#ok color tags. falls over dead | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

myosotisa · 11 months

Text

Dial Drunk - s.h.

Steve Harrington x Reader

ǁ summary: Steve gets picked up drunk and taken to the sheriff's station. His emergency phone call goes unanswered.

ǁ tags: major character death, angst, grief, very small amount of comfort at the end. mentions of driving intoxicated. reader uses she/her pronouns. its really, really fucking sad ok i don't know what else you want me to say. i was listening to Dial Drunk by Noah Kahan in a fast food drive through and had this idea and started crying in the drive through. so here.

ǁ word count: 1.6k

When Steve got off work today, his intention was not to end up at a bar. It wasn’t to get drunk. It wasn’t to try to drive home anyway. And it certainly wasn’t to get pulled over, blow a 0.08, and end up handcuffed to a chair in the Hawkins Sheriff’s Office.

But what are intentions in the face of the consequences of your actions?

“Okay, Mr. Harrington,” the uniformed officer he didn’t recognize sighed as he slid into his office chair. “Do you have someone you can call to come pick you up? We’ve got a ticket written up – but because of your blood alcohol level, you might end up having to go to court.”

Fuck.

“Yeah…” Steve rubs at his face with his free hand, bringing it up to ruffle his hair, leaving it a total mess. He’s fucking exhausted, feels about ready to fall asleep sitting up. “Yeah, I got someone I can call.”

His vision blurs as the officer adjusts his desk phone to be within reach, the movement swimming like watercolor paint as he tries to blink back into focus. As soon as it’s set down, the officer pushes up out of his desk chair and disappears around a corner, leaving Steve alone with the phone.

The tremble of his fingers means nothing when he dials the number he knew by heart. Muscle memory he could probably follow in his sleep that would always lead him to the same place.

It rang once, twice, three times. Kept ringing. Then the voicemail recording kicked on.

“Hey! I’m not available right now,” your voice rang out, so familiar and comforting. He closed his eyes, trying to swallow down the sudden lump in his throat as he listened. “Sorry I missed you, but if you want to leave a message, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.” Breathing in deeply for the first time all night, and exhaling just as hard. “Hope you have an awesome rest of your day!”

The recording clicked off and the beeping tone telling him it had started to record came before he was ready for it. “Hey honey,” his voice caught in his throat on that godforsaken lump that he desperately tried to clear. “I miss you, I’m sorry I haven’t called recently.”

He took a deep breath, gripping the receiver so hard that the plastic croaked beneath his fingers. “I’m in some trouble, baby. I drank a little too much and tried to drive home. I know – I know what you’re gonna say. ‘Steve, you know Eddie will come and pick you up no matter what. I want you to be safe.’ And you’re right. You’re always right.” His next inhale feels like it’s choking him, tears springing to his eyes. “Anyway, I’m, uh, I’m at the Sheriff’s office. So if you get this… I’m sorry. And I love you.”

His thumb punched into the cradle, ending the call. Looking over his shoulder to where the officer had disappeared to, he took the chance. Dialed the number again, just as easily as he had before.

It rang once, twice, three times. Kept ringing.

“Hey! I’m not available right now. Sorry I missed you, but if you want-”

The line clicked dead. Head spinning on its axis, he saw a finger on the hook. Following the arm up, he came to the harsh eye contact of Sheriff Hopper. His mouth was set in a firm line, bags under his eyes, and skin lacking color. Like he’d been through the ringer, never quite recovered from his time in Russia.

“Hey Harrington,” his voice was gruff, stern. It made Steve want to shrink, want to duck out of the way of his ire. But he pushed that feeling down, numbed with liquor, and kept that steady eye contact. “A 0.08? Really?”

“Didn’t…” His tongue felt like dry cotton in his mouth, swallowing hard to no avail. “Didn’t, uh, think I’d drank that much.”

“Uh-huh.” Was the simple reply. Not uncaring, but also not exactly sympathetic. “I called Munson, he’s on his way to come pick you up.”

“No.”

Hopper almost cringed at the way Steve’s voice cracked on the word, expression shifting to one he couldn’t recognize in his intoxicated state. “No, she’ll call back. I know she will.”

The silence after his declaration was deafening. The only sound being the hum of the air conditioner that still ran on this humid summer night. “Okay, kid. Why don’t you come sit in my office with me?”

Before he could reply, the handcuff was being undone, left to hang off the arm of the chair while Steve brought his wrist up to rub at it. Hopper motioned for him to follow and, not having much option otherwise, Steve followed after with a slight stumble to his step.

The office was dark beside the warm toned lamp on the desk. There were papers everywhere, boxes of evidence stacked in the corner, a well contained explosion of empty coffee cups overflowing the trash can beside the table. Hopper pointed at one of the wooden chairs across from his office chair, one worded order of, “Sit,” which the younger didn’t hesitate to follow. The short walk had made some nausea kick up and he was eager to get back on solid ground.

A paper cup of cold water dropped down in front of him and when he opened his eyes again, Hopper was in his desk chair. Leaning forward with his elbows braced on the desk before him and focused entirely on Steve.

“I don’t have a better way to ask this, so I’m just gonna ask it.” His tone was softer, gentler. It made Steve’s skin crawl – being faced with that familiar look. The one that followed him everywhere he went. Pity. “Son, are you a danger to yourself?”

“No,” he was quick to reply, but it wasn’t exactly reassuring how he choked on the word. “Just… Just let me call again,” he pleaded, shifting forward to sit on the edge of the chair. “I swear, she’ll call me back. Just let me try one more time.”

“Hey! I’m not available right now. Sorry I missed you...”

“Steve.”

The refreshed recording – remembering what it sounded like, what you sounded like, had made the weight a little bit lighter. Made it a little bit easier to breathe. But he just wanted to hear it again, just one more time.

“Steve, look at me.” It took a monumental amount of effort but he looked up, blinking away the tears that were once again blurring his vision. Hopper’s face twisted in pain, faced with the sight of a sorrow he knew well. One he’d battled for years and years. Sorrow he’d accepted as his reality, been best friends with at one point. Sorrow that still hung in the back of his closet like a coat that didn’t fit right anymore but had too many memories to get rid of.

“You've got to stop doing this to yourself, kid.” The denial kicking in, hands coming up to fist in the ends of his hair that had gotten too long as he shook his head. “I know what you’re going through – really, honest to god, I do. But you’ve gotta stop doing this shit. She wouldn’t want–”

“What the fuck do you know about what she would want?!” He snapped, teeth bared. A wounded animal trapped in a corner. “You don’t know shit, nothing. Fuck…” His upper body collapsed, face burying in his palms as he hissed in breaths that felt like ice.

“... but if you want to leave a message…”

“It’s all I have, Hop,” came the broken whisper, muffled by clammy hands. “It’s all I’ve got, that’s it, that’s all.”

“I know,” was the grave reply. Stable, damning. “I know, kid.”

The crash of grief broke through the numbness – forced its way right through to the center and dunked him under water. Trickled out through his cold sweat, through his tears, through his sobs. It hit harder than any punch to the gut, any knock to the head, any beating he’d ever taken – and he’d taken more than his fair share. It tore him apart from the inside out and set fire to the pieces.

Reality cut through like a knife. Left him bloody, stinging, torn. The weight of the world falling back into place on his fragile shoulders. “I miss her so much… So, so much.”

“You’re gonna get through this. I know you are.”

He was shaking his head again. There was no way – it was impossible. There was no way to get through this, no way to get past this. No way to keep going.

“... I'll get back to you as soon as I can.”

Hopper stood, eyes looking out over the rest of the police station. “Hey, in here!” He called out the slightly opened door, which quickly squeaked wide on rusted hinges.

“Harrington, buddy,” Eddie knelt down beside his chair, eyebrows drawn together in concern. “Are you okay?”

Half hysterical, half broken, half ruined, Steve gripped Eddie’s shoulder so tightly it hurt. “She’s gone, Ed. She’s… She’s not coming back.”

“No,” was the soft reply, and Steve couldn’t tell who it came from through tear-blurred eyes and his own blood rushing in his ears. “No, she’s not coming back.”

And then he was being hugged. Held together by a set of tattooed arms that knew the loss as he did. Held afloat as the grief tried to drag him under again.

You weren't coming back. But he was still here. And that had to be enough.

“Hope you have an awesome rest of your day!”

#steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington angst #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington blurb #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #myo4harrington #myos ideas #i had to hurt him like this and im sorry for it

255 notes · View notes

kaitlynpcallmebeepme · 2 years

Text

Late Night Talking

Damian Wayne x Reader

Idea: Damian wayne x reader where he gets kicked on her fire escape and knocked out. She takes him in and tries to patch him up. His brothers get scared about his disappearance and go to find him not wanting to leave her company (she could be wanting to be a veterinarian and he's listening to her talk about cow's 4 stomachs (completely Dr. Pol knowledge, not actual veterinarian knowledge))

Requested: Nope.

Author’s Note: I tried to start this during my night shift, but I'm really tired right now and I work again tonight, so I need sleep (I ended up finishing this about a month later). This is Reader POV most of the time. Both reader and Damian are about 16, but I’m still thinking of the art and costume style of the Batman vs Robin animated movie instead of JDL: Apokolips War Damian. Family dynamics are based on the Batman: Wayne Family Adventures Webtoon series where they all have a somewhat working relationship. I have ideas in the works, but requests are still OPEN. Feedback is always appreciated, especially since I don’t know if I characterized Damian correctly. Also, tell me if you want to be part of a Tag List and I’ll tag you when I upload something new.

Warning: Injuries and blood mentioned, Veterinarian knowledge (that’s completely Dr. Pol based, should not be used for any factual diagnosis), a shirtless Damian, the Batfam crashing the party (although you only hear Batman and Nightwing talk), tell me if I missed any warnings

Word Count: 2,111

Curled underneath a cave of blankets, I was reading Murder on the Orient Express for the ten billionth time. Snow was falling outside of my room in Gotham, building up a layer on top of the fire escape outside of my window. I needed a break from reading all of my other Veterinarian books. I haven’t even applied to any college for undergrad much less to be a Veterinarian yet, but if I was going to get an internship somewhere before school, then I wasn’t going to limit the animals that I worked on. I’m currently reading about a cow's four stomachs.

**THUD**

What the fuck was that. It sounded like something dead hit my window, but louder. It better not be another bat. I got in trouble from my parents trying to help one that was almost dead on my fire escape. I put down my book, grabbed a baseball bat I kept by my bed for intruders, and made my way toward my window. When I opened the blinds, there was this dark limp figure spread out over my fire escape. Through the darkness I could make out an R in a lighter color on his chest. Robin. Wow, Robin is almost dead on my fire escape. I opened the window and tried to assess what I could of his current condition. A sword layed next to him and his face was cut and bruised up with a pretty bad one around his eye as the snowflakes started to cover his unmoving long eyelashes. I poked his ribs with the end of my bat. He groaned in pain. Well he wasn’t dead, at least that’s good. Figuring it was a better idea to have Batman and Robin on my good side, even though I couldn’t think of a reason I would be on their bad side, I decided to help the injured boy instead of leaving him vulnerable to the jaws of Gotham.

