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monako-jinn-stories · 1 year

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Echo X Fem! Reader FanFic

A Returning Echo ~ After the Citadel

Main Master List

Story Master List

Chapter Thirty Five

Chapter Thirty Seven

Chapter Thirty Six

“Y/nnnnnnnn!”

“What?”

“I don’t like these bunks!”

“They’re literally the exact same as the ones on our Venator.”

“No, they’re different! They don’t hold the memories that ours do.”

“Well then make new ones,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“But that takes so much effort,” Sans whines, Steele nodding beside him.

You pinch the bridge of your nose and let out a long breath, calming yourself before you speak to your men. “Look, I know you think this is helping me prepare for motherhood, but it’s not,” you say while glaring at them.

“Just because her father was Mr. I-Follow-Every-Rule-In-Every-Reg-Manual-Ever, that doesn’t mean she won’t complain like her father’s twin does,” Steele says.

“Or my twin, for that matter,” Hex mumbles, and Steele gives him a rude finger in response.

“You do know that I did live in the palace with Ahni when she had the twins, right?”

“Well, yeah, but you ain’t their mother,” Tie argues.

“And I’m not your mother, either,” you say. “Look, I don’t have the energy for this right now. Just make sure to be on the bridge at 1130 as Rex said.”

“Alright, see you then, y/n,” Aid says, and the others nod before you walk away.

It’s been a long time since you’ve worked with Anakin on a mission, and you don’t like that you can’t even lead your own men in battle. Sure, Codo is here as well, and all three of you are Jedi generals, plus Ahsoka is a commander, but you still didn’t like letting your men go into a battle without you there with them.

As you make your way to the bunk area you’re sharing with Codo, you catch your reflection in the mirror. Your body has changed a lot, and you quickly look away, not knowing how to feel about how you look. Sure, your body is beautiful and amazing and you’ve carried your little Echoa for this long, and yet there’s that stupid beauty standard that floats around the galaxy. Those pin-ups of ‘perfect’ girls never show diverse body types, and it’s more than a shame. Everyone is beautiful, no matter what kind of body or looks they might have. Even on your own planet representation is limited, and you wish there was a way to force it to be better.

“Uh, is everything alright, General Jinn?” You look up and meet Hardcase’s eyes, and he’s looking at you cautiously.

“Yeah, why?” you ask, giving him a confused expression.

“You were just stomping down the hall,” he says, before a look of shock and embarrassment flashes onto his face. “I-I mean you weren’t…it’s not because of…kriff, what I meant is…”

“Go on, spit it out,” Jesse says, Kix snickering behind him as they both stand in a nearby doorway, watching their brother fumble for the correct words.

“What I meant is, you were walking as though something had angered you,” he ramblessXA, letting out a breath of relief afterwards.

“I was?” you say, “huh, I guess I didn’t notice. I mean I was having some pretty angry thoughts but I didn’t realize I was stomping.”

“Maybe it’s the, well the uh…” he says before motioning at your stomach and then your head.

“My what?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at him. His own eyes go wide again, another wave of embarrassment heating his cheeks.

“Oh, I uh…I mean…nothing, nothing at all, General Jinn,” he says, and you glare at him for a few seconds before breaking into laughter. His expression only turns to confusion before he looks behind him at his brothers, who were also laughing at him.

“Oh, Hardcase,” you say, resting a hand on his shoulder, “I think the phrase you were looking for is ‘pregnancy brain,’ which very well likely could be why I didn’t notice. Either way, it was nice to have a laugh.”

“Um…glad to uh, help?” he says, and you just giggle again before continuing on. When you finally reach your room, you immediately sit down and take your shoes off, sighing in relief before you lay down on the painfully solid bunk.

“You know, we could have made that more comfortable for you,” Codo says, looking over to smile at you.

“I’m fine,” you say, waving a dismissive hand.”

“You might be fine, but is it good for the baby and being so late term?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never been pregnant before,” you say sarcastically. “I just want to rest. I’m tired and my feet are sore.”

“I can draw you up a warm bath to rest in and relieve the stress if you’d like,” he offers, but you shake your head no.

“I don’t feel like moving again until I have to.”

“Fair enough,” he chuckles. “I am going to head up to the bridge and start some plans with Skywalker. You’ll be there at 1130 to go over everything with us?”

“Mhmm,” you say, your eyes closed as you try to get comfortable.

“Alright, rest well, my child,” Codo says before leaving you alone.

After Codo leaves, you spend another few minutes shifting around and trying to get comfortable, but eventually sigh and sit up when you hear a chuckle coming from the doorway.

“And you’re laughing at a struggling pregnant woman for what reason?” you ask, quirking a brow at the trooper who just laughs some more.

“I have no idea what you mean,” Fives says between chuckles, “I would never laugh at you unable to get comfortable.”

“Uh huh,” you say before you pat the spot beside you. Fives grins and walks over, leaning against the side of the bunk and plopping his legs in your lap.

“Ahh, so comfortable,” he says, and you shove his legs off of you and give him a look. He just gives you an innocent grin and sits up next to you. “Can we do it?”

“Do what?”

“The thing.”

“What thing?”

Fives scoffs, rolling his eyes before speaking again. “The baby thing.”

“A little more specific…”

“Where you let me into your mind so I can sense her!”

“Ohhhh that thing,” you say, flashing a cheeky grin before taking his hands. You place them gently on your bump and then put your own fingers against his temple. You focus on the feeling of Echoa’s life force, and watch as a grin slowly spreads as Fives senses her. His eyes are squinted closed, and it makes you want to laugh, but you don’t want to accidentally break the connection by pulling away his focus. A pang of hurt hits you as you watch his joy. If only things had gone better at the Citadel, if only you would have told him when you had the chance, then maybe Echo would be here as well, waiting for his turn to say hello to his little ad’ika.

“Y/n?” Fives says after a while, and you turn to face him again.

“Sorry, were you pulled from the connection?” you ask, and he nods but then shakes his head.

“Yes, but it’s alright. Are you okay?” His expression shows that he’s worried, and you go to question him before you feel a tear roll down your cheek.

“Oh,” you say, not having realized you were crying, “I was just…thinking about him again.”

“Ah, I see,” Fives says, a sad but knowing smile coming to his lips, “I think about him a lot as well. Especially when I’m in the connection thing. I think about my favorite memories with him and hope that Echoa can somehow see them in her mind. It’s the best I can think to do to help her at least know who her father was to those closest to him.”

“That’s a wonderful idea to do,” you say, “I’m glad you’re trying. I hope she’ll at least grow up and know how much he would have loved her.”

“She’ll always have plenty of uncles to love her as well, and remind her how much Echo really was a stickler for the rules.” You both laugh at that, each of you recalling your own memories of him rambling off some chapter or section of those stupid manuals.

“You think she’s gonna be like him?” Fives asks, and you think for a second before smiling.

“I think she’s going to be perfect.”

“Ah, y/n, Fives, you guys made it just in time,” Anakin says as the two of you make your way onto the bridge. “We think this plan is good, maybe even perfect.”

“It is one of the more…reasonable ones I’ve seen you put forward,” Codo agrees.

“He’s worse than Kenobi, am I right?” Anakin whispers to you, and you snort at his comment.

“He’s just a bit more…practical,” you counter, earning a huff from Anakin.

“You mean boring?”

“Watch it,” you warn, “remember who trained me, and who basically raised me.”

“I meant his plans. There’s no danger, no room for improv.”

“Because he accounts for things and plans the best route and course of action,” you defend before nudging him in the side. Everyone is watching the two of you whispering to each other, and Rex and Hex are sharing a look, one that Steele is giving Rex eye daggers for. You always love how jealous Steele gets when his twin is with Rex. He always rants to you about it after, only for you to just end up bursting with the laughter you try to hold in and him scowling at you for it.

~~~

“Just because they’re both captains, and their names have a one letter difference, that doesn’t mean they’re automatically best friends,” he always says. “Besides, I’m Hex’s twin! I’m already his best friend, and everyone knows you can only have one best friend!”

“Maybe you’re actually just his annoying twin,” you sometimes reply, and it always earns you an offended look followed by even more ranting on how he was in fact not Hex’s annoying twin.

~~~

As you listen to the plan, you can’t help but feel left out. Of course, you aren’t in any condition to fight, but having to be sidelined while your troopers go out with Codo makes you feel like you’re missing out on fun. You never get to go on missions with Codo since he prefers to be on Coruscant and handle issues and planning there. And you hate not being able to protect your own troopers, always worrying about their safety and what might happen when you’re not on the battlefield with them. They’re barely even including you in the planning, having basically already decided on a plan before you showed up.

“Y/n?” Anakin asks, and you come out of your thoughts, “what’s your opinion?”

You think for a moment before shrugging. “I wasn’t really listening,” you admit. “I’m not really doing anything other than waiting for you all to come back, so I don’t really have anything to say.”

“But these are your men.”

“Under Codo’s command.”

“You should at least be helpful with the plans,” he responds, “they shouldn’t do it without you.”

“They are perfectly capable of coming up with a well thought out plan without my assistance,” you counter. “Besides, I have other things on my mind.” Your hand subconsciously rests on your stomach, and everyone’s eyes dart down to glance at it briefly before looking at something or someone else.

Anakin gives you a look before turning slightly, putting you out of his view. You feel like this was your cue to leave, as everyone else had turned their attention to him. Everyone except Codo, Sans, and Fives. The look on Codo’s face is one of parental concern, wanting to know what’s wrong with their child and how to help them. Sans looks at you as if to assure you that you are wanted and needed here, that your input is valued and they won’t brush your ideas aside. Fives looks at you apologetically, as if he’s sorry for how his general had treated you. You give them a soft smile, shaking your head and mouthing ‘it’s alright’ to them before turning and quietly leaving the bridge.

Fives glances at Codo and then Sans, sharing a concerned look with them. They both offer him a reassuring nod, silently letting him know that you just need space and time. He looks away from them, watching as the turbolift doors close and take you down to a lower level of the venator.

He turns back to pay attention, catching Rex’s eye for a second before he looks down. He should have stood up for you, Echo would have done that. And Echo would have entrusted Fives to make sure you were okay if he weren’t able to himself. Echo had trusted him with a lot of things, and he’d failed on most. Sticking with him wherever they went, protecting him, making sure they both got back safely. The memory of Echo’s death played in his mind over and over every night. The sound of his own voice yelling out for his brother. The glow of the explosion that nearly blinded him, yet he couldn’t look away.

A hand rests gently on his shoulder, and he shakes his head briefly before looking up at his Captain. “You okay? Noticed you zoned out during the briefing.”

“Yeah,” he responds, plastering an unconvincing smile on his face, “I’m alright.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” Rex chuckles sadly, “but I understand if you don’t want to talk. I am always here, though. We head out in 15 minutes.” He smiles one last time before turning, pausing to add one last thing. “I miss him too. Every day.”

Fives stands there and nods briefly, his fists clenching at his sides. It seems like everyone around him misses Echo, and yet none of them can change his fate. No matter how hard he wills himself to change places with him, it doesn’t work. He feels nothing at night when he tries to reach out into the force, feeling for Echo’s life force somewhere out there, but never finding it. He doesn’t feel like Echo’s always by his side. He feels like he’s standing alone.

“Excuse me, sir.” Fives turns to look at one of the bridge workers beside him. “Just wanted to remind you that you are set to leave in five minutes,” he says with a small nod.

“Kriff,” Fives mutters, “it’s been that long already?”

“Time does seem to go by too quickly when we’re stuck in our minds,” the other man chuckles before nodding to the side, “better be on your way.”

“Right, thank you,” Fives says before jogging to the turbolift, knowing he’s going to have to move a lot quicker to grab his gear and make it to the hangar on time.

Sans, Hex, Steele, Aid, and Tie are all standing outside their ship, talking to Rex and Ahsoka. Fives quickly catches up, slipping his helmet on.

“Ah, you made it,” Rex says with a grin, “wasn’t sure if we were going to have to leave you behind.”

“‘Course no,” he replies, “I won’t miss a fight for anything.”

“Not even Shaak Ti?” Tie says, snickering while elbowing Aid who just flinches away and glares at him briefly.

“Well, that’s a different story,” he chuckles before turning back to Rex. “What ship are Jesse, Hardcase, and Kix on?”

“That one just over there,” he says, pointing at the complete other end of the hangar. “You also have the shinies, Tup and Dogma, with you. Better hurry before they leave,” he says. Fives groans before beginning to jog over, turning to a sprint as he sees the ship preparing to take off. He can already hear them laughing at him, and he curses to himself before just barely jumping on as they take off.

“Glad to see you decided to join us,” Jesse laughs.

“We had our bets over whether or not you’d end up with another squad,” Hardcase adds.

“Good to know you all have confidence in me,” he mutters, his helmet hiding his grin.

“Now, let’s introduce you to the shinies,” Kix says, walking them over with a hand on each of their shoulders. “This here is Dogma, and this here is Tup.”

“Hello, boys,” he says, walking up to them. “You think you’re cut out to be soldiers of the Grand Army of the Republic?”

“Yes, sir!” they reply in unison. He glances at Kix, still holding their shoulders.

“Hmm. You think you’re cut out for the 501st?”

“Yes, sir!” they reply again. Hardcase lets out a snort from behind Fives, and Jesse shakes with a chuckle.

“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” Fives says before nodding for them to look out of the gunship. The doors had opened as they neared the surface. “See that? That’s where your fate is decided. Where you either live to see another day, or die without even seeing your enemy. You sure you’re ready?”

“Yes, sir!” they repeat for the last time, more confidently now. Fives turns his head to nod at his brothers, and right before their ship lands, he shoves both of the shinies out, causing them to fall face first into mud. Everyone laughs for a second before they help them up.

“Rule number one,” Fives says, “learn to have fun.”

“Get down!” he yells, grabbing onto the shiny and yanking him behind the rock right as the shell exploded where he’d just been standing. “Rule number thirty two, don’t stand in front of a cannon!”

Dogma nods, shaking slightly as another shell hits the ground in front of them.

“When I say go, you run as fast as you can to those troopers over there, got it?” Fives yells, and Dogma jerks his head in a nod. Fives closes his eyes, steadying his breathing as he times the cannon blasts, making sure he knows when to go.

It’s almost peaceful, the way he feels. The danger and death around him, yet he’s sitting here, quietly breathing, almost as if he’s connecting to the planet. To the force. The explosions around him don’t even register in his mind, and he slips away, back into his memories. The memories of life surviving on Kamino, surviving the out post, surviving the attack on Kamino…

“ARC-5555?” Dogma’s voice finds Fives’ ears, and he snaps out of it.

He pulls Dogma close to his face before harshly telling him “Rule number thirty three, don’t call anyone by their numbers.” He shoves him away again afterwards, yelling at him to run for it. He jumps up as well, running as fast as possible. He sees Dogma slip, and he quickly grabs him and pulls him back up to his feet. “Rule number thirty four!” he yells, “keep running!”

They both run for their lives, the ground shaking as shells land all around them. Fives makes sure that Dogma doesn’t fall again, and practically drags him to the other group of clones. He throws him forward, practically tossing him into Hardcase’s arms. “Keep him out of trouble,” he says before running back into the fire.

They’re practically surrounded, and he only catches glimpses of Anakin’s saber every dozen minutes. Ahsoka had been stationed here, but even then, Fives barely saw her from across the battlefield. Smoke was everywhere, but thankfully, very few dead clones lay around.

“Tie! Watch your flank!” he yells as he begins running towards him. His blasters are raised and he’s firing without really aiming, the cluster of droids being thick enough to not need to aim. As he makes his way through, he catches a glimpse of Aid running as well. He can hear him shouting something, but can’t make out the words through the sounds of blaster fire. When he finally makes his way through the droids, he stops to see Tie on the ground with a blaster shot in the shoulder and in the stomach.

“I’ve got him,” Aid yells, “it would be great if you could clear a path for me as I carry him back to the gunship!” Fives nods, holding his blasters up and turning to run towards the gunship that’s closest.

Another shell rains down and it hits just feet away from Aid, who is flung to the side while clutching Tie close. But Fives doesn’t see the scene in front of his eye. He sees that place again, that citadel, that ship, that explosion. He sees Echo with his shield, trying to help out. He sees him die in front of his eyes again.

He couldn’t have been out for more than a minute, because when he opens his eyes, almost nothing has changed. He can hear the sound of shells exploding on either side of the battlefield, troopers yelling commands at each other, and a new but familiar sound.

“Come on, Fives! We need you to get up!” Ahsoka’s voice is strong, commanding, and yet worried. “We’ve almost got’em! Just push through a bit longer!”

He groans, rolling to the side and searching for the green armor. “A-Aid…” he rasps out. “W-where’s Aid and Tie?”

Ahsoka takes a moment to glance down at him. “They’re over there,” she says with a slight side nod. “They’re okay, I checked on them.” It’s a lie, but Fives wouldn’t know. She’s a good liar. “Are you able to get up and help?”

Fives swallows hard, steadying his breath before pushing himself up. “I…got a bit more fight in me, Commander,” he says, though he feels as if someone’s trying to weigh him down. As he stumbles back into the fight, he catches a glimpse of Jesse, Hardcase, and the shinies holding off against a big wave of droids. He stumbles over, catching himself briefly against a ruined Separatist tank, before joining up with the squad.

“Good to see you again,” Jesse says, “you’re missing a boot, though.” Fives looks down, only now realizing that he is in fact missing a boot.

“Huh, must’ve blown off when the explosion knocked me down.”

“Did you check in with Kix before joining us?” Hardcase asks, slamming his shoulder into Fives so that he moves and dodges a blaster shot he hadn’t noticed.

“Uh, no,” he admits, grinning shyly under his helmet.

Jesse and Hardcase both chuckle over the comms. “He’s gonna be peeved with you,” Hardcase replies.

“He’s always peeved at me for some reason or another,” Fives sighs before tossing a grenade to Tup. “Throw this directly at that tank!” The shiny does as Fives commanded, and after that, it only takes a minute or so to clear out the rest of the droids around them.

“We need more reinforcements over here!” Sans suddenly yells over the comms. “We are pinned down!” Fives, Hardcase, and Jesse exchange a very quick glance before running off to where the 17th is fighting, shouting at the shinies to follow as well. When they break through the trees that had been separating the two battalions, Fives nearly stumbles at the scene.

Clones are dead all around, so many of your troops are lying motionless in front of him. He swallows hard, keeping focused on running to help the survivors.

Codo is standing in front, using the force and his saber to deflect as many blaster shots as possible. Sans is behind him, kneeling - no, resting his leg that has a prominent blaster shot in it - shooting and making sure the no droids can get close enough to his men, or the Jedi. Hex and Steele are further off, helping the wounded crawl away from the fighting and to some relative cover.

“We’re here!” Rex says as he joins Fives and the others. Ahsoka is there as well, and in the distance, Fives can see Anakin and more 501st troopers coming from the other side. Within minutes of their arrival, it seems as though the enemy just falls away. The troopers’ numbers are too large for the droid army to even try to fight, and before long, they begin to turn and run. Gunships fly above the retreating army and drop bomb after bomb, destroying the enemy, and the planet.

“What about the civilians who live here?” Jesse shouts, and Fives sees Dogma lower his head, as if in defeat.

“We had to ensure this was a Republic win,” Rex says, taking his helmet off. His eyes are full of confliction, and he lets out a sigh. “No matter the cost,” he adds, looking around at all of the men from the 17th that are dead. “This might take a toll on y/n.”

“Then we can’t tell her,” Fives says, taking his helmet off and stepping forward. “We can’t let any harm come to the baby.”

“These are y/n’s men, we cannot lie or hide this from her,” Rex says, placing a gentle hand on Fives’s shoulder. “I know you care, we all care as well. But she is a General, and these men died without her leading them. She needs to know, she will know. It won’t harm the baby.”

Fives opens his mouth to argue, but Rex gives him a look before placing his helmet back on. Jesse and Hardcase walk up, each resting a hand on one of Fives’s shoulders.

“It’ll be okay,” Jesse assures him, “perhaps you can be the one to tell her. She’ll take it better from you.”

“This shouldn’t have happened,” he mumbles, looking around, “she’s lost enough…”

“I’m afraid that in this war, there’s probably a lot more still for her to lose,” Hardcase says.

Fives whips his head around to stare at him, his face full of shock. “Is that supposed to comfort me?”

“No,” he says, raising his hands in defense, “I just was saying. It’s terrible, but there’s no point in keeping it from her, because it’s bound to happen again.”

“Yeah, well, it shouldn’t,” he replies before putting his helmet back on and walking away, deciding to go check for Aid and Tie.

Walking back through the trees, he’s careful not to make too much noise. There might still be enemies nearby that were missed earlier, and he isn’t in the mood for getting shot. Some of the trees are still burning, very slowly, but with the right conditions, it might turn into a raging fire, and he doesn’t want to be caught in the middle. As soon as he makes it through, he tries to look for them where he’d last seen them, but the sight in front of him is overwhelming.

There are barely any casualties on this side of the trees, and the ones that are injured are also very few. He feels a wave of anger, and he clenches his fists tightly. This isn’t how it was supposed to go. Both battalions should have been fine. Their plan ensured it. If anything, the 501st should have had more casualties, so why did so many of the 17th die?

When he reaches the spot he last saw Aid and Tie, he sees a few footsteps with blood trailing along. Then he sees what looks like a spot where Aid fell, dropping Tie and sprawling out. More footsteps surround the spot, hinting at Aid being helped up and led back to the ship.

Fives looks up and his eyes meet Aid’s from behind his helmet. He takes it off and Aid looks away, focusing on the injured troopers around him. Fives walks over to the ship, glancing around before stepping up. “Is he-”

“Tie is alive,” he replies, cutting him off, “but I can’t talk, I have so many to treat.” He shuddered. “I just hope my panic attack can wait.”

Fives nods, looking around at all of them. “I can help if you want.”

“I’d prefer a medic.”

“Right. Well, I can fly the ship-”

“I don’t want to risk anything happening during flight, especially with someone who isn’t a trained pilot.” Aid sighs. “This…should never have happened.”

“I know,” Fives says, resting a hand on his shoulder briefly. “I’ll comm for a pilot, and I’ll make sure the medical wing is ready on the Venator.” He begins to leave, but after he steps off the ship, he pauses. “As one of her troopers…what do you think we should tell y/n? About all the casualties?”

Aid freezes for a second, and Fives sees his eyes roam over the battlefield. “I didn’t see much of it myself,” he admits, “that’s a question for the others.”

Fives nods, not exactly satisfied with the answer, but a comm from Rex lets him know that it’s time to leave. “Good luck,” he says, and Aid goes back to work, hands shaking slightly as he prepares a needle.

It’s quiet back on the ship, and you can feel your heart racing. You know something went wrong, you can tell by the way the troops on the bridge are acting. “What is going on?” you ask again, and finally someone gives you an answer, just not a clear one.

