite and the date went by unremarked. Jim could live with the same.

“One drink,” he says, gets his coat as they do a little triumphant dance.

“Hell yeah! I choose the bar, you’re paying.”

“I didn’t agree to that,” he says, but he’s already resigned.

-The bar is a dive, but a manufactured one. Lots of upscale twenty-somethings ‘soaking up the atmosphere’. He looks like he’s there to enforce their curfews which he could do without. But the drinks are decent.

“Jim!” The bartender with fluffy hair and in no way drinking age himself, greets Jim with a wide grin.

“Read it and weep,” they slap the ID on the bar.

“Look at that,” he picks it up and studies it. “Happy birthday! Love to pour you a drink. What’ll it be?”

“Fuck me up,” they say with a grin. “And get him something too.”

“Vodka tonic,” Izzy says, feels the bartender’’s eyes slide over him. “You want my ID too?”

“Nah,” and he actually has the fucking audacity to reach out and poke Izzy right in the middle of the forehead. “Those speak for you. You need something strong, been thinking too hard.”

Izzy does not reach out and break the bartender’s hand, but it’s a near thing. The bartender seems to read that, dropping his hand away though his smile doesn’t dim.

“Vodka tonic,” Izzy orders.

“Uh huh, you got it.”

The drink takes a while to reach him, but it’s good when it does. The food isn’t bad either and Jim gets steadily drunker, milking Izzy’s platinum card for all it’s worth. He’d said one drink and he’d meant it, but it wasn’t a hardship to sit there and have another.

Or to come back a few weeks later.

Or a few weeks after that.

Izzy’s never been a regular anywhere. It’s not so bad. Lucius, the bartender, always builds him out a vodka tonic without being asked and greets him with a smile. He doesn’t try to touch him again, but he does call Izzy ‘Jim’s hot boss’ within earshot which is uncomfortable.

Lucius is a freshman in college. Izzy will be thirty-seven next month. And he’s straight so. Who the fuck cares? Who cares if sometimes he just wants to go somewhere where someone recognizes him and makes him a drink he likes and implies that he’s fuckable? Is that a goddamn sin?

-Izzy gives Jim point on a small job. The guys are dickheads about it because of seniority and other age related bullshit. When they come back, the job is done and two of the least reliable of them quit.

“I’m giving them a bonus,” Izzy finishes the report to Eddy.

“What for?”

“They got the job done better than anyone else could’ve and they were fighting their own team the whole team. You want to keep them or you want Jackie to get them?”

Eddy considers, then nods. “Do it.”

-”Listen,” Jim slams their hands down on Izzy’s desk. The report he’d been writing now has a line of incoherent characters.

“What. The. Fuck.” He demands.

“I’m not a girl,” they tell him. “Use they/them for me from here on out.”

“....what?”

“They/them. This isn’t fucking hard, boss. You got it or what?”

Izzy has no fucking idea what they’re on about, but for all Jim’s face is calm, their voice is choked and tight. He can google later.

“Fine, fuck, whatever. They/them,” he repeats and they sit down hard in a chair. “How long has this been brewing?”

“My whole goddamn life.”

Izzy shifts in his chair. It smells like a storm in here.

“You know the guys’ll be dicks about it.”

“Then I’ll stab them,” they say easy as breathing.

They do stab two people over it. People they can afford to lose, but Izzy has to explain it to Eddy. He stumbles over it, unfamiliar words on this tongue.

“You can do that?” Eddy asks instead of a dozen other things that had come to Izzy’s mind.

“Apparently,” he mutters.

“Huh,” Eddy leans back in their chair, puts their feet up on the desk. The piles are low right now. A good mood has settled over the office and Izzy just hopes this isn’t something that’ll tip it the wrong way. “What’d they call it again?”

“Nonbinary,” Izzy repeats dutifully. He’d read for hours and it makes no more sense to him than it did when Jim said it first, but he knows he doesn’t want to get stabbed and he’d rather have Jim in whatever form they choose then any of the guys that they easily took out.

“Wild. Kids these days, huh?” Eddy barks a laugh, slaps at Izzy’s thigh. “Well fine, I didn’t like those motherfuckers anyway. Maybe we should just put Jim in charge of H.R. they’re efficient.”

-Jim spends more time with Eddy after that. Izzy can’t pin down when it starts. Sometimes he sees them going into Eddy’s office, coming out hours later and it becomes more and more regular. He wants to ask, but there’s no way in that won’t make him sound like he’s insanely jealous or worse. And maybe he is. He can’t remember the last time he sat in Eddy’s guest chair and just shot the shit.

-Lucius changes bars. Jim, thinking they’re very casual, takes Izzy out for drinks at the new place. They smirk when Izzy catches sight of Lucius.

“What? You think no one else can make vodka soda?” he scoffs. He isn’t relieved when Lucius lights up immediately and comes over.

“I thought I’d seen the last of you,” Lucius grins at Izzy. “Jim said you don’t like places like this.”

Izzy hadn’t registered the place. It’s bougie, fake rustic and full of people that he loathes on principal.

“Still serves booze,” Izzy shrugs. “Fine by me.”

-Eddy stops going out on Friday nights, but makes Saturday night appearances. No one seems to care, but Izzy. And after a few weeks of that shit, he decides he can take a night off from that bullshit too. Maybe he goes to a bougie fuckugly bar and gets his vodka tonic from a man that smiles at him. It was just a bar. It was just a drink.

He thinks he should strike up a conversation with one of the lonely heart women that sometimes sit besides him, but that seems like a lot of work.

Fuck, Izzy is tired.

-Jim is with him on the fatal Friday night. Hard to get pissed over it, it was their bar and their bartender first. Neither of them are going hard. Just a slow steady buzz and enough french fries to line four people’s stomachs. They close the place down, though neither of them are talking much. The last job broke bad, they’re both nursing hurts and groggy brains.

Lucius shoos them off with a laugh and they both pause outside for a bit. Izzy lights a cigarette he’s been carrying around for emergencies and Jim makes pleading eyes at him until he shares it. They blow smoke into the cool night air.

They react to the gunshots almost before they hear them. Jim goes low, Izzy goes high and they break down the locked door without discussion.

Lucius is behind the bar, ducked low and shaking. There are two people bleeding on the floor. The gunman raises the pistol to Izzy.

Izzy and Jim shoot as one. Gunman goes over in a heap.

“Who the fuck are you people?” Lucius demands.