I grabbed Robin’s wrists, hoping that they were not broken, and started to drag him into my room. He groaned out of pain every time I pulled, but he didn’t fight me. Probably didn’t have the energy anymore. I needed to figure out why he was so weak. I picked him up as best as I could with my weak arms and laid him on my bed. I didn’t care if he got my sheets bloody, they would wash out. I quickly went back to the window, whipped all the snow off my balcony so no one suspected anything, shut my window, latched it, and closed my blinds. No one is seeing this vulnerable Robin. The city needs him and the rest of the Batman group to be strong and fearless.

I looked at the rise and fall of his chest, ok he’s breathing. No hugely bleeding spots that I can see, but I’m not sure if he’s going to let me take off his suit to get a really good look. I slowly move my hand toward his neck, but retract it before I can get too close. Best to try to see if he’s awake now and establish at least a working relationship.

“Robin.”

“What?” He didn’t sound confused, so that’s good. He kinda sounded like he was giving me the cold shoulder, but I’m not going to take it too personal. He probably had a rough night.

“Ok, well, my name is Y/n. I’m not going to hurt you or fight you. You landed on my balcony half dead and really hurt. I’m not going to force you to do anything, but is it okay if I take off your suit or parts of it to make sure you’re not extremely hurt or bleeding anywhere else?”

“No.” I was expecting that. “You’re asking me to drop my guard and be a defenseless civilian.”

“First of all, even in your REALLY battered state right now, I’m pretty sure you could kick my ass if you wanted to, not gonna to lie. Second of all, would anyone who’s trying to help you hurt you?” That was probably a stupid question. He’s probably been double crossed countless times.

“In my line of work. Yes.” Figured.

“Okay, it’s your choice to bleed out if I can’t figure out if you’re bleeding at all.” I picked up whatever book was closest. Dang it, some of his blood got on the cover. Well, it made Murder on the Orient Express more murderous. I just kept reading my book on the floor. He could leave if he wanted to. I couldn’t stop him. I didn’t even turn when I heard him grunting through the pain and rustling my bedspread. I thought I was going to hear his boots hitting the ground next to me to make his way out of my room, but that’s not what I heard at all. It sounded like the clicks of a keyboard and then the sound of metal hitting each other and the soft thud of it hitting my bedspread. I turned to look up at him. He was sitting on the edge of the bed with his chest plate armor off along with his cape/hood, but his domino mask was still on. That would be enough. His chest was littered with old white scars, purple and green bruises at different stages of healing, and some new red cuts that he probably got tonight. I put my book back down and grabbed some exam gloves while he heaves himself to lay back on my bed. “Anywhere you’re super concerned about?” Figured it would be better to ask. I’m pretty sure he hurts all over, but I couldn’t tell that, and I currently can’t see any gushing blood on his skin. Just some pretty purple bruises that scored his ribs, some small but long cuts that were bleeding near the top of his chest, and a couple of white scars painted his lower abdomen. For someone you assumed who’s been through a lot to be his age and fighting with Batman, he didn’t look too bad. He shook his head no at me.

I left him on my bed and returned with a small bar soap and a small plastic bucket, which I use to shave my legs with, filled with tempered water, and a couple washcloths.

I got the washcloths wet and dabbed them on the soap so it wouldn’t sting his cuts too badly, but clean his slightly dark skin so there would be a less chance of infection. I kept looking up at his eyes. His emerald green eyes. Part of my brain wants to look at his eyes just for pleasure and the other wants to make sure his nervous system is okay.

“Why do you keep staring at my eyes? Do I look that bad?” Even though his facial expression was completely serious, I couldn’t tell if it was a joke or not. I decided to play it safe and repeat the first logical thing that came to my head.

“Well, I’m watching the skin behind your eyes because I don’t know what other people hit you over the head tonight. So if the skin behind your eyes turns black, also called racoon eyes, it could mean you had severe head trauma and your cerebrospinal fluid, which is the fluid surrounding your brain and spinal cord, is leaking and you need way more care than I could provide. You would need a hospital at that point.” His facial expression to me couldn’t tell whether to be impressed or offended.

“You seem too young to be a doctor.”

“You seem to young to be Batman.” Damn my big mouth. I was SURE he was going to march out of my room. He did stare at me with an ‘if looks could kill, you’d be six feet under’ look. Better try to explain myself quickly. “Both of my parents are ICU doctors who specialize in trauma, and since I want to be a Veterinarian, some of their knowledge rubs off on me.”

I tried to avoid his eye contact after that because I couldn’t tell whether I was on his good side or not. I couldn’t do much with my limited current skill, but I squeezed his skin together to make the skin as close together as possible before I put some gauze and bandages over them, which were Superman bandaids ok, don’t judge me. I look up at him while finishing my work to find his deep emerald eyes focusing behind me where my books lay. I turned over my shoulder to find him staring at my Veterinarian book.

“You like animals, because you keep staring at my Vet book?”

“They’re nicer than people sometimes and that’s the reason why I’m a vegetarian now.” You’re just glad the thick air between the two of you has broken. He was actually becoming a better person to talk to.

“You just gotta make sure you replace your nutritional intake that you would have gotten from meat. That’s the main mistake people make when going vegan is they become too deficient in protein.”

“Why do you want to be a Vet, may I ask?” I sat next to him on my bed as I was done patching him up and we were just talking like old friends at this moment.

“Animals are just so complex it’s really cool. For instance, cows have four stomachs and if they have gas trapped in their 4th stomach, how you fix it is you twist their head so their sense of balance gets off, roll them on their back, listen for the stomach which would sound like a balloon, sew it to the belly wall, then roll them right side up so the stomach stays in the correct place.”

“I actually have a cow that I rescued from a slaughterhouse.” He shared this fact before thinking that maybe he shouldn’t mention it. What was she doing to me?

“WOW Really?!?! I mean, I don’t think you would let me see them because that would reveal your identity, but that’s still really cool.”

**BANG!!**

A noise of someone landing not so gently on my fire escape silenced the room. Robin put his finger to his lips and I nodded in response not wanting to move or make a sound.

He silently got off my bed and crept over to the window, making sure to stay crouched out of sight. He slowly moved the curtain to peek through the glass. After a moment he threw open the window.

“What are you doing here?”

“Your tracker was off and you weren't answering any of your calls. We tracked your last location to around here and found the balcony with significantly less snow on it figuring you had to go into hiding.” Ok that HAD to be Batman, there was no way that deep scary voice wasn’t him. Even though you haven’t had any interaction with him before, and you’d like to keep it that way, that’s just what you’d imagine him sounding like.

“Who you got in there birdie that you had to take your shirt off for?” Ok this was a completely less mature voice than Batman. I suspect it’s one of the other and maybe former robins, but I couldn’t tell which one without being able to look out the window.

“I didn’t want to leave her company. I’ll be out in a sec.” Robin closed the window with more force than you think he intended.

“So there IS a SHE! We were scared you were dead again.” You heard muffled through the window glass and THAT you couldn’t help but laugh at.

I picked up Robin’s suit as he turned back towards me and I helped him get it on without messing up my stitching job too much. As the final pieces of his hood came on and he picked up his sword, he turned towards me in the darkness of my room.

“So this is goodbye I guess.” I say with only a little sadness behind it. I mean, what else am I supposed to think. He landed on my balcony by accident. He has no obligation to me, nor would I think he would want an obligation.

“Don’t be certain of that beloved.” Woah, I like that nickname. “I might just crash on your balcony on purpose next time.” He said with a smirk. He turned and opened my window and left without a trace. Well, not exactly, because I heard multiple metal clanks of the fire escapes from multiple people jumping on them. Maybe tonight wasn’t the worst night to get lost in a book.

1K notes · View notes

unicornofgt · 2 years

Text

alright, i have come to the decision i am keeping this blog up as an archive and leaving the gt tumblr community for the foreseeable future.

when i made my post about chamomile-g-tea’s damaging treatment of my story, gtms, my goal was to acknowledge the situation so i could hopefully move forward and restore gtms/my blog as mine again, without her influence. and while i anticipated backlash, some of the responses were just...downright disturbing. lots of comments echoed a victim-blaming sentiment that i am responsible for the emotional and creative damage done to me by another person because ‘why didn’t you just say no or tell her to stop?’ not only does this ignore the several attempts i did make to express discomfort and set boundaries—which were not respected—but even if i didn’t manage to express a ‘no’, that doesn’t make what happened ok; it doesn’t erase the year of crippling pressure and guilt i lived with and still struggle to shake daily. realizing that so many people in this community think otherwise is just...disturbing. it’s disturbing. that’s the only word i can think to use.

the response to all this does not make me feel safe being here—that’s what this situation has unfortunately showed me: that the audience i hoped to allow to view my reclaiming process would also contain the same crowd who make me feel so unsafe—and why the fuck would i let those people see something as personal as that? why would i let them see anything? it’s made me understand i can’t continue to heal myself and my writing if i am posting it for other people, especially harmful people. and even though it turned out this way, i’m glad i gave it a shot; that i made that post as an effort to see if it was even possible or worth it to restore this space—even if the answer was no! absolutely fucking not!—because it saved me from even more time spent sharing my work with people who do not respect me as a person or a creator. i’m glad i tried, however much it sucked, because it allowed me to understand: it is not just one person in this community i feel unsafe with, but a solid percentage of the community at large that i just cannot healthily engage with, and no amount of blocking will fix that.

but of course this is not the only situation that showed me this community’s true colors—the dismissive or outright aggressive response to the calling out of racism in our tropes has also been deeply disturbing. to clarify, there is no problem in identifying with and finding comfort or catharsis in problematic tropes such as the pet trope, but there is a problem with using that comfort to make others feel unsafe and speak over people of color. and the solution to this trope problem is very simple—generally apply critical thinking skills to the media you enjoy, and tag your shit properly (dead dove, particularly when the giant owner/abuser doesn’t face consequences and/or if the abused/abuser fall in ‘love’—dead dove is not actually currently used in this community, that’s the problem). but rather than taking this as an opportunity to listen and improve, it was instead used as a chance to lash out at and make clear that poc are not welcome in this community and come secondary to the feelings of white creators and readers.

over the last few years, this community has fostered and been exposed for bigotry such as terfs, ableists, racists, etc, and especially in the current political era, this is no longer a community i want to share my work with or even just lurk in. and i know on the surface this community seems progressive, but take a better look and you’ll find members of the community doing and saying…questionable things, or keeping quiet and enabling their friends who do and say questionable things because they would rather be passive and polite than be genuinely kind and compassionate through active accountability.

of course this is the risk you take interacting with any person ever—but it’s especially taxing to look around at such a small, close knit community you know is riddled with these problems and wonder if the people making innocent posts are actually harmful; if they prioritize their comfort over the safety of marginalized people, if they even see you as a full person, and for me, personally—if they are willing to overlook consent to blame you for your trauma and defend the person who inflicted it. it’s taxing to explain basic basic concepts to strangers over and over in a place that prides itself on being a safe space, where people just have fun and mentally escape from irl hardships. it’s taxing to ride out shitty, hateful treatment when you are just simply one person (voluntarily providing free services btw) with only so much energy and fucks to give. it is not worth the strain it puts on you as a person, nor is it your responsibility to sit there and accept it, and i am not the only creator in this community who feels this way. we are fucking tired.

quite simply, this is not a community i feel comfortable participating in or sharing anything with. and that’s a shame, because there are wonderful, creative and caring people here who i have enjoyed sharing this space with, and maybe someday i’ll give this community another chance, but currently it’s just not worth the time of day. and i want to make it clear: my leaving is not simply because of just one person or just one situation—that i could handle—it is the community itself that is the root problem; that continues to be harmful, in multiple contexts—that is the reason why i and several other creators are leaving for greener pastures and more enjoyable communities—or just simply for a fucking moment’s worth of peace, because lord knows you won’t find it here.