“They’re heading back up to the Venator, Sir,” he replies, and you bite back a grumble.

“What happened?”

“It’s likely that they will have a mission debrief, and if they allow you to be there, you will know,” he responds before giving her an apologetic look. “Orders,” he explains, and you nod. He isn’t one of your troopers, and so he can’t share classified information with you unless he’s given permission. It’s annoying, but it’s protocol.

You head down to the hangar, wanting to interrogate Sans and Codo as soon as they land. If you could get someone to talk, it was them. Naturally, Anakin, Rex, and Ahsoka are on the first gunship and exit first. Behind them is Fives, Hardcase, Jesse, and the two shinies. You guess that Kix is probably on another ship, helping with the injured. A few more ships of just troopers land before finally Sans, Hex, and Steele exit one of them. You notice immediately that Tie isn’t their pilot, and that he hadn’t walked out of the ship. Codo hadn’t either.

“Where are they?!” you ask, panic immediately taking over. Fives rushes over with Sans, both of them gently taking hold of you to keep you calm.

“Aid is helping Tie and others that are injured on another gunship,” Fives explains.

“Aid said he would be alright, but…mesh’la, I’m sorry.”

You feel as though your heart is about to shatter. Codo can’t be dead…he had to have survived. You don’t feel him in the force, and you know you would have felt him die. Your bond was too close. But he isn’t here, and there’s no other reason for Sans to be apologizing like that. “What happened?” you manage to ask, trying your best to hold back tears.

“There was…some misinformation, apparently,” Sans sighs. “Codo and I, and Hex and Steele, took each of our groups to our designated spots. The plan would have been flawless…but it turned out that we were either tricked, lied to, or didn’t have enough information. We lost so many troopers…the 501st was hardly touched. But the 17th…” he looks away, and you see the pain in his eyes.

“Sans,” you say, gently reaching up to him. His tears begin to fall and he just shakes his head.

“We tried to help,” Fives continues, gaining your attention, “but it was too late. They had all…so many of them…” He takes a moment to clear his words, not wanting to just ramble. “Codo tried his hardest, he did all that he could. He stood in the front and defended your troopers as best he could. But the result…it was inevitable. I’m sorry you have lost so much in this war. I hope you don’t continue to.”

“I won’t stop losing people until it’s over, and even after, I fear that I will continue to lose those I love,” you reply. “But…Codo…I…” you bite your lip, tears streaming down your face again. “I just can’t…it’s my fault…”

“What?” Fives says, exchanging a glance with Sans who is also confused. “What’s your fault?”

“Him dying,” you reply, “if I would have just gone myself, he never would have been in the battle and never would have been killed. He’d still be back at the Temple and in safety…it’s all my fault.”

The troopers exchange another glance before Sans gently rests a hand on your shoulder. “Y/n,” he says, “Codo isn’t…he’s fine,” he says, “although he does feel a bit guilty about everything,” he admits. “He feels responsible for the lives of your men under his command.”

“What? Then where is he?” you ask, looking around for him.

“I think I saw him head to the turbo lift already,” Fives says. “He seemed…in a rush.”

It hits you that he’s probably avoiding you out of guilt, but that would be hard to do with the two of you sharing a room on the Venator. “When is your debrief?”

“Not for a while,” Sans replies, “we’re going to focus on the injured first, and then when we are settled we’re going to meet on the bridge.”

“Okay,” you nod, “I’m going to go find him and talk to him.” The two troopers nod and watch you walk off. As you do, something inside you changes. You feel your anguish dissipating, and something else replacing it. It’s not quite a feeling yet, more like something brewing inside and getting ready to become a real emotion.

You walk through the halls and try to keep your mind calm. You need to see Codo and talk to him for yourself and make sure that he’s alright. You don’t want him to blame himself for this, it isn’t his fault…is it?

You take a deep breath as you linger outside the door. It’s closed, something very unusual for Codo, especially when the two of you are sharing a room. Even when he’s upset, he keeps it open in an offering for you to come talk, but this is almost as if he doesn’t want to face you. You type in the code and watch the door open, and Codo’s back is towards you as he stands looking out the viewport. You hesitate, not wanting to disturb him, but not wanting to leave him alone to wallow in guilt.

You feel yourself walking over to stand beside him, but there’s some distance that isn’t normally there. In the past, you’d walk up to him and brush shoulders, or perhaps hold his hand, assuring him that everything was okay. But now, you can’t bring yourself to close the distance between the two of you.

Codo doesn’t turn to you to speak, he keeps his face forward and the distance noticeable. “I know you trusted me to lead your troops into battle and out the other side. You trusted me to keep unnecessary deaths to a minimum. And I know that I have failed you, greatly.”

You don’t respond, not sure what to say. He’s right, you had trusted him, and you lost so many of them. But would it have been any different if you had been the one leading them? Or another general who is more experienced than Codo? Perhaps someone who is able to put their feelings about the war aside and fight for the Republic and protect the troops under their command.

“I know there’s nothing I can say to make up for all of the loss today, and I wish I could have done more, done better.” Silence lingers between you, and you want to say something, but your emotions seem to have you paralyzed. You look down at your bump, as it’s blocking the view of your feet, and rest a hand on it. “I understand if you’re upset with me-”

“Not upset,” you say, cutting him off. You let silence hang for a few seconds while you figure out the right words. “Not upset but…disappointed. In myself and those who gave us our information. In the plan that was supposed to be flawless. And admittedly in you, because I had trusted you with their lives. But also in myself for believing that it would be a good idea to let you take my men into battle. I feel as though you are not anywhere close to being experienced enough. And I’ve always admired your ability to avoid going into battle, but…it comes with a cost. A cost that my men had to pay. I don’t think that…I’ll allow you to lead them alone again. I trust you with them, but only to an extent,” you finish. You don’t wait for his response, deciding to leave and go check on Tie before the debriefing begins.

The medical level is busy, and as you peek into rooms, you see that most of the soldiers are yours. You feel awful, knowing that they had put their trust in you to find someone to lead them safely into battle, and this was what they got in return. You catch a glimpse of Kix tending to Fives, and catch a few of the angry words he’s throwing at him. From the sounds of it, he’s very angry and ranting to him once again on how to properly assess if he should go back into battle or go to the nearest medic. Fives shoots you a desperate grin, begging you to save him, but you just smile and shake your head, continuing on to find Tie.

When you reach his room, you immediately are met with quite a few things hooked up to him. A breathing mask, a heart monitor, and an IV with a clear liquid are all connected, and there are multiple bandages wrapped around him.

“He’s stable, but might take a few days to recover. I plan on sticking him in a bacta tank when we get back to Coruscant,” Aid says as he walks in behind you.

“How did this happen?”

“Enemy cannon. The blast landed right next to him and threw him to the ground. Another one made me slip and drop him. Thankfully most of what you see in bandages is surface wounds, small scratches and such, but one is a broken bone, and the way he fell caused his rib to break and puncture his lungs.” He shudders for a moment, and you place a gentle hand on his arm.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, “he’ll be alright, thanks to you.”

“Yeah,” he mutters, “but this should never have happened.” You glance down at his words, knowing you share the same feelings. “The debriefing is in a few minutes,” he says, snapping you from your mind, “I’d recommend you go, there’s a lot you’ll want to hear about.” You nod and glance back at Tie one last time before leaving the room. You hope that Aid doesn’t push himself, his panic attacks have only gotten worse the further into the war he gets. Your fear is that one of these days, he’ll end up driving himself mad.

You walk onto the bridge, and everyone’s eyes seem to focus on you. Codo looks down, and Anakin nods to you before turning to address everyone. You vaguely listen, only noting when the discussion is focused on your men, or when one of them is talking. You also listen to Codo, trying to understand where his leadership went wrong.

“...attacked from our left flank…” “...cannons surrounded us…” “...comms went in and out…” “...not enough support…” “...a whole squad blown up…” “...blinded…” “...bad conditions…” “...separated…” “...panicked…” “...at least one and a half companies died…” “...more than two hundred injured…” “...barely any made it out without injury or death…”

The words hit you like daggers to the heart. You feel yourself fall forward, barely catching yourself on the holo table. Hex and Steele are immediately at your sides, but you shake your head slowly. “I need to stay…” you say quietly, “I need to hear everything.”

You stand and watch as the survivors of your battalion march off the Venator, and then watch as the injured are taken to the medical facility. You watch before following, knowing you need to face them yourself. But when you reach their barracks, your mouth goes dry and your throat squeezes shut. You can’t form words, only tears that fall from your face. All you can do is shake your head, clench your fists, and wait for them to say something. But they didn’t say anything.

The men of the 17th all took turns hugging you, their silent way of assuring you it’s alright, that it’s not your fault, that they aren’t upset with you. As they do, you feel something strange happening. Stress has been consuming you since a few days ago when you first learned about the mission plans, and it hasn’t given you any rest.