Jim goes and kicks at the corpses, “Dunno them. Boss?”

“No,” he determines. “Did anyone start talking before shots went off?”

“What?” Lucius asks, voice breaking. “Are you cops?”

“Fuck no,” they both bark.

“Then who are you?” Luciu demands. “Because I knew the owner was mob, but I figured that just meant we wouldn’t get robbed.”

“Mob,” Izzy says flatly.

“Yeah? I mean you know, the defanged modern mob that just owns businesses and talks big?” Lucius grips the bar white knuckled.

“You can’t stay here,” Jim says immediately.

“Why not?”

“Because you just witnessed a hit. And it went wrong,” Izzy sighs. “Jim?”

“No way, boss, I barely fit at my place.”

“There’s the safe house.”

“You’re gonna burn that over this?” Jim frowns. “Could blow over.”

“Burn what? I think I should...” Lucius sank down behind the bar. His voice rose from the floor. “That’s a lot of blood.”

“He’s going into shock,” Izzy pulled off his coat. “I’ll...I’ll just take him to mine. No one knows us here. No reason to connect dots. Let him lay low a few days, figure things out.”

-Lucius does not want to go, but he’s also definitely in shock and not hard to bully, which Jim does expertly. It’s the first time Jim sees Izzy’s place, but if they have any smartass comments about it, Izzy is spared for that night. They just help him get Lucius settled on the couch, then disappear to do follow up research.

“I didn’t see anything,”Lucius tells Izzy as he hands him a glass of water. “I won’t turn you in. I promise.”

“Doesn’t work like that,” Izzy sits down beside him.

“Are you going to kill me?”

Probably be easier. But Izzy wasn’t in the habit of bumping off bystanders.

“No. Gonna make sure no one else does either.”

-They lay low a few days, but eventually Izzy has to go back to the office and given the choice of leaving Lucius to poke around his things, possibly running off to put himself in danger or just dragging him along, the latter is the obvious choice.

“So this is the witness?” Eddy circles into Izzy’s office before anyone has their coat off.

“Lucius,” Lucius sticks out his hand, eyes wild. “My name is Lucius.”

“All right then, Lucius,” Eddy shakes his hand with a small smile. “You going to be useful or a pain in the ass?”

“Why not both?”

“Ha! Why not? Iz, I need the proposal for the new client, where are we at?”

“I’ll email you the draft. Numbers might need adjustment.”

“Yeah?” Eddy signals a question behind Lucius’ back and Izzy signals back. Safe, harmless. Eddy tilts her head to the side. Izzy never uses that sign.

“Yeah,” he affirms. “Give me ten.”

-Lucius gets bored after an hour. He wanders out before Izzy can stop him and apparently just charms the hell out of Ivan and Fang, who have been left behind on the current gig. They’re laughing along with him and when Izzy sends off the proposal (an hour later, it was in worse shape than he’d recalled), he gets up to wrangle him only to find that Lucius is holding Ivan’s hand in his and listening to him with serious intent.

“You should tell her,” Lucius says. “I bet she feels the same way. Lots of people are shy.”

“You think?”

“What the fuck is going on here?” Izzy demands.

“Izzy!” Fang smiles up at him. “Thanks for bringing Lucius in. Really insightful. Want us to get everyone lunch?”

“...yeah,” he is hungry and Lucius eats more regularly than him. Izzy had to cook more the last few days than he usually does for himself in a month. A hardship easily lifted by the way Lucius had been excited for every meal despite the circumstances.

-Lucius comes with him every day. There’s no hint anyone is looking for him and after a few weeks, Izzy suggests that Lucius can go back to classes.

“But I should stay with you?” Lucius checks and he sounds...like he wants to?

“Yeah, that’d be smart,” Izzy says bemused. It would be. And anyway, Izzy is away more than he’s there. It’s fine if someone else uses his bed when he’s not there.

-Lucius doesn’t go back to his dorm. Jim finds out by apparently just asking and they close the door to Izzy’s office and hiss, “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“What now?” He saves his document, just in case.

“You’re moving him in? Is this some...sugar baby bullshit?”

“What? Fuck you, no,” he hisses right back. “I’m not fucking him.”

“You’re not?” Jim blinks. “Jesus fuck, why not?”

“None of your goddamn business. I’m your boss, you can’t ask me that shit.”

“I just did. Going to fire me?”

He can’t fire Jim. Jim is half the staff at this point.

And...damnit, but Izzy likes the horrible demon that lodged themselves under his ribs.

“Leave it.”

“No. What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing. He’s an infant. You were literally just pissed when you thought I was fucking him.”

“Yeah, because I thought money or power or something was up and that’d be gross, but do you just like him?”

“He’s an annoying little pest.”

“Oh shit,” Jim sat down heavily in a chair. “Boss. No.”

“I haven’t done anything.”

“I know that’s what makes it pathetic.”

“I’m still a faster shot then you and if I get you in the meaty bits, you’d still be useful when you heal.”

“Yeah, whatever, you tell yourself lies.”

“...don’t tell Eddy.”

“Nothing to tell apparently.”

-Izzy doesn’t give Lucius money, but he does let him live with him rent free, doesn’t ask for money for groceries and makes sure they still get delivered when he’s away.

And one day, a month into that bullshit, where Izzy is no the wiser to his own motives, Eddy says,

“We need a forger.”

“What happened to Alan?”

“Retired.”

And Izzy knows an artist, is the thing. But Lucius probably wouldn’t agree to something like that. Probably can’t even do it.

“That’d be easy.” Lucius determines, looking at the image. “Could be fun too.”

“You get caught, it’s a felony.”

“Will I get caught?” Lucius’ gaze on his skin feels like a hand dragged slowly over Izzy’s throat.

“No,” Izzy promises. “Not if I can help it.”

“Then yeah, I need a few things and we can make it happen.”

Lucius works at the offices because they don’t bring incriminating stuff home. He decides that Eddy’s office gets the best light and he won’t let them keep the door closed. Eddy grins through his prissy demands and let’s him setup there.

Izzy can hear them talking as Lucius works. Light and easy. Eddy laughs like she does with Jim.

-The forgery comes out well enough to pass.

“Alan might do some training,” Eddy says.

“But he’s-” Izzy starts. Stops. Lucius is in it now. He lives with Izzy, even if he never does anything outside the law ever again, that’ll always come up. Because he gets his mail addressed there now. “I’ll ask him.”