#i considered making this post just ‘yea i feel unsafe here i’m leaving’#but i did want to post a clear explanation for mutuals still here n the ppl who come across my blog in the future #instead of leaving it to speculation and guess work #so i wrote a fucking essay lmao #but there are more personal details i didn’t go into bc they’re distressing and some of y’all are straight awful<3 #however i will say you are not inside anyone else’s head if they say they feel unsafe it is not for you to question that #anyways privileges to myself and my writing are officially revoked #when i’m ready to share writing it’ll be with close friends in private #and maybe eventually on another site like ao3 but if that happens it won’t be for a while #and if i do post gtms there it will prolly be v different from the version here bc it’ll be the restored and improved version #i hate the version on this site<3 #for now i just need to get back into the swing of things bc rn it is. so hard to Think at all #i’ll also be doing things on my fandom account i am just leaving this community bc good lord #if you told me a month ago i’d be leaving this community i’d have been devastated but now?#having seen sm of this community’s true colors one after another?#i don’t give a fuck now #the only thing i feel is relief #the community i thought i was apart of does not exist and it made me physically sick to realize and experience that reality #for all its problems i did not think so MUCH of the gt community was this vile #i’ve run this blog for years and closing this chapter just brings me closure and peace #and to those of y’all who are alright n still here: good fucken luck lmfao wish y’all the best dealing w this shitshow #gt community #giant/tiny #gt #g/t #sfw g/t #gtms #gt mech suits

127 notes · View notes

ao3feed-irondadspiderson · 7 months

Text

Ghost Soldiers

https://archiveofourown.org/works/50615668 by Anonymous Gwen Stacy falls into a different reality where the Avengers are nice people, Peter Parker was Spiderman and died in the snap, and the super soldiers are interested in her? Half inspired by another fic, and the other half wanting the Duo to really tame a brat. ‘Have you ever put your face up to one of those old dummy thick TVs? The ones that let out the static and make your hair stand on end? Yeah, ok so imagine that feeling but like all over your body’. Gwen had been falling in this strange void for what felt like days, there wasn’t even a sensation of falling anymore, just existing, in an unmovable place. Thank god time didn’t seem to pass here because her phone games were the only thing keep her sane. She was sitting in a lounge position with her mask down playing solitaire. Definitely living the dream. Her surroundings were basically a purple swirling void with random flashes of color, pretty amazing in theory, but yeah, after 5 minutes, gets kind of old. Words: 723, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Avengers (Comics), Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Gwen (Comics), Captain America - All Media Types, Winter Soldier (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/M, M/M, Multi Characters: Tony Stark, Clint Barton, Steve Rogers, Gwen Stacy | Spider-Gwen, Peter Parker, Wade Wilson, Matt Murdock, James "Bucky" Barnes, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Pepper Potts Relationships: Steve Rogers/Gwen Stacy, Gwen Stacy & Tony Stark, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Avengers Team Members & Gwen Stacy | Spider-Gwen, Peter Parker & Tony Stark Additional Tags: Spider-Man Identity Reveal, Gwen Stacy | Spider-Gwen-centric, Hurt Gwen Stacy | Spider-Gwen, Fluff and Smut, Angst and Feels, Snark, Bisexual Gwen Stacy | Spider-Gwen, Gwen Stacy | Spider-Gwen is a Brat, Awesome Gwen Stacy | Spider-Gwen, Peter Parker Acts Like a Spider, Avengers Family, Dead Peter Parker, Polyamory, All The Ships, Kinky, Kink Discovery, Deadpool being Deadpool, Typical Deadpool Violence, Not Beta Read, My First AO3 Post, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Meme Lord Peter Parker, Companionable Snark, Everyone Is Poly Because Avengers read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/50615668

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #iron dad and spider son #spider son #iron dad #peter parker #tony stark

2 notes · View notes

lesbiangallagher · 1 year

Text

Fandom tag!! thank u for tagging me @suchagallabitch 🥰

Your First Fandom(s): i wasn’t going to do this but fuck it, here’s all the fandoms i remember being in: south park, left 4 dead, pokemon, homestuck, the book of mormon, les mis, the lorax, camp lazlo, one direction, shameless us (there’s more but i do not remember currently)

How did you first get into fandom? i liked writing self insert fic and i used to spend hours on youtube watching AMVs to like, bullet for my valentine in 2007 lol i found ffnet and deviantart soon after and the rest is history!

How long have you been engaging with fandom spaces? 2007 so officially 16 years. i was 11 reading south park yaoi

How often do you read fanfics? i open ao3 every single morning to see if any of my favorite wips have been updated. i love wips, i used to not read them bc i was always afraid the writer would abandon it but now i’ll read absolutely anything. i love the journey of reading wips now. it’s like my morning newspaper

Top 3 characters from your current fandom(s): mickey milkovich, ian gallagher, and now retsuko from aggretsuko…i feel like i am in no fandom rn, just passin by. i’m like the old man that lives on the edge of town who still comes to the street events

Have you ever written a fic for a fandom? yeah i’ve written a bunch of drabbles on my blog and uploaded two finished works, both one shots for the spicy gallavich collab 2021 and 2022…i am particularly proud of this year’s spicy fic. somehow reached 11k words and it’s about lesbians mickey and ian 💃 search lesbiangallagher on ao3. but in the past i feel like i’ve written at least one fic for every fandom i’ve been in…and i’ve been in a LOT of fandoms lol but they’re all on my old blog that only og rocco fans know about

Have you ever drawn fanart for a fandom? if so, shout it out! nah i’ve never been a fanart type of creator. i’m sure i’ve drawn characters jokingly or something

Share a personal headcanon that you feel very strongly about: since 2014, i have a HARD and STRONG headcanon that mickey is a trans dude

You're trying to convince a friend to get into your current fandom(s) with you. what episode, clip, or scene are you showing them? i don’t want anyone to get on the shameless US train because it was a whole lot of suffering but if i had to: the episode where they steal the meat from the meat truck. for aggretsuko: the episode where ton and retsuko go at it at karaoke

And finally, what does fandom mean to you? it’s always been an ~escape~ for me, where all my unhinged thoughts are welcome. i’ve seen just about everything at this point, but i still love the idea of community who bond over One niche thing

SECOND TAG ok slay!!!

name: rocco

age: i’ll be 27 in may 😵‍💫

Where in the world are you? georgia, us of a

The meaning behind your URL: i’m lesbian ian gallagher

Your second favourite color: i guess it’s orangey yellow

any pets? my cat, minky and two birds merlin and mulder

favourite season? fall

Last thing you read: new update of dead meet🫣

Last song you listened to: lavender haze by miss swift

What are you wearing right now? black skeleton dress and cooking apron

A hobby of yours: i read a LOT, i’ll read practically anything lol. now that i have a new glasses prescription, i feel invincible

and finally, what are you up to today? currently making breakfast and getting ready for vacation this week 😗

i don’t know who’s all been tagged but feel free to do this!! i am always reminded of myspace with these lol

3 notes · View notes

killyourrdarlingss · 2 years

Text

Tagged by @spaceboxkitty , thank you !! And sorry this is late ♥️

Relationship status: single !

Favorite color: lime green/ neon pink

Favorite food: I'm always a sucker for yam/sweet potato fries 😌♥️

Song stuck in my head: Fever Pitch by Hotel Mira/That's What I Want - Lil Nas X

Time: 2:43am ,😅

Dream trip: I know it sounds dumb but Vegas !! I want to go to Vegas so fuckin badly !!!

Last book I read: the whisper man by ..... (Insert author here) it's okay so far, just a horror book about this young boy who moves into a house and starts talking about a whisper man who lives in the floor and his father is super fucking concerned about him ... I have a bit left of it ! It's just ok !

Last book I enjoyed reading: Freezing , I can't remember the author at the moment but it's about a morgue photographer who falls in love with quite honestly a dead woman and gets obsessive over her . Literally a fucked up book but listen it was so jarring and suspenseful? Very good book . I need to go find the author's name but I love her works

Last book I hated reading: uhh I can't remember tbh, I think it was some bad poetry ?? Maybe some snippets from novels people kept trying to make me read. Idk. I'm kind of picky with actual published stuff

Favorite thing to cook/bake: I really like cooking everything for taco bowls ... Literally one of my go to cook options, and baking? Any type of cake :)!

Favorite craft to do in free time: I like mixing drinks and reorganizing the posters on my wall in kinda like, scrapbook style if that counts ?

Most niche dislike: I have so many... Here's a general one, probably people who don't like animals, like any animal, I don't trust y'all and the people I meet who don't like pets are always insane as fuck so yeah that I guess .. I just don't get it.

Also I hate Weezer if that's more niche

Opinion on circuses: I'm literally on Tumblr dot com

Do I have a sense of direction: oh maybe but as far as my sister and mom are concerned, absolutely not. I'm always kind of wrong in some way LMAO...

Thanks for this !! I had fun and for people I'm tagging,,,,

Tag 10 people you want to get to know better !

@swearingcactus , @its-deputy-caleb , @dontcallmecanada , @brightmouth , and whoever else see's this ✌️

#GOTHIE FAQ #about #Hopefully this makes sense it's so so late lmao #thanks for the tag !!#tag games #if you want the full thing. dm me ill send the list for easy copying

5 notes · View notes

we-have-bangtan · 3 years

Text

Again.

Pairing: Doctor! Yoongi x Patient! Reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Crack (??), Ex's, smut

Warning: Swearing, smut (just an old memory)

Synopsis: When Yn is forced to go to the hospital after falling down the stairs of her office. The doctor who was to attend to her was none other than her ex-boyfriend Min Yoongi.

A/n: let me know if you like it! And give me a reblog to support me!!!

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

_______________________________________________________

Yn turned over onto her back, her eyes still closed. She wondered silently why her normally soft bed was hard today. With another roll, she landed with a thud on the cold, hard floor, jolting her awake.

When the blinding lights of the room filled her vision, she suddenly regretted opening her eyes. She sat on the floor, rubbing her eyes to clear the sleep from them, oblivious to the drool on her chin. Her eyes opened in confusion when she saw the IV line on her wrist, her gaze following the line, attached to a bottle mounted onto an IV stand.