Your vision starts to blur, and your palms start to sweat. A trooper notices, and you can only assume he yelled for others, because your hearing is muffled as you feel your eyes slowly flutter shut. The last thing you see is the shiny hovering over you, mouthing something, or maybe yelling. You can’t read his lips though, your brain already shutting down.

~~~

Medical equipment is attached all over you, and when Fives walks in to visit, there’s just a little bit more color in your face than before. You no longer look like a corpse, and it gives him a sense of relief. You and the baby are still fine, but clearly weak. He just hopes that the air of Dohbar blowing in through the windows will help you come back and be refreshed

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#star wars #the clone wars #clone wars #the bad batch #jinn the storyteller🤍🤍#star wars the clone wars #star wars: the clone wars #tcw #clone troopers #clone trooper #bad batch echo #echo the bad batch #echo x reader #tbb echo #a returning echo #pregnancy

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ongreenergrasses · 4 months

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✨ End of Year Questions ✨

tagged by @genyathefirebird thank you 💜 i was apprehensive to answer these because i thought i hadn’t written that much but uh. Turns out i wrote a lot it’s just that nobody’s seen any of it.

What is your favorite thing you created?

i think my favorite is zombie movies, because that felt like closing a chapter that i didn’t even know i’d left open. runner up is something slightly cursed encouraged by @xar626 whether she knew it or not where i returned to something I wrote this summer and it turned out it was 2k about a very pivotal blowjob. which i consequently wrote in comic sans. it needs at least another 2k before it’ll be ready for polite society

Which work are you proudest of?

AMARYLLIS i forgot i posted Amaryllis this year. i am so proud of it

Is there anything you are proud of that you achieved this year?

i’ve had brief shining moments where i’ve been writing every day and i’m proud of that. i absolutely believe that it was what allowed me to pass the big test i took this year because i had practice quickly organizing my thoughts and putting them to page

Did you explore anything new this year?

i learned to crochet! i took a class and then i was like yeah this is the life so i’ve crocheted a hat a lot of granny squares with my scrap yarn and am working on a strawberry bag

Which work gave you the most difficulty?

shout out to that time i got caught writing porn on a plane this year and i was like i have to post this or it’ll mean NOTHING and it still isn’t posted because i’m only halfway through revising and i have negative sixteen ideas for a title

What was your biggest creative challenge this year?

i found myself in multiple situations this year where i was confronted with something genuinely close to my worst fears in term of my PTSD, and in both situations i was required to do my absolute best on creative work, once taking a test (lots of writing!) and once playing in the pit in a very long and difficult production. being able to tap into my skills and perform to my best ability was one of the hardest things i’ve ever done and THEN i cut my finger and had to do 3 shows without use of a finger. so that was exceptionally challenging but i succeeded and overcame!

Which work brought you the most joy?

be on your way for sure, first serious smut i’ve ever published and a rarepair passion project. loved writing it and loved posting it

Which of your works do you think people should check out?

i would say i write pretty varied stuff, a lot of it is about grief and a lot of it is angst, so it’s hard to say but i think the series love, persevering is some of my best writing. prompt fills are all under #prompts and my ao3 is here

Do you have creative plans for next year? Is there anything exciting you’re currently working on?

i do want to set myself the goal of posting a lot of the fic on my phone if i can get it up to my personal standard. i’m really nervous about posting it because it’s a big departure from the type of thing i normally write and it’s also for a pairing that is very personal for me, i also know that it’s for something that’s older so i know it won’t be that popular which is always something that makes posting less fun

in terms of music, this is the year i fully learn the prelude to Bach’s 6th cello suite, it’s one of the most beautiful pieces of all time imo. i am also very fortunate in that i’ll get to play Largo from Dvorak’s New World which has been a dream of mine for a long time, plus i get the beautiful little solo 💖 and in terms of fiber arts, it’s the year i finally knit a sweater (or three) and crochet a couple blankets

Lastly, any words of wisdom or advice you’d like to share?

i think writing a lot and posting almost nothing has reminded me why i write, and that’s just because i love it. the external validation is nice and important but if you’re writing just for that, you will inevitably lose your joy for it, which is what happened to me in 2022. set goals for yourself, write what comes naturally, and you can keep it forever or post it, whatever serves you.

tagging @goldheartedsky @sigurism @godihatethisfreakingcat @scorchedhearth @shatterthefragments @bakingmoomins and anyone else who would like to 🌸 important note this doesn’t have to just be about writing!! Anything creative goes

#tags of earthly delights #genyathefirebird #long post #my writing #if i do post these things i will also not promote them bc the environment they’d go into is genuinely a cesspool and i cannot handle the #behavior of a lot of the people in that fandom lol

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blissfulalchemist · 2 years

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✨ 🙋‍♀️🏆❌ and 👀 for the writer emoji asks please :3

Ahh!! Thank you Lydia! I uh...got a little long at the end there because I just decided to be an over sharer. Apologies if I’ve posted any of them before!

🙋‍♀️ Do any irl people know you write fanfic?

.....Listen....people may not know exactly what I write but I tend to tell people that I write fanfic in my free time. I just get excited to share my stories and characters with people that will listen that it just kind of comes out before I can stop myself. I do also uh use it for job interviewing as it does help in showing I have something of a hobby that isn’t just watching tv and playing games.

🏆 What's your most popular fic?

So I believe on here it’s still the phone sex piece I wrote for Hayat and Mason with that being a stand alone work that isn’t attached to a commission, in which case it would be one of the first Cat and John scenes I wrote ever! (Like even when I first started to write for them before joining the fandom on tumblr.

On my Ao3 if you go by views alone its “A Chance for Faith”, but if you go by kudos then its “A Little More Complicated Than That” which is my Sahar and tv Marc Spector.

❌ What's a trope you will never write?

Other than your standard like icky things I won’t really write things I’m not personally interested in reading or just don’t have a good handle on just what it is. Like I can’t really list off tropes as I genuinely don’t know what things are specifically all the time. While I may say I don’t like a/b/o that doesn’t mean I haven’t already possibly written it on accident (I am fairly certain though I haven’t written it as its not something that sounds like my tastes) as I just write with little regard to genre at the time of writing. I guess horror might be the only one I won’t write as like a trope because its not that I dislike it (I quite enjoy me some good horror!) I just don’t know how to and I have very little frame of reference as to what it means to create good horror that fits my style and characters, I will simply leave it to the professionals (yeah mutuals that write horror I’m looking at you!)!

✨ Give you and your writing a compliment. Go on now. You know you deserve it. 😉

alkdjfldjgl! Uhm....hmmm....I think I have to compliment on the ability I have to put emotions into my writing that people seem to like a lot! I always have a goal in mind that when I write things it should feel like you are feeling what the character is feeling (and hopefully not in a way that acts like I’m telling you the reader exactly how you should feel about it). I use styling of how words look, placement, and body language since these were things that I saw and read growing up that influenced how I also convey a scene. So apologies to those that don’t like the abundant use of italics, exclimations, ellipsis, single word paragraphs, and those times I just smush words together making it hard to read, its just the best way I can make the scene feel like the movie I see in my head.

I will also give a shout out to the times that I managed to subvert the intention of prompts sent in to me. Again most of the time I just let a piece take me and sometimes that means making very fluffy and domestic kind of prompts into angst sagas.

👀 Tell me about an up and coming wip please!

God! I really haven’t written anything more significant in a long while! I have things started but nothing that hasn’t been shared before and that isn’t FFXIV related. Like I’ve touched on things but they’ve been little notes here and there so I could have reminders as to what I was thinking about with certain pieces going. In the mean time I’m gonna catch up on wip tags and sharing a little bit of everything that I think is new. There might be some stuff that gives away plot pionts to ffxiv so please be warned!

To start here’s a little Demos from FF during Heavensward:

“Come here to drag me back to Alphinaud’s side, Yugiri,” he asks with a smile, not ready to face her quite yet.

“I actually thought I’d join you for a bit, Demos.” He nods, sitting up right to give her more space, “Why do you come up here? It’s not the easiest of places to get too.”

He shrugs, “Not that hard, but no one thinks to look up here.” They sit in silence looking over the city for a few minutes, Demos watching her relax out of the corner of his eye. “How did you know I’d be up here anyway?”

“Hm,” she looks over at him and down to the journal stuffed into the band of his belt, “Tataru gave me one of your drawings to use as a map, the perspective of it could have only been achieved from some place up high. So I just looked towards the sky.”

“I should have known it was her that’s been taking my cityscapes,” he laughs, “Was it helpful at least?”

“Quite. I use it to show the other shinobi where to be when the need arises.” She tilts her head, nodding to the journal, “Have you done anything new?”

In truth he hadn’t drawn more than a few lines for almost two weeks now, nothing here felt new or inspiring. Still she looked at him so expectantly and gods he didn’t want to disappoint her. He pulls the journal free, quickly flipping through the mass of blank pages before landing on a random one, “Oh plenty! Here take a look.” She looks at the page confused, “I call it Blizzard Forest,” he flips to a different page, “This one is more abstract and titled Collection of Snowflakes.” She looks up at his smiling face that’s holding back some laughter, the next page he flips to having a few rushed lines, “Oh this one is of the area just past the gates.” Yugiri laughs, making his smile grow as he picks yet another blank page, “This one is just a snow covered rock. And this one-.”

“Wow you really love to draw the snow don’t you,” she teases, handing the book back, “I was hoping to see something different of yours.” He sighs, giving another shrug, “Guess you would need a bit more variety of surroundings.”

“Most of my other works are either at home or Revenant's Toll….along with the better supplies.”

“Can you not find them here?”

“I can, it's just,” Demos shakes his head, “Well there’s something about using your older stuff. Like it’s not fair to give new life to something when the others have so much more to give still.” He leans forward, brown hair falling into his eyes, “It’s a weird sentiment but it’s just….” Demos gives a shrug, shaking away the thought.

“I don’t find it weird at all,” he glances up at her soft smile with wide eyes, “Sounds almost like something an old friend of mine would say.”

“From back in Doma?” She nods, eyes filling with melancholy as she looks straight ahead, “What was it like there?” He asks, pulling out the journal and pencil from his pocket, “Describe it to me.”

Here’s a little Sahar post Moon Knight show events:

“It was me,” she repeats, “I made sure Ammit was dead.” She steps forward, “Marc and Steven knew nothing about it.”

“Well clearly,” she hears Steven mumble.

“I am the current High Priestess of Khonshu, I was simply following my duty.”

“And what duty is that? By my understanding you have been very vocal about your distrust of our brethren.”

“I swore to protect the travelers in the night, to enact vengeance and justice on those that deserve it,” she tilts her head, daring them to look her in the eye, “I may be from another earth but I will not stray from my purpose.”

“Are you implying that you have become his most current avatar?”

She swallows, rolling her lips, “He needed one and I am the most qualified, don’t you agree?”

“Sahar you shouldn’t have done that,” Marc growls out, “You know what he’s capable of.”

She crosses her arms, glancing at Marc, “Exactly. The Khonshu of my earth was an opportunistic dick that had many more tricks up his sleeve making it harder to tell him no. This one is a cakewalk.”

“Is this an agreeable arrangement, Khonshu?” A goddess asks, lifting her hand prompting the old bird to speak. You better get the hint, Khonshu, After a moment she feels a chill throughout her body and a force slam into her back, gasping as she no longer feels her limbs.

“It’s not like I have much of a choice,” she says in a deeper tone, “Don’t worry I will help in keeping Jake a secret.”, “This world still needs justice to be served.”

“Are you saying that you’d rather have Marc back?”

“Well sad to say that even if he did, he can’t have us back,” Steven asserts, “We made a deal.”

“And I will uphold that deal.” Khonshu flexes her hands, “Though I could grow to like this one. She’s gained more training-.”

“And she’s stubborn enough to keep you in line. Don’t go thinkin’ we haven’t forgotten about how she’s stood up to her universe’s version of you,” Steven narrows his eyes, “Not that I like this idea of her being your avatar.”

Here’s a little bit of Anthea and their first meeting of Hythlodaeus:

The person sitting across from them exhales removing their mask and hood revealing lavender hair that goes just past the shoulders braided loosely, paired with sparkling amethyst eyes that keep Anthea entranced until he smiles softening the angles of his fair, lightly sun-kissed face. He’s one of the most beautiful people they’d seen, their brain already spouting out ideas on flowers that could be made based around him. “You‘re free to remove your mask if you’d like.” Anthea stiffens recognizing the man’s voice as the same one from the stranger she fell into. He gives a nod, “Do you wish to begin, then?”

“Hm,” Anthea blinks a few times while the words he says gain meaning in their brain, “Oh right. Yes, sorry. Uhm….” They look down in their lap at the plant bag and stack of papers beneath it, deciding to put the plant between them hoping it can mask the blush they’re sure can be seen through the one they already wear. “Apologies, normally I just send paperwork in or someone else takes it for me, rarely do I ever make the trip myself, but I felt it necessary this time around.” They take a breath, shuffling papers before looking up to see the new centerpiece does wonders to block the distraction his all too pretty face can cause. Anthea clears their throat, “Right, well, my name is Anthea and I am here to submit new flora for approval to be studied on Elpis.”

“Wonderful,” he says cheerfully, peeking around to meet their eyes, “I’ve seen the design and have been most curious about the finished product.”

His hands reach out to open the bag, Anthea quickly shooing them away, “Well see here’s the issue, mister…,” they look around the desk hoping to find a name plate before-.

“Hythlodaeus,” he smiles, folding his hands in front of him politely, “Pleasure to meet you, Anthea.”

“Same to you,” they respond quickly, looking down at their paperwork once more, I swear he’s purposely trying to show off his face which is wholly unfair. “The issue, Hythlodaeus, is that this particular flora wasn’t approved prior. It just….happened. I didn’t mean to make something so far from the design already approved, so I’m hoping for a retro approval and approval to allow Elpis to study it.”

“Hmm, I see.” He looks to their lap, “Might I see what you have written so that I can prepare myself.”

“I could uhm also just show you.”

He laughs, “I do try to be prepared for my appointments, Anthea, and I read that the last time something like this occurred you brought in a carnivorous plant of some kind.”

“No one’s going to let that one go are they,” they grumble.

And finally a little bit of Siberite during Heavensward:

She shakes her head, “No, everything is fine. I apologize for waking you.”

His body relaxes giving her an easy smile, “Good, good. No need to apologize. You just, well, you just never know in these times,” he assures with a chuckle, “How may I be of service to you?” She looks down, absently tearing at her nails, Was it truly not enough to just lay in silence?. He cocks his head to the side looking at her curiously, “What’s wrong, my friend? What’s happened?”

She takes a deep breath, “I uhm-. I was-. It’s too cold in my room, I was hoping to stay with you?”

“I can arrange to have a fire started for you.”

“No, thank you,” she says, shaking her head.

He opens his mouth only to shut it once more, giving a solemn nod with the understanding finally hitting him. “Of course,” he says, opening the door wider, “I can sleep on the chair over-.”

“No. No need to give up your bed for me.”

“Well I certainly can’t have you sleeping in the chair, it's simply not right of a gentleman to do so.”

“Then we share the bed, Haurchefant.” She looks up at him, the words having slipped out before she had a chance to stop them or even phrase the whole thing in a less direct manner. “Unless you don’t feel comfortable with that idea.”

He gives her a soft smile, “Of course not, your comfort comes first, Siberite.” She gives a single nod, finding a place easily in the bed, Haurchefant covering her delicately with the blankets before laying down next to her. Her eyes close with ease into a dreamless sleep with his even breathing as her lullabye and his warmth melting away the last of the lingering nightmare.

When she wakes, his hand is pressed to her chest underneath her own smaller hand, leg tossed between his, and her head using his free arm as a pillow, all the while his fingers trace patterns up and down her arm with a small smile. She blinks a few times until the ash blonde hair turns back to the silver of who really is tangled up in her limbs. “Good morning,” he says with a light laugh once she finally focuses on him, “Did you sleep well?” She nods, releasing his hand and sliding back to free him fully of her grasp, the ache and pain starting once again the instant his skin is no longer in contact with hers. She stands from the bed, Haurchefant reaching for her hand, “Wait, there’s no rush. Stay. Have something to eat before you run off to be a hero.”

Siberite hugs herself, shaking her head, “I should really be going. Thank you, though, for coming to my rescue last night.”

“No need to thank me, just send for me and I’ll be there.”

His never ending smile falters as he sits up, tugging at her heart. “I’m sorry for my behavior, it-. It wasn’t fair of me to throw myself at you like that.”

#Truly i apologize if I've shared any of this before I just decided to share what I had stashed away #some of this is a iykyk kind of thing but like it has to be written with that forbidden knowledge #anyway! Thank you again for asking lydia! I love you!#my wip tag

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abbysreverie · 1 year

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Midsommar

This film is so fucked up

(no pun intended)

Look, I don’t really like it. It’s such an overrated film tbh. But maybe that’s just me. Maybe I just didn’t pay attention. But the fact that everyone’s claiming it to be that horror film that would make you so disturbed after watching, I admit I expected a little too much from it.

Of course before even seeing it, I already briefed myself about the gory pagan cult practices of Midsommar (only in that film ofc, swedish peeps don’t do that irl because if they do then wtf), to be honest, they didn’t feel scary or disturbing to me—to the point that I won’t be able to sleep normally after watching it or that it will keep haunting me in my dreams. No fam, I actually just felt really weirded and disgusted by it. All throughout the time the characters came to Hårga, I just keep mouthing “the fuck?” when I’m expecting to say “WHAT THE FUCK!!!”. You get my point. Besides, Ari Ester’s (the director) customization of the actual festival is so, I dunno, sort of a try-hard cult film? It’s just so unrealistically gory and awful to watch. I didn’t even flinch to that part (WARNING: Spoiler ahead) where the 2 oldies jumped off of a cliff, and even hammering the head of one of them multiple times when they saw him literally still gasping for air after jumping. I immediately thought that it was so unnecessary and stupid.

Ok, so that’s one of the popular scenes of that film, the next and last one I’m gonna share is the weird ritual sex scene. Again SPOILER WARNING, stop right here if you don’t want to ruin your experience. So yeah, that scene specifically made me want to throw up, funny because that’s what also Dani did when she saw them doing it. I also saw this from a lot of people saying they didn’t find it disturbing (which is I think what the director/writer’s actually trying to portray, like it’s not really meant to be disturbing), it’s just weird and really really disgusting. It only got even more uncomfortable when the old woman started helping/pushing Christian lmao fr it was so uncomfy watching that but it was also kinda funny. I’m so unserious sorry.

If I’m going to be honest, the only really traumatizing scene is when they showed Dani’s family, especially the sister who killed herself (and apparently their parents too) from gas poisoning. Her sister’s exploded lungs and internal organs looked really horrendous and disturbing, not only the way it looks, but the fact that this is what suicide can make us look like. It’s painful and awful. Another passable scary scene is when Dani chose Christian over the Hårga native—who openly volunteered to be one of the 9 lives to be sacrificed. It could be the hippie drug, or the awful sex ritual, but the fact that you’ve known that person the most out of everyone around you and still choosing him to literally get killed is so sickening. Honestly, I kinda felt bad for Christian, I mean he really isn’t that a good partner to Dani at all, ffs he was also drugged and helpless most of the time they were there, but he still ended up in the worst position and it’s because of his girlfriend. But don’t be fooled, I kinda lost it again when they started putting Christian in the bear carcass lmao.

Uh, I think that’ll be all for my Midsommar review. I guess I can say the only thing I liked about it is the color grading. I liked that they didn’t try hard enough to make the setting look gloomy or dark. Doing the opposite ambiance which is that bright, colorful cinematography actually helped in giving it off somewhat another vibe of a creepy feeling. But if I’m gonna compare it to Hereditary which is also based off some pagan cult, Hereditary obviously wins. That shit really set the standard for American horror films. That’s truly what scary and disturbing mean in a film.

Final Verdict: 6.7/10

#ASD2023 #ASD movie review

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phoenixyfriend · 3 years

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Quinlan and the Interdimensional Ingenues (except not really)

Context: SW Suddenly Omegaverse AU (Original Post), Interior Design (Nesting Divots), Chrono Rating: T+ Relationships: Anakin & Obi-Wan, Quinlan/Obi-Wan

This is like 90% cuddles and scenting that’s a few steps to the side of a/b/o standard. There is a lot of non-sexual licking. It’s a little odd, but I’m assuming that’s what you’re here for. It’s also over 5k words, so, you know. There’s that.

Note: “Ternary” is to the number three as “binary” is to the number two. Binary gender/sex refers to IRL male/female distinctions, and ternary refers to alpha/beta/omega. Gender and sex are much more complicated than is touched on in this particular fic, and trans identities exist within both the binary system and the ternary system. (More notes at end.)

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“Sorry to tell you this,” Quinlan says, sliding into the room as quickly as he can, “but we can smell omega distress from several rooms down the hall. What the hell is going on?”

“We’ve having a lot of feelings,” Kenobi says drily. He’s on the couch, looking damnably normal, and Skywalker’s got his face shoved into his master’s neck. Kenobi’s fingers card through the curls, and it’s... well, it would be easy to tell which of them was having said feelings even if Quinlan hadn’t already been able to tell them apart in scent.

“I’m distraught,” Skywalker moans, mushing himself somehow closer.

Kenobi’s eyes go to the ceiling, and he visibly prays to the Force for patience. “I know, Anakin.”

“You think I’m being dumb.”

“I think you’ve had a few months to prepare for this, but that your reaction is understandable nevertheless,” Kenobi says carefully. “Quinlan, would you like to take a seat?”

He hops the back of an armchair in a way that earns him a long-suffering, fond sigh. Quinlan grins encouragingly. “So, do I get to know what this is about?”

“I’m having trouble keeping it out of the Force, but at least I can do that,” Skywalker mutters. He does not lift his head. “I can’t control the scent stuff.”

“Yeah,” Quinlan says, because he’s not sure what else to say. “Do you want me to go get Tano? Might make you feel better.”

Skywalker just whines, high and pained, and tries to curl impossibly closer to Kenobi.

“Anakin,” Kenobi tries. “Anakin, do you want me to explain?”

“I want my--” Skywalker cuts himself off with a choking noise, and then keens. It’s a very omega noise, in the sense that his vocal cords can make it, and non-omegas have trouble mimicking it, and it makes Quinlan want to go over and do his best to fix things in whatever way he can.

(This, everyone is finding, is the truly awkward element to having Skywalker and Kenobi around. They don’t have any experience with controlling their ternary sex instincts, and it makes everyone else react poorly when they do, well, almost anything. They can’t be blamed, considering exactly how inconvenient this is for them, as well, but it’s not a great time for anyone.)

Quinlan tries to keep his own scent pleasant and calm, as soothing as he can make it through the blockers. He doesn’t think it works. “Your what?”

“His wife,” Kenobi says. “Because apparently that was the other way he broke the Code.”

“I looked her up,” Skywalker moans, dramatic as anyone. “She’s already mated and married, in this timeline. To that artist. She’s totally happy and she’s never met me and I’m never gonna be able to work with or around her because I won’t be able to act normal about it and I miss her.”

‘A lot of feelings‘ Kenobi mouths at Quinlan over Skywalker’s head.

“Well, at least it explains the position you’re in,” Quinlan tries to joke. The blank look he gets from Kenobi tells him clearly that the joke didn’t land. “Uh, scenting at the neck like that.”

“Inappropriate?” Kenobi hazards a guess. He doesn’t pull Skywalker away.

“Sort of,” Quinlan says. “You’re family, or as good as, so between that and the need for comfort, nobody’s really going to judge you for it, especially given your backgrounds, but that kind of prolonged neck-scenting for comfort is something kids outgrow in pre-adolescence. It’s only really used for either comfort for extreme emotions, like this, or, uh, between lovers. Post-coital, or during foreplay before, you know, mouths get involved.”

Kenobi grimaces. “Lovely. And what do you mean by ‘of our backgrounds’ in this case? That we have less control, or another factor?”

He doesn’t sound offended. Quinlan appreciates that. “You didn’t have ten years to get that comfort. It’s like... touch starvation, but for scenting. Anyone who knows what’s going on with you, even in the vague sense that doesn’t involve dimensional travel, is going to give you leeway on scenting because you didn’t have that, growing up.”

Kenobi’s grimace doesn’t go away until Skywalker’s breath hitches, hand curling in his master’s robes. “Anakin?”

“I don’t like feeling like this,” Skywalker mutters. “It sucks.”

“I know.”

“And we can’t delay the war much longer, and she was one of the only reasons I stayed even kinda sane through it.”

“I know, Anakin,” Kenobi sighs, running a hand through Skywalker’s hair and, awkwardly as anything, pressing a small kiss to the young man’s forehead. “You’ll have other ways to de-stress this time around. Maybe you’ll actually attend your meditative retreats.”

Skywalker huffs out a breath, in a laugh wet with what might be burgeoning tears. “Shut up.”

“I think you’ve known me far too long to think I’ll ever run out of words,” Kenobi says. He meets Quinlan’s eyes again, but before either of them can communicate about whether Quinlan should leave, Skywalker lurches to his feet, muttering something about a shower.

He’s gone before Kenobi can get more than two words out, and the man is left looking ruffled and confused by his former padawan’s sudden departure. He stays watching the door, and slowly wilts in a way that doesn’t speak well for his state of mind. The man sighs and drops his head into his hands, cradling it with his elbows on his knees, and whatever calm he’d had fades into pure stress, the air curdling with the smell of it.

Quinlan waits, unsure of how to handle this; Kenobi’s Quinlan Vos probably would have known how to deal with the change.

“What am I doing?” Kenobi breathes out, the words almost inaudible from behind his hands.

There are a few moments for Quinlan to consider the many complications and ramifications of getting involved, and then he decides to do so anyway. He stands up and steps around the caff table, and sits down next to Kenobi. He wraps an arm around the man’s shoulders, and brings him in close.

“You don’t have to do this,” Kenobi says, though he makes no move to pull away. “I know you don’t... this is just an obligation. The Council assigned you to gather information and keep an eye out for us in terms of the whole omega thing, since you already shared my heat, and... I know I’m not a friend to you. You barely know me, and the fact that you have to look out for me is something that truly grates. Such care shouldn’t...”

Quinlan waits for him to finish, but he doesn’t.

“I won’t say that they didn’t give me that assignment, because that would be a lie and you’d know it,” Quinlan says. “But I do want to be friends with you. We’re sort of there, already, even if that’s mostly you knowing my other self, and my psychometry, but I’ve seen what a friendship with you could be like, in what you let me see. We’ll never have that same dynamic, because I didn’t grow up with you, and the ternary sex adds an element that changes things, but I do want to be your friend.”

He hesitates, unsure if the rest will make things worse or better, but says it anyway. “As for taking care of you, looking out for you... I do feel a need to do that on an instinctual level, yes, but I can ignore it. It’s an instinct, but one that I, like everyone else that’s grown up as a human or near human in this galaxy, can work around. I am doing more than the minimum the Council requested, and it’s because I do actually like you as a person, and want to know you better.”

Kenobi’s head is resting on his shoulder by this point, tired and heavy, and Quinlan reaches up to brush his knuckles against the beard without looking. His blockers are still keeping his scent down, but the contact seems to make Kenobi relax more. His hands are mostly laced together, and falling into the dip between their legs.

“There’s a way I can help, but it’s, ah... not inherently sexual in nature, but generally only done by those whose relationship is already some degree of sexual,” Quinlan tells him. “To make you feel better, less stressed.”

“I’m assuming you’re not suggesting an orgasm,” Kenobi mutters, dry as anything. He laughs when Quinlan puts a hand on his knee.

“Not exactly feeling it,” Quinlan agrees. He squeezes Kenobi’s knee, and then says, “No, it’s mostly scenting in a way that’s usually only done by lovers; it’s more effective, but very intimate in a way many find uncomfortably sexual, because the amount of tongue involved is very reminiscent of foreplay.”

Kenobi laughs, a little harder, and nuzzles a little. He doesn’t seem aware of the fact that he’s doing it. “Alright, then.”

“I’d also suggest moving to one of the nests,” Quinlan says, and Kenobi immediately freezes. He gives it a moment, and then says, “I know you found it helpful after your heat, Kenobi. The nesting instinct is human here. It’s not shameful. There are people who don’t get anything out of it, but I’ve seen you nesting, and it’s good for you.”

Kenobi shudders and Quinlan thinks he might be fighting down a whine. “It’s a change, Quin. I mean, Quinlan. It’s... it’s just another thing out of many that’s different.”

“And one of the few you have control over?” Quinlan guesses. He tries to purr for support when Kenobi nods against his shoulder, and he thinks the deep rumble is soothing to Kenobi. “I get that.”

“Don’t stop,” Kenobi mutters, and Quinlan can guess he’s blushing about it.

“Into the nest,” Quinlan mutters. “It’ll help convince Skywalker to use it, and he really needs that kind of comfort.”

That’s the line of logic that actually works, and Quinlan isn’t the least bit surprised.

“Fine,” Kenobi sighs, and gets to his feet before Quinlan can offer to carry him or something similarly joking. The man walks to the communal nest at the edge of the room, and then looks down into the barely-used mess of blankets and pillows in the floor divot like he doesn’t even know how to get in.

Quinlan thinks there might be dust, even.

Fine. He can work with that. He’s taken this duo on as a project of his own free will, and he’s damn well going to follow through.

“Want to rearrange it?” he asks, in hopes that he can prompt Kenobi into figuring out what’s wrong.