-Lucius joins the payroll after a few months of what he calls ‘fun crime lessons’. There’s not enough work for a full time forger, but he’s not half-bad at organizing and taking notes. He lifts those tasks off Izzy’s desk.

And because he’s there, he adds into brainstorming meetings. His mind is startlingly devious for an art student/bartender.

-Izzy is no fucking saint. He comes home early from a trip and Lucius is still in his bed. Izzy stands over him for long minutes and when Lucius wakes, Izzy just falls to his knees and kisses him.

Lucius kisses back.

“Hello, danger,” Lucius says against his lips.

Whatever Jim was worried about probably happens.

-In the morning. Izzy has a dozen half-ideas about how he’ll tell Lucius it’s a bad idea and he’ll pay for his life back in the dorms, if that’s what he’s worried about, but the man presses him against the mattress before he can say any of them and they die in his throat unuttered.

“Somethings different about you,” Eddy says as soon as Izzy walks in the door.

“Slept okay,” Izzy checks her face and frowns. “Are you wearing lipstick?”

“What if I was?” She challenges.

“...how about we just go into our offices and I’ll get lunch later?”

“...deal.”

They don’t talk about Lucius or the lipstick over lunch. Both stay. Both breed more change.

-The first day Eddy comes to work in a dress, Jim is on her heels and glares over her shoulder. Lucky for them Jim has already weeded out the wrong kind of people and no one has a word to say about it. Including Izzy. He’s got his own fucking problems.

“Well?” she demands of him.

“Well what?” He holds out the stack of files. “You signing these or am I forging your name?”

“Hands.”

“Boss,” he pushes the files at her.

“How do I look?”

He doesn’t let his gaze travel, just looks her in the eye, “Like yourself.”

“...yeah, fine,” she grabs the files. “Thanks. Where’s Lucius?”

“Right here,” he walked out of Izzy’s office with his own stack of files. Catches sight of Eddy and smiles, “Digging the new look. The eyeliner is a little heavy, but I can see where you were going with it.”

“Really?” Eddy tightens her grip on the folders.

Izzy disappears into his office. He has nothing to add to that conversation and he thinks he’s earned a little hyperventilating.

-Eddy, now definitely Eddy, is like a new, fresher version of the person she used to be. They have fewer close calls and more beautifully cracked ideas. Lucius and Jim feed into those. And maybe Izzy does too. He stops questioning Eddy so much as she shows more and more signs of being checked in to the work. He doesn’t have to rile her up, she’s just ready to go.

And Izzy....Izzy is a little more relaxed.

“Damn right,” Lucius purrs and kisses his neck when he confesses that. “I work hard at that lover.”

Lucius looks different these days too. With his own paycheck, freed from such weights as rent and food, goes to clothes. He cultivates a new persona. More black, but no leather. Loose black trousers, the kind of men’s boots made for runways instead of streets and a series of dark colored button ups, always turned up at the wrist. The haircut is professional now.

He does something to Jim, who at last abandons their beige and creams for tight black pieces that are somehow like Eddy once was and something altogether different. Sharper, cleaner, modern. They go to Lucius’ stylist and come back with a clean undercut, the rest of their hair back in a bun.

When they meet clients (and they do, the two of them somehow becoming a team, Lucuis the voice, Jim the suggestion of the work), they always get the contract.

“I think they might be better than us,” Eddy watches as Lucius shakes the hand of a man that once tried to bite Izzy’s nose off. Jim grins at him sharklike.

“No,” Izzy declares. “Not yet.”

-The summer Lucius turns twenty-five, Eddy finds the Revenge. Finds Stede Bonnet.

“We should let her go,” Lucius says, stretched over their bed. Izzy kneels beside the bed, chin on Lucius’ knee.

“What do you mean?”

“We don’t really need Eddy to run the business, darling,” Lucius reaches down, runs a hand over Izzy’s hair. “You know the back end and between Jim and I, we can do the rest. She’s sick of it all, likes this Stede guy...I say cut her loose.”

“But-”

“Think on it,” Lucius cuts him off, his fingers sink into Izzy’s hair and tugs him up off the floor. “Later.”

Izzy thinks on it, but he’s too slow. Eddy comes to him and proposes the end of the company before he can do more than start. Jim stands behind her, a faint smile on their face.

“It’ll be yours,” Eddy tells him.

“I don’t think so,” Izzy stares at Jim.

-Eddy leaves. Sometimes Jim and Lucius go to the Revenge and they tell Izzy about the place. They never say he isn’t allowed to go, but he can read between the lines. He stays away.

The company grows. Jim and Lucius are young. They have new ideas. Lucius’ forgeries have gotten very very good. Jim kills easy as breathing and doesn’t ask Izzy if they did the right thing anymore.

Izzy does the paperwork. He goes out on the kinds of jobs he’s familiar with and still feels useful. His name is on the front door now, but he keeps his office. Jim and Lucius take Eddy’s office, but they renovate. Fresh lighting, fresh paint. Two desks.

-”We should move,” Lucius declares one evening.

“What’s wrong with this place?”

“Oh darling,” Lucius kisses his cheek. “We can just do so much better now.”

-Izzy does like the penthouse once he gets used to it. It’s spacious and his office is as black and chrome as he could ask for. The rest of the place is wholly Lucius and Izzy likes it more than he thought he would. It’s just...comfortable there. He stays home more and more. Does his work from the office. He cooks for Lucius, who’s always an appreciative audience. Makes extra for Jim for lunch the next day.

Sometimes Izzy wonders what Eddy would think of it. He almost texts her sometimes, but they haven’t spoken since the day she signed off on the place. Probably for the best.

“Darling,” Lucius kisses his throat. “You did beautifully with the books. Are you sure you don’t mind not going out on the Bellmonte job?”

“I don’t,” he smiles, pets the silky material of Lucius’ shirt. “Jim handled it.”

“They did,” Lucius agreed. “Did you make the lasagna for dinner? It smells amazing in here.”

“Mm, I had time.”

“What did I do to deserve such a man?” Lucius nipped at him, drawing back to grin at him.

“Must’ve been a saint in another life,” Izzy laughs. He does that now. It feels good. “Fuck knows it isn’t in in this one.”

“Sing it,” Lucius pulls him close. “Take me to the shooting range tonight?”

“You hate guns.”

“Mm, pays to know though, doesn’t it? And you’re hot when you get all teacher-y.”