She sprang to her feet immediately, taking in her surroundings: the IV stand, the white bed, white walls, the hand sanitizer mounted on the wall, the white floor tiles, and the white blinds that kept the sunshine out.

A hospital? She guessed as she took in all the equipment, the machines that beeped every few seconds were a dead giveaway. Is this a private room? She asked herself, trying to find any clue which hospital this was when the door swung open.

Min Yoongi entered the room, wearing a white lab coat and a stethoscope around his neck. He walked over to her side and encouraged her to take a seat on the bed.

"Where am I?" Despite the fact that she already knew the answer, she inquired. "Take a wild guess," Yoongi replied dryly as he flipped through the papers on his clipboard. Yn racked her brain for the name of the hospital; she was certain she knew which one Yoongi had been working at, but her mind was blank, displaying only a buffering page similar to that of a 2004 Dell laptop.

"Did you really hit your head that hard?" Yoongi said what he was thinking, a little concerned for her safety. "Do you have a headache? Can you recall what you ate for breakfast or what happened just before you passed out? "He questioned.

"My head hurts a bit, so for breakfast, I had cinnamon crunch with milk, and lunch I had a sandwich. Walking down the stairs is the last thing I recall," She responded. All of her responses matched what her coworkers had told them, leading Yoongi to believe that Yn simply didn't know where he worked and that her head was okay.

He was irritated that Yn had no idea where he worked, but he forced his resentment to the back of his mind before informing her that she was in a private room at Asan Medical Centre in Seoul. "Wait, are you serious?" She yelled as she struggled to get out of bed.

"Yes, seriously," he explained, forcing her back onto the bed "You fell down the stairs in your office and one of your colleagues brought you in; you were unconscious for 5 hours; you will need to stay the night so we can run some tests on you; you will need to stay the night so we can run some tests on you," he added. "Why on earth do you have no idea I work at Asan?"He demanded once he was done briefing her.

"I would have noticed if you hadn't blocked me on all your social media pages," Yn said after some thought. She hisses, reminding him why she was blocked in the first place. "I wouldn't have had to block you if you hadn't started tagging me in those dumb Facebook memes," he retorted as he paging one of the nurses to come to change the IV bag.

"Is there something bothering you? Aside from your head," Yoongi inquired, reaching for his fancy click pen, which Yn had given him in college. "You still use that?" She inquired, her gaze falling on the royal blue color of the pen, the brand name has faded over time. He calmly replied, "I started using it once I got my residence, now answer the question."

To search for any injury, Yn moved her limbs around, starting with her feet. She turned them around to look for any discomfort before moving on to her legs, which were still perfect. She eventually tested her shoulders and despite her best efforts, winced in pain as she raised her left shoulder.

"Left shoulder, okay. Do you feel nauseous?" Yn shook her head as Yoongi asked more.

"Any ringing in your ears?"

"Nope"

"Is that gray hair on your head?" Yn interjected, pointing to a few strands at the start of Yoongi's hairline. He dismissed her and instead scribbled a note on his clipboard.

"OK, so you don't have any concussion symptoms, your hearing is good, and you're not feeling dizzy and your eyesight is better than ever before considering the fact that you could pick out my gray hair from that far. We still have some blood work to do and I'm putting you on observation tonight in case any symptom pops up, you're free to go home after that," Yoongi informed.

He reasoned that saying anything else would be unprofessional of him. Heading for the door when, "Yah, why am I in a private room in the first place?" Yn intervened, preventing him from leaving. Yoongi replied, turning around to face her, "I figured it would be more convenient for you."

"Bruh, do you have any idea how broke I am," she grumbled, crossing her arms over her stomach. "I ain't a hotshot doctor to be able to afford a private room in Asan Medical Centre," she sneered. "Who said something about you paying?" asked Yoongi. As he returned to her side. "So, who is going to foot the bill? You? " She inquired, he nodded, causing her jaw to drop. She was perplexed by his words and asked, "Why would you do that?" "What good is it to be a hotshot doctor?" He shrugged.

The mental picture of a very sleepy and confused Yn, with her hair all tangled up and a tiny spot of drool on her face had made him soft, and there was no stopping his heart from falling head over heels for her all over again as he walked out of the room, the smile he had been battling slowly crept into place...

Yoongi peeked into Yn's room after his shift, his shoulders slouching from the stress of his job. He had his coat and stethoscope wrapped over his arm, his hair slightly damp from the shower he had taken, his white t-shirt clinging to his body.

When they were dating, one of Yn's 'rules' was that if he wanted to get close to her, he had to shower after returning from the hospital because she hated the scent of antiseptic. With the scent of antiseptic all over her, he wondered how she was doing.

He discovered her in bed, knees drawn up to her stomach, phone in hand, the screen almost brushing her nose as she mindlessly scrolled through Instagram. Her food, which had been left on the side table, had not been touched.

He warned, walking into the room, "You'll go blind if you keep doing that." Yn's head snapped up at his voice but calmed down when she saw who it was. He drew up a stool next to the bed and checked what Yn had received from the hospital. Soup, kimchi, rice, and pickled radishes were served on the side (Yn hated those). "Is the food not to your liking?" Concerned about her dietary habits, he inquired.

"They don't have any salt or spice," she replied as she stowed her phone. Yoongi grimaced after taking a sip of the soup. There was no salt or pepper and was as bland as raw tofu.

"SEE!!" Yn screamed, delighted that she had been proven right, but Yoongi, not one to concede defeat, put on a display. "How come it's so salty?" His face scrunched up in exaggeration as he groaned. "Stop acting, I can see right through you," Yn said, raising an eyebrow to call him out on his nonsense.

"All right, fine, you're right," Yoongi conceded as Yn yanked the sheets off herself and reached for his shoulders. He thought it was strange, but didn't say anything when she gently rubbed the spot near his collar, the tension in his shoulders dissipating as she applied pressure. He'd always thought Yn had magical hands. It felt like a miracle to have her hands on him again, something he had never expected to feel again.

"Can you tell me what I can do to get you to order me a plate of jjajangmyeon?" Yn asked. Yoongi thought, Darn it, I knew it was a trap, but he was too relaxed to say no. As she worked out the knots in his muscles, he melted under Yn's touch. She was no longer connected to the IV, enabling her to freely move about the room.

"I knew you were only in it for food," he chuckled, moving away from her to grab his phone from his coat, "What else did you think I was in it for?" Yn jested, playing along as she massaged his shoulders.

"Only jjajangmyeon?" He questioned, scrolling through the options, Yn looking at the phone from over his shoulder. "Order some side dishes too," she added, Yoongi let out a groan when Yn put pressure on THE SPOT at the back of his shoulder blade, the sound making Yn blush. "Stop that, people will think we're filing a porno," Yn scolded lightheartedly, continuing her ministering.

"I don't think we need to film any more of those, I have a whole collection already," Yoongi teased. His gummy smile showing up when he felt Yn's hand round his throat, threatening to choke him. "I think it's the other way round," he scoffed. His heart going into dangerous territory.

Yoongi remembered the night he had discovered Yn's choking kink, it had been a very eventful night. He had just come back home from the hospital when he had heard moaning coming from his bedroom, he had walked inside, totally unprepared for the breathtaking view that awaited him.

Watching porn wasn't considered cheating by Yoongi as long as Yn showed him what she was watching so he knew what they were getting into. When he walked in on Yn in his rotating chair, her legs spread out on the armrest, touching herself to a film about choking, he was pleasantly surprised. He went up behind her softly and wrapped his fingers around her throat, not putting much pressure. When Yn groaned for him, he felt himself harden in his pants and murmured, "You like that baby."

"Stop imagining it," Yn snapped, pushing away from Yoongi, "How do you expect me to just stop, those were some great moments of my life," he chuckled when his phone rang. It had something to do with the meal. He went to get the dinner by himself, leaving Yn alone.

When he returned with her dinner, he delivered it to her before saying his goodbyes and preparing to leave. "Enjoy your meal and get some sleep," he added as he gathered his belongings. "Where are you going?" Yn inquired. "Home??" Yoongi answered, taking his phone from the table when Yn stopped him. "Did you have dinner?" she asked, opening up the takeout box to reveal a generous serving of jjajangmyeon.

"Not yet, I was planning on getting some on the way," He answered, waiting for Yn to say anything. "Then you should stay and give me some company, it's not like I can finish all this on my own," She mumbled. "You sure?" Yoongi confirmed, taking his place on the chair as Yn grabbed the chopsticks from the bedside table, letting him have the wooden chopsticks that the restaurant provides.

They both dug into the meal, savoring every mouthful. In the otherwise peaceful hospital, just the sound of them slurping their noodles and the beep of the monitors could be heard. The majority of the patients were fast asleep, and those who were awake were taking special precautions to avoid making any noise.

Yn was the one who broke the stillness by inquiring about Holly. He said, licking his lips to get rid of the sauce, "She's good, I got her a ribbon for her ears the other day." He was intrigued about Yn's cranky cat, Buster, who had scratched Holly once. Yoongi's heart dropped to his stomach as Yn replied, "We had to put him down."

Although he was simply a large, sluggish cat who refused to get his butt off the window pane, Buster had been Yn's pride and joy, her support system. "That must have been difficult," Yoongi paused, unsure of how to express his condolences.

"It had to be done; he was in a lot of agony," Yn shrugged, shaking her head to clear her mind. "How are the boys doing? I haven't seen them since we broke up" Yoongi's six other friends were the subject of Yn's inquiry. He assured her everyone was ok. "You might see Jungkook tomorrow," he said, explaining that he had taken the day off today. "Does Jungkookie work here?" Yn inquired, quite surprised by the information. "Yes, he's an intern trying to get his residence, surprising isn't it," Yoongi admitted.

Yn burped after she finished her dinner, making Yoongi laugh at how cute she looked. Once Yn had freshened up, Yoongi said, "Ok, now that you've finished eating, I'll go home, and YOU'LL go to sleep." "You always leave," Yn remarked, rolling her eyes. The words weighed heavy on his mind as he tucked her in. On his way out, he turned out the light and gave her one last look before walking away.

Yoongi slouched his shoulders again once he was in his car. The words Yn had just said reverberated in his mind. Since he had broken up with Yn, the words "You always leave" had tormented him. He had been in love with her, yet he was the one who had abandoned her. NOT THE OTHER WAY AROUND, HE LEFT HER. It was painful to recall the details of their breakup.

Yn crying into his chest, asking why she wasn't enough. Him holding her as fiercely as he could, not knowing if he'd ever get another chance. His cowardice had broken both of them that night. He'd run away from one of the most precious part of his life, and he still regrets it.

They had broken up because of him. Yoongi always believed Yn deserved someone better than him, she was too good for him. She had yelled at him when he had told her that. Saying that it was her who got to decide who was worth her time and affection, and if h really thought h didn't deserve her then maybe he should make himself deserving, she had said that that was the solution for Yoongi's thoughts, breaking up was not the solution, but he was stubborn as a mule, refusing to see how he was destroying both of them and everything they had.