“I don’t... know,” Kenobi says, frowning in a way that’s more worried and uncomfortable than angry. “I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Quinlan considers it, thinks of how the dust means nobody’s been here, that there’s not even a hint of scent, and then turns and grabs the throw pillows and thick, woven blanket from the couch.

“Wait,” Kenobi protests. “They don’t--”

“We can put them back later,” Quinlan assures him. He holds them out to Kenobi. “Trust me? I may not be an omega, but I do know enough of the theory.”

Kenobi takes the pillows and the blanket, stares down at them and then at the nest, and steps out of his slippers and into the nest. The layer already there is thin, and likely not doing much for anyone, but it’s the bare minimum and Quinlan can work with that.

He turns and scouts the room for spare fabrics, grabs all three of the outer robes from where they hang by the door, and the recently-used dishtowel that only barely carries Skywalker’s scent, and brings them to Kenobi.

“The robes aren’t clean!” Kenobi protests.

“I could grab something from your room instead,” Quinlan says. “Or you could just leave the hems on the outside. But you need more fabric that actually smells like someone.”

Quinlan wonders, idly, if Kenobi would have this kind of reaction to the suggestion without omega instincts at play, or if it’s just the instincts and he doesn’t realize, or maybe that he’s decided to let the instincts happen since Quinlan’s pushed him into nesting already anyway. The man had insisted in perfectly pressing his robes from the beginning, long before their bodies had had a chance to change, and Skywalker had found it normal, so it’s probably, at least a little, just the man’s personality. It probably doesn’t matter, overall, because all Quinlan has to do is sit at the edge of the nest until Kenobi--the person who actually lives here--is done arranging things.

Quinlan takes off another two layers and offers them, noting out loud that he can get them back later when Skywalker can fill in the gaps or something before too many protests can be voiced. Kenobi hesitantly takes them and tucks them in among his own additional layers. Quinlan’s seen enough communal nests to know that most of the placements are odd and not going to work out long-term, but that’s not the point right now. The point is getting Kenobi to recognize the his body, and more importantly, his mental health, rely at least somewhat on nesting now.

“Are you going to come in?” Kenobi asks, belatedly realizing Quinlan’s still outside the lip of the flooring divot.

“Not without permission,” Quinlan says, and sees the realization flicker in.

Kenobi holds out a hand, silent, and Quinlan lets himself get tugged in among the half-stale, half-new nest. It’s not great, but that’ll come with practice. He tucks himself around Kenobi, and rubs at the man’s arms in an attempt to ease some of the tension that’s clinging to every line of his body.

“What now?” Kenobi asks, just a shade more quiet than Quinlan thinks is really required by the situation.

“A lot of the stress you’re feeling is a feedback loop from being covered in your own distress scent,” Quinlan says. “You can shower to handle that, which is what Skywalker is doing, or you can manually remove it.”

“I’d imagine a wet towel,” Kenobi says, a touch wry, “but given that you mentioned tongue earlier, I’m guessing you intend to lick it away?”

“It’s more effective,” Quinlan admits. “Not at removing the scent, necessarily, but it removes enough to help while also generating comfort and relaxation hormones from the close contact, and being scented by a trusted individual.”

“Makes sense,” Kenobi admits. “You, ah, use scent blockers usually, right? Can you, er, scent me?”

Quinlan can see just how much Kenobi dislikes using the words. He tries to keep it quick. “I use a cream blocker over my scent glands, namely at the neck and wrists, since the rest are covered in fabric. It’s... well, it can be wiped off, or also removed orally. Most manually-applied blockers are formulated to be safe for contact with the mouth or genitals. Only really gets to be a problem if there are rare allergies or with specific species. It doesn’t taste like anything, if that matters.”

Kenobi’s discomfort is almost palpable, but Quinlan lets him work through that. This isn’t really something he can make a choice for Kenobi about, and the discomfort is... well, it’s not really the kind of discomfort usually associated with ternary sex and associated behaviors. Everything’s just very new, and comes with changes to the body that Kenobi never agreed to.

“Right,” Kenobi says. “I want to... to at least try it, I think.”

He turns and blushes, eyes anywhere by Quinlan’s face. “I don’t know how much longer Anakin will be. I’d rather he not think we’re, er...”

“Then I’ll take care of that part fast,” Quinlan promises, and is rewarded by Kenobi offering a wrist.

It’s... not sexual. Quinlan knows he has a hard time explaining this to near-humans that don’t have the scent glands, that don’t have the ternary dynamics. He’s had a similarly hard time explaining it to Kenobi and Skywalker. It’s not sexual, just intimate, when he pulls Kenobi’s wrist to his face, closes his eyes, and breathes in the scent of a distressed, uncomfortable, bitter omega that he’s shared a heat with and knows as almost-friend. The smell, this close and this strong, triggers the production of pheromones of his own, and when he feels Kenobi tentatively start pressing kisses to Quinlan’s own wrist, he relaxes. He brushes his lips against Kenobi’s wrist, and then puts his open mouth to it, the slightest press of teeth and his tongue laving across the skin. He hears Kenobi’s gasp, an almost-yelp, and pulls away long enough to press a kiss the the veins under his lips, and to say, “Relax, Kenobi.”

He forces a purr out, low and rumbling, and feels it work on Kenobi just like it did earlier. There’s a tongue pulling, a little dry, to rub away the blocker on the inside of his wrist, and he turns his attention back to Kenobi’s. The scent is even stronger on his tongue, bitter and unhappy, and his body continues to produce calm and comfort as he pulls away the uglier feelings painted on Kenobi’s skin.

More pheromones leak under his mouth, but less bitter. Less intense. He does what he can, opens his eyes and turns and sees that Kenobi is unduly focused on his wrist, mouthing and not quite purring, but oddly fuzzy in the Force. His eyes are closed, but Quinlan’s pretty sure they’d be glazed if not.

“Kenobi?”

“Hm?”

“Guess you haven’t encountered this outside of a heat before,” Quinlan mutters. He shakes his arm a bit, and puts his other hand on Kenobi’s shoulder. “Kenobi, hey, look at me?”

Kenobi pulls away, blinking, and then makes a face. “That...”

“Didn’t like losing control?” Quinlan guesses. The answer is clear enough. “It’s a matter of practice, especially for you.”

“Why did I... it smelled and tasted like... like I was safe,” Kenobi mutters lowly, eyes on the nest instead of on Quinlan. “I’ve never associated any sense with safety other than the Force.”

“You trust me,” Quinlan says, as if that’s not a little terrifying in its own way. He already knew that Kenobi trusted him, but he thinks that this strong of a reaction might make him Kenobi’s most trusted person after Skywalker and maybe Tano. “And since you trust me, your body subconsciously takes cues from mine, when it comes to pheromones. I project comfort and safety, and your body takes it as... not fact, but affirmation.”

“So I won’t react to anyone like this,” Kenobi says, not quite begging for Quinlan to confirm, but close to it. “Just you, and... does that same logic apply to those who aren’t Alpha designation?”

“Yeah,” Quinlan says. “Not in the same way, but familiarity and trust does affect which pheromones affect you, and how strongly. Children are largely unresponsive to aggression pheromones from their parents, by default, since their minds process it as aggression in defense of them, rather than aggression at them.”

Kenobi purses his lips, but nods and looks at Quinlan’s other wrist. “Moving on?”

“If you’re okay with it,” Quinlan says, but he brings his cleaned wrist to Kenobi’s and rubs them together until his own comfort scent is covering up what’s left of the distress. “Take a smell at that and see how you feel.”

Kenobi eyes him warily--he’s pretty sure he hasn’t done anything to deserve that, but allows it because, well, Kenobi--and sniffs at his own wrist. His brow furrows in confusion, and he sniffs again.

“Good?” Quinlan hazards.

“I... yeah,” Kenobi says. He sounds as confused as he looks. “I like it. It’s... the safe thing, again, but mixing with me?”

“That’s how it’s supposed to feel,” Quinlan assures him. “Other wrist?”

If he were actually the friend that Kenobi had grown up with, if he’d actually had a Kenobi to grow up with, he thinks he might have thrown in a few joking pet names by now.

But he’s not, and they didn’t, so he won’t.

He thinks he hears Skywalker finish up in the shower, but Kenobi pulls his mouth to the neck, and mutters that they have some time while Skywalker does something to his hair. Apparently, there are products needed for those curls.

The angle’s going to be a little uncomfortable if they try to get at each other’s scent glands simultaneously, so Quinlan suggests that Kenobi handle getting the blocker off first.

“Why?”

“More convenient,” Quinlan says, and then clasps Kenobi’s hands so their wrists rub together. He squeezes, just a little, a touch of reassurance, and smiles and tilts his head. “All yours, Kenobi.”

The man smiles, brittle, and almost giggles. Maybe Quinlan was doing something oddly similar to his counterpart from Kenobi’s dimension. Maybe it was an inside joke he didn’t know. It doesn’t matter, because Kenobi’s leaning in and mouthing along Quinlan’s neck and throat like a man possessed a half-second later.

Quinlan closes his eyes and threads a hand into Kenobi’s hair, focuses on warmth and comfort and protection, rather than anything aroused. Kenobi slows down, lapping at Quinlan’s neck and inhaling, and in the Force he radiates confusion.

“That’s it,” Quinlan mutters, and Kenobi makes a low chirruping noise that he immediately stifles with an annoyed huff. “Hey, no, those are normal. You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

“I want control over my own body, Quin,” Kenobi mutters, and switches to the other side. He rubs his face against Quinlan’s neck, and it’s another point on the list of things Kenobi does that he might not realize are based in newer instincts. “I don’t like something being wrong with me, and not understanding what it is.”

“Nothing is wrong with you,” Quinlan mutters, using the hand in Kenobi’s hair to guide him into actually removing the scent blocker instead of donating a case of beard burn. “Even going as fast as you did just now wasn’t something wrong. Your instincts got a bit confused, that’s all. You’re fine.”

He purrs until Kenobi is done, and gets that chirruping noise again. Kenobi’s still annoyed about it, but Quinlan’s just happy he’s getting less uncomfortable about it.

“Okay, sit up and turn around,” Quinlan says, and Kenobi eyes him again. “Have I steered you wrong yet?”

“No.”

“So trust me,” Quinlan urges. “Just turn around.”

Kenobi does. Quinlan sits up and rearranges his legs so there’s one on either side of Kenobi, half-bent. He pulls the other man closer, blankets folding oddly beneath them, and wraps his arms around Kenobi’s waist.

He breathes for a moment, chin hooked over Kenobi’s shoulder, and asks, “Good?”

“Oddly so, yes,” Kenobi mutters. He might be blushing. “Er, should I... do anything?”

“Hands on mine, if you’d like,” Quinlan tells him. “We can lie back down and spoon after I clean up your left.”

The noise Kenobi makes is low, affronted in a way that speaks to his ongoing embarrassment. Quinlan ignores it, just gets to work taking away as much of Kenobi’s stress scent as he can, mouthing along the man’s neck and managing a purr that isn’t even forced. It rumbles out of him unprompted, his hindbrain piecing together the relaxing omega in his lap and the safety of the Temple and the pride he’s got in doing this right, the knowledge that Kenobi’s happier than he was an hour ago and it’s all Quinlan’s doing.

He rubs his face along Kenobi’s neck as he finishes up, scenting and being scented back, and is gratified when Kenobi starts purring too. The nuzzling is mostly soft, though Quinlan’s stubble is nothing to Kenobi’s beard; the hairs trap Quinlan’s scent where it’ll do the most good. He follows a hint of mischievous intent and tugs at Kenobi’s earlobe with his teeth, earning himself a little whine. He laughs, and licks the curve of Kenobi’s ear, immediately scenting further.

“Anakin’s going to be back soon,” Kenobi says, sounding almost sleep drunk.

Quinlan switches sides and guides them both down to lie, chest to front, in the nest. He works more slowly on the other side, keeps himself propped up on his elbow, forearm slipped neatly under Kenobi’s neck. The scent gland at Quinlan’s wrist rests under Kenobi’s nose, right where it’ll have the most effect. His other hand rubs up and down Kenobi’s side, and by the time Skywalker reenters the room, Quinlan’s done with licking the stress off and rubbing his scent into anything he thinks will help. He’s lying fully on his side instead of having his head propped up, and just doing his best to spread comfort through the room through Force and smell. He maybe nibbles at the back of Kenobi’s neck, here and there, because the man has lothcat response, and

“Guys?”

“Over here, Skywalker.”

The kid--not really a kid, but younger than Aayla, still, so he counts--rounds the couch, and sees them among the added cloaks and pillows and blanket. He stares. Kenobi starts to stiffen back up.

Quinlan increases his purring, and rubs his face against Kenobi’s neck, and glares up at Skywalker for good measure. Kenobi can’t see past Quinlan, probably, and squirms. Skywalker tilts his head, and then puts up a finger in a ‘one moment’ sort of gesture. He runs off.

“Anakin--”

“Kid’s fine,” Quinlan assures him, and Skywalker skids back into the room at unsafe speeds, arms full of what Quinlan’s pretty sure are his own duvet and pillow, and falls face-first into the nest. Kenobi jerks back into Quinlan, but Skywalker ignores this in favor of rearranging the nest into something approaching functional. He’s better at it than Kenobi.

Quinlan’s pretty sure Skywalker was more open to these things from the start. It tracks.

“Now Anakin, really,” Kenobi sputters, as Skywalker finishes layering things in the way he thinks is best. Skywalker beams at him, earlier melancholy forgotten for the moment, and flops down to drop his head somewhere near Kenobi’s chest.

“You haven’t been sleeping,” Skywalker says. “This is good for you.”

Kenobi blushes, and Quinlan scrapes his teeth against the back of his neck again.

“Quinlan!” Kenobi yelps, jolting. “Not--we’re not alone!”

“Helps you calm down, though,” Quinlan says, pressing a few close-mouthed kisses at Kenobi’s hairline.

“Different cultural standards,” Skywalker adds, half-guessing but sure of himself nonetheless. He seems entirely too delighted to be here. “You know what? We should invite Ahsoka.”

“She’s not your padawan here,” Kenobi scolds.

“Yet,” Skywalker corrects. “As soon as I get all my psych evals cleared, the Council’s going to promise. She’s basically my padawan already.”

Kenobi sighs, aggrieved in a manner that feels more fond than actually upset, in the Force, and places a hand lightly on Skywalker’s.

Skywalker chirrups and wriggles closer, pressing his face to Kenobi’s tunic with a smile.

“I see someone’s feeling better,” Kenobi notes, and moves his hand up to play with Skywalker’s hair. “The shower helped?”

“Mm-hm,” Skywalker says. “’nd some of the stuff they made me learn in therapy.”

Kenobi hums low in his throat, an aimless vocalization, as he continues to comb his fingers through Skywalker’s hair.

Skywalker blinks, slow and bleary, with a soft and dopey smile, and Kenobi stops.

“What?”

“I like it when you play with my hair,” Skywalker says, almost too low to hear. His eyes close. “Feels nice. Cared for. Family.”

Kenobi freezes, breath hitching, and Quinlan shifts and lifts just enough to see the man is staring at his own hand in confusion and a slight bit of fear.

“Kenobi?”

“I didn’t even question it,” Kenobi says faintly. “I don’t... I haven’t done that since he was just a child, but I didn’t even question it. I stopped myself from commenting that he’s too old to come to his master for cuddles, because he’s not, in this dimension, and I’m getting used to that, but I started playing with his hair like it was normal and it’s not.”

Quinlan puts his mouth to Kenobi’s trapezius, just enough pressure that he’s not biting, just there, and purrs.

It’s several inches away from anything resembling a mating bite, but Kenobi tilts his head and whines anyway.

“Obi-Wan?” Skywalker prompts, brow furrowed. “It’s not... I mean, I’m not going to say it’s okay, since I know we’re both still upset about our bodies being changed without our permission or input or even a warning, but we’re getting used to it. We’re working with it. The hair thing is fine with me, I like it and would have before. And now that you know you’ll want to do, uh, that sort of thing--”

“Subset of grooming behaviors,” Quinlan tells them, pulling away from Kenobi’s neck with a final open-mouthed kiss. He sees the face Skywalker makes in response to the words, and feels Kenobi’s discomfort, so he elaborates. They’ve compared most of what they hear with tookas and lothwolves, so he thinks he knows what this is about. “We’re not exactly going to start licking each other clean--excluding scent comfort, that’s different--like lothcats, but you’ve already noticed that humans and near-humans are more tactile than you’re used to. Most forms of care, especially of partners and children, ends up physical in some way.”

He gestures between the two of them. “You view Skywalker as family, for all that you shy away from defining it, and so naturally gravitate to care. The easiest way for that to manifest when sharing a nest is usually playing with someone’s hair. Since he’s younger than you, and you’ve spent as much time as you have being the adult in his life...”

Quinlan trails off before he can comment on the question of whether they’re closer to brothers or father-and-son. Kenobi’s already expressed discomfort with that topic, well before they started naturalizing to this dimension. Quinlan’s not going to push for Kenobi to acknowledge Skywalker’s importance to him.

(They’ll have to address it at some point, but that’s a job for the mind healers, not for Quinlan.)

(For all that it’s going to impact and be impacted by their dynamics, that much is definitely not Quinlan’s to handle.)

Kenobi shudders in his arms, but doesn’t shake him off, and doesn’t stop Skywalker from burrowing somehow closer. Quinlan settles back in as Kenobi returns to playing with Skywalker’s hair.

“We really should invite Ahsoka, though.”

“Not tonight, padawan.”

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

Additional notes:

I initially wrote “ternary gender,” but found that it didn’t strike true to how I envisioned gender and dynamic playing out among Jedi culture in particular. While the term ‘dynamic’ is used regularly in a more casual setting, Quinlan uses the term “ternary sex” when talking about it in the company of Anakin and Obi-Wan. I view it as a subconscious attempt to keep a clinical view of the ternary sex system present in the omegaverse dimension, in recognition that it’s new and unfamiliar and often unpleasant for Anakin and Obi-Wan, having come from a dimension that doesn’t have ternary sexes or the associated reproductive capabilities, instincts, or cycles.

I’d like to explore how the ideas of sex, gender, dynamic, and so on intersect within the context of this universe, because I think it’s something I’d have a lot of fun working with, but this is not the fic for that.

#Quinlan Vos #Obi Wan Kenobi #Anakin Skywalker #QuinObi #anakin and obi wan #obi wan and anakin #disaster lineage #time travel #dimension hopping #omegaverse #SW Suddenly Omegaverse #past anidala #star wars #the clone wars #nesting #grooming #scenting #we went fully weird with this and I'm not apologizing... much #Phoenix Posts

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the-only-ace · 3 years

Note

Hey I know you are really busy with all the request and job and all that but can you do shinee's reaction to s/o stealing their t-shirts and hoodies?? You can make them one shots of you want too😁

shinee reacts: their s/o wearing their clothes

heyyy~ i really liked this request because i personally love to do this. for this request, i want to try something new since you gave me an idea with the one-shots part. so instead of describing their reactions, i'll convey it in a form of a short story. it will still be per member! i hope you will like this one (heads up though, the posts is a bit longer than my usual shinee reacts) <3

p.s. if you guys can, kindly let me know if you like this kind of format for shinee reacts. thank you!

send in your requests here!

onew / jinki: you sighed for the nth time within just 10 short minutes. you were staring and pouting in front of your closet for you can't find the perfect clothes for your brunch date with onew. it was a hot day today and you just wanted to wear something cute but comfortable. however, it seems like your wardrobe doesn't offer that kind of outfit.

your eyes slowly traveled toward onew's part of the closet. his side was full of quirky graphic tees which you always find adorable. you don't usually borrow his clothes but you can't help but to take a peek at them and take the one that caught your eyes.

it was a white oversized shirt with a cute box cartoon drawn in front of it. you tried it on and it stopped perfectly on your thighs, making it look like a cute dress. surprisingly, it even matches the pair of sneakers you were wearing.

before you can even decide whether you were keeping it on or not, onew walked into your room. his hair a bit damp and he was only wearing a towel considering that he just took a shower.

"oh, is that my shirt?" he pointed at you.

"uh... yeah. do you mind? i just wanted to wear something that is yours." you sheepishly replied.

"no problem!" he beamed his big bright smile before proceeding to get his own outfit.

you muttered a thank you then went to your vanity to finish touching up your makeup. afterward, you grabbed your phone and wallet and placed them inside your shoulder bag.

"alright, I'm ready to go..." you trailed off as you saw what he looked like. "what the hell are you wearing, lee jinki?"

"your shirt?" he raised an eyebrow, clearly feigning ignorance.

he was wearing your favorite grey t-shirt and it looked pitiful on him, it was as if it can tear at any moment. it barely covered his abdomen and was stretched to its limit.

"no shit, sherlock." you facepalmed at his usual weirdness. "what i want to know is why... why are you wearing it?"

"i thought we were doing a thing wherein we wear each other's clothes." he shrugged as if his response should be expected.

"what? no! please have mercy on my shirt and put on your own clothes." you can't help but laugh at him as you pushed him back to the dresser.

"alright, alright! i just wanted to make you laugh and look, it worked perfectly." he playfully pinched the tip of your nose before taking off the top he borrowed. "also, you should keep that shirt since it looks a hundred--no, million--times better on you."

"thanks, love," you whispered as you wrapped your arms around his waist and pulled him into a warm hug.

key / kibum:

after the long busy months, you were finally having a girl's night with your best friends. you stood in front of the full-length mirror in your room to give yourself a final check. your hair was styled into textured waves and your lips were colored with the boldest red lipstick you can find. your nude heels matched the little black dress you were wearing. your outfit looked almost perfect and you just knew what you were missing. you quickly snatched key's gold leather jacket and put it on. ah, perfection.

this was the norm for you. your boyfriend's wardrobe was beyond incredible especially his outerwear collection and you just had to wear them every chance you can get. to be honest, key was very stubborn in letting you borrow his clothes... at first. after all the compromising, begging, and crying you made, he eventually budged and gave up. of course, it does not come for free. he practically made you sign a contract that once you stained his clothes, you have to shoulder the bill of the laundry and the shop will be chosen by him. however, if you damaged or god forbid, lost his clothes, you have to replace them. you immediately said yes to all of the conditions in a heartbeat. so far you only paid for 2 incredulously expensive laundry bills.

now, you were finally ready to leave. you walked out of the bedroom and made your way down the living room. there, key was sitting on the couch watching one of his favorite tv series.

"I'll be going out now," you announced as you grab your car keys near the front door.

"hey, hey, hey!" key clicked his tongue upon seeing your clothes. he was now looking behind his shoulder and giving you a stink eye. "is that my jacket?"

"um... maybe?" you gave him an awkward smile.

"of course, it's mine." he shook his head disapprovingly. "only i can pull that off, by the way." he sassily added.

"wow, i didn't know the fashion police was here. you should have given me a head's up, babe ." you bit back with a scoff. the last time you checked, you looked damn fine in it.

"just stating facts, baby," he replied in english.

"alright, then why don't you take me shopping then? so you can buy me a new set of clothes that will satisfy your standards." you challenged and if he said yes, you were clearly the winner.

"excuse me, i do call you 'baby' but i am not your sugar daddy. go now, you'll be late." he shooed you off.

"okay bye," a playful smirk appeared on your face. "daddy."

this made key rolled his eyes before turning his back on you. he would very much rather ignore you if you keep on acting that way.

"it's bye now, for real." you giggled as you open the door. "love you!" you called out before stepping out.

"love you too, brat." key mumbled with a small smile.

minho:

winter was approaching and the air was slowly becoming colder than usual. it was the best time to stay in the comfort of your warm home and enjoy hot cocoa with your loved ones. a perfect time to wear your sweaters and hoodies indoors. however, this was not the case for minho for his favorite hoodie was missing.

"hey, babe?" he called out from the bedroom. "have you seen my black hoodie? the one with the white writings on it."

"what's that, i didn't hear you?" you went inside a few seconds later.

and there it was, his favorite hoodie being worn by his favorite person. you looked smaller while wearing it since it was way too big for you. the hem almost touched your knees and your whole arms were lost inside the sleeves. he can't help but smile at the sight.

"nothing, i was just looking for my hoodie but it looks like i found it." he gestured at the clothes you were wearing.

"oh, shoot. sorry, i didn't tell you that i borrowed it." you hit your forehead with your palm.

"it's okay. you're free to use them anytime, anyway." he patted the top of your head.

within the last few weeks, minho noticed that you sometimes wear his clothes. it was not a daily thing though and you even asked for his permission. slowly, it became every day and he would just be surprised to see you walking around the house parading his jackets and sweaters. he didn't mind it though, he was just curious about what you do to your own clothing. also, he hoped that he still had some remaining tops for himself during the cold season.

well, guess luck was not on his side.

his eyes were staring at his closet wherein there was only one jacket left, one. you followed his gaze and you promptly felt the warmth raised to your cheeks. you were surely red from embarrassment now. you were happily wearing his clothes that you didn't have the time to count how much was left.

"oh my god, i'm sorry! i didn't--" you cut yourself off as you watched him put on the lone jacket from his dresser. "i'm sorry, i didn't notice it. i just... can't help myself. your jackets are so comfortable and warm compare to mine." you tried to explain yourself. also not to mention that they all smelled just like him.

"don't worry about it." he reassured you as he placed his arm around your shoulder. "just be mindful next time. i might end up half-naked someday, you know."

"how can you be so sure that's not my goal?" you teased before sticking your tongue out.

he laughed at your silliness and then pressed a soft kiss on your warm forehead. you decided to make a cup of hot cocoa for him as a peace offering.

taemin:

it was past midnight and it was raining cats and dogs outside. you visited taemin in his apartment for a stay-at-home dinner date but a storm came before you can even go back home. taemin then convinced you to spend the night there instead. it was not a big deal anyway since you stayed over a lot of times already. you just didn't bring your sleepover bag with you and the dress you were wearing was definitely not comfortable to sleep on.

your caring boyfriend of course promised to ease your worries. the two of you shared a warm bath after dinner and he lent you his clothes for you to change to. so that was how you ended up on his couch, fighting off sleep because the show you both were watching always had a cliffhanger ending per episode. you two needed some answers before you can drift off to sleep peacefully. it was the weekend tomorrow anyway so staying up late won't hurt that much.

your head was laying on his lap while his right hand was playing on the locks of your hair and his left one was comfortably resting on the top of your hip. his hand would occasionally rub circles on the exposed skin. as much as you hate to move from your cozy spot, you had to or else you might end up dozing off right there and then. not to mention, him playing on your hair does not help at all.

you slowly got up from the sofa as you tried to stifled a yawn. "i'll just go get some cold drink." you pushed yourself up from your seat.

you then raised your arms and stretched with a satisfied groan. your shoulders and back were sore after laying down for more or less 3 hours. you can even hear your joints cracking from stretching out. also, you felt the shirt you were wearing raised up.

taemin's shirts were not overly huge for you whenever you wore them. the hem barely covered your behind and right now you were sure that a tiny portion of your buttcheeks was peeking through the white tee. you weren't conscious about it, taemin saw much more than that anyway.

suddenly, you felt a slap across your behind which made you freeze on your spot. you looked behind and saw your boyfriend confidently leaning on the couch with his legs crossed.

"did you just slap my butt?" you inquired.

"uh-huh," he nodded with a cocky grin. "want me to spank you again?"

you frowned a little as you processed the sudden change of mood. taemin won't deny it though, seeing you in his shirts always made his heart skip a bit and his breathing ragged. you always looked effortlessly sexy in them.

"sure, why not?" you replied wickedly after a few seconds of silence.

taemin processed your answer in a split second and he hastily grabbed you by the waist and threw you on his broad shoulders. he did not forget you give you another smack on the ass when he made his way toward the bedroom, the television was completely forgotten.

#shinee #shinee reacts #shinee reactions #onew #key #minho #taemin #shinee react #shinee reaction #shinee x reader #shinee x you #lee jinki #kim kibum #choi minki #lee taemin #shinee world #shinee hoodie #shinee shirt #shinee jacket

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calpalirwin · 3 years

Text

Phantom Pain

Summary: Trauma bonding turns into a full blown crush with Bucky

Word Count: 2.9k

And away, and away we go!

You heard the startled gasps behind you as you lowered your body before pulling yourself up on the pull up bar again. “Yes?” you questioned, repeating another rep.

“I-I-I-” a teenage boy's voice stuttered. “Mr. Stark!” he yelled in slight panic.

You sighed, letting go of the bar and landing on your feet. “Yes?” you repeated, turning to face the lanky teenager with his mop of brown hair, and his companion, a girl a few years older, stifling giggles into her hands, both of their cheeks flushed. “Oh,” you said in realization. “You must be Peter. Uh, Tony’s in the lab, I think.”

Peter nodded mutely, before quickly dashing out of the training room, leaving you face to face with the young woman. “Gay,” you said simply. “And I think Vision’s with Tony.”

Her blush deepened, as she too, hightailed it out of the room with a muttered “Tony has a brother?”

You chuckled quietly to yourself. Of course your brother wouldn’t have told his newest members about you. Something about it not being vital information, and liking the shock value of it.

“And this is the training room,” a voice you did recognize said as Steve came into your line of sight, a man matching his stature trailing behind him silently. “Oh, hey, Stark.”

“Capsicle,” you greeted with a salute.

“Stark?” the other man asked in confusion. “I thought-”

“Fortunately there’s two of us,” you corrected. “Or unfortunately, depending on your opinion of Starks in general. Y/N,” you introduced yourself, offering out your hand.

“Bucky,” the man said, shaking your hand.

“Nightmares, again?” Steve asked you, his eyes glancing about the room.

“Sometimes you frighten me with how observant you are, Rogers,” you said grimly.

“Nightmares?” Bucky questioned, intrigue painting the features of his perfectly sculpted face.

“An unfortunate lingering side effect of my time in the Army, yeah,” you explained. “Something I’m sure you can relate to,” you added with a pointed glance at Bucky’s left arm which was completely metal, your mind already curious to how it worked, and how to make it better. “Working out helps. Something about physical exertion canceling out mental exertion.”

“Well, I might have to join you some time. See if your theory holds up.”

You held out your arms, gesturing about the giant training room. “Feel free. Everything here is open 24/7 to accommodate the mad geniuses and PTSD freaks.”

“And which one are you?” Bucky asked. And you knew it was a stupid question given what little information you had already provided him with. But you could also recognize a flirting edge when you heard one.

“I feel like the answer’s obvious. But, in the event that it’s not, I’m both. Pleasure to meet you, Bucky. And welcome to Avengers headquarters.”