They rent out the whole range. Lucius fucks him with a hand over his mouth that reeks of gunpowder. Afterwards, Izzy fishes out the ring he’s been holding for years and asks. Lucius says yes. Jim witnesses their marriage with blood drying under their fingernails.

“You’re next,” Lucius teases them.

“Maybe,” they concede.

That’s how Izzy finds out about Oluwande. The man isn’t of the life. He’s soft and sweet. Izzy almost feels bad for him.

Almost. Jim treats him well. He stays of his own accord. He doesn't talk to Izzy much even though they're thrown together a lot. Sometimes though when Jim and Lucius get really deep into it, talking in half-sentences that loop around each other, Oluwande will catch Izzy's eye and something passes between them. Understanding maybe.

Or fear. Izzy wasn't sure he could still feel that really, but the ghost of it lingers on his tongue. He tastes it in those moments.

-Izzy signs over his part of the company to them two years into the marriage. He has enough money and Lucius pays most of the bills these days anyway. He's barely there. Anyone can keep the books. Lucius says that anyway and Izzy believes him.

-Izzy doesn’t look back. No apologies. No regrets.

He wonders once. Just once. He Googles. Finds no trace.

He doesn’t ask, even when Lucius picks at him over dinner, tries to figure out what's wrong.

No apologies. No regrets. No looking back. He erases his search history.

He'll be forty-five this year. He never thought he'd live to see it. He'd like to see forty-six. He thinks it'll be nice.

#leda house and the kraken verse #au of the au #I may be bad but I'm perfectly good at it #izzy hands #lucius black #jim jimenez

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socially-awkward-skeleton · 1 year

Text

This is Love

Read on AO3

Banner art by me :)

Pairing: Staci Pratt x Kit Cross (Far Cry 5 f!Deputy OC)

Words: 2546

Warning: Explicit, Minors DNI

This smut contains: pegging, oral sex, spanking, and copious amounts of happiness

A/N: This is set in my werewolf AU “The Animal in Me” so there are some specific references to that universe and how it works FYI

Staci Pratt had been with more people than he had bones to count in his body, it was an ongoing joke between him and Joey that he’d never settle down, he’d be the Hugh Heffner of Hope County.

Until there was her.

From that first moment she’d drifted past his desk on her way to meet Earl, he was hooked. Scent alone was enough to make him turn his head, to pique his interest. But then to settle his eyes on flowing red waves, piercing blue eyes, and a physique most female volleyball players would beg for, it was enough to rewire his brain to only ever want her.

In the last weeks, she’d been spending more time at his house than her own, and despite the fact that she was nesting, she never took up more than a few feet of space in his life. “No point in holding on to too much junk”, a remnant of her life as an army brat.

As he sat sprawled out on his bed, arms folded behind his head, he watched her exit the en suite bathroom and toss her backpack to the floor beside his dresser. He was no stranger to using things to spice up the love life, handcuffs - used his own from work, lingerie - it was a given, role play - he was all too happy to be the student in detention, but seeing her standing before him in red lace with the harness strapped around her hips, he was left without words.

Her hands on her hips, nails digging nervously into the barely there material wrapped around her, she just wanted to curl up into a hole and die of embarrassment. Lace and frills were never meant for her, she never even went to prom from the discomfort of being seen in a gown. Her shoulders slumped forward as her head fell, running her hand through her hair, brushing layers forward trying so desperately to hide herself.

“I look ridiculous.”

He crawled forward on the bed, deep brown eyes staring wide up at her. “You’re fucking kidding me, right? Do you know how sexy you are? Jesus Christ, babe.” He couldn't quite wrap his head around the idea that anyone who looked like her could think otherwise. Scars or not, looking at her was like seeing a goddess in real life.

Sliding his legs off the end of the bed, he wrapped his arms around her waist, the baby blue silicone member strapped to her poking him in the stomach. He was willing to ignore it if only to make her feel better.

She was an oddity. All confidence brimming when it came to shows of strength, normally as hard as a concrete bunker wall, but the moment the clothes came off and she was vulnerable, she crumbled like sand. He was all too happy to be the one to build her back up.

Fingers skimming over the straps that held the toy in place, hands gliding over the curves of her hips to settle on the toned muscle of her ass. His arms squeezed her into his chest, as her hands laced into his hair, tugging on the shaggy ends making him moan softly into her mouth as they kissed. Bit by bit he could tell the predator inside her was creeping back up to the surface and he was proud to be her prey. He knew she’d never really hurt him, they were a bonded pair, mates for life. She was his as much as he was hers.

With a firm push he was sent colliding backwards against the bed, the lightheaded rush that came with the feel of falling overwhelmed him, as her hands landed on either side of his head. Yellow eyes peered down at him, strawberry lips pulled into a smirk. He swallowed heavily, caged in by her and that scent of hers, ozone filling his nostrils. Pupils blown out wide, her eyes fell to his bobbing adam’s apple, and the thumping of the blood in his throat. Her tongue dragged across her pearly white teeth, tasting his arousal in the air as his hard cock pressed up against her from between her thighs. Her mouth crashed down against his, nearly knocking the air from his lungs, stealing every last bit of breath from inside of him.

Fingers gliding over soft, pale skin, where she would have flinched as he traced over her scars, she now melted into his touch. Breathy moans slipped loose as her mouth parted, tongue sliding across the curve of his lower lip. His cock twitched, excitement building as she pulled her hair over one shoulder, and leaned down to focus her attention on his already bruise-covered neck; it was practically a Jackson Pollock painting at this point, dotted in splotches of green, red and purple and she was all too eager to add to it.

He couldn’t help himself as his hands finally reached to meet her cleavage, breasts spilling over the bra barely able to contain her as she leaned over him, her erect nipples poked through the skimpy material and his thumbs stroked them through the layer of lace.

A hiss pulled through her gritted teeth. “Puppy, stop.” The words slowly drew out over her lips as she started to grind her hips down against him.

Never in his life did he think he’d be okay with being called puppy by anyone, after hearing Jacob refer to others as pup for the last five years, it should have been a turn off. But when she said it every section of his brain lit up.

“Why should I? You seem to be enjoying it,” he purred.

He snickered and she lifted her head, looking down on him with one cocked eyebrow. “Fine, two can play at that game, Pratt.”

She said it with a wink and he already knew what was coming as she slid down the bed, her shoulders between his thighs looking up at him with crystal clear blue eyes once more.