And now here he was, striving to be less of a wimp than he had been all those years before. He remembered how enraged the boys had been when he told them what he'd done. "Have you gone insane?" All Yoongi could do was nod when Jin Hyung asked. Yes, he'd gone nuts, which was why he'd been insane enough to let her go. He had no problem admitting it.

He cruised around the deserted roads, far too late in the evening for anyone to be out. He considered calling Jin hyung for advice, but he opted against it because he assumed he was already in bed. For the rest of the night, he was alone with his thoughts, his mind eating away at him, keeping him awake at night, tossing and turning in bed, contemplating what they could have been if he hadn't been a coward.

The next morning was the same as any other, the only difference being the speed of Yoongi's car when he was on his way to the office. The usual 60km/h had escalated to 80km/h and he was certainly a little too excited for someone who was going to be at the hospital for the next 18 hours.

He was walking up the corridor to Yn's room after exiting the elevator on the third level when he heard screams. "MOVE, MOVE OUT OF THE WAY PEOPLE!" shouted Yn as Jungkook pushed her wheelchair down the slanted corridor quicker.

What the fuck!!, Yoongi thought as he saw Jungkook climb onto the wheelchair's back supports, watching in horror as the two of them laughed and giggled their way down the corridor at full speed (which wasn't much speed btw), completely disregarding the 'no noise' and 'no running' placards which were stuck to the wall.

He quickly stepped in the way, feeling a little sense of joy watching Jungkook's eyes widen in fright. Bringing the wheelchair to a screeching halt a few inches away from Yoongi. "Good morning, Hyung!!" he said cheerfully as if he hadn't just broken every regulation in the hospital.

"Can you tell me what you're up to?" His gaze fell on Yn, who appeared to be having the time of her life. "Relax, Yoongo-boongo," Yn remarked. Yoongi frowned at the old nickname, which he had pleaded with Yn to abandon.

"This is risky, you know," Yoongi said, "especially since you wounded your shoulder," He added, quick to understand that Jungkook had no idea about Yn's wounded shoulder. "You hurt your shoulder?!?" the younger one screamed. Yn scowled at Yoongi for giving up that knowledge so easily. Yoongi justified himself by saying, "Don't look at me like that, he was going to find out regardless."

"Yes, but you didn't have to tell him so early, now he won't let me have any fun." She whined, Yoongi scoffed at that, "he isn't supposed to make you have 'fun', he'd supposed to take you to get your x-ray done, it's on the first floor."

Yn pouted as Jungkook nodded at the instructions, pushing the wheelchair with Yn still in it towards the elevator. "Without the wheelchair," Yoongi clarified, making Jungkook pout as well, helping Yn out of the wheelchair.

They both sulked like kicked puppies in the elevator and Yoongi could not stand it. "Ok, fine, take the freaking wheelchair, but just be careful." he said, finally giving in. The two of them gave him bright smiles. Yn sat back in the wheelchair just as the elevator door slid open and Jungkook rolled Yn out.

They're fortunate. Yoongi thought to himself as he went about his rounds that Namjoon owned the hospital. While Yn was getting her x-ray, he checked in with his patients. Yn had a good night's sleep and awoke fairly early, according to the nurse in charge of her surveillance. She felt a minor headache, but nothing else was wrong with her. Only the shoulder was a big issue, and they were unable to determine what was causing the pain.

It took 2 hours for Yoongi to check up on all his patients and meet with a few others in the clinic when Jungkook barged into Yoongi's office with an envelope. "Jungkook you can't just barge in like that," Yoongi groaned as he quickly gave the patient their prescription before sending them out. Telling the receptionist to not send any more patients, he turned all his attention to Kook.

"Now, what's wrong?" He asked, spinning in his chair to face the intern. "Noona's reports are here" Jungkook informed, holding out the envelope. "So fast?" Yoongi questioned. It usually took a day or two for the reports and none of the radiologists took Jungkook seriously, dismissing him as just an intern. He found it suspicious that they had given the reports back so early.

"Namjoon hyung was there for an inspection, he got it done when he saw noona," Jungkook said with a cheeky grin. Yoongi nodded at the explanation. Namjoon always had a soft spot for Yn regardless of if Yn and he were together. He pulled out the reports, scanning through them. "Where is Yn now?" He asked, putting the reports back inside. Jungkook informed that Namjoon had taken her to her room, playing along with Yn's wheelchair drama.

Yoongi rolled his eyes at that, but Jungkook didn't miss the quiver of his lips. Jungkook followed Yoongi upstairs to Yn's room, where they found Yn squishing Namjoon's cheeks. Jungkook joined them, laughing, and Yn hastily let Namjoon free. "So, Doctor, what do you have to say?" Yn asked as Namjoon got out of the chair, rubbing his red-tinged cheeks.

"You must slow down with the usage of your shoulder. You appear to be putting a lot of tension on it; fortunately, it's only strain and nothing dangerous." Yoongi said, instructing Yn to apply heat and ice packs to the affected area. "Are you going to issue me a leave sick note?" Yn inquired as she got out of bed.

"Nope, you can go back to work just fine as long as you don't do any heavy lifting," Yoongi said, scribbling something on a piece of paper. "Yah, Yoongi-ah pleaseeeee write me a sick note," Yn pleaded as she searched for the t-shirt she had worn when she had come into the hospital yesterday. "Nope, and are you really going to wear that?" He asked, surprised that Yn hadn't called anyone to come to pick her up.

"Yeah, I need to head home," Yn answered, gathering her things, "Wait, you can't wear that, I have a spare shirt in my office I'll get that," Yoongi said, getting out of the chair while Namjoon and Jungkook exchanged knowing looks.

"We'll get it hyung, don't worry," Jungkook assured, dragging Namjoon with him. The two of them got into the elevator before spilling the tea. "He is SO whipped!" Jungkook exclaimed, pushing the button to go downstairs. "So is she and did you know Yoongi hyung was footing her bill and he got her a private room?" Namjoon asked, amazed at the extent his extremely tsundere hyung was going to for Yn. "He's pretty much in love all over again, and the nurse said that Yoongi hyung spent more than an hour in noona's room," Jungkook informed with a giddy smile.

"Jin hyung NEEDS to know about this," Namjoon exclaimed but made no move to call their hyung, quickly going to Yoongi's office and grabbing the gray FG shirt which was in his locker before going back upstairs.

As soon as the boys returned to the room, Yn grabbed the t-shirt. She hurriedly removed the hospital gown she had been compelled to wear. Yoongi was quick to respond, instantly stepping in front of Yn so the two younger men wouldn't get a glimpse of his lovely ex's exquisite body, and only pulling away once Yn was covered in his shirt.

"You didn't have to do that, I was wearing a tank top beneath," Yn said, tucking the shirt's hem into the jeans she had worn the day before. "For safety reasons," Yoongi shrugged, avoiding eye contact as though it weren't a big concern that he was covering up his ex. Namjoon's sniggering at the entrance went unnoticed.

"Noona how are going home?" Jungkook asked, checking the time realizing it was his lunch break. "I'll take a cab, don't worry," she assured, grabbing her phone and keys from the bedside table. "I'll drop you home, it'll be hard to get a cab at this time over here," Yoongi said, following after her into the hallway as Jungkook and Namjoon watched.

As she approached the elevator, Yn commented, not really trying to stop Yoongi from coming with her, "There's a thing called uber Yoongi, I'm sure I'll catch a cab." "Jesus woman, will you ever accept aid without a fight?" Yoongi moaned as he snatched her wrist and brought her downstairs to get his keys.

"Aish is so stubborn," Yn grumbled as she trailed behind him, her hand slipping into Yoongi's. They didn't seem to be aware that they were holding hands.

"Jin hyung will be so happy hearing about this," Jungkook exclaimed, watching Yn and Yoongi argue like an old, married couple while holding hands as they went to the hospital parking lot.

"They look cute, 10$ that they get back together by the end of the month," Namjoon bet, moving away from the window of the private room. "Hyung, you literally own the hospital, I'm just a flimsy intern, how could you expect me to pay 10$," Jungkook whined making Namjoon laugh as Yoongi’s car spedmout of the driveway.

__________________________

329 notes · View notes

monako-jinn-stories · 3 years

Note

Jinn I had an idea and your my only writer friend

Ok so wildest dreams by Taylor swift ❤️ “say you’ll remember me …. “ you know that part of it and it’s like a clone x reader and I like when it’s sad the the reader is dying idk maybe they got shot and like that’s what they say to whatever clone s/o and it’s sad

Or I feel like any Taylor song I love Taylor

There is a new scenario to imagine if your sad and want to say sad ‼️ and you can listen to a song too !!!

Oh my god thank you so much for this ask. At first, I had no idea what to do, but then I had an idea and RAN WITH IT. I ended up crying while writing this (maybe because it’s monthly time🤷‍♀️) but either way, this hurt me, and I hope you enjoy it and cry😂

Kix X Fem!Jedi Reader

Say You’ll Remember Me

Master List

Warnings:

Angst, fluff (kind of), character death

Kix hadn’t known what he was truly asking when he asked you to help him research Fives’s discovery. He never truly believed the Kaminoans with what happened to Fives and Tup, and he’d had enough of their lies. You both had.

“I think I found something,” Kix said as he looked through the information on the datapad. You quickly made your way over, leaning over so that your face was next to his as you held his shoulders, looking at the holoscreen.

“Right here. It says something about a biochip…”

“Biochip? Wait, I think Fives said something about that,” you said while straightening up. “He said it was like…something to control you.”

“It says here…oh, Maker! Y/n, it’s worse than we thought! It’s not just about framing everyone!”

“What? What does it say?” You looked at him as his hands shook slightly.

“It says that with a specific order from the chancellor, the clones could all be made to kill the Jedi without hesitation…” He looked up at you then, a fearful look in his eyes. “I could kill you…”

“No, Kix, it won’t come to that. We can find out how to get it out. We will get it out, I promise,” you said while gently taking his hands.

“What did I do to deserve a woman like you?” He said before standing and wrapping his arms around you, his hand running through your hair. You both tilted your heads to connect your lips in a sweet kiss.

“Come on, let’s go. We need to find out where we can get this chip out without being questioned.”

“What about Kamino?”

“No, that’s too dangerous. We might be able to sneak onto a Venator while it’s in the hangar, but I wouldn’t count on it.”

“Let’s get out of this town,” Kix said, “if someone finds out what we’re doing and what we know, it’ll be the end for us.”

“I agree. I already don’t like being on a separatist planet.”

You led the way out of the building, heading back across the town where your ship was stationed. Everything was going good for you today, which was strange. It didn’t feel right. You glanced back at Kix as you walked, him giving you a small smile as he caught your eye. You loved him more than you felt like you could express, but you always tried your best.

As you made your way through the town, you started to sense people following you. You suddenly stopped and pulled Kix in for a kiss. He was slightly caught off guard but quickly returned it.

“We’re being followed,” you mumbled onto his lips before pulling back to gaze lovingly at him.