~~~

A couple nights later, you were in the lab tinkering about, when you saw Bucky walk by in gym shorts and a tank top, his hair pulled back in a small bun. “Can’t sleep, huh?” you called out.

His body tensed as he whirled around, relaxing when he saw it was you. “Yeah. Thought I’d try out your theory.”

“It’s a good theory,” you assured, before refocusing on what you’d been working on.

“You have a lot of faith in a theory I’ve yet to test for myself,” Bucky said, stepping into the lab with you.

“I don’t do faith. I do facts,” you replied bluntly.

“Mmm, then how do you know it’s a good theory?”

“A good theory isn't whether it’s proven to be correct or not. A good theory is about being able to be repeated and replicated. Tested multiple times over and over. My theory just also happens to be correct.”

“Wow, you are a Stark.”

“I’m not an idiot, is what you mean. But rest assured I don’t have the same level of arrogance my brother inherited from our father. Or at least, I like to believe I don’t. But, results don’t lie. The physical exertion that comes from working out is enough to distract the brain from the mental exertion that comes from unwanted memories. Is it perfect? No, because it’s not a cure. But it does well enough anyway. And you can take my word for it. Or Rhodey’s, or Sam’s, or Steve’s. And that’s just the military crew. Or, you can test it for yourself. As I said, it’s a good theory. Very testable.”

Bucky’s tongue clicked in his cheek. “Mmm, and if it’s such a good theory, why are you here in the lab instead of in the training room?”

“A distraction, is a distraction, is a distraction. And I have work to do.”

“And what is it that you’re working on?” he asked, stepping closer to peer over your shoulder.

“Prosthetic limbs for amputees. Ones that aren’t hunks of metal. No offense.”

“None taken. I didn’t exactly get a say in the matter.”

“Right… Sorry…”

“No, don’t apologize. Something more… realistic looking would be nice. But the metal’s worked so far. Enhances already enhanced abilities.”

A shudder went down your spine. “Right. Super soldier strength mixed in with whatever tech is loaded up in that thing. I’ve taken a lot of hits in my day that I’d hate to experience again, but I’d do it if it meant a guarantee of never being on the receiving end of being hit by that. Like… the damage you were able to inflict on Tony, even in his suit…” you let out a low whistle. “Damn… no thanks.”

“Sorry? I think?”

You laughed, waving a hand dismissively. “Please. It’s not that he didn’t deserve it. The amount of times I wish I could clock him myself… My only regret was having not been there to actually see it.”

“Why do I get the feeling you and Tony don’t actually get along?”

“Oh, we do. It’s just… typical sibling shit, I suppose. We had different ways of coping with our parents dying. He went the standard billionaire spoiled brat route. I went to the Army. He took over the company. I stayed in the Army. He realized the damage the company was actually doing and became Iron Man. I was part of that damage.”

“Shit…”

Again, you waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t get me wrong. He’s my older brother. I love him. He’s rectified a lot of his past by helping turn Stark Industries into the Avengers. He's, dare I say, gained a conscience. But he’s also far from perfect. Still too arrogant for his own good. But I like him a lot better these days than I used to. I mean, I’m here.”

“So… you work for him? Doing what exactly?”

“Yes, and no. I live and work here, yes. But I don’t necessarily work for my brother. I help him and Bruce out a lot. Perks of not being an Avenger myself means I’m here to keep working when they’re gone. But, for the most part I keep to myself doing my own project.”

“Right, the prosthetic limbs. Personal reasons?”

“Yeah, you could say that. Seen my fair share of wounded vets. And seen my fair share of their struggle with shitty prosthetics. And even if they are complete shit, they’re also expensive. But I’m in a position where I can make non-shitty ones and, pun not intended, not have them cost people an arm and a leg. So, that’s what I do. Each prototype gets me closer and closer to making them as realistic as possible. Restoring range of motion you won’t get with cheap plastic wrapped around steel. It’s like… a complete limb transplant. Or that’s the ultimate goal anyway. Make prosthetics so real it’s like you never lost a limb in the first place.”

“That’s… noble of you.”

You shrugged. “Let’s just say I have a soft spot for broken things.”