His pupils blew out wide, a flush overtaking his face as she lifted his legs and pushed them back until his knees met his chest. She rubbed her hands together, making sure they were warm before massaging him, fingers caressing him gently making him gasp.

"Are my hands still cold?" Icy eyes stared up at him, her brow softened, lips turned into a pout.

"No. No, it just felt good."

The corners of her mouth flexed, dimples slipping free from her stone jaw. Her tongue dragged against her reddening lips, teeth pulling at the plump of her lower lip. If he wasn't stuck on his back, he'd be grabbing her face to kiss her right now.

Her mouth opened and lowered around his cock, her tongue circling the head. Tossing his head back, shoulders rising from the mattress, he whined as her hand began to stroke his shaft in tandem with her mouth sucking him off.

She was far too good at this part.

He kept his eyes on her, watching the way her brow furrowed as her mouth would reach her fist at the base, trying to take more of him in. The way her cheeks would flush when their eyes met and she caught him panting like the wolf he was. His cock twitched in her hand and he gripped the sheets in fistfuls. His head tipping back once more as he gasped, he was getting close and he didn't want to finish like this.

He grabbed her arm and squeezed. "Baby, please. You gotta stop."

Her mouth released with a wet pop, a string of saliva still connecting him to her mouth.

"You want me to fuck you?" She said with a grin.

"Yeah, Red." Reaching over to the bedside table he tossed her the bottle of lube.

She popped open the lid and squirted the gel onto her fingers, until they were completely slick. Sliding them down over his perineum, and towards his dusty pink puckered entrance, she began to stroke gentle circles around it, loosening him for her.

His breath quivered out of him with each shaky rise and fall of his chest. "Fuck. You're good at that."

"You know, this isn't the first hole I've ever fingered, right?" Her eyes flicked up to meet him as she continued her work.

"You've treated your other boyfriends to this?"

"No, just you. But I've dated a lot more girls than I have guys."

Her fingernails being kept shorter suddenly made a lot of sense.

His head crashed back against the pillows as she slipped her first finger in, up to the 2nd knuckle. "Jesus Christ." He ran his hand over his face, dragging at his mouth and slipping it down his throat as she pushed a second finger in gingerly.

Wrapping a hand around his cock, he started stroking, his calves and thighs squeezing as a shiver rocked through him.

"Still feel good, puppy?" Her hand rubbed softly against his inner thigh feeling him tense below her touch.

He couldn't speak, his words caught in his throat as his eyes squeezed shut. All he could do was nod.

"You ready for the real thing?"

His nod was all the more fervent.

"On your knees then." She slipped her fingers from him, working them out slowly.

Crawling onto his hands and knees, she was reminded again of the more than apt nickname Jacob had used for him. Peaches. The first thing she ever really noticed about Staci, besides the prettiest brown eyes she'd ever seen, was the tightness of his pants and she was appreciating that ass of his that filled them out now. She gave him a spank and he looked back with that same cheeky grin of his that always pulled at the scar in his brow.

"Hey!"

"Well I could hardly just leave it alone when it's stuck up in the air like that, now could I?" Fingernails scored down the curve of his cheek down to his thigh, leaving bright pink marks behind. "Just remember if that ass wasn't so perfect we wouldn't be in this mess."

He laughed and pushed his hand back through his hair lazily, only to have the same strands of black hair fall forward once more.

"Fair point, Red."

Popping open the cap of the lube once more, she squeezed another dollop into her hand and stroked the silicone cock attached to her. She ran her fingers against him once more, loosening him up again, before pressing the blue rounded tip against him. A soft groan escaped him as she started to press gingerly, squeezing him open with each push of her hips.

"You ready, puppy?"

"Just, uh, go slow."

"Okay."

She gripped his hip with one hand, the other massaging up and down the curve of his spine to relax him. His toes began to curl as she began to glide in and out of him, moving slowly with each roll of her hips, making sure to not use the full length at first. But still focusing on that perfect spot inside of him, rubbing up against it over and over again.

"Jesus Christ, mi reina."

He'd only ever said that a few times before, in the heat of the moment the Spaniard in him would slip out and once he'd lost all sense of himself he'd whisper a slew of Spanish into her ear. How much of it was naughty she didn't know, but he could read the dictionary to her and she'd still be driven wild.

He grabbed at the back of her thighs and pulled her in deeper, having her hips rock and press against him. The hand on his back slid forward and wrapped up in his hair, pulling his head back and forcing out a desperate moan. His lip quivered, stroking himself off as she fucked into him.

Leaning forward, pressing her chest to his back, her hot breath fanned against the back of his neck as she nuzzled her face into his hair, her hands exploring him. Drops of sweat formed between their skin, and rolled down the length of his back, her tongue collecting what she could to have the taste of him in her mouth.

He’d been dreaming of this since their second date, seeing those muscles of hers, the scars and the tattoos. She’d be able to fit in with leather clad bikers, truckers, and army vets all at the same time, and here she was wrapped up with him like a python and he felt like a mouse. He still didn’t quite understand how he was deserving of her time, but he wasn’t going to question it either, nature worked in mysterious ways.

Cold, rough fingers wrapped around the front of his throat as soft, plush lips pressed gentle kisses right over his gland. She didn’t squeeze, she only stroked, nails dragging through stubble that followed down from his chin. His hips rocking in her lap as she hummed against him, her tongue dragging over the outer shell of his ear. Her other hand snaked around him to slide down his chest, over black coiled hair, traveling down his abdomen and through his happy trail only to wrap around his erect cock to milk him.

Her hips snapped back and forth followed by a slow roll into him again and she could feel the pressure as he tensed up around the cock she was wearing, he was getting close.

His arms and legs shook, as another wave of chills hit, his heart thundered in his chest as his breath hitched in his throat. Thick ropes of cum shot out against the bed as he moaned from deep in his chest, his head falling forward as he fought to regain his breath.

Soft kisses traveled down his back, spreading warmth throughout him. She could feel his vertebrae shift below the skin with every touch of her lips. Pulling out slowly, she eased him through the release.

Dropping forward onto his stomach, he rolled over onto his side, watching her as she took off the harness. Transfixed on every little flex of the muscles in her back as she bent over and slipped the straps down her legs.

She could sense his eyes on her, and as she looked over her shoulder she could already catch a glimpse of his satisfied grin.

"Jesus, Red, we gotta do this more often. You're a natural."