“So you weren’t just kissing me for the hells of it?” He asked, quirking a brow at you while smirking. You rolled your eyes at him before turning to walk again, your hand grasping his tightly.

“So, we going to fight?” He mumbled as you leaned your head on his shoulder.

“Mmm, if they attack us first,” you reply quietly.

As you approached your ship, you slowed again, eyeing it before taking a cautious step onto the ramp.

“Run!” You yelled, pushing him back with the force as you jumped away. A second later, the shuttle blew up and the people who had been trailing you came out of the trees.

“What should we do with the girl? She wasn’t mentioned before!” One of the attackers shouted.

“Kill her, she’s not who Dooku wants. Keep the clone alive!” Another shouted back.

Kix saw the end as it began. They surrounded you, got between you and him. He couldn’t do anything to help as they overpowered you, knocking your lightsaber from your hand. All he could do was yell as he ran back to you, watching your saber roll away from you. He shot at your attackers, causing them to fall limply to the ground.

When he reached you, his throat let out a pained sound as he saw the blaster shots riddling your form. Your normally red lips and rosy cheeks were now pale as the life drained slowly from you.

“Y/n! You’re going to be okay!” He said frantically, reaching out to grab you and pull you to him.

“Say you’ll remember me…” you breathed out raggedly, weak fingers grasping at his armor.

“N-no, y/n! I won’t have to remember, because you’ll be with me! You’re going to live!” He pleaded as tears streamed down his face. “I-I just need to get you to a new ship, then we can fly you to a medcenter!”

“Kix, please…” you said, a hand moving to cup his cheek.

“No! No no no! Y/n, I’ve lost so many, I can’t lose you too!” His hands were in your hair as he held you, fingers tangling as he tried to gain control of his mind so that he could think. He needed to save you.

“Kix, listen to me. I have a request.”

“What, y/n? I’ll do anything!”

“My last request is…stare at the sunset with me, one last time. Just like we do every night. Just the two of us.”

Kix’s glossy eyes stared at you as if you were the craziest person, but he slowly moved to the side and pulled you into him. The colors in the sky danced around happily, as if this wasn’t the end of everything for Kix. As if your body in his arms wasn’t becoming heavier by the second. The beautiful colors were taunting him. And he couldn’t find the usual peace that came with them.

“Say you’ll see me again, Kix. Even if it’s just in your wildest dreams,” you whispered, moving your head to gaze into his eyes. He looked down at you and more tears fell, some falling onto your cheeks. He held your cheek softly and bent down, pressing his forehead to yours in a keldabe kiss.

“Even if it’s just in your wildest dreams…”

“I will…I love you, y/n.”

“I love you too, Kix.”

After those softly spoken words, he felt you go completely limp in his arms. He finally let out proper sobs, clutching your body to his chest as if the force of his love could bring you back. His own body trembled in emotional pain that hurt so much it was almost physical pain.

His sobs covered up the sounds of more attackers approaching. They caught him off guard, ripping him away from you. He screamed as they threw your body carelessly aside, dragging him to their ship.

They took him somewhere, Kix didn’t know where. Didn’t care where. He was numb, broken. He just wanted you back.