Bucky smiled at that.

~~~

For the next handful of months, it wasn’t uncommon for Bucky to find you awake in the lab, or for you to find him awake in the training room.

Some nights, the two of you would work out your frustrations of the memories that haunted you both, and you’d tease him about how it wasn’t fair you always drenched through your shirt while he barely broke a sweat, smiling at the way he’d laugh.

Other nights, the two of you would swap war stories while he watched you work in the lab, and when you gathered up the courage to ask to run tests on how the tech in his arm worked to further your own research, he willingly obliged.

“So… were you just an enlisted soldier, or an officer?” he asked one night while you tinkered away.

“An officer. Made First Lieutenant.”

“That’s just below Steve. Which…”

“Is still lower than Sergeant, yes,” you laughed. “Technically anyway. But as an officer, I would still outrank you.”

“What happened?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… no offense, but First Lieutenant isn’t exactly brag worthy. I imagine you meant to go further. What happened? Was it the damage you mentioned with Tony?”

You nodded. “Yeah. The same accident that started his whole Iron Man gimmick was the same accident that ended my career.”

Bucky nodded, and you knew he wanted to ask more, but didn’t want to pry or overstep. And you were grateful for that. It was one thing to own up that your PTSD stemmed from an incident that ended your military career. It was also one thing to own up to how your experience in the military drove you towards creating prosthetic limbs. But to admit that there was a deep personal connection between the two? That wasn’t something you liked to fess up to. “I’m sorry,” Bucky finally said, feeling the need to say something about your half confession. To acknowledge it without asking more.

You smiled wryly at him. “It’s f-” Your face twisted, and your fingers white-knuckled the table as pain flashed through your leg.

Bucky’s eyes went wide. “You okay?” he asked, moving around the table towards you, his hands hovering nearby in case you fell.

“Knife!” you gasped out, gritting your teeth and humming loudly to keep from screaming out in the pain you knew wasn’t real. “Get me a knife!”

Bucky stood there, frozen, staring at you in horror.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” you barked at him. “I know you have a knife on you! Give it to me! That’s an order, Sergeant!”

That snapped Bucky into action. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, rummaging in his pockets. “Here!”

The sharp steel glinted in the lights as you took it from him and promptly shoved it deep into your right shin.

“What the fuck?!” Bucky yelped, jumping back. “WHAT THE FUCK?!” he repeated when no blood came pouring out of the wound as you yanked the knife back out.

“Aaaahhhh,” you sighed in relief, the pain ebbing away. You relaxed the tension in your body, breathing slowly. “Fuck… hate when that happens.”

“What… the… actual… fuck?” Bucky asked for a third time in a low whisper.

“Relax, it’s fake,” you said, flashing the knife. “See? No blood.”

“I- I-” he stammered.

“It’s called phantom limb pain. Happens in amputees all the time.” You took a seat, pushing up your pant leg to your knee, detaching the prosthetic and tossing it uselessly onto the work table. “Piece of shit,” you muttered, before pulling a tape-recorder out of your pocket. “Prototype 27. Failure, as of,” you spared a glance down at the date on your watch, speaking that into the tape recorder as well. “What?” you asked Bucky who was staring at you with his mouth hanging open.

“That explains… so much. But… why didn’t you just tell me?”

You shrugged. “It’s not something I tell people. Lost my leg in an explosion caused by weapons my family made? Yeah, not exactly a conversation starter.”

“I get that, but… c’mon. It’s me.” He gestured at his left arm.

“Yes, you who- and please don’t take offense to this- doesn’t remember the trauma of losing his arm, and has never experienced the pain that is phantom limb pain.”

“I don’t remember the trauma thanks to years of more trauma that is being brain-washed, and having my mind controlled,” he replied in a clipped tone.

“Yes, the entire world is aware of your trauma, Barnes. Must be nice to have people be aware of what you’ve gone through.”

“People would be aware of what you’ve gone through too, if you’d tell us instead of hiding in jeans and sweatpants!”

“Why would I tell people?! For sympathy?! Or to hear them tell me that I deserved it?! Because news flash, both of those outcomes fucking suck!”

His face crumpled. “Why would anyone think you deserved this?”

You scoffed at his naivety. “It’s poetic justice, Bucky. My own family took my leg. They took Tony’s heart, too, but hey! Look what he made as a result! Isn’t it fuckin’ marvelous?! Tony Stark loses his heart, but gains a soul. Y/N Stark. Loses his leg, and nobody cares.” The words were bitter on your tongue.

“You don’t strike me as the pity party type.”

“I’m not. That’s why I don’t tell people. And yes, maybe there’s a selfish part of me that does what I do strictly for me. Maybe I never would have thought to do all this if I wasn’t an amputee myself. But I’m here, and I’m doing it. And I’m not going to use my story to gain attention and credit that I don’t even want in the first place. Tony thrives in the spotlight. Me? Never been my thing.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I think your project’s pretty great. And I don’t see your personal attachment to it as a hindrance. If anything, I bet it pushes you further. To keep trying, even when what you have is already worlds better than what’s available already. But I also get wanting to keep parts of you to yourself. The sympathy vote isn’t the best feeling.”

“Thank you,” you mumbled. “And I’m sorry for what I said about how it must be nice to have people aware of your trauma. Well… I’m sorry for how I said it. There’s quite a laundry list of things that will turn me into an asshole, and phantom limb pain ranks pretty high on that list. But I didn’t mean it as an attack, and if it came across that way, I do apologize.”

“Don’t worry about it. To an extent you’re right. The whole world knowing what happened to me… it dulls the shock value of a lot of things. Justifies a lot of my actions. So, for the most part, it’s incredibly beneficial. But sometimes I wish I could just… I dunno. Be Bucky without people making their assumptions about what that means.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I try to make it a habit of drawing my own conclusions about people rather than listening to the assumptions others have made about them. So, at least with me, you can be Bucky, and that can be however you want it to look.”

“Thanks. I’d uh… I’d like that.” He smiled softly at you, and you smiled back, watching as a blush crept over his face. “Um… Are you going to need help back to your room? Cuz I can help, if you need me to.” The blush grew darker as he shifted his eyes about the room.

“Uh…” you stammered, a blush coming to your own face. Normally when you tossed aside a rejected prosthetic, you either stayed in the lab until you made a new one, reattached the useless one and begrudgingly dealt with it until you felt up to making a new one, or, in super rare cases when you were sure you were alone, wheeled yourself about the headquarters in a chair. But, here was Bucky, offering to help hobble you off to your room. And the thought of him helping support your weight, or God forbid carry you was enough to make your heart sped up. “Even without the weight of a leg, I’m still not exactly light, or small,” you told him. You weren’t as tall as Bucky, that was true, and you certainly didn’t have super soldier serum running through your veins. But you were still very much the standard rugged American soldier type with broad shoulders and well-defined muscles of your own.

Bucky just scoffed at the notion before picking you up in his arms.

“Jesus, fuck!” you exclaimed, throwing an arm around his neck to help support your weight as he headed for the door of the lab. “I swear if you drop me…”

Bucky chuckled, his chest rumbling into your side. “Relax. I’m not gonna drop you. Now, tell me where I’m going.”

You rattled off the quickest route to your room, both hating the vulnerability of being carried in his arms, and loving the security of it.

“See?” he beamed proudly, as he set you on your bed. “Told ya I wouldn’t drop you.”

“Thanks…”

“Anytime.”

“Bucky, wait,” you called out when he turned to leave. “Um… Would you mind maybe staying?”

“Here? With you? In your room?”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, the 1940s gentleman thing is real charming.”

“No, it’s not that. It’s um… You know I’m gay, right?”

“Well… That makes the, uh… oh, I can’t believe I’m gonna say this, but that makes having a crush on you a lot easier. Or a lot worse, depending on how things go.”

He blinked at you in confusion, not sure if he was hearing you correctly.

“I like you, Bucky. So are you gonna stay?”

He grinned, happily walking back over to you. “I like you too. And yeah, I’ll stay.”

Tag List

@cxddlyash @stanofalotofthings @philthepegacorn @youngblood199456 @binxiboo @creator-appreciator @felixtok @iknowyouthinkimbulletproof @jessalyn-jpeg @lilyoflower @mychemicalimagines @rougese7en @milea @partiesandblurrypolaroids @summerdaughter

#phantom pain #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #male reader #reader!stark #marvel #avengers #calpal irwin

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sesamestreep · 2 years

Note

Din & Grogu, "cake"

[hozier voice] modern au, baby!

Din assumes that, at some point, the complete absurdity of his life will stop feeling so, well, absurd and start feeling normal, maybe. His standard for ridiculousness will eventually adapt to his circumstances and his threshold for what he considers impossible or insane will increase accordingly. It hasn’t happened thus far into his first year as a foster parent, but he thinks it would be very cool if it could happen sometime in the next fifteen minutes, because otherwise he will have been standing in the bakery section of the supermarket for objectively too long.

Lucky for him, someone intervenes before that deadline. After about five more minutes of confused loitering, a short, round woman with Kool-Aid red hair and an apron bearing the market’s logo appears at his elbow and asks if he needs help, which he most certainly does.

“I need to buy a cake,” he says, after dithering over his choice of words for maybe too long.

“Oh, great! What’s the occasion?”

Din frowns. “It’s, uh—It’s my—for a birthday.”

“Well, happy birthday!” She says, with a wide grin, like they haven’t known each other for barely forty seconds total at this point.

“It’s not my birthday,” he corrects her, feeling suddenly very stupid. “It’s not, uh, anyone’s birthday, actually.”

It’s the woman’s turn to frown. “Didn’t you just say—?”

“Yes, I—I’m sorry. It’s my son. My foster son, I mean. It’s…not his birthday—they don’t actually know his birthday for sure, it’s a long story—but he’s been living with me for a year now. And so I was thinking…cake.”

The woman takes all of this information in very calmly, despite Din’s disorganized delivery, as though people come in and tell her their tragic backstories every day. Maybe they do. Of all the departments in the grocery store, this is one where emotions probably tend to run high. The pharmacy, too, now that he’s thinking about it. The deli is probably very peaceful, by comparison.

“Well, if he’s a baby, I wouldn’t recommend—“

“He’s not a baby. He’s about five.”

“But he doesn’t remember his own birthday?”

Din adjusts his baseball cap, settling it lower down on his forehead. Luke, Grogu’s counselor at school, would call this a defense mechanism, because he does it to avoid making eye contact. Apparently, he has a lot in common with his kid, for all they don’t share a strand of DNA.

“I don’t know. He doesn’t talk—non-verbal, his school calls it.”

The woman clucks her tongue knowingly. “I got a cousin like that. Good kid. Loves LEGOs. You should see the things she builds with ‘em.”

“Huh,” Din says, mostly because the situation seems to require him to say something.

“I should’ve known better than to ask a rude question like that. My apologies.”

“Oh,” he says, startled. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry.”

“Still,” she replies, lifting a shoulder in a half-shrug. Then, suddenly, “Does he like LEGOs?”

“Sure. He likes them fine, I guess.”

The woman shakes her head. “I’m talking about something he loves. His version of LEGOs. Something he plays with all the time, or that he’s always drawing pictures of. Anything like that?”

Din feels the smile overtake his face before he can even think to stop it. “Frogs,” he says, immediately, thinking of the twenty or so drawings competing for space on his fridge, the stuffed animal Grogu won’t sleep without, the gummy candies that his social worker always has for him when he does a home visit. “He loves frogs.”

“Who doesn’t?” She replies, smiling in return. “We could definitely do a frog themed cake. No problem.”

“Really? I’d need it by tomorrow. Is that possible?”

“Oh, yeah,” the woman says, nodding sagely. “You’re going to be Dad of the Year in your house.”

Din wants to point out he doesn’t have much competition, but that feels like another defense mechanism. Besides, it would be totally ignoring the bright surge of joy he feels at the very idea. It sounds like another drawing for the fridge.

#that’s to the tune of ‘wasteland baby!’ in case anyone was wondering #don’t ask me why that’s what I thought of I don’t even know anymore #once I cracked the code of modern din djarin is just luke danes I feel like the world opened up for me #He’s just the kind of guy you always see in a baseball cap and then one day he takes it off and you’re like WOAH #You’ve been a whole hunk under there this entire time???#EVEN THE HAT HAIR CANNOT RUIN THIS #also everyone is barred from sending me Star Wars prompts with food words #It gives me a full blown crisis every time #‘Do they have baguettes in sw?’ ‘Do they have cake?’ ‘What about kumquats???’ LET ME REST #(I love you all and your prompts just no more food worldbuilding I’m so scared)#anyway #three sentence fic #my writing #the mandalorian #din djarin #grogu #star wars #i am very firmly team luke/lando when it comes to sw but I do like to leave room for luke/din #I just like the possibilities it offers (gay dads and a green baby that is)#I hope this is good I feel nervous about it #Modern AUs for the Mandalorian are a tough line to walk idk #firstelevens #single dad green baby

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cloudy-minded-idiot · 3 years

Text

secrets

pairing: Shuri x reader

warnings: none that I could think of

word count: ~2,200 words

a/n: requested by @junajackson. sorry that it took me so long to write this! between uni and having to evacuate my appartment for a while, I really didn’t have a lot of freetime to write. I hope you like it :)

summary: shuri comes to visit the avengers compound, and your teammates dicover that you’ve been secretly dating the Wakandan princess for a while now.

The sun was already starting to rise by the time you returned to the compound, bathing the sky in a light pink hue. It was a pretty sight for your sore eyes. You felt drained, the way you often did after a mission. You had been gone for almost a week without being able to contact anyone, getting very little sleep as you had to fight your way out of one mess after the other. Ultimately, the mission was a success but exhausted as you were, you didn’t have it in you to celebrate.

You were welcomed back by an agent who briefly reminded you when your mission report would be due. You muttered out a confirmation and made a beeline for your room, stripping yourself from your dirty clothes and jumping under the shower. Cleaning up made you feel a lot better, and the warm water did wonders for your aching muscles. Dressed in something comfortable, you walked to your bedroom, ready to call it a day and catch some sleep. You had barely covered yourself with a blanket when a disembodied voice interrupted the tranquility of your room.

“Mr. Stark has requested your presence in the common room.”

Burying your head in your pillow, you let out a groan.

“Do I have to?”

Even to your own ears, your voice sounded whiney. The AI refrained from commenting on that, though.

“Mr. Stark is giving you five minutes to get to the common room and advises you to make yourself look presentable.”

Grumbling out some incoherent swear words, you stumbled out of bed and slowly got changed and pulled on some shoes. After assuring your hair looked alright, you made the small track to the common room. Tony looked up when you entered but, seeing your glare, refrained from making whatever stupid comment he had on the tip of his tongue.

Silently he passed you a cup of coffee which you received with a grateful nod. Taking a sip of the dark fluid, you let its warmth and the caffeine wash over you.

“How was your mission?” Tony asked tentatively, almost as if scared you would snap at him.

“Long and exhausting. I had to ditch my phone and comms the first day and barely had time to sleep or eat,” you took another long sip of your drink before throwing him a side glance, “I really hope for the sake of you that this is important.”

Tony was quick to assure you that it was, perhaps fearing that you would lose your cool otherwise. And yes, you were tired, but you were not irrational. The worst you would do is hit him in the arm and cuss him out, maybe prank him, later on, to get even.

“Important visitors are arriving from Wakanda today. We’re doing a bit of collaborative work on a new suit, improve some of my technology, etcetera. I need someone to show them around while I’m at a meeting with Fury. Think you’re up for that?”

You visibly perked up once you heard about Wakanda. You were more than familiar with their technology. After all, you were dating the head of their science and information department, although Tony didn’t know that. No one on the team did. After all, it hadn’t been until very recently that Wakanda decided to open up to the world and share its knowledge and technology. So, naturally, secrecy had to be part of the deal at the beginning of your relationship. And since then, you had just never found the time or the opportunity to broach the subject.

“I think I'll manage.”

Tony patted your shoulder with a grateful nod.

“Good. I know you’re tired, but I'll owe you one after this,” he said, distractedly checking his watch as he spoke, “I gotta run. Can’t keep Fury waiting any longer. Tell the Wakandans I'll be back by lunchtime. Keep them entertained until then, alright?”

At your affirmation, Tony thanked you and left you alone in the common room. You made yourself a second cup of coffee, already feeling better than before. That might also have something to do with the excitement of knowing your girlfriend might be coming to visit. After all, she was the head of the technology and information exchange program, so it would only make sense for her to be the one arriving today.

When FRIDAY alerted you that the Wakandan jet was preparing to land, you were out of your seat and down at the landing lane in no time. Some agents threw you weird looks, but you couldn’t care less. The plane had just shut off its engine when you arrived, waiting a couple of feet away to leave enough space for the small boarding ramp.

First to step off the jet, were two Dora Milaje carrying their standard sonic spear and serious expressions. The two warriors remained at either side of the door, eyeing the terrain with watchful eyes. Your own were fixed on the door while practically bouncing on the back of your feet in anticipation. As soon as you recognized the silhouette of your girlfriend in the doorway, you couldn’t help the big goofy smile that came to your face.

Her eyes trailed over the small airport before finally landing on you. Face lighting up, she matched your grin with one of her own. It had been so long since you had last seen Shuri in person, your heart stammered a bit just at the sight of her. The Wakandan princess quickly descended the ramp, immediately engulfing you in a hug that you returned just as fiercely.

“I was not sure you would be here when I arrived,” she admitted, releasing you just enough so that she could really look at your face, “I haven’t heard from you since you left for your mission a week ago.”

She gave you a playfully reproachful look, causing you to grimaced sheepishly.

“I just came back an hour ago. I would have called, but sadly my phone was one of the few casualties of my mission. Anyways,” stepping back a little, you cleared your throat and jokingly bowed slightly before your girlfriend, continuing in a mockingly formal tone.

“Princess Shuri, I have the honor to officially welcome you and the Dora Milaje to the Avengers Compound. Sadly, Mr. Stark will not be available for the next hours. Until then, I can offer you a tour of the parameters, if you like?”

You held out your hand in silent offer.

She bowed her head in thanks, lightly putting her hand on yours.

“Why thank you, we would appreciate that very much.”

Unable to keep up the show any longer, you both started to giggle before you motioned for her to come along.cHolding hands, you walked her through the most important parts of the compound, ending the tour in the main lab that Tony liked to use. Shuri looked around with an appraising gaze, silently evaluating the different pieces of equipment and machinery as you leaned against the table in the center of the room.

“Not as good as what I have at home, but it will do,” was her verdict, and you laughed slightly.

“Don’t tell Tony that, or he might be tempted to renovate again. He likes to pride himself on having the best of everything.”

“Oh, but he has already admitted that I have the better tech, has he not? Or I wouldn’t be here.”

“True,” you conceded, “So what do you guys have planned? You’re not going to make him a vibranium suit, are you?”

She shook her head, joining you on your side of the table, “We were more thinking along the line of nanotechnology. Something like my brother's Black Panther suit. Easy to carry around, quick to put on. Much more practical.”

You rubbed the back of your neck, trying to sound nonchalant as you asked your next question.

“So, how long do you suppose this would take?”

She hummed, taking a couple of steps closer to you.

“Two, three days at most,” she said, wrapping her arms around your waist and pulling your closer, “But for you, I might stretch it out a little. Give us more time together.”

You smiled adoringly at her, leaning in to press a long kiss to her lips. She returned it eagerly, letting out a content sigh. You really had missed her, more than you could ever put into words. And obviously, that sentiment was shared. After a few moments, you pulled apart to catch your breath, resting your foreheads together, breath mingling in the space between you. You stayed like that for a while, just content to hold each other and be close again.

“Almost forgot, I have something for you,” she whispered after a minute, releasing you to reach into her pocket.

“Oh, uh, I didn’t get you any gifts,” you muttered out, a bit embarrassed. She dismissed your worry with a shake of her head. Taking your hand in hers, she slid something onto your wrist. Shuri watched you with anticipation as you slowly realized what it was.

“You made me a Kimoyo bracelet?”

Your eyes were probably wide as saucers, a finger tentatively trailing over the engravings on the vibranium beads. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw her nod.

“It’s easier for me to contact you with this than on one of your old school grandpa phones, and I thought it might be useful to you on your missions. It’s no big deal, really.”

She shrugged at the end, trying to play this gesture off. You looked up at her in wonder, quite aware that despite her words, this was, in fact, quite a big deal. For one, vibranium was really expensive. For another, Wakandans weren’t known for just handing out Kimoyo beads to anyone. This not only demonstrated how much she trusted you but also that she believed that the two of you were in this for the long run. Your adoration must have shown on your face because Shuri immediately groaned.

“Oh no, I know that look. Don’t you start getting sentimental on me,” she warned you without any malice. You smiled at her softly, unable to do anything about your expression.

“I won’t, I promise.”

She rolled her eyes playfully, overdramatically throwing her hands up in the air.

“You’re already doing it. Alright, I’m outta here.”

The Wakandan princess turned to go, but you gently took her hand and pulled her back into an embrace.

“I love you, Shuri,” you told her, your voice conveying all the emotions you felt. Her expression softened at your admission, and she leaned in to give you a small kiss.

“I love you, too, you big sap.”

“What's going on here?”

Both of you blinked in confusion, slowly turning to look at the door without letting go of each other. In the entrance of the lab, staring at you with faces ranging from shock to confusion and surprise, stood Tony, Steve, and Natasha.

You cleared your throat, feeling your face heat up, and slowly let go of Shuri, still keeping one of her hands in yours.

“Hey, what are you guys doing here?”

Steve was the one that spoke up, vaguely gesturing towards your girlfriend.

“We came to formally welcome the Princess.”

“Looks like Y/n has done enough welcoming for us all,” Natasha muttered, only snickering when Steve sent her a reproachful look for her comment. Tony was still regarding you flabbergasted.

“You,” Tony took off his ever-present sunglasses motioning between you and Shuri, “And her? Since when?”

“Shuri and I have been dating for almost a year now.”

“A year?” Tony repeated incredulously

“Back when Wakanda ‘s borders were still closed to the world,” Shuri sonfirmed, “With all the secrecy surrounding our technology, Y/n and I thought it would be best to keep our relationship secret too.”

“And after that, I just didn’t know how to tell you guys,” you added sincerely.

Tony looked as though he was about to ask more questions, but luckily Cap intervened, flashing you a smile.

“Well, I’m happy for you two. You look like you're happy together.”

Shuri squeezed your hand encouragingly, knowing how nervous you had been, not knowing how the team would react. Having the Captain’s blessing, even if you didn’t really need it, was appreciated.

“Thanks, Steve.”

“At least this explains why you’ve been having so many late-night phone calls. Good for you,” Natasha teased you, her words having the desired effect of making you groan in embarrassment.

“I guess I’m happy for you, too,” Tony admitted reluctantly after being prompted byone of Steve's stern looks, “But I'll be much happier after your girlfriend helps me with my suit. So shoo, out of the lab. Play time's over, let's get working.”

The billionaire made a motion for you all to leave, Natasha and Steve complying readily, saying their goodbyes to Shuri. Rolling your eyes, you followed his demand as well, but not without leaning in to kiss Shuri’s cheek.

“I'm beat anyways. I haven’t slept in a minute.”

She released your hand with one last small squeeze.

“Get some rest. I'll see you later.”

You were barely out of the lab when, much to Tony’s dismay, you heard Shuri brag about her own lab's much better equipment. You still had a fond smile on your face by the time you finally laid down in your bed.

___________________________________________

taglist: @fireflyglass @madamevirgo @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @penparkz

#shuri x reader #marvel reader insert #request

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pascalpanic · 3 years

Text

Conferences (Maxwell Lord/Lorenzano x f!teacher!Reader)

Summary: Alistair Lorenzano is a third grader in your class, whom you absolutely adore. Upon meeting his father, Maxwell, you suddenly have much more interest in the Lorenzano family. Set after WW84.

W/C: 2.9k

Warnings: language, flirting, talk of divorce and trauma, lots of talk of children and such, especially Alistair. brief nondescript mentions of Maxwell’s shitty childhood. uh. Spoilers for The Great Gatsby lmao

A/N: well! I haven’t written for max in a long time but the ship request (which are CLOSED) i received here really made me inspired! hope u guys like it :)

Alistair Lorenzano was a joy to have in class. You mean it too, not like when you don’t have a comment for a child’s report card and you just stick that phrase on the bottom. No, Alistair is a genuinely good kid.

The little dark haired boy walked in proudly on the first day, even as none of the other children came over to say hello or pal around with him. He seemed lonely, but he marched up to your desk and placed a beautiful apple on the desk, giving you a gap-toothed grin and introducing himself with a handshake. Alistair didn’t talk to his other classmates much that day, or any other day really. He was usually preoccupied with a book of some sort.

He sits alone at lunch and recess, usually burying his nose in a book as the other children play. He’s progressed quite quickly, reading big wordy books the other fourth graders surely couldn’t handle. When a child has no one to play with, Alistair will sit with them and talk. He’ll always help a struggling classmate with their long division or come up with a good synonym for them. He rarely raises his hand, but he’s almost always correct.

He’ll come in early most mornings. He doesn’t talk much about his family, but he says his dad works early in the morning and that he has to drop him off earlier. That’s fine with you; the kid is a good conversationalist and will read quietly while you arrange lesson plans or grade spelling tests.

You wonder what his family is like. All you know about his father is that he works early in the morning. His mother has dropped him off late several times, but that always led to more early mornings; presumably his father’s doing.

As a teacher, you tend to shy away from family-based assignments. You’re fully aware that some of your students won’t want to share what their parents do for a living, or talk about them at all. That’s why you don’t know much about the Lorenzano family- you don’t ask and Alistair doesn’t share.

Conferences are approaching soon as you approach the midpoint of the first semester. Most parents don’t come if their children are doing well; typically, only the parents of struggling children make appearances. That’s why you’re surprised to read the note Alistair hands you when he walks in, thirty minutes before class begins, as always.

You frown reading the little note of paper, pushing your glasses up your nose. “You’re sure that your father needs a conference?” You ask the little boy. He looks confused. “I’d love to meet him,” you say hurriedly, sipping your morning coffee. “It’s just that… you’re a very smart kid, Alistair. Usually it’s the parents of kids who don’t do so well that sign up for conferences.”

Alistair shrugs, taking off his puffy fall jacket and hanging it on his hook near your desk. “I don’t know. Dad just said he wanted that time,” he says, pointing at your paper.

Dramatically uncapping a colored flare pen, you make a show out of writing down the name for your 7:30 time slot: Mr Lorenzano. “Well, I will see your dad then,” you tell the kid with a smile. He seems pleased that you’re excited. “What’s his name?”

“Maxwell,” Alistair informs you, sitting at his desk and cracking open his book.

You repeat the name, writing it down in the purple pen you chose. “Your family has very elegant names,” you tease Alistair.

Alistair shrugs. “Dad likes to sound fancy.”

Maxwell has never met you, but he feels that he knows you like an old friend. Alistair absolutely adores you, tells his father about you at any chance he gets.

You sound wonderful. He supposes that Alistair would adore any female figure in his life right now. Vanessa, the former Mrs. Lord, has all but rejected her son. When Alistair would spend time at her place, she’d practically ignore her own kid, prioritizing whatever she wanted to do. Several days, Alistair was late to or completely missed school thanks to Vanessa’s ignorance.

That’s why Maxwell has taken nearly full custody now. Vanessa didn’t argue it. She was glad to have Alistair out of her hair. Besides, she resented Maxwell for endless reasons, usually unfounded. She wanted to see him struggle.

But Maxwell thrived. Alistair and his father are as close as can be. Maxwell now works a menial job, after the whole Dreamstone fiasco, but he’s managing to make ends meet. When they have enough money left over, he’ll take Alistair to the movies or buy him a new lego kit.

Maxwell hasn’t found love since Vanessa, but he thinks you might be the one for him. One could call him a hopeless romantic; his heart builds and breaks as easily as a wave on the shore. You sound so nurturing and lovely, so wonderful to the one Maxwell loves most. That’s partially why he scheduled the conference with you.

The other part was that Alistair is a budding genius in Maxwell’s eyes. He flies through thick books day in and day out, and Max wants to accommodate the skills in his son. He constantly tells him how proud of him he is, but he wants to make sure he can keep helping him learn.

On the day of the conference, Maxwell is nervous. Why is he nervous? He combs his closet several times to find one of the nice suits from his glory days, but decides it to be ridiculous. He’s not sure how much Alistair tells you about his family, but he’s sure you know he is no longer the television personality Max Lord. Instead, he settles for a dress shirt and pants, tossing on a light jacket over it. The fall air is turning crisp, especially in the evenings.

Doña Gloria from next door knocks on the door at promptly 7:00, and Alistair pops up to answer it. He loves the old woman, and wraps her in a big hug. Gloria walks inside the apartment, grinning at the sight of Maxwell’s outfit. “Ah, making a good impression on the boy’s teacher,” she nods in approval.

“Hoping to,” he nods and adjusts the suede jacket over his lapels, fidgeting with the zipper. “Alistair, why don’t you go find that game you wanted to play with Doña Gloria?”

The child runs off obediently and the woman straightens his collar for him. “Little Maxie has a crush,” she sings.

“Gloria,” he frowns as he messes with the cuffs. “I’ve never even met the woman.”

She gives a knowing smile. “But you know her. You know her through Alistair, all his stories. I’m sure she will love you, mijo.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” he sighs and pats his pockets, checking for his wallet. “She’s Alistair’s teacher. I can’t just-“

“You can do whatever the hell you want, Mr. Lorenzano,” the woman chuckles and reassures him. “Go get her.”

He shakes his head. “It’s a conference, not a date,” he says as he walks towards the door.

“It can be both!” Is the last thing he hears before he shuts the door, making him laugh.

Conferences, as always, are a pain in the ass. You sit and make small talk with parents, discussing their child’s skills with their times table versus their writing proficiency, their standardized test scores and how they stack up.

As the night passes, you grow more frazzled. Your hair, neatly tucked back, falls out in strands, and your glasses seem to slide down your nose more and more often. Some parents verbally abuse you for their children’s poor scores on their science test. Others try to get to know you a little too personally. All part of a day’s work.

A hopeful smile dares to peek out as you read your schedule and arrange your sampling of Alistair’s works. You’re eager to meet his father, to meet the man Alistair so rarely talks about but clearly adores.

There’s a knock on your classroom door at 7:30 on the dot. Shoving your glasses up your nose one time, you hurry to the door and allow the man in. “Hi, nice to meet you, Mr. Lorenzano,” you tell him and shake his hand, leading him to your desk.

Something about him seems familiar. He’s very attractive, that’s something. He doesn’t have his son’s dark, nearly black hair, but rather a light brown with bits of blonde interjected throughout. He has his son’s deep brown eyes, and his very presence makes you smile. He looks put together, dressed similarly to other fathers you’ve seen tonight.

You tuck your skirt under you as you sit in your chair. The man’s voice is smooth and beautiful as he speaks. “It’s nice to meet you as well. Alistair talks endlessly about you at home.”

Smiling, you shuffle some of his papers. The man is distractingly handsome, you find as you scramble to grab Alistair’s math test. “Well, he’s a very special kid. I adore having him in my class, truly. Your son is going places, Mr. Lorenzano.”

“Please, Max,” he shakes his head, producing something from a pocket. “Oh, and… for you.”

The sight makes you nearly laugh, but instead you break into a grin. The man’s large hand holds a shiny red apple, perfectly shaped. “Thank you,” you laugh and set it on your desk. “You know, I have no idea where that silly custom comes from.”

“I should ask Alistair,” Maxwell chuckles, his face heating as he takes in the beauty of your smile. “He knows so much. It wouldn’t be a stretch for him to know that.”

Nodding, you hand over an assortment of Alistair’s schoolwork and artwork. “He really does. I appreciate having a fellow avid reader in my class. He’s so bright, it’s… wild, really. Do you or… Mrs. Lorenzano,” you say, treading lightly, “do anything supplementary that advances his learning?”

Max looks down at the papers. “Well, she isn’t Mrs. Lor- Lorenzano anymore,” he shakes his head, his eyes not meeting yours for a moment. He stumbles, nearly using his former business name of Lord. “But no. I have nearly full custody of Alistair, and he flies through books. It’s absurd,” the man laughs, his pride in his eyes as he looks at you. “I mean, neither of us were ever as smart as this. I don’t know where he got it from.”

You frown at that. “You seem very smart, Max. May I ask what you do for a living?”

His brow furrows. “Alistair hasn’t told you?”

You shake your head, adjusting your glasses. God, Maxwell wants to do that for you, push them up your nose or better yet, take them off and kiss you deeply. “I don’t push kids to talk about their home lives. Some don’t want to share,” you shrug.

“I wish I would’ve had a teacher like you in my day,” he chuckles sadly. “I... well, I work currently for a corporate office in Arlington. It’s nothing very exciting, or anything that requires skill.”

You shrug, smiling a little. “It must be an important job or they wouldn’t pay you to do it.”

His chuckle is a little more upbeat. “I suppose. I just… my family was very poor when I was a child. I don’t want Alistair to feel ashamed that I don’t make as much money as his other classmates. Tell me, he doesn’t seem very social. Is he…?”

You want to phrase it properly, so you stutter for a moment. “Well, to put it plainly, no. Alistair does not talk much with his classmates. He’s a very quiet boy, as I’m sure you know. It’s not that they ostracize him, but rather that he chooses to be alone. He’s always reading rather than playing soccer or whatever,” you shrug. “It’s most certainly not exclusion on the basis of… having less money.”

Maxwell’s shoulders relax a little. “Well, I’m glad. Honestly, I don’t mind that he’s quiet. I’m glad he’s learning.”

“I’d usually disagree, but I have to say the same,” you chuckle. “He’s a really good kid, Max. You should be proud to have him as a son. Don’t tell anyone, but he’s my favorite student.”

He’s absolutely beaming with pride. “That’s all I could ask for. Thank you.”

“Of course! How could I not love that kid?” you chuckle as you admire a drawing Alistair made of a scene from his favorite book. “Was that all you wanted to talk about?” You ask, unsure if he had more concerns.

Maxwell’s almost startled by the question. “Oh! Yes, I got sidetracked,” he chuckles, pushing his hair out of his eyes. He’s painfully beautiful, and his laugh makes you laugh in return. It’s safe to say you really like the Lorenzano family. “He just goes through book after book, it’s endless. Do you have any recommendations for continued reading? I want him to keep going like this, truly.”

Tapping a pen against your gradebook, you think on it for a moment. “I guess the best way would be positive reinforcement, but not reward. If you, say, incentivized it, he might see it as a chore to earn the money or toy or whatever.”

Maxwell nods as he listens, a small smile on his face as he listens to your voice and intellect. Yes, his theory earlier was correct. He does have a crush on you. “Naturally.”

“So, my recommended course of action would really just be praise and support. Tell him you’re proud of him. Offer to take him to the library to pick out some more. Those little things mean more to a kid than we can know.”

Max does know, actually. He knows because he was deprived of them as a child, because he tries to use them as often as he can so Alistair never feels the way he felt. “I can most definitely do that.”

“Great,” you nod, fidgeting with the stem of the apple in front of you. “If he ever wants to do more math or puzzles or such, the library has lots of great resources for that as well. I also have lots of worksheets I could send home with him.”

“If I can tear him away from that book,” Maxwell chuckles. “Do you have any favorites? You mentioned you read a lot.”

“Oh, god,” you laugh, and Maxwell is enchanted by the sound. “There are too many options! My favorite book of all time would probably have to be the Great Gatsby. I love the classics.”

Maxwell’s smile turns bittersweet. Jay Gatsby’s life reminds him far too much of his own for comfort now. Before, he’d call himself a Gatsby in reference to lavish parties and living large. Now, he feels like Gatsby dead in the water. “Wonderful book,” he nods. “F. Scott Fitzgerald is a literary mastermind.”

“Do you read too?” You ask, intrigued. His personality shows more and more and you’re desperate for even more of it.

He shakes his head. “Not as much as Alistair, I’m afraid, but when I have the time.”