"Oh yeah, I stand up to the others you've had in your life?" Pale eyes looked at him expectantly for an answer.

"You're better than most of the guys I've been with."

She had to stifle her chuckle as she curled up beside him, chest pressed to his back. She always found herself playing with his hair when they were relaxed like this, when they could just be. Her other hand stroked his side fondly, petting away the crescents her nails had marked him with, replacing them with goosebumps instead.

"Gimme a little while and I'll show you how much I appreciate your skill, Red."

"Ah, the perks of mating with a man in his twenties."

Grabbing her hand, he brought her fingers to his lips, smiling against her, he kissed them softly.

"And don't you forget it."

#far cry 5 #fan fiction #staci pratt #staci pratt x female deputy #oc: kit cross #fc5 werewolf au #lemon

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sshewonders · 2 years

Text

ACROSS THE STARS (05/?)

Obi-Wan Kenobi x fem!jedi!reader

summary: you get and build your own lightsaber. however, it has an unusual color. then, Qui-gon brings another kid the same your age named Anakin Skywalker.

warning: fluff, and the council.

a/n: i genuinely think that you all are gonna like anakin and y/n's relationship so here it is.

word count: 3.1k

(gif not mine but anakin is)

Yeah, you couldn't remember the last time you ran too fast. Pushing your arms back and forth, you jetted to your destination, jumping over small holes, dodging the rocks that had started to fall. You legs were tired and the dusty wind was just torturing your eyes. Then, you saw. At the end of the tunnel, there stood Master Plo Koon and he ran towards you then immediately swooped you in his arms, running as fast as his feet could carry him. And oh, thank the maker you two had made it in time as the gates of the cav closed.

“Are you all right, Y/N?” Cassius asked worriedly as Plo Koon put you down, gently.

“Yeah, I think.” You answered, shrugging. You took a notice at his cheeks, they were red too as though he had just finished crying, like you.

“Did you see something?” he asked as you, your créchemates and the two Jedi Masters walked back to the ship.

You nodded. “Yes.”

“What was it?”

You looked at him, then back to the snowy ground. “Something I'd like to avoid,” you mumbled underneath your breath then looked back at Cassius again, “What about you? What did you see?”

You saw how sadness took over his young face. “I didn't see anything but rather heard,” Cassius said, “My mum's voice. She was calling me and all I could do was to listen as she begged for me.”

Soon after you all boarded the ship, Master Yoda greeted each of you with a proud smile. “Done well, you all have!” then, his attention turned to you then back to everyone who had gone quiet, all cheeks strained with tears the same as yours. “Hard time seeking your crystal, I assume some of you had, hmm?” Yoda questioned but no one answered.

Kit Fisto, Yoda, Shaak Ti and Plo Koon looked worriedly at each other. “How about you all go rest as we go back to the temple?” Shaak Ti suggested with a smile.

After arriving at the Temple, you and your créchemates gathered alongside with the four Jedi Masters in one of the training room. You sat on the ground, legs crossed, as Cassius sat down beside you. The hilt of your lightsaber sat in front of you.

You had done well your hilt as Quinlan himself had helped you assemble it. It was based on the simple design of Obi-Wan's lightsaber. The length of the hilt was about twenty five centimeters and the material of the hilt was made of silver alloy metal.

One by one, each of your créchemates inserted their kyber crystal onto their lightsaber hilts. You, on the other hand, swallowed nervously. You looked at Plo Koon, anxiously and he got the message. He motioned for you to stand up and you did, confusing your other créchemates. You stood beside him and he turned you around, your and his back faced the three Jedi Masters and your créchemates.

“What's wrong, Y/N?” asked Plo Koon, quietly.

Shuddering, you reached out in your pocket and pulled a small blue ragged cloth that was folded into its half and opened it on your palm. Plo Koon let out a small gasp, alarming the other Jedi Masters in the room, your créchemates, however, was busy putting their kyber crystal onto the hilts of their lightsaber.

“Go on,” said Shaak Ti to the younglings.

Master Yoda approached you with a hum, looking down at your opened palm. “Young one, certain that these two kyber crystal called you are you, hmm?”

“Yes, Master. I am certain,” you answered, anxiously.

Kit Fisto gave you a smile, showing his teeth. “It's alright, young one. You're gonna be fine,” he reassured you, “You can build a dual-phase lightsaber. It's a lightsaber that contained two or more kyber crystals.”

Sighing, you shook your head slowly. “I...I don't think I can do that, Master Kit.”

“Why?” Kit Fisto asked.

You looked down at your hand. “Because, these crystals are fighting over me. They wanted me to pick one, then after, destroy the other one.”

Kit Fisto, Plo Koon and Master Yoda looked at each other in concern.

“Well, which crystal called your first, Y/N?” Plo Koon asked.

“Both, Master,” you answered, looking at the three with an anxious look. “They called me at the same time.”

You watched as Master Yoda closed his eyes with a hum, then opened it before looking at you. “Hrrmmm. A great disturbance in the force in one of the crystals I sense. Yes, hrrrm.”

“Destroy one of them, I must?” you said, copying Yoda's way of speaking. Yoda, however, did not find it funny and you sheepishly smile. “Just trying to defuse the tension.” Kit laughed but when Yoda looked at him, he tried to cover it with a cough. Then, Plo Koon just shook his head.

“Yes, you must destroy one of them, Initiate Y/N.” Plo Koon said seriously.

“But how?” you asked, “What are the odds that if I destroy the one, what'll happen to the other one?” The three Jedi Masters didn't answer you. “Screw this.”

Annoyed, you closed your eyes and focused on the force around you. The right crystal, glowing white as snow, made you feel like . . . . you. The left crystal, however, did not make you feel like yourself. It felt as though it was forcing you act like . . . . another person. Then, you finally made the decision.

We are all making choices and taking decisions in our daily life; however, good ones lead us on the right path while the the bad ones bring us the opposite, or in the middle of nowhere. We make hundreds of decisions in our day to day lives. But think back to the last time you chose to do the right thing. Was it that the force, your conscience, or common sense nagging? Out of all choices we make, how often do we choose the right choice? The act of choosing the right or wrong thing depends on that one particular moment just before making the choice.