They interrogated him, but nothing worked. He wouldn’t talk. They couldn’t bribe him because he’d already lost the most important thing to him…you. When they shoved him into the cryo-pod, he didn’t resist.

~~~

The galaxy was different, it wasn’t like it was during the clone wars. It was lonely. All his brothers were gone, dead. And so were you.

But there was one place he could always go to see you, whenever he wanted.

It was in his wildest dreams that he always remembered you.

Tag List! Read this Tag List info if you want to be added! @imabeautifulbutterfly @lightning-wolffe @namesmox @maulscrosshair @tacticalsparkles @milppa @techssexythighs @ilikemymendarkandfictional @m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s @megafrost4 @darkangel4121 @hedahobbit98 @shuttlelauncher81 @rintheemolion @sleepy-tog

#star wars #the clone wars #clone wars #star wars the clone wars #star wars: the clone wars #clone trooper #clone troopers #poor kix #tcw kix #kix #clone trooper kix #clone medic kix #kix x you #kix angst #i miss him so much #jinn the story teller 🤍🤍

55 notes · View notes

generallynerdy · 3 years

Text

Uncalled they come to me, and told, they still won’t leave me (Din Djarin/Soulmate!Reader)

Spoilers for Chapter 9 (S2E1) of the Mandalorian

Summary: After the ambitious Toro Calican turns on you, his hired mechanic, in hopes of winning favour with the Guild, the mysterious Mandalorian saves your life. Now that you owe him a life debt, he’s stuck with you until you can save him back. It’s not so bad, having a free mechanic and babysitter for the kid, but things take a turn for the worse when both of you realise you might be catching feelings. For someone that might not even be your Soulmate.

Requested by Anon: Hello! How’re you doing? May I please request a Din x reader soulmate au? The one where you don’t see color until you touch your soulmate? It would be very difficult for Din to find his soulmate and I’ve always wanted to see how it played out. If not that’s ok! Thank you and have a wonderful day ❤️

Key: (Y/N) - your name, (h/c) - hair colour, (e/c) - eye colour Translations: vode - siblings, Ret’urcye mhi - goodbye (literally: may we meet again), mirshmure’cya - brain-kiss (Basic term, is Keldabe kiss. This is the soft one as opposed to the literal headbutt term) Asked to be tagged in this disaster: @pearlll09 Word Count: remember when i said this would be 4k? Yeah. It’s 6,478 words. What. The. Fuck.

Author’s Note: this is way longer than I intended it to be but I think u deserve it since u were the only one who saw my post begging for mando requests and actually sent one hksjlfdkj tysm!! I’m so happy I got to write a Soulmate AU for him tbh. Btw, I have it in my head that Yodito would’ve given him the ability to see green, as a familial Soulmate bond, but it wouldn’t work for this if your eyes are green so I just left it out. (Also wtf is up with the Cobb/Din shit, Cobb is clearly in a dedicated relationship with the bartender Weequay. I named them Sala :D) The title is from The Teller of Tales by Gabriela Mistral.

Read On AO3

“Do you wear those gloves all the time?”

The Mando gives you a look—one that you can’t read, obviously, but you get the idea that it’s drier than the desert you’re in.

Calican snorts, but you shoot him a glare and he shuts up. You’re only here because he’s paying well for your mechanical skills, enough that his request of an extra hand on his first bounty seemed reasonable. Finding out that he’s hunting Fennec Shand was...less than pleasing, but now that the Mando is onboard, you’re not quite so worried about the outcome. They’re supposed to be fearsome warriors, after all. And he was smart enough to figure out how to wait out Shand, which is what the three of you have been doing for hours.

“I’m just saying,” you continue, “between the armour and the gloves, it must be damn near impossible to find your Soulmate.”

He shrugs. Sort of. It’s kind of hard to tell, to be honest.

“Haven’t you heard the stories?” Calican asks, flopping back onto the sand. “Mandalorians don’t have Soulmates. They start seeing colour after their first battle; war is their only destiny.”

You roll your eyes. They’re folk tales, really, and ridiculous ones at that. Every sentient has at least one Soulmate, romantic, platonic, familial, or otherwise, and there’s no reason for Mandalorians to be any different. Still, the stories make their rounds. There are specific ones, too, like the one about the Mandalorian Jedi who made the Darksaber; he was said to see colour when he lit his weapon for the first time. Fett, too, was said to have seen a new colour with every clone that was decanted—which is mildly ridiculous.

“Maybe the Mandalorians of old,” Mando comments with a scoff. “Not many of us see battle these days.”

“Well, if you’re looking for it, I know a krayt dragon a few hundred klicks away,” you suggest lightly.

He snorts. “No thanks. I’ll take the assassin.”

“Speaking of,” you said, “you guys know I’m just a mechanic, right?”

There’s a pause. Calican nods, but the Mando is still.

“What?” he asks, displeasure in his voice.

“I mean, I’m pretty good with a blaster, but I’m gonna be useless against Fennec Shand.”

Mando whirls on Calican. “You paid a mechanic to be your back-up? Are you insane?”

He shrugs. “(Y/N) has a mean right hook.”

“That’s not reassuring,” Mando huffs. He looks over at you and you can almost feel him glaring through the visor. “Are you crazy?”

“I’m broke,” you scoff. “Same thing. Oh, hey, do you need repairs on that hunk of junk you pilot? I’ll be more thorough than that lady at the hangar.”

He hesitates. “We’ll see.”

You grin. That’s not a no.

“You’re a prick, did I mention that?” you hiss over your shoulder.

Calican shoves the blaster into your side. “Shut up and keep walking.”

The Mandalorian stands on the other side of the hangar, waiting for Calican to make his move. Seriously, this day could not be going any worse. After killing Shand, Toro Calican, certified dumbass, decided that kidnapping you and the Mandalorian’s—pet? Child?—passenger was the best way to go. Whatever the little weird thing that’s in your arms is, it’s pretty cute, and you’d rather he shoot you than the baby holding tightly onto your shirt. In fact, he probably will, because the kid is his ticket into the Guild—you’re just dead weight.

“Looks like I’m calling the shots now. Huh, partner?” Calican asks the Mando. “Drop your blaster and raise ‘em.”

The Mandalorian puts his hands behind his head. Next to you, Calican pushes Peli forward and instructs her to cuff him. With a huff, she moves behind the Mandalorian with the intent to follow orders.

“You’re a Guild traitor, Mando,” Calican begins. You consider sighing. This sounds like the start of a villain monologue. “And I’m willing to bet that this here is the target you helped escape. Fennec was right. Bringing you in won’t just make me a member of the Guild, it’ll make me legendary.”

In a burst of light, the Mandalorian sets off a flash grenade.

You yelp and tuck the little thing into your arms before tucking yourself over into a roll down the ramp of the ship. You fall into the sand just in front of the Mandalorian, who’s moved to fire a shot at Calican, sending him flying off the other side, smouldering.

Breathing heavily, you sit up, the child still in your arms.

“Are you okay? Is the child?”

You look up. The Mandalorian has his gloved hand held out, offering to help you up. Hesitantly, you take it and pull yourself off the ground.

“We’re both okay—I think,” you say hesitantly, holding the baby out to him. “Is he—?”

“Dead,” the Mando confirms, taking the child from you.

You frown. “Good riddance. Thank you,” you tell him hesitantly, though your tone is genuine.

“It’s nothing,” he murmurs.

He distracts himself by checking on the child, who coos up at him contentedly. You smile a little at the interaction, but put yourself back into focus.

“It’s not nothing,” you say firmly. “I owe you a life debt.”

He freezes. “What?”

“Where I come from, if someone saves your life, you owe it to them. Until I can save your life, I owe you,” you explain.

“That’s—you don’t need to do that,” he says quickly.

You cross your arms. “It’s like your Way. It’s my culture, my honour on the line. You’re stuck with me, Mando.”

“What? No. Can’t you...pay me, or something?”

“I’m broke, remember?”

“You saved the child’s life, doesn’t that count?”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “I rolled with him. You did the work, so, no, it doesn’t count, even though he’s your…” You hesitate, remembering the word. “...foundling.”

“You know, you’re kind of getting the better end of the deal here,” Peli pipes up, directing the thought at the Mandalorian. “A free mechanic, babysitter, and an extra blaster? That’s a bargain.”

“Uh...pre-warning, I don’t know much about child care,” you warn immediately.

He snorts. “Neither do I.” After a moment, he sighs deeply. “Fine. But we’re going to work on those blaster skills before you become a liability.”

“Fair enough.”

Sticking with the Mandalorian is probably the worst decision of your life.

Almost immediately after Tatooine, in need of more funds, he drags you into trouble with another group of bounty hunters and the New Republic, of all groups.

“Who is this?” someone asks, her voice sing-song as she enters the Mandalorian’s ship.

You don’t bother turning around, continuing your repairs on a hull panel. “The mechanic. Don’t touch anything.”

“You have a personal mechanic?”

A few people enter the ship, making you finally turn around. The first speaker is a Twi’lek woman and the second a Human, who squints disdainfully. From behind him, Mando pushes past their little crew—including a protocol droid and a massive Devaronian—to approach you, deciding to stand next to you rather than them, which brings you immense pleasure for some reason.

“No. (Y/N) owes me a life debt and, apparently, credits don’t cut it,” he explains shortly, sounding frustrated and exhausted.

You nudge him companionably—it’s an argument you’ve had a few times, the paying of your debt. He doesn’t want to be free of you, per se, but he doesn’t want you to be in his debt. Having that kind of power or hold over you makes him uncomfortable, you can tell, as every time it comes up he gets twitchy.

“Kinky,” the Twi’lek snickers.

You grimace. That would explain why Mando sounds like he wants to die. “Fun group. What’s the job?”

“One of theirs got caught. We’re getting him out,” he says. “And we’re using our ship.”

Our ship. Maybe it’s a slip of the tongue or maybe he’s making it clear that you’re with him, but either way, it brings a smirk to your face. The Twi’lek looks disgusted.

“Well, at least my hard work won’t be going to waste,” you huff.

“Mando,” the Twi’lek interrupts, “you haven’t introduced us.”

You can feel him rolling his eyes. “(Y/N), meet Mayfeld, Burg, Xi’an. Mayfeld is running point, the droid is flying, and the target is a New Republic transport ship.”

��Ugh. You guys better be good; I’m not getting arrested.”

“Mayfeld’s former Imperial,” Mando says before any of them can answer.

You scoff. “A stormtrooper? My shitty blaster skills would be better than his.”

“I wasn’t a stormtrooper,” Mayfeld spits, annoyed enough that he must’ve said it once already. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

All but the droid stay, scattered around the hull. Mando follows soon after the jump to hyperspace, having hovered over the droid while it set their course. He stops Burg from getting into the weapons cache right after he hops down the ladder and the two look like they want to kill each other.

“Someone tell me why we even need a Mandalorian,” the Devaronian grunts.

Mayfeld huffs. “Well, apparently, they’re the greatest warriors in the galaxy. So they say.”

“Then why are they all dead?”

They all laugh at that—Xi’an with a particularly nasal one, which is irritating beyond belief. You frown deeply, but try not to show how pissed their laughter makes you. That sort of shit isn’t to be made fun of; a dying race. It’s all too familiar these days, what with the death of Alderaan and the crater on Scarif.

When you come back into focus, Xi’an is talking in low tones.

“See, I know who you really are,” she says to the Mando.

You roll your eyes. Unlikely.

(Something in your brain goes: I do, which is stupid. You don’t know who he is, under that helmet, sure, but you’ve seen a lot of him through his actions. He’s reckless, terrifying, and a badass, but he’s also patient and...kind, in his own way. The way he treats the child is like nothing you’ve seen in another bounty hunter. It’s gentle, caring. The kid has really grown on him, you think. And the way he treats you is just straight up polite, even though you’re practically his servant in terms of a life debt. Still, he treats you like a person and doesn’t ask you to do unreasonable favours just because he saved your life. He doesn’t hold it over your head.)

And then they start goading him about the helmet.

Burg actually goes for it, which Mando beats him back for. You jump forward, but just as you do, the door to the sleeping cot flies open, revealing the child.

Instead, you rush to the child, pulling him into your arms.

“What is that?” Mayfeld asks, approaching.

“Back off,” you hiss.

He looks between you and Mando. “Wait, did you two make that?” When you scoff, he frowns. “What is it, like a pet or somethin’?”

“Yeah. Something like that,” Mando says quickly.

Xi’an frowns. “Didn’t take you for the type. Maybe that code of yours has made you soft.”

You snort. Soft. That isn’t a word you’d use to describe him, ever. You haven’t seen very much action since Tatooine, but you saw enough there.

Mayfeld reaches for the child and, without hesitation, you lift your blaster. The way he’s looking at the little guy makes you uneasy.

“Fuck off,” you warn instantly.

“Aw, c’mon, I just wanna hold him,” he teases.

Over the comms, the droid’s voice echoes. “Dropping out of hyperspace. Now.”

The entire ship shudders and shakes, sending everyone flying off their feet. You happen to ram into beskar, your face slamming into the metal, which makes you yelp. The baby wails in your arms as gravity makes to tug you away again. Before it can, Mando grabs your arms and holds you in place against him until the ship is steady once more.

“You okay?” he asks, helping you to your feet—again, you think miserably.

“Ugh, no,” you groan, putting a hand on the left side of your face. “That’s gonna bruise.”

Mando takes the child from you. “Sorry. We’ll deal with it after.”

You wave him off. “I’ve had worse. You worry about the job, I’ll watch the kid,” you say, taking the child back. You can’t help but smile when he coos happily.

“Right,” Mando mutters. For a moment, he watches you both, considering.

“Mando!” calls Mayfeld. “Let’s go!”

Before he goes, he puts a hand on your shoulder. “Be careful. I have a bad feeling about this.” You nod, which seems to appease him, and watch him leave.

Petting the child’s floppy ears, you wonder if he meant that to be as comforting as it was.

I should’ve known, Din thinks when Qin walks out of that cell.

I definitely should’ve known, he decides, returning to the Razor Crest to find a sparking droid corpse and a shaking child in your arms.

He tosses the cuffed Twi’lek to the side and rushes to yours, stepping over Zero’s limp form. You look relatively unfazed, for someone who’s just ripped a droid’s head off with their bare hands, but the child is rather distressed. The kid squeaks at the sight of Din and, much to his surprise, lifts your hand to show him.

It’s bleeding.

“What did you do?” Din questions, crossing the hull for his medical kit.

“I...may have tried to punch the droid,” you admit hesitantly. “It didn’t work.”

He scoffs, returning to kneel in front of you with bacta patches in his hands. “No karking shit.”

Your face falls as he reaches for your hand, pulling it toward him so he can patch it up. “It was gonna hurt the kid.”

“You did good,” he murmurs. “Stupid, but good.”

It never occurred to him that you might save the child again. You’re here out of necessity, after all, because you owe him, because your honour depends on paying that debt. The child is just another being in the vicinity, but you still saved him. Again. You’re either very stupid or very kind and he can’t decide which one is more concerning.

“Maybe you should teach me a bit of hand to hand, too,” you suggest warmly, wincing at the bacta’s sting.

Din makes a noise that’s sort of a laugh. “I’ll add it to the list.”