You grin. “My plans for tonight are to go home and read with some takeout. No one to disturb me or anything. I’m very much a homebody, so it’s usually just me and my gradebook and my houseplants. Takeout is the most excitement I get. I’m looking forward to working through this book though; I’m currently reading Wilde.”

“Ah, what book?”

“Picture of Dorian Gray,” you smile and look down at your tote bag with the book tucked into the side. “If I have any brainpower left. Most of these conferences are energy-suckers.”

“How many do you have left?” He asks, curious.

“You’re the last of the night, actually,” you chuckle and cross your arms on the desk, looking over at him and silently hoping he reads your interest.

“The night you have planned sounds lovely, I must say,” Maxwell chuckles. “I do love takeout, but I know of a wonderful place near here. I… we could go get dinner, if you’d like.”

Tilting your head to the side, you scrunch your nose to push your glasses back up. “That sounds wonderful, Max. It’s nice to converse with someone who isn’t 9 years old for a while. And someone so interesting,” you openly flirt now that you can tell he’s picking up on your messages.

“Me? Hardly,” he shakes his head and laughs. “I’m sure you have much more fascinating stories than me.”

“I am a third grade teacher, Max,” you laugh. “If you want stories that involve boogers, the ever-present cooties, and long division, I’m your gal, but it hardly extends past that.”

“I guess we’ll just have to find out. Do you like Italian food?”

“I love it,” you grin. “Does that mean wine?”

“Always,” Maxwell says in a mockingly offended voice, as if you’d even dare to ask such a thing, with a look of disgust.

“Thank fucking god,” you laugh before clapping a hand over your mouth. “Oh shit. Oh-“ you wince as you try to cover your curse with another curse. “Sorry. When school hours are out, I can’t hold back any longer.”

“No need to,” he assures you. “A woman like you could do whatever she wants and I’d be happy to just be in her presence.”

“Mr. Lorenzano,” you tease. “This is a parent-teacher conference!”

“Then let’s head to dinner and continue this in a nonprofessional capacity, shall we?” He asks, standing and pushing back his rolling chair.

“That sounds great,” you smile. Alistair’s father sure is something. Yes, you certainly like the Lorenzano family.

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andromedasstarship · 3 years

Text

are you free tomorrow?

pairing - spencer reid x gn!reader

warnings - nothing! just a sweet & cliche ‘first meeting’ story :)

summary - midterms are coming up and all the good cafes on campus are filled, maybe the sweet looking curly haired guy in the back will share his table with you?

a/n - for my valentines day oneshot series! 'every table is full, but i really need to study, is there any way we could share?'

-------

Stressed, was a simple way to explain the current state you were in. The semester had snuck up on you, moving faster than you had ever expected. As the fifth week was coming to a close, you were getting dangerously close to the storm of midterms you had waiting for you in the sixth week. And you desperately needed to study. The only thing stopping you- surprisingly not your own procrastination-, was that it seemed as if the rest of campus was also in the same predicament as you.

This was the third cafe on campus that you had entered that was absolutely filled.

Your eyes scanned around the room, hoping to catch someone in the middle of packing their things. Nope. You considered circling back through the other two cafes you’d just been in or maybe even just going off campus. Except you couldn’t justify wasting more time by circling the same few cafes over and over, nor could your college student budget justify paying for coffee when you could just use your allotted campus cash.

Just as you were about to give up and leave- begrudgingly deciding that studying in your room would have to be good enough-, you spotted a man sitting alone towards the back of the cafe. He sat at a large table with plenty of space; even though he had one of the largest stacks of papers you’d ever seen one individual possess.

You weighed your options, internally debating if it’d be worth potentially hurting your pride by asking him to share the table and getting rejected. Seeing as the other option was definitely hurting your pride by hovering the same cafes like a hungry park bird, you tightened your grip on your tote bag and started walking towards him.

Whatever he was reading must’ve been exciting, as his focus didn’t stray even for a moment nor did he notice you at all until you were right up against the chair across from him. You awkwardly cleared your throat to catch his attention, giving him a tiny wave when he looked up at you.

“Hi!”

“Hello?”

“I’m really sorry to bother you, just every table is full and I really need to study and I know it’s not the best, but could I share this table with you?” You asked anxiously, holding your breath as you waited for his answer.

As he opened his mouth to respond, you quickly added. “I swear it’ll be like I’m not even here!”

He gave you a ‘please calm down’ look and you felt some of the weight dissolve from your shoulders as he nodded his head. “Take a seat, no worry at all.” He told you, adding a kind smile as he looked back down at his stack of papers and pulled them closer; giving you more room at the table.

You let your bag fall off your shoulder and hit the ground with a thunk, relieved to no longer be carrying the physical weight around. You clasped the top of the chair in front of you, leaning towards him just so. “Thank you,” you said, giving your best gracious smile, “let me get you a coffee or something?”

He looked almost shocked- or was he flustered? you weren’t sure-, quickly shaking his head in response. “No! You don’t need to do that at all.” He assured you, but you weren’t so quick to back down.

“It’s the least I can do, please?” You pressed, giving him a very exaggerated pleaaaase look, “with all those papers you must need some serious caffeine.”

You thought he was going to continue this little back-and-forth with you, but you watched as his body relaxed ever so slightly, signs of what you hoped was him conceding. “Just a black coffee.”

"Just black?" You countered, raising your eyebrow, leaving it unsaid that he was just choosing the cheapest drink they had.

"Room for cream? I'll fix it up myself." He replied.

----

From the line, you had your first opportunity to really give this guy a look. The papers in front of him had sucked him back in as soon as you stepped away from the table; meaning you weren’t too worried about him catching you in your little…, creeping moment. The student population was large, but it was still small enough that you found yourself repeatedly seeing the same strangers. Yet, you’d never seen this man before. And you were sure you would’ve remembered this man, had you seen him before. What? He was undeniably attractive. There was something about the way his hair just perfectly curled around his face that made you just want to reach out and ruff- that’s weird. Even his little sweater-tie-button up outfit was doing it for you. Maybe today won’t be so bad.

The line moved quickly and you found yourself carrying the two drinks back over to the table in under five minutes. You set his cup by him, taking care to put it away from the massive stack of papers. You set your cup down next, sliding in the chair diagonal from him.

“You know,” you started, hefting your bag up into the chair next to you, “I never got your name?”

“Thank you,” he quickly got out, holding up his coffee as he did so. “I’m Spencer, uh…, Spencer Reid.” He told you, a faint red creeping up from under his collar.

You gave him your name in return, a bit distracted as you pulled more of your things from your bag. From the corner of your eye, you saw him hold his coffee up again, nodding his head towards the cream and sugar station before walking off to fix his drink up properly.

In his absence, you pulled out the rest of your books, debating which subject you should tackle first. You were glad you were finally towards the end of your college career, meaning the majority of your classes were specific to your interests rather than a four hundred student gen-ed; not that it made you any more excited to study for this exam.

When Spencer came back he set his coffee down with a slightly shaky hand. “Did you know coffee is actually classified as a fruit?” He asked, as he slid back into his seat against the wall.

“I didn’t know that.” You replied, shaking your head.

“The coffee bean itself grows on a bush and they’re actually the pit of a berry, which is what makes them a fruit. They come in two main varieties, green and red.” He rambled, as if reciting from some magic book stored in his brain. As soon as he was done he clamped his mouth shut, remembering how most people reacted to his ramblings.

You raised an eyebrow at him, but your face didn’t show any signs of annoyance. “Big coffee fan Spencer?”

“Big fan of facts.” He corrected, giving you a sheepish smile.

“Oh yeah? Well you seem pretty smart then, which class should I study for first?” You asked, holding up two of your textbooks.

He looked at both books curiously, trying to take a guess at what your major might’ve been. He pointed at the one in your left hand. God’s, Monsters and Mortals.

“Are you an…, English major?” He guessed, wondering if the book was some supplement for a unit on the Iliad. Not to mention the other book you held up was quite literally called ‘Literature Through The Ages’.

You shook your head, putting the book he chose down on the table while you returned the other one to your bag. “Close! Classics,” you said, giving him a sheepish grin, “I know, it’s a bit niche, kinda ridiculous, but there’s something about how we immortalized memories of ancient times through literature that are just fascinating. There’s something about the lessons of the past that I think a lot of people are ignoring today, ya know?” You replied, quickly closing your mouth before you’d go on some incredibly long tangent about your interests and studies. Didn’t you say it’d be like you weren’t even here?

“No, no!” He hurriedly said, shaking his head. “Understanding the lessons and patterns of the past and how they’ve morphed humanity today? That’s cool!” He assured you.

“Well what about you, Spencer Reid? What’s your major, you must have some horrible professors, if that stack of papers is the norm.” You joked, liking the way the corner of his eyes crinkled as he smiled.

“I’m uh…, a professor here.” He responded, his face cringing ever so slightly as he watched your mouth drop open simultaneously as your eyes nearly fell out of your head.

“You’re a…, professor?” You repeated, extremely confused as to how someone who looked only a few years older than you was somehow employed to such a degree.

“Just a visiting one!” He clarified, clearing his throat. “I’m on a sort of, uh, sabbatical from work.”

“Isn’t a sabbatical when someone gets away from academia?” You countered, smiling to show you meant no actual aggression.

“Big fan of facts, remember?” He repeated plainly, but you caught the joke in it and you smiled wider at that.

“No offense Professor, but you look a bit young to ya know, be one.” You said, hoping he’d give his age in response.

“I’m 29.” Ah, only four years older than you.

“29 and already a professor at a university like this? What, do you have like 20 Phds. or something?” You asked jokingly, laughing a bit as you said so.

“Three actually.” He replied, a mix of shyness and pride across his face.

Your mouth dropped back open again, trying to wrap your mind around the man in front of you. “What are you? A genius then?”

“By some standards, yes.”

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence after that. Him paying special attention to each paper he graded- you wished all your professors cared about student work the way he seemed to-, while you were busy deciding which parts of the taught units were the most important.

After what you imagined was nothing short of four hours you felt your head begin to throb and your eyes were starting to go fuzzy. In that time, the two of you had downed at least five coffees each, going back and forth over who paid for them. You had managed to create an individual study guide for nearly all your upcoming exams and a quick glance told you that Spencer still had a few papers left. Unbeknownst to you he could have finished those papers hours ago, even with the in depth comments he entered into the computer for each one; there was just something about you that drew him in.

He wasn’t sure whether it was the funny unfiltered comments you’d make sporadically while you worked or the way you actually seemed to be interested in every little tangent he had gone on whenever one of his students brought up a particularly good or amusing point in their papers’. His therapist had recently recommended that he engage in conversations with those not already well acquainted with him and it seemed like the world had lined up perfectly to put you in front of him so soon after.

You loudly slammed your textbook shut with a groan and let your head fall against the table. “Why does academia have to be so boring?” You asked rhetorically, bringing one hand up to pinch the bridge of your nose. “Is it some requirement to get published? Your work needs to put college kids to sleep?”

“The works that you’re reading are quite literally ancient, in their defense. The term ‘academia’ itself comes from the school of thought taught by Plato himself in ancient Athens.” Spencer explained, putting down the paper he had been grading.

“And now, all these years later I have to suffer because Plato was such a bore.” You sighed dramatically, rolling your eyes.

“You said you were studying the downfall of Icarus weren’t you?” He asked, once again unbeknownst to you, he remembered everything you had said today. “It’s one of my favorites of ancient Greek mythology. The power of the mind of man, yet how quickly that very power could be taken away if man oversteps. Really makes us wonder if we’ve overstepped as humans yet, if we use Icarus’s fall, quite literally from grace, as a lens for other devastations we’ve seen across history then-”

“Spencer, are you free tomorrow?” You asked, effectively cutting him off.

He looked a bit like a fish, the way you had stopped him mid sentence and his mouth hadn’t yet closed. His eyebrows turned up, head tilting with them. “Tomorrow? The 14th?”

“Yeah, are you free tomorrow?” You repeated, holding back your nerves.

“Oh.” He said, eyes going wide as you assumed he finally connected the dots, “Oh!”

You were about to speak again, retract your question completely before he could reject you, suddenly wondering why you decided to go out on whim like that at all. But he beat you to it.

“Yes, yes I am.”

------

happy valentines day (almost) i love yall!!

tagging a few people who asked + a few mutuals i think might like this (no pressure!!) - @hqtchner @ssahoodrathotchner @kylorendrip @feverdreamreid @homoose

permanent taglist - @sunflowersandotherthings

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid/reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid/you #vday oneshots 2021 #spencer reid #spencer #reid x reader #reid/you #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #'stori writes #are you free tomorrow?#spencer reid x gn!reader #spencer reid/gn!reader #gn!reader

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mochegato · 3 years

Text

An Irrevocably Gone Heart

Tim tugged on her arm. “You’re coming with me.”

“What?” Marinette exclaimed a little louder than she meant to. She immediately looked around to see if any of the other party goers had noticed them and cringed at the eyes on her. She gave them a weak smile and moved closer to Tim, who was still pulling them toward the stairs. “No, no, no, no. This is a family thing.” She tried to pull away discretely but Tim had her arm in a firm lock. Damn vigilante training. She could break out of it of course, but not without making a scene in front of a growing audience, which was starting to include his family.

They were all moving to the stairs like Tim was, and unwillingly her as well, to stand behind Mr. Wayne as he addressed the crowd at his New Year’s party. She briefly looked over to them to see if they had noticed her yet. One of the brothers in particular, Jason, had observed the interaction between her and Tim and was watching her carefully. She accidentally met his eyes and couldn’t look away. She saw a flicker of interest and amusement in his eyes and blushed at the attention. She was so caught up in his eyes, she stumbled slightly, giving Tim the advantage in dragging her the last few feet to the stairs.

“You’re like family. In fact, I like you more than most of my family so… You’re coming.” Tim grinned at her mercilessly. She couldn’t get away now without causing a stir in the crowd, drawing all eyes away from Mr. Wayne and to her. She was caught and they both knew it, trapped by societal convention. He pulled her onto the stairs next to him and the rest of the family, facing the crowd of party goers and reporters.

“Okay first, I hate being in front of a lot of people. Second, this seems incredibly counterproductive,” Marinette hissed quietly at him.

“Depends on your goal,” he said with a polite, fake smile, keeping his eyes on the crowd. “Now smile for the cameras, Love.”

Marinette groaned quietly at him and turned to face the crowd with the practiced, PR worthy smile Adrien had taught her. She stood a polite distance from Tim, making it clear that although she was here with him, she wasn’t here with him. Tim chuckled devilishly and pulled her closer to him, slinging his arm around her shoulders. “I’m going to make you pay for this.” She threatened through gritted teeth and a beautiful smile. “You know who I am but you won’t know where I am and you will never see me coming.”

“Calm down, Trevor. And you’re welcome.” His smile turned real and his eyes glistened with mirth. “Tomorrow our picture, and more importantly your clothes, will be everywhere in Gotham.”

As soon as Bruce was done with his welcoming speech, they bolted from the stairs to escape his family’s and reporter’s questions. Tim guided her as they ran through the maze of the manor. They finally stopped running in a back hallway, doubling over in laughter and out of breath. “Oh man, my family is going to drive themselves insane trying to figure out who you are.”

Marinette closed her eyes and groaned. “How did this help? It’s only going to make Bruce more curious about me to make sure I’m not a gold-digger or using you.”

“Marinette, calm down. You aren’t using me or abusing our friendship to get your name out there. It was my idea and as I recall, to get you to let me commission you for the suit and come with me, I had to blackmail you int...” She lunged at him to slam her hands over his mouth.

She glared at him as she looked around to see if anyone heard them. As soon as she was sure nobody was around to hear them, missing the body listening to them around the corner, she batted at Tim with a pout. “They don’t know that and how are you going to explain it?”

“I’ll figure it out without saying anything important.” He looked back in the general direction of the party. “We should get back though.”

“Ugh, fine, but I’m not staying until midnight just for some trust fund prick to try to ‘slum it’ for a night with me. And next time, you come with your boyfriend, not me. And I can design both of your suits instead.” She adds with a smug grin.

“If you can get him into a suit, deal.” Tim scoffed. “Good luck with that by the way. Come on, give me one dance as a reprieve before I have to be sociable. And if any other trust fund pricks try anything with you, I promise to destroy them.” He gave her a wink.

“Like I need you to do that for me.” She snarked at him.

“Oh definitely not, but it would give me an acceptable excuse to leave the party.” Tim shrugged with a smile.

Jason watched them walk back toward the party from his spot tucked away in an alcove. Well, this night was certainly more interesting than he had anticipated. He followed them back to the party and kept an eye on the friends as they danced. The woman, Marinette, seemed to be having an awfully good time dancing and joking with Tim considering he was ‘blackmailing’ her, but then again if they were friends, like it seemed they were, it was likely to be more embarrassing than damning.

As far as Jason could tell, despite how much she had complained to Tim earlier, Marinette was handling the crowd brilliantly. She managed to make the rounds at the party talking pleasantly with quite a few people. A few of her conversation partners had been attending Wayne parties for years and tonight was the first night Jason saw them give a genuine smile. But, if anyone made the mistake of trying to touch her a little too intimately or make a comment that was a bit too suggestive, or just flat out insulting, she sent them a dark glare that would make Batman proud and crowded their personal space in a way that had the aggressor backing away intimidated and Jason impressed.

Jason tore his eyes away from Marinette and moved to the bar to get some liquid patience. Tim might be a natural at mingling but he needed a little help to deal with this crowd. The only interesting part of the entire evening had been Tim’s friend. She had wandered around the room with an effortless grace and stood up for herself with just as effortless strength. It was a hard balance to maintain and she pulled it off beautifully, just like the rest of herself.

Jason set his empty drink down and looked down the bar for the bartender. He didn’t find the bartender, but he did find the stunning woman herself sitting alone with an empty seat next to her. He moved quickly, seeing a few other men eying her with interest as well. “Is this seat taken?” He asked with a charming smile.

“It is not.” She said tiredly, not even bothering to look up. “My date isn’t using it right now.”

“Smooth.” Jason nodded in approval. “Timbo would just push me out if he wanted the seat. Well, he’d try anyway.” He took the seat and ordered another drink from the newly appeared bartender. “Want a refill?”

“I’m good thank you.” She continued staring at her drink.

Jason grinned at her. She wasn’t remotely interested in playing nice just for the sake of propriety. She wasn’t rude, just not easily impressed. “I’m Tim’s brother, Jason.”

She looked over at him in surprise and immediately cringed internally. He was the brother she had embarrassed herself gaping at earlier. “Oh, I’m sorry. Hi. Nice to meet you. I’m Marinette.” She reached her hand out to him with a smile. “Sorry, I thought you were another… never mind. Hi.”

He gave her a disarming smile and shook her hand. “Don’t worry about it, I understand. The kind of people who come to this are… rich is the nicest thing to say about almost any of them. And you know what they say, eat the rich.” He dropped her hand but kept his eyes on her.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Aren’t you rich?”

He chuckled. “No, Bruce is. I make my own, significantly less red carpeted, way.”

She looked at him skeptically then eyed his tuxedo. “Awfully expensive tux for someone who isn’t rich.” She commented wryly.

“Bruce’s party, he wants me here, he pays. I don’t normally wear suits, let alone ones that cost more than six month’s rent.”

She studied the tuxedo again. “Six months, huh? That still affords you a pretty nice apartment by Gotham standards.”

He bobbed his head to the side in acknowledgement and studied her again, trying to make sense of her. “So, what does he have on you?”

She cocked her head to the side and stared at him in confusion as she tried to figure out what he meant. Her face scrunched in annoyance and her entire posture stiffened once she figured it out. “If you think Tim has to blackmail me into being his friend, you vastly underestimate your brother’s charms.”

“No I don’t.” Jason scoffed at her. “I meant bringing you here.”

She raised an eyebrow at him and set her mouth in a firm line. “You think he has to blackmail me to spend time with him? How is that better?”

“I think he blackmailed you to get you to come to this specific event. And I think that because I heard him say it to you in the hallway a little bit ago.” Jason responded matter-of-factly, taking another swig of his drink.

“Ah…” She looked back down at her drink and took a long sip trying to figure out how to respond. Well on the bright side, he wasn’t insulting Tim with his question, he was trying to understand if she was a threat. But, she wasn’t going to make it that easy for him. She looked back over to him and gave him a pointed look. “If it was something I wanted to share, it wouldn’t be blackmail material.”

Jason grinned at her “True.” Still staring at her expectantly.

“Let’s just say there are things I would rather… uh…” she looked around cautiously, “Bruce Wayne, not know about me.”

Jason raised an eyebrow at her. “Is that so?”

“Yeah… Oh! No. Nothing like that. I’m not like Catwoman or one of the sirens or anything.” She waved her hands frantically in front of her.

He chuckled. “Honestly I don’t think that would be considered an issue for him.”

She cocked her head to the side, “True. The most bizarre relationship ever.”

“Not when Joker and Harley once existed.”

“Most appalling relationship ever.”

Jason chuckled and looked into his glass until he realized what she had said. “Wait, how did you know…”

“What?”

“Catwoman and…” he motioned vaguely with his hand. She hadn’t confirmed she knew Bruce was Batman and he wasn’t about to out that particular secret if she didn’t know.

“Ohh,” She nodded in understanding and gave him a grin. “Your family isn’t as slick as they think they are, Red.”

Jason stared at her dumbfounded for a few seconds. She knew their secret and apparently Tim, the one person that matched Bruce in paranoia, wasn’t worried about her in the least. “And he’s blackmailing you?” Jason asked incredulously. “How bad is your secret?”

“Not bad just… I don’t need someone critiquing all my life choices, you know? It’s a threat of annoyance, not retribution.”

“Mood.” Jason said lifting his glass to hers. She clinked hers to his with a sardonic smile.

She was beautiful, smart, elegant, tough, funny, judicious, cautious, and far out of his league. But he was here now and they were having fun and he wasn’t stupid enough to blow a brilliant opportunity. Jason gazed over his shoulder toward the dancefloor and back to her. He looked her up and down and gave her a roguish smile. “Care to dance?”

“I didn’t take you for a dancer.” She responded as she moved toward the dancefloor and held out her hand for him.

He grabbed her hand, holding it close to his chest and wrapped his other hand around her waist, pulling her closer to him. “It has its advantages.”

Marinette looked up at him with wide eyes, a light blush dusting her cheeks. “I see what you mean.” She ducked her head trying to collect herself. He wasn’t the first handsome man she’d danced with, why was this one making her lose her composure? She wasn’t 15 anymore, damn it!

“So how did you figure it out?” he asked casually. He clearly wasn’t upset, just curious.

“How does everyone not? Seriously, Bruce admitted it under oath.” She scoffed. “Plus you guys are terrible at hiding it. You don’t even try to act or look different. Oh look Bruce Wayne has a new ward or person who hangs out with the family all the time. Oh look, there’s a new vigilante with the same build and hair color. Pure coincidence surely. Then there’s the whole butts match thing.”

“Wow, been studying Bruce’s butt that closely, huh?” Jason raised an unamused eyebrow at her.

“Who said anything about Bruce’s butt?” She asked without thinking about it. Jason spluttered at her. Her eyes widened and her face paled as she realized what she had just said.

“Forget I said that,” she pleaded, her face turning bright red.

“Oh fuck no. That’s the best compliment I’ve ever gotten. A gorgeous woman has been studying my ass so intently she was able to identify me by it?” He gave her a brilliant smile so wide, his cheeks would surely hurt the next morning. “My ego will never come down from this.”

Marinette groaned in embarrassment and buried her head in her hands and then buried her head and hands in his chest, trying to erase all evidence of her existence. Jason wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tightly as he roared with laughter. Marinette could feel his body vibrating with the sound. The movement calmed her enough that she was willing to remove her hands from her face but not her face from his chest. “I hope you’ll let me return the favor someday.” He whispered in her ear.

Marinette jerked her head back to look at him, her eyes wide and cheeks a deep crimson. When her eyes met the wicked glint in his, she narrowed hers, a hint of a smile on her lips. “Good luck with that. Magic is a hell of a thing.”

Jason looked at her confused. That was not a response he was expecting… or understood. They stared in each other’s eyes for a few moments, both trying to figure out something about the other. Marinette finally broke the silence with a teasing smile. “So, you’re Jason, huh? I’ve heard a few things about you.” She chuckled lightly when he rolled his eyes at that and groaned lightly. “Did you really do a flip off of one building to crash through the skylight of another and beat up a bunch of henchmen then set their drug room on fire all while quoting Shakespeare?”

He barked out a loud laugh and smiled brightly at her, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “It was Austen.”

She smiled back at him but quickly narrowed her eyes and quirked her head to the side. “Prove it,” She challenged him, a playful lilt in her voice. He looked at her questioningly not sure how exactly he was supposed to crash through a skylight when there wasn’t one here. “Quote some Austen to me. I have a hard time believing the formidable… you, is secretly a book nerd.”

A delighted smile creeped onto his face. Marinette was the first person to ask him about his love for literature and encourage him to indulge in it. He tried to remember all the many Jane Austen quotes he’d memorized through reading and rereading her works so often. What would be the most impressive quote? Which one would wow her the most? He ransacked his brain, but suddenly his mind was blank. He couldn’t think of anything. The harder he tried to remember, the harder it was to think. He opened and closed his mouth a few times.

Marinette watched the panic flit across his eyes. She cringed internally. She got anxiety when she was put on the spot. Jason must be the same. It was one thing to do it in the heat of the moment, without thinking about it, but being asked to perform on demand, was a different kind of pressure. She gently cupped his cheek and brought his eyes back down to hers and gave him a soft smile. “Maybe you can show me later. I’ll still be impressed tomorrow.”

He looked in her eyes and instantly felt himself calm down. Her eyes were shining with compassion, like she understood exactly what was going on in his head and believed in him. He pulled her closer and gave her a tender smile in return. He ran his fingers slowly up and down her back, “The very first moment I beheld you, my heart was irrevocably gone.” He quoted quietly.

Marinette gasped at his frankness. She leaned her head against his chest, trying to hide the deep blush that enveloped her cheeks and spread to her ears. After a few moments of silent swaying in his arms, she cleared her throat and weakly spoke, “That… yeah, uh… that works. Point proven.”

He chuckled lightly, a proud smile working its way onto his face. He moved his hand so they were both wound around her waist, holding her close to him. She settled further into his chest, causing him to sigh contentedly. They danced together for a while, refusing others that attempted to cut in with either one of them, Marinette doing so significantly more politely than Jason did. After a while, Tim tapped her on the shoulder. “I thought I was your date.” He stated with a suspicious smile.

“Oh fuck off, Timbers.” Jason grunted at him, twirling Marinette so she was on the other side of him from Tim.

Marinette poked her head out around Jason’s side to give Tim a sheepish look. “Sorry, Tim. You were busy. Did you need a break from socializing?”

“Uh huh,” he responded sarcastically. “No, I’m good. And I thought you weren’t going to stay until midnight? Something…” he eyed Jason meaningfully, “come up?”

Marinette looked at him in surprise and searched for a clock. Surely it hadn’t been hours. If felt like it had just been a few minutes with Jason. She finally found the prominent clock that had been hung to countdown to midnight and gaped at it. “Oh my God. It’s almost midnight!” She looked back to Tim in time to see him pulling back from whispering something in Jason’s ear.

“Well, I’m going to go call Kon so we can ring in the New Year together in some way.” Tim said tightly. He leaned over and kissed Marinette on the cheek. “Happy New Year, Marinette. I hope it’s a happy one.” He gave Jason a pointed look.

“Happy New Year, Tim. I hope it is for you as well.” She smiled at him. As soon as he left, Jason pulled Marinette back into his embrace. “What was that about?” She asked him.

“What?” He asked innocently.

“The whispering. There isn’t a problem is there? You’re not going to have to run off 2 minutes before midnight?”

Jason chuckled at her. “No. No, that was him warning me to treat you like you deserve.”

“Like I…” she thought about it and gave him a half-hearted smile before muttering. “Not sure if that is a threat to you or me.”

“Threat for me, blessing for you.” Jason answered softly.

“You think too highly of me.” She shook her head with a small smile.

“Doubt it.” He answered back quietly. “And it sounds like I’m going to be held personally accountable if your year isn’t amazing, so I better get on that.”

“Sounds like you’ll have to keep a close eye on me. I can be a handful.” She said quietly, looking up at him from under her lashes.

“Rough job, but amazing work environment.” He answered just as quietly, pulling her even closer.

“And what are the benefits to giving you the job?” She gave him a playful smile.

“You get to see my roguishly handsome face and get Austen and Shakespeare quoted at you daily.” He grinned back.

“What if I prefer Verne or Hugo?” She asked with exaggerated innocence.

“Then I’ll learn.” His eyes turned serious and his voice husky.

Jason slowly moved one of his hands up her back, around her shoulder, and rested it on her neck, stroking her jaw with his thumb.

Marinette parted her lips in surprise and leaned into his hand.

Jason leaned down toward Marinette, stopping a bit short of her lips, giving her the chance to pull back if she wanted to.

Marinette rose up to close the gap, meeting his lips in a soft, tentative, hopeful kiss.

The room erupted into cheers and applause at the clock striking midnight. Balloons dropped from the ceiling all around them, but the only thing Jason or Marinette noticed was each other. The feeling of the other’s lips against theirs. The feel of the other’s hands on their bodies and the feel of their own hands on them. The warmth of each other’s bodies against their own. The deep need that grew the longer they kissed. When they finally broke apart, it was just far enough to catch their breath and stare in each other’s eyes.

“This was a great way to ring in the New Year.” She whispered against his lips.

He nodded absentmindedly, still in a daze from the kiss. “There’s still a few more time zones that need to be rung in,” he said leaning down to capture her lips again in a passionate kiss.

#maribat #jasonette #platonic timinette #New Years Eve #she never said it was his butt

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jaeheewillalwaysbemyfav · 3 years

Note

Ah, your work is so cute and it puts me in a good mood! You also have the characters personalities perfected! I was wondering if you could do a fic where maybe Mammon and MC are hanging out and MC comes out as trans (Ftm), but on accident (like Mammon sneaks a peak at his phone and noticed pride stuff and asks). Recently figured out I was and it’s been a bumpy ride and I just need a fic to cheer me up. Thank you if you do

You sir have been Most Patient, and for that I cannot thank you enough! This is super late, but I hope all is going well with you and your journey. ^-^ I also hope you still get some enjoyment out of this fic, even if it’s oh so very late.

Like… a year late. Maybe more. Probably more.

Sidebar, the setup for this feels kinda long but I also personally think it’s funny so I’m leaving it. I don’t have an editor to tell me no sooooooo :p

Content warnings: Accidental outing as trans, the mortifying ordeal of coming out, but otherwise this is gonna be pretty fluffy.

Also, this isn’t a warning, but since I usually do gn stuff, I’m gonna be extra clear and say this fic is about a transgender male MC who uses he/him pronouns. Ladies and theydies, if you’d like your time, please wait until I’ve opened requests again and I’ll be happy to write ‘ya something.

Cis people who want to be transphobic? Why are you even here lmao

MC Comes Out as FTM By Accident (feat. Mammon)

It’s a (relatively) quiet day at the House of Lamentation. Satan is still firmly in the scheming phase of his latest prank; Lucifer is in some parlour somewhere, sipping Demonus and listening to a record that would “somberly vibrate the flesh off of your mortal bones, MC”; and Levi and the twins are livestreaming a bet about how many of the otaku third born’s figurines Beel can bench press (the latter two are under threat of 1000 years of torture if any of the merchandise is damaged).

This leaves Mammon and MC chilling on one of the House’s many frighteningly expensive couches, sometimes chatting, sometimes just silently sharing Devilgram memes with each other.

(Asmo had been with them, but left after declaring that the sexual tension Mammon constantly radiated while around MC had become more pathetic than amusing. MC had just rolled his eyes and laughed, but judging by how many pillows Mammon had thrown his brother’s way and the dark blush on his face, he was taking the teasing more seriously.)

Personally, MC didn’t get why Mammon’s brothers gave him such a hard time. Sure he can be abrasive and his refusal to be honest despite how terrible he is at lying could get… frustrating, to say the least, but all in all he isn’t a bad person. Maybe demons are just bad at expressing genuine fondness for each other. Or maybe it just runs in the family, so to speak.

“H-hey, what are ‘ya staring at?!” Oops. MC didn’t even realize he’d been eyeing Mammon for that long. Not that he minds getting an extra eyeful of Mammon...

“Sorry, just spaced out for a minute there,” he says.

Neither break eye contact for a long moment.

Shit, this is awkward. Think, MC, say something!

“So did you see this video of a hellhound on a trampoline—”

A glass-shattering shriek echoes through the House of Lamentation, followed by — oh that is actual glass shattering — and the plip-plap footsteps of someone running with bare, wet feet. Seconds later, a furious and appropriately damp Asmodeus comes flying down the stairs, with a weird orange and white towel on his head… Aaaaand nothing else on. MC doesn’t get to process any more than that before Mammon pounces on him, straddling him and covering his eyes with a hand.

“Asmo! What the hell are you doing, running around naked and screaming?!”

“I think you know why, you stupid scumbag!” Asmo retorts with an affronted flip of his hair. Or at least MC thinks it was his hair, all he knows is he just got lightly splashed. Why does he smell citrus?

“What are you even talking about?”

“I was going to take a nice, relaxing bath to scrub off your desperation for MC’s affections—”

“I am NOT desperate!”

“— but when I washed my hair, you know what happened?”

“...You confused orange juice for shampoo?” Mammon drawls. MC doesn’t need his vision to picture the smirk on Mammon’s face.

“How dare you,” Asmo hisses at much lower volume than before, “I would never confuse any of my bathing products.” His voice immediately returns to its regular cadence. “No, someone snuck dye into it, or replaced it, or cursed it or something! Because now,” a towel smacks wetly against the floor, “my hair looks like this!”

Mammon howls with laughter, prompting Asmo to make several sounds MC semi-confidently determines to be swears in Infernal… or whatever the native language of the Devildom is called.

He paws at Mammon’s hand obscuring his vision. If Asmo’s hair has been turned into a creamsicle by some prank gone wrong, he very much wants to see the damage. Unfortunately, Mammon doesn’t budge.

“Not that this isn’t extremely hilarious, but what does it have to do with me?”

Asmo squawks indignantly. “What does it— It was obviously you, you idiot!”

Finally, Mammon removes his hand from MC’s eyes to point an accusatory finger at Asmo and proclaim, “No way!”

The brothers’ petty argument fades into white noise as MC beholds Asmo’s hair. It truly is something else. The demon’s curls have gone from a peachy pink to a swirled mess of neon orange, with pieces of the original colour peaking through here and there. It cannot be played off as intentional or good in any way. There are even patches of his skin that are dyed orange as well. It’s pretty hilarious.

MC is starting to lose feeling in his legs.

“Uh, Mammon? You mind getting off of me?”

Eyes enormous, the Avatar of Greed does just that, and instead presses himself into the other side of the couch like a startled cat. Asmo rolls his eyes and turns his attention to MC.

“You’re not overwhelmed with the most poorly hidden crush of the millenia, right? Would you mind helping me sort this mess out?” he asks. “Think about it. It’ll just be you and me, all glistening and—”

“Not helping your case,” MC retorts, carefully keeping his eyes above Asmo’s waist, “but yeah, whatever cursed soda got into your hair stuff is probably close enough to normal stains that my tricks will help get them out. But! You need to put on some clothes first.”

“Spoilsport~ But if you insist…” Asmo smiles beatifically and saunters back to his room, making absolutely no effort to cover himself as he goes.

I’d kill for his confidence, MC thinks. He promises Mammon he’ll be back as soon as possible and takes his leave, following the trail of watery footprints.