Standing before the Jedi High Council, you and your créchemates tightly held your now build lightsabers and is now ready to be ignited. You felt everything inside the council chambers. There were anxious, excited and doubt. Fear, however, you couldn't feel. Because, fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate and hate leads to suffering. But in the very deep part of your mind, you have that fear. Fear that you had made the wrong choice and fear that it would lead you to suffering. A brilliant Jedi told you once: ‘Failure makes us far more interesting, Y/N, because we learn more from failure than success.’ Yes, Qui-gon's big words had taught you well enough to trust yourself but the problem is, you don't want to be successful when you make a choice; you just wanted to know what will happen next and who would it affect.

“You can all light them,” Mace Windu said loudly.

In unison, all of the younglings -- including you -- ignited their lightsabers. The room was then suddenly filled by the lights of each blade: mostly were blue, green and....hold on, yellow? Did you choose the wrong kyber crystal? Did you do anything wrong? Doubts suddenly filled your mind as anxiety slowly creeped onto you.

“That's.... that's a wonderful lightsaber you've got there, Initiate Y/N.” Windu mused with wide eyes as well as the rest of the council, looking at your lightsaber in surprise.

Mumblings, mutterings and whispers started up but to their dismay, Kit Fisto rose from his seat. “Now, now, let us all go train with your new built sabers, younglings.” Groans took over as he lead the group of younglings outside the Jedi High Council chamber. Cassius with his new blue lightsaber, gave you a reassuring smile before he went to his way.

“What say you, Master Yoda?” Windu asked, looking at the green Master Jedi.

Yoda hummed and closed his eyes. “Choose the wrong kyber crystal you did not, young one. Doubt yourself, do not,” he said in a warning tone before pointing a finger at you, “Do not.”

With your eyebrows furrowed, you looked down at your lightsaber. “I...I think I've might chosen the wrong one, Masters and doubting myself is the only thing I can do as of right now.” Oh kriff, you did not mean to make your tone a bit harsh.

The council looked at each other in concern. Mace Windu, on other hand, quirked an eyebrow before he glared at you. “Careful with your tone, Initiate Y/N. I sense fear rising in you,” he warned.

“Pardon me,Master,” you sneered and glared at Windu, “If you were in my position, will you not be scared?”

Yoda hummed and closed his eyes. This master is so weird. “Fear is the path to the dark side … fear leads to anger … anger leads to hate … hate leads to suf-”

You interrupted Yoda, stomping your one foot and glared at him. “I know where it leads!” You bellowed, then with voice softening as they looked at you in hatred, “It's just...I thought I was going to have blue...o-or green.”

Plo Koon was the only one who didn't look at you in the way the council did. He, on the other hand, held a look on his face that would certainly lighten up someone in their darkest times. “Young one, may I ask you: what is the reason you're here?”

You deadpanned at him. “I honestly don't know why when all of my créchemates are already practicing with their lightsabers.”

Ignoring your reply, Plo sighed and leaned back to his chair. “Y/N, you're here to learn. And we, as your Masters, are here to teach you,” he said softly as the rest of the council nodded in agreement, “We are here for you, to help you. And by the light, please let us.”

Two days later, you found yourself running across the hallways of the Temple. You ran pass Cassius who waved at you but you could careless about him. You were about to turn left when you had spotted Master Plo, probably on his way as well, and you ran towards him. Nearly tripping over nothing, you then clasped onto his robes for life.

“Ow,” Master Plo groaned and saw you standing in front of him, with your arms crossed over your chest and with a small pout on your lip then with a furrowed eyebrows. “What's the matter, young one?”

Scoffing, you said, “You swore that you'll tell me once Qui-gon and Obi-Wan comes back! But I was the one who found out about it!”

“Forgive me, young one,” he said softly, “I was on my way to tell you but I was needed in the council, an emergency they said.”

“I'm certain that the "emergency”,” you said as you emphasized the word, “Is about Qui-gon. Now, let's go!” you said before running away.

Shaking his head, Master Plo ran after you while muttering: “I'm too old for this. I'm too old for this.”

In the High Jedi Council chamber, Qui-Gon Jinn, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Anakin Skywalker stood before the Council of eleven. Master Plo Koon was not in his seat. Clustered together at the center of the speaker's platform, they faced the circle of chairs in which the members of the Council were seated. Outside, the light was pale and wan as twilight replaced sunset, and night began its slow descent across the city.

Then, you entered the room, startling all of them. Master Plo, behind you, felt a little embarrassment but masked it when he walked towards his seat and sat.

With a bright smile, Qui-gon opened his arms, thinking that you were running towards him but his smile soon faltered when you ran pass him. He blinked once, then twice.

Obi-Wan's eyes widened as he groaned at the impact of you, lunging towards him then wrapped both of your arms on his waist, head resting on his stomach.

“Hello, there, Obi,” you greeted quietly, looking up at him.

With a chuckle and a bright smile, Obi-Wan looked down at you. “Hello there, my little rebel.” He then poked your nose once, “Boop.”

You were about to reach out to his nose, but then a pair of strong arms pulled you away from Obi-Wan. When you looked up, Qui-gon gave you a sad smile and made you stand up in his right side. Looking sad at Obi-Wan, you bumped into someone....

“Oh, gee, sorry about that,” a small voice of a boy caught your attention. When you turned to your side, a boy in your age with a blonde hair, light skin and a beautiful blue eyes stood there, sheepishly smiling at you. He was dressed in a...rather ragged tunic while you were dressed up in a clean, youngling's tunic. He outstretched his hand and said, “Hi, I'm Anakin Skywalker.”

Reluctantly, you shook his hand slowly as you tilted your head. “Hi, Anakin, I'm Y/N.”

Mace Windu loudly cleared his throat, catching everyone's attention and breaking your gaze from Anakin. You looked at Master Windu and he was holding a small datapad. Anakin hesitantly took a step forward, then, Master Yoda drew his attention towards you.

“Wait outside the chambers, you will, young one,” he ordered.

Your eyes grew wide and looked at Qui-gon with a pleading eyes, he nodded his head with a sad smile playing on his lips and when you looked at Obi-Wan, he gave you the same thing: though his face was clouded with both confusion and... determination?

Sighing, you looked at Anakin and gave him a warm smile when he turned around before you left the room, closing the doors behind you.

#star wars #star wars imagine #ewan mcgregor #obi wan kenobi #obi wan fanfiction #obi wan kenobi x reader #anakin skywalker #obi wan and anakin

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fabeong · 1 year

Text

2 - Whiskers

The second quick-fic of the Elite Kit Fisto - Agen Kolar - Saesee Tiin Trio, and this time it’s pure fluff. Enjoy!

Words: 1163

Characters: Agen Kolar, Saesee Tiin, Kit Fisto

Warnings: None

------------------------------

His cloak sweeping behind him, Saesee Tiin strode swiftly down the stairs from the main quarters of the Jedi Temple towards the flight hanger, his head ringing with the arguments- sorry, heated discussions, Jedi don’t argue do they now? - of the Jedi still up in the Temple corridors. This war was getting to everyone’s heads, but Skywalker…that boy is concerning, Saesee thought, rubbing his left horn absently. To see him so aggressive, so vicious, even verging on vengeful when in debate with a council member was clear proof for the Iktochi that even the Chosen One was not invulnerable from the burdens of war.

Rounding the corner towards the hanger that held his personal starfighter, Saesee halted in his tracks. He could hear…voices. Very familiar voices. His heart began to thump in his chest; he had come here for a break from people, and the last thing he needed right now was for those two to find out more around that starfighter than they had to. But he was too late; as the Iktochi approached further he could hear their voices.

“Why does it have those thin hairs coming from its face?”

“I think they’re called whiskers. I have no idea what they are for.”

“Maybe he can sense things like you or Saesee can?”

“She.”

Saesee stopped in the doorway of the hanger to see his two fellow Masters sat on the storage boxes around his starfighter. A tiny furry creature with pointed ears and those whiskers was sat between them, reaching up with a clawed paw to try and bat at the green tentacles it could almost reach. “It’s definitely a she.” Kit Fisto chuckled at the creature’s antics.

“Very well.” Agen Kolar was watching it intently, and did not look up. “Is she yours, Saesee?”

The creature had abandoned its game upon seeing the Iktochi and sprung off the crates, choosing instead to gambol up to Saesee and push its head up against his legs with a purring sound beginning to grow in her throat. His cheeks burning but his lips set in the typical frown, Saesee dared to look up at the other two; Kit Fisto was beaming broadly, his gaze on the animal, while Agen Kolar was unsuccessfully fighting off a smile as well, looking instead at the Iktochi.

“How can she be mine?” Saesee walked towards his starfighter, trying to avoid an undignified trip as the creature followed suit and attempted to weave around him. “Jedi have no possessions.” He deadpanned. Kit’s smile did not lessen as he hopped off his seat on the crates. The Iktochi wavered, his arms folded defiantly, but the animal made the decision for him. She bounded forward and jumped back up to where she had been sat before, and looked back expectantly. You sitting or what? Her eyes seemed to say. And so Saesee sat down on the crates where the Nautolan had been; Kit himself moved so that the trio of Masters were in something of a triangle and made to perch down too. “Don’t sit on my starfighter.” Saesee glanced up sharply as his hand had made to stroke the creature’s nutmeg-coloured fur.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Kit quipped, instead sitting cross-legged in front of the ship. Agen was watching the creature with curious eyes as she nuzzled into the Iktochi’s hand, her purring louder than before.

“She may not be yours.” He commented, “But I think you are hers, my friend.”

“I found her taking shelter in the cockpit. She was cold. And thin.” Saesee said. He remembered it well, the rain outside had been drumming on the metal roof overhead, and had almost drowned out her mewling cries when he had lifted her out of his pilot’s seat. How quickly she had quietened though, wriggling and turning only to snuggle into the surprised Jedi’s thick robes. She was doing much the same now, crawling onto the Iktochi’s lap and trying to get comfy amongst the folds of his cloak.

“And so you adopted her.” Agen finished, an amused smile twitching on his lips, “Or perhaps the other way around.”

“Something like that.” Saesee muttered, returning to gently stroke the animal’s head. Purring again, she settled down on his lap but pushed her head up into his hand, seemingly unbothered by the Iktochi’s claws. “What are you two doing here anyway?” Saesee looked back up at Agen, who held his hands up in mock surrender.

“Ask Kit, he was here first.”

“Now don’t go accusing me of anything!” The Nautolan laughed. “I came looking for you, Saesee, I thought you might be fixing something. Then this friend of yours leapt up out of the cockpit and came to say hello!”

“When I arrived they seemed to be getting on quite well.” Agen said amusedly. “Getting on meaning she was sat on his head.”

“She was comfy! Who was I to move her?!”

“Why did you look for me, Fisto?” Saesee interjected, frowning in confusion. There was a pause, and Kit cocked his head in some thought. His head tresses twitched independently.

“I’m not sure.” He replied mildly, “I just sensed you might need-” The Nautolan broke off as the furry creature stood on Saesee’s lap, stretched, then leapt onto the ground and padded over to him, sniffing at his outstretched hand curiously. “Hello, little one.”

“Be careful. She’s looking to pounce on your tentacles.” Saesee warned, sensing the animal’s intentions. Kit chuckled and nudged his tresses over his shoulder and out of sight. Dejected, the animal licked at his hand then padded back over to the boxes, jumping up again and fixing lantern-like eyes on Agen. The Zabrak looked more than a little apprehensive as she advanced unblinkingly.

“What is she doing?”

“Smelling you.” Saesee’s words did not seem to reassure Agen, who seemed more alarmed at the tiny creature. A minute smile twitched on the corner of the Iktochi’s lips. “Relax.” He said.

“She has claws.”

“So do I, you do not fear me.”

“That’s different.” Agen muttered. Yet the little creature had no such reservations and was quickly nuzzling up to the Zabrak, the purring sound recommencing as she found a comfier seat on his lap.

“Agen, I think you’ve made a friend!” Kit laughed at his gobsmacked companion. Saesee nodded.

“She likes you.” He agreed. Throughout all of this, the impossible had happened; his two fellow Jedi and his little friend had succeeded in making him feel better. The weight of the argument upstairs felt as light as a cloud that rolled off his shoulders as he watched Agen tentatively begin to stroke the creature’s soft head and he listened to Kit’s cheerful chatter. In the past, he never would have imagined companionship such as what he shared with these two to be so pleasant. So useful. And something so… treasurable.

Maybe friendship isn’t so bad after all, Saesee thought, and the strange fluffy animal with pointed ears and odd ‘whiskers’ just yawned.

#listen #just picture tall silent grumpy Saesee with a kitten #you get it right?#star wars #prequel era #revenge of the sith #kit fisto #saesee tiin #agen kolar #star wars fanfiction #again this was written in like 2017 my writing has improved so much since then i promise

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