~~~

Mammon remains folded into the corner of the couch, pouting. Of course Asmo had to come and steal MC away from him, he can’t have any time alone with him ever! There’s always some stupid shenanigans that interrupt it—

MC left his phone.

It’s sitting innocuously on the couch, face down. Unguarded.

Vulnerable.

He shouldn’t. He won’t! That’s MC’s phone. Mammon may be a demon, but he’s a demon with standards. He will totally respect MC’s privacy. He’s not even tempted. Who cares about some human’s phone anyway?

...What if it’s unlocked?

“Oh screw it.”

The phone’s in his hand before the indent it left in the couch cushion can spring back in full. It is, in fact, unlocked, and open on the photos app for some reason. The photos are organized in time based folders. Mammon scrolls through the more recent ones, which consist mostly of pictures of the brothers, some with MC, some not — hey, when did MC take that picture of him?! — until he comes across a folder simply labelled “Pride”.

“Tch, they have a whole folder dedicated to Lucifer? Gross!” Mammon remarks as he opens it.

Jealous as he may not be of MC dedicating a folder to Lucifer instead of him anyone else, new pictures of Lucifer could sell for a pretty penny on the Devildom black market…

Oh. Oh. These are not photos of Lucifer.

Mammon’s not the most knowledgeable about the human world, but he knows a Pride parade when he sees one. It looks like MC had a really nice time, smiling and laughing with a group of people in brightly coloured clothes. The album ends with a wide shot of MC and his friends in a line doing various corny poses. Each one has a distinctly coloured flag draped across their shoulders like a cape. MC’s is a 5 striped design of bright blue, pink, and white bars. The wrinkles on the flag/cape suggest it was recently unpackaged.

Something about those colours pings at Mammon’s memory, and with a bit of effort it comes to him: when MC first came to the Devildom, his phone background involved those colours! Asmo had seen it and asked him about the colour choice, to which he’d responded with some blustering nonanswer and then promptly changed the background.

Did MC… think that any of them would judge him for being trans?

“Okay,” MC declares as he re-enters the room, “Asmo’s given up and is bleaching his hair, apparently magic demon pranks go way harder...than…”

Mammon freezes. The pair stare each other down for a few interminable seconds.

“...That’s my phone.”

“So it is…!”

“You saw the pictures, didn’t you.”

“Piiiiiiiicturrrrreessssss?” Mammon extends the word into several more syllables than is necessary. “What pictures?”

MC’s mouth does not say “Dude.” But the expression on his face very much conveys the sentiment nonetheless.

“Okay okay, I might have taken a little peek at your phone while you were gone. But it was just to make sure you didn’t leave it on! I locked it right away, I swear!”

“You’re still holding it.”

“Kuh-K-Keeping it warm! Cold phones lose battery faster!”

“...”

“Ugggggghhhhh okay! I looked a lot and saw everything! That what you wanna hear?!”

MC braces himself. “So…?”

“So what?”

“You don’t have any… questions?” he asks with a gesture towards himself.

“Uhhh, no?” Mammon pauses. “Oh wait, yeah, I have one.” Here we go. “ ‘MC’ and he/him pronouns are the right junk to call you by, yeah?”

MC blinks owlishly. “Yup— Uh, yeah, they are. Been that way for a while now… You really don’t—”

“MC,” Mammon says with a sharp toothed grin, “you really think humans are the only ones who get unsatisfied with what meat vessel or titles they’re assigned by the big man upstairs?”

Understanding bonks MC on the head with the same delicacy that Mammon carelessly tosses his phone back with. “Wait, r—”

“Let me show you how cool the Devildom trans flag is.”

#mrsketchydude #obey me #obey me mammon #obey me imagines #obey me trans mc #mine #my writing #mammon #happy pride month everyone #except where i live the parade is in august so it's more like pride summer #hot demon summer indeed lol #all the brothers are trans and/or nb bc i said so #but especially mammon #PS: i do not have a design for the devildom trans pride flag in mind #but if someone else does I Would Like To See It

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donutloverxo · 4 years

Text

His salvation

Note - for my love @evnscvll's 3k follower challenge. Congrats and i hope you like it.

Anon asked for "Mobster!steve making u dress in white lingerie specifically and act innocent so the purity of it is always a contrast to him and his gritty life whew it is hot in here"

Summary - You're Steves light. He can't let you go even if he knows he's bad for you.

Themes - mob au, smut, pwp, soft dark Steve, master/sir kink, dom/sub dynamics, cockwarming, slut shaming.

Pairing - Steve Rogers x reader

Word count - 2.3k

Masterlist is linked in the bio!

Steve had always believed he was born in blood and darkness. Doomed to stay there forever. Forced to do things he didn’t want.

To have people expect the world from him. Put him up on a pedestal. Having to match their standards.

Maybe no one is truly forced to do anything. Maybe that’s a lie he told himself so he could sleep at night.

It didn’t really matter either way. His soul would forever be tainted. No matter how many times he washed them, his hands will always be dirty.

His father died when he was only 20. As sad as he was. He was free as well. He was almost happy. He thought he wouldn’t have to live under the mobsters tight fist anymore. That he could use his power and his name for some good.

But he was surrounded by cartels, gangs and bad men. Who he owed many things to, on his fathers behalf. He never did try to stop fighting to get out of the quicksand, which only made him sink further. Believing that there would always be a light at the end of the tunnel. That someday he'd get to be normal.

Turns out the light was you. He decided so as soon as he saw you. Who knew a sweet simple waitress would save him from himself.

You were all smiles and politeness as you took down his and his associates orders. He still remembers your smudged pink lipstick, your white apron.

He found out how innocent and pure you were when you finally gave in and let him take you out to dinner. He doubted you had ever done anything bad in your life.

He choked on his wine when you told him that you’re a virgin. He had his suspicions but he really couldn’t believe how no one had ever touched someone as beautiful as you and took your innocence away.

He was elated when you told him that you wanted him to be your first. That you couldn’t be with anyone but him. That he had ruined you for other men.

The first time with you was the greatest night of his life. The best sex he ever had. Who knew it'd be with a virgin?

You weren’t like most women. Flaunting around their assets, leaving nothing to the imagination.

No. You were real and honest. So responsive to his touch. Your moans didn’t sound rehearsed, as if something you copied from watching too much gratuitous pornography.

Your cunt was adorned with soft dark curls. Completely natural. Just the way he liked. He drank from you as if he hadn’t drank anything for years. Revelling in the way he made you feel so good that you cried real tears for him.

But loving you came with a price. He couldn’t help but feel terrified of just how intense his feelings were. Because he knew you deserved the whole world. You deserved to be happy.

Because he knew he wasn’t the best for you. It wouldn’t be too long before you found out what he did for a living.

If you wanted to leave it would be understandable. But would he let you? He didn’t know.

He walked into your shared bedroom when you didn’t greet him at the door, he assumed you’d be asleep. But here you were putting on some sort of concoction on your face.

He put the little gift he got you aside and sneaked up behind you.

“Boo!” He screamed in your ear and chuckled at the startled noise you made.

You frowned as you spilled the multani clay all over your lap. All thanks to your man. You looked at him over your shoulder. Your frown creasing the drying clay on your face. “Thanks a lot.” You stood up removing your soiled robe.

His smile left his face as he delivered a harsh smack on your behind. You yelped and landed your palms down on your dressing table to support your weight.

He leaned in close to whisper in your ear. “What have we said about sassing me my dear?” He whispered lowly, caressing your bum before smacking it again.

“Only bad girls talk back.” You whimpered tears spilling from your eyes. “I’m sorry sir. I didn’t mean to.” You sobbed as he kept delivering sharp smacks to both your cheeks. Disappointed that you let him down, feeling the sharp pain in your ass, humiliated at the wetness pooling between your legs.

He sneaked a hand up your nightgown and past your panties. Pressing a thumb against your second hole. One he hadn’t had the opportunity to fuck yet. “Maybe I should some pay attention here as well.” He suggested pressing his thumb inside you.

“Whatever you want sir. I’ll do anything for you.” You breathed out as you felt him push two of his fingers in your heat. Working both your holes expertly. Almost tipping you over the edge.

You would be embarrassed of just how he could play with you so well that he had you cuming in mere minutes. But right now you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Too lost in the glorious pleasure. You had missed him terribly for the last few days. You couldn’t even touch yourself to relieve your aching pussy. It was against the rules laid out by Steve.

He pulled his fingers out of you all too soon as you whimpered at the loss. More tears escaping your eyes wetting the clay you had put on.

He delivered another sharp slap to your upper thigh. “Stop it. You know bad girls don’t get to cum.” He chastised your insolent behavior. He wanted to feel you gush around his fingers, but he couldn’t have you thinking you could speak to him however you liked.

To be so arrogant and bratty was unbecoming of you and he wasn’t having any of it. “It’s your own fault. You ruined it for both of us.” He said sternly as he moved you around to make you look at him.

His heart melted, all his anger fading away at the defeated and sad look on your face. “What’s this on your face?” He frowned at your brown face pack. Restricting him from seeing your face.

“It’s supposed to be good for your skin. I was just getting ready for our anniversary tomorrow.” You looked down shyly averting his eyes “I wanted to look pretty for you sir.” You mumbled.

You were too good to be true. So kind and considerate to him when he had just been so cruel and malicious to you. He supposed the stark contrast was only one of the million things he loved about you and your relationship.

He hummed at. Almost dropping to his knees then and there to finish you off with his mouth. But he had other plans for tonight.

He pushed his wet middle and forefinger, which were deep inside your cunt just a few seconds ago, against your lips. “You know what to do princess.” He instructed as you them in your mouth, suckling on them to clean them up.

He could hardly hold on. Just imagining your warm wet mouth around his cock had him almost cuming in his pants.

“Wash it off doll. You don’t need it. If you become anymore beautiful I won’t be able to keep my hands off of you.” He growled gripping your hips, perhaps a bit too harshly, grinding his hardness against your core.

You let out another pathetic whimper and gave him a small nod, complying instantly like you always do, walking towards the bathroom.

“Wait” He called out stopping you in your tracks. He handed you the paper bag. “Put that on.” He instructed.

“What is it?” You curiously peeked inside the bag.

“It’s your anniversary gift doll. Now go put it on.” He said growing more and more impatient by the minute. You hurried off into the bathroom. It was really more of a gift for him than you. But he had bought you some diamonds and pretty purses. He didn’t feel that guilty.

If he did have any semblance of guilt, it instantly faded away as he laid his eyes on you. Wearing the white satin baby doll he had picked out, with white lace on the edge of it. It ended just below your ass, giving him a generous view of your thick thighs and legs.

“Come here dove.” He extended an arm to you as you lingered at the bathroom door. Playing with the lace of your new nightie.

You gulped down and walked to him and stood in front of him. “Uh sir...” You trailed off as you couldn’t gather enough courage, not being able to concentrate with his large hands roaming freely on your body.

“What dove?” He asked feeling your ass over the smooth material.

“It – didn’t have any panties. Did they fall somewhere or something?” You stammered so embarrassed that you felt you’d cry.

You trusted Steve with your life but you couldn’t help the but feel exposed and embarrassed whenever his hungry eyes feasted upon you when you were naked. You had never put on any kind of lingerie for him before. Steve never seemed to mind your simple bras or comfortable granny panties. This was so new and scary for you. But at the same time oh so exciting.

“It did come with panties. But satin isn’t supposed to be good for you dove.” He explained. “I prefer you this way. It gives me free reign to do whatever I want with you.” He slipped a hand between your legs and caressed the inside of your thighs.

“At the end of the day. You are mine.” He pulled his hand away and jutted your chin up to make you look at him. “Now don’t you think you should apologize for being so rude to your master?” He asked and you nodded eagerly. “Get to work then. If you do a good job maybe I’ll go easy on you.” He said pushing on your shoulders to make you kneel in front of him.

Your shaky fingers worked to undo his zipper and pulling him out of his underwear. You gasped as his cockhead slapped your face before standing tall against his lower abdomen.

You licked your hand wrapping it around his thick length. You stroked him slowly watching in awe as beads of white cream oozed from his tip.

“You can do better than that.” He groaned nudging his cock against your lips and slowly pushing it in. He grunted at your warmth and wetness as he bottomed out, touching the back of your throat. Smirking as you gagged around him.

He looked down at you. Wishing he could rip out his phone and capture the image forever. You on your knees, looking up at him adoringly as if he’s your whole world, your mouth stretched wide as he fucked it. He was living the dream.

He grabbed a hold of your head with both his hands and hastily pushed and pulled out of your mouth. You cupped his balls and played with them, just as he had taught you.

He pulled you off of him. You looked up at him scared that he was still mad with you. “Aw don’t look so disappointed.” He cooed smoothening his hand over your hair “Need to cum in your cunt.” He rasped. “I’ll let you swallow it later dove. I plan to go all night.” He smirked as your eyes widened. Probably worried about how you could keep up with him. He did love testing you.

He impatiently manhandled you and dropped you on the bed. Making quick work of taking off his shirt and pants. He settled between your legs wrapping them around his waist. He wanted to taste you. To get lost between your legs. But he’d save that for later as well.

You bit his shoulder as he entered you. Still not used to his length. Your cunt burning in the best way at the hard and warm weight of him.

“Oh Steve...” You chanted his name and then a series of ‘oh my goodness' as he fucked into you, the sounds of his balls slapping your cunt so purely sinful. He didn’t mind you saying his given name while so delirious with pleasure. It was the only thing he was willing to look past.

He was almost there. Going days without you had only served to feed his hunger for you. But he held off. He wanted to see you finish first.

You looked so gorgeous, completely fucked out under him. Your breasts bouncing under the thin satin as he pounded into you. He lifted your hips and gave a particularly harsh thrust to strike your special spot.

From the way you screamed at the top of your lungs he knew he found it.

Being the sweet angel that you are, you had always been shy about the loud noises you made whenever he had his way with you. Even tried to stifle them. As if he would let you hide such beautiful sounds. He made sure to teach you that you could be yourself, as wild as you wished to be, in the bed you both shared.

When he felt your tight channel clenching around him, now he was the one who couldn’t keep from screaming. He spilled deep inside you rolling his hips to tease your clit.

He pulled your thigh over his hips, snuggling against your back. Gently palming and feeling your breasts and rolling his hips again to settle his soft cock in you in the right angle, to make sure he his seed stayed inside you. So he could be as close to you as he can. Feeling you, smelling you all around him.

You were his and he was yours. He would never let anyone or anything change that.

Tags will be in the reblog! Click the link in the bio to be join the taglist or shoot me an ask/dm.

Comments and feedback are appreciated! ❤❤

Beautiful dividers by @whimsicalrogers.

Please note that my work is not to be reposted or published anywhere other than my Tumblr or AO3 account without my permission. Reblogs are most welcome though!

#evnscvll3kchallenge #mob!steve rogers x reader #reader x steve rogers #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve x reader #steve x you #steve rogers reader insert #marvel au #chris evans x reader #avengers x oc #avengers x y/n #avengers x you #avengers x reader #marvel x reader

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