He moves to put bacta on the bruise his beskar gave you—He feels ridiculously guilty for that; here you are, paying off a life debt to him, and he still manages to hurt you—but with a hand, you stop him.

“Don’t waste it,” you say immediately. “I’ve had worse bruises, seriously.”

He frowns. “It’s not a waste.” Before you can protest, he puts the patch on top of the bruise.

You huff. “You’re a worrier, aren’t you, Mando?”

“Apparently,” he replies dryly. He hadn’t realised it, either.

“Will you stop flirting and get us out of here!?” Qin shouts from the other side of the hull. “The New Republic will be on our asses!”

You roll your eyes. “I hate to say it, but he has a point. Where are the others?”

“Dealt with,” he says simply. “It was a double-cross.”

“Well, I figured,” you shoot back with a knowing look. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

The drop is easy enough, especially since Din knows that New Republic signal is beeping steadily from Qin’s pocket. He escapes quickly, dipping back into the Razor Crest, where you wait at the top of the ramp, the child hanging onto your boot.

“Let’s go,” he declares, the ramp shutting behind him as he enters.

“Already?” you question with a raised eyebrow. “There are a few repairs I could make out of hyperspace that might be useful.”

He waves you toward the cockpit. “Later. We need to leave.”

“Oookay.” You frown but do as he says, plucking the child from off your foot. “C’mon, little guy,” you mutter to him.

Din waves away all your questions as he starts the take-off. Finally, when the Razor Crest is a safe distance away from the space station and X-Wings appear out of hyperspace, he glances back at you.

“Holy shit!” you cry as they open fire. You look back at him with a slack jaw, which makes him smile underneath the helmet. “That was you, wasn’t it?”

He shrugs half-heartedly, but it’s enough of an answer.

“You’re a maniac, Mando,” you laugh, watching the scene through the transparisteel.

Din thinks over it, staring at you for a long moment. There’s light in your eyes—maybe it’s the reflection of the explosion, but it’s captivating.

“Din,” he says.

You look over. “Hm?”

He clears his throat, trying to shove aside nerves. “My name. It’s Din.”

“Oh. Oh,” you repeat, eyes wide. Then, you smile, more genuine than he’s ever seen from you, he thinks. “You’re crazy, Din. You know that, right?”

He laughs—and that’s the first time you’ve heard a proper one from him. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

When Din drops a pair of gloves in front of you, you laugh.

“You’re telling me the gloves are out of convenience?” you ask him disbelievingly.

“The more skin you cover, the less likely you are to get cut up by a vibroblade,” he replies dryly. “Put them on.”

You raise your hands in surrender and take them, slipping them over your fingers. “Surprisingly comfy.”

It occurs to you that this is...sort of a big deal. You’ve kept your hands bare for as long as you can remember, mostly because you’re a romantic and finding your Soulmate has been at the forefront of your mind for a long time. But now, you think, it’s not such a big deal. You have a debt to pay and, besides that, you’re pretty happy with how things are now.

Life isn’t exactly nice with Din and the kid, so to say, but you’re content. You love the child and he adores you. The Razor Crest feels more like home than any planet ever has. And Din is...well, he’s something. Being around him is mildly addicting and whenever he’s gone, something feels incomplete.

“Better?” you ask, lifting your gloved hands.

“Much,” he says. Then, he holds out his own hand. “C’mon, up.”

You take the hand without thought, but before you know it, he’s swinging you around and shoving you to the ground.

“Ow!” you cry. “What the hell, Din?”

He huffs. “Lesson 1: Never take anything for granted.”

“Rude.” You hit his arm meaningfully, but he just rolls his eyes; just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean you can’t tell it’s happening.

“You’ll thank me someday.”

“But not today.”

“Nope. Today, you’re gonna hate my guts.”

He’s dying.

It feels unreal, what with everything you’ve watched him survive so far. A newbie bounty hunter, a group of pissed off bounty hunters, lots of bounty hunters, and the New Republic but a group of stormtroopers is what gets him?

Moff Gideon is what really gets him, though. The bastard that helped destroy his people is going to destroy Din Djarin. Hearing him speak Din’s name makes you nauseous, furious, even. He gave you that name in confidence, trusted it to you, the only one of his handful of friends to even use it, and Gideon decides to declare it to Nevaroo in its entirety. It makes your blood boil, enough that you get out of the initial firefight mostly unscathed.

But Din doesn’t. And now he’s dying in your arms and you feel like you failed.

“Go with them,” he tells you, all croaky and half-assed.

“No. No, I’m not leaving you here,” you declare, carefully leaning him against the rubble.

Flames flicker all around the room and the child is crying. It’s not loud or consistent, but it’s enough to break your heart.

“You have to go,” Din says again. “You’ll die.”

You laugh ruefully. “That’s kind of the point. A life debt means I save your life or I die trying.”

A pause.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” he hisses through the pain.

“Afraid not, dumbass. You’re stuck with me, remember?”

He grasps your arm, his hands still gloved. If you’re going to die here, maybe you should ask him to take off the gloves. A part of you has wondered…

“C’mon, tell me it’s transferable—some ‘dying wish’ shit like that.”

You nod, though the action sinks uncomfortably into your chest. Leaving him here...that doesn’t sit well with you. But if he asks, then you’ll do it. “Yeah, you name it, but it’d better be a big one, something equivalent.”

The breath he lets out is one of relief. “Take care of the kid. Go find his people and return him to them. Protect him.”

“With my dying breath,” you swear, the words holding an air of ceremony.

Din grasps your arm tighter and pulls you down, your forehead meeting his helmet. You’re not sure what it means, but it must mean something because he mutters words in his own language, which you’ve never heard him do before.

“Ret’urcye mhi.”

May we meet again.

Din does what little he can in saying goodbye to you, as deeply as that cuts. You’ve grown on him, a little too much maybe, and it kills him to think that you’ll be without him now. You still can’t hit a headshot, he realises, suddenly worried for how you’ll fare.

And so he gives you what he can: a Keldabe kiss and a goodbye, instead of the action he wants to take. He wants to take off his gloves and see if he can figure out the colour of your eyes. On the other hand, though, he doesn’t want to leave you with that, of all things, to leave you seeing the red of his blood and the blue-tinged orange of the flames before any other colours.

You take the child in your arms and, with one last glance at Din, leave the room for the covert’s tunnels underground.

The child whimpers up at you.

You look down, sniffling, and pet his ears gently. “I know, little one. I’m so sorry.” You place a gentle kiss to his forehead.

Cara appears, tugging on your wrist. “C’mon,” she says gently. “We need to get out of here.”

It occurs to you, as the three of you and Greef move on, that Cara might help you with the child. For Din, obviously. She’s a good person and, frankly, she and Din seem pretty friendly. The second she saw you, she’d offered her bare hand and bemoaned the fact that her vision was still black and white, much to your amusement. It was all in good fun, but Din had looked a little uncomfortable, for reasons you didn’t know.

“(Y/N),” Cara says quietly, calling your attention back.

You shake yourself from your thoughts. “Sorry.”

She smiles sadly. “It’s okay. Just keep up.”

The small group turns a few corners before footsteps sound from behind. You immediately place the child in the bag hanging from Cara’s shoulder and draw your blaster, watching her and Greef do the same.

From the distant hall, two figures approach: IG-11 and—

“Din!” you half-cry, half-breathe out. Holstering your blaster, you meet them halfway to take more of Din’s weight from IG. “How—?”

“No living thing can see me without my helmet. IG isn’t alive,” Din says dryly.

You laugh, a partly manic sound. “Thank kark. You’re not getting out of this that easy.”

The noise he makes is both amused and resigned. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Where’s the—?”

“He’s with Cara,” you say, finishing the thought before even he can, in his groggy state.

It’s safe to say that when the Armourer gives him his sigil, Din almost considers correcting the Clan of two to a Clan of three. He doesn’t, reminding himself that you’re here because of a debt and nothing else, but the thought is there.

The months after Nevarro are more peaceful than the first week of your time with Din.

You finally get to pull a proper sleeping space together for yourself. Well, it’s a hammock in the hull, but it’s better than the seats in the cockpit. The child gets his own hammock, too, though it’s in the cot space with Din. He loves it, so much so that he squeals when he sees it. That’s your proudest moment, for sure.

Most days, you tend to forget that you still owe a life debt. To be honest, it just feels like the three of you are normal. Din takes bounties, you take short mechanic jobs on different planets, and the two of you trade off on child-duty. It’s pretty regular, more than what your life used to be, anyway.

Din is still training you in hand-to-hand and blasters, of course. You’re getting better with the latter, but the first is difficult. On the way to Tatooine, where there’s supposedly another Mandalorian, he decides to have another training session.

“Fists higher, do it again.”

Huffing, you wipe your wrist across your sweaty forehead. It’s easy enough to obey the order—the first part, anyway. Getting into his guard is difficult, though.

One hit, two blocks—there. You slip under his guard and make an abrupt drop to the ground, sweeping his legs out under him with a fierce movement. He goes down in a tumble of beskar, joining you on the floor. As soon as he’s down, you flip over and straddle his hips, an arm over his neck in false threat.

He barks out a laugh. “Much better.”

“I’m not entirely hopeless!” you declare joyfully before bursting into snickers.

Leaning down, you thunk your forehead against his helmet. The gesture is fond, you’ve learned, something shared between close companions—or at least you think. Din told you that it’s called a mirshmure’cya in Mando’a, that it doesn’t have an equivalent word in Basic.

(Which is technically true. Literally, it means brain-kiss, but the outsider term for it is Keldabe kiss. It can be used for close companions—vode in arms, family—but it’s also used for romantic partners, so he’s mildly horrified at the idea of explaining its cultural significance to you and having to face his feelings for someone that may or may not be his Soulmate. He hasn’t gotten up the courage to ask if he can check. Or try to do it discreetly.)

A distant beeping starts up, coming from the cockpit. It’s the approach warning, which means the training session is over.

“I’ll get the kid,” you say, climbing off Din and offering a hand.

He takes it without hesitation, dragging himself up and making a beeline for the cockpit.

Tatooine is about what you remember. That is, it’s dry, sandy, and the worst planet you’ve ever been on. Stepping out of the ship and into the hangar makes you smile, though, at the not-so-distant memory of Din saving your life. It hasn’t been that long, but it feels like it’s been years.

“Oh, hey!” says Peli, after greeting the child—which is fair, he’s adorable. “You’re still with him! Haven’t repaid that debt yet, huh?”

Your face falls. “Uh, no, not really.”

On the way to Mos Pelgo, your thoughts linger on the life debt. One of these days, you’re going to save Din’s life—then where will you be? Will he want you to leave? What will you do if you have to leave? Your old life was nowhere near as interesting as this, nor did you have anyone close to what Din and the child are to you.

The dreary grey slopes of sand only make it easier to think of the worst possible outcomes. Now you remember why you hated Tatooine so much.

You don’t even realise the speeder is approaching the small town until Din taps your arm, which is wrapped around his waist. Jumping at the touch, you loosen your grip sheepishly and glance at the child, who looks like he’s enjoying himself immensely.

After the speeder comes to a stop, you take the kid while Din enters the cantina.

When you enter yourself, you find that he’s about to shoot someone, while the Weequay behind the bar looks rather distressed.

“Perfect timing, as always,” Din remarks without a glance.

You raise your free hand. “You’re the bad luck charm, I’m just here for the ride,” you retort teasingly.

“You brought a kid to a gunfight?” his opponent asks, raising an eyebrow.

Finally, you glance over at him and see why Din looks ready to kill him. He’s in Mandalorian armour but his helmet is off—clearly, he’s not Mandalorian. “You’re wearing beskar and you’re not a Mandalorian, buddy. I think you’re in more trouble than the kid is.”

“He is,” Din gets out, a twinge of viciousness in his voice.

Before they can even reach for their blasters, though, the ground starts to shake.

You grab onto the doorway for support, eyes wide as you grip the child. Din and the Mandalorian poser move toward the door, joining you and staring out at the street outside.

The entire planet feels like it rumbles and chaos reigns outside.

Something is moving the sand—coming toward the town.

“Holy fuck,” you whisper as it goes by, shifting the sand like it’s an ocean rather than earth. It flies out of the ground, sharp teeth the only thing you see as it consumes a bantha whole.

When it’s gone, the poser huffs. “Maybe we can work something out.” He turns to you, offering a hand, which is covered by fingerless gloves. “Cobb Vanth. I’m the Marshal here.”

You take it hesitantly, glad that things are still black and white when you make contact. “(Y/N).”

He notices your hesitation and chuckles. “The Weequay in there is Sala, my Soulmate. I’ll see if they can’t whip up something for the kid; I’m sure he’s starving.”

“Very,” you say, just before he goes to leave.

When it’s just you and Din, you look over at your companion. “Krayt dragon, huh?”

“Yep,” he sighs, already sounding tired.

You laugh. “I know I said I could bring you to one when we met, but I was totally kidding.”

He looks over at you and you can feel the low-level glare behind the visor, but it only makes you snicker. “I hate you.”

“You’re so full of shit,” you retort immediately.

You finally get to repay your debt.

It’s not what you’re thinking about when you shove Din out of the way of the krayt’s projectile venom, but it’s repaid nonetheless.

Din doesn’t think of it immediately, either, as he’s rather more concerned with the fact that you’re sent flying across the desert into a pile of debris and sharp rocks.

“(Y/N)!”

Before he can run to you, Cobb grabs his arm. “The dragon!”

To be honest, killing the dragon feels like a bonus when he pulls himself together and figures out a plan. When the great beast explodes, the Tuskens and the villagers cheer, but Din races back to the place he saw you last. He pushes aside the remains of one of those massive weapons they built to find you, laying on the ground. For a moment, panic clutches his heart, but then you groan.

“Am I dead?” you ask.

Din lets out a breath, hardly managing it, as he kneels next to you. “Dumbass.”

“Because it feels like I’m dead.”

“Dumbass,” he repeats, ripping your shirt away to find a deep cut in your side, just above your hip. “Of all the ways to pay your debt—”

You sit up, wincing. “Oh,” you say, as if you hadn’t realised it, “I guess I did that, too.”

Din’s heart is still beating a million klicks a second at how close you were to being dead, but for a second, it flips, realising that you hadn’t saved him just to pay the debt. And then, as he’s helping you off the ground and bringing you toward the others, who have bacta patches ready, his heart sinks.

Your debt is paid. You don’t have any reason to stay with him and the kid. As soon as you get back to the city, he’s going to have to watch you leave.

Shit. He didn’t think this through.

Meanwhile, you’re on the same train of thought. Does he really think you saved him for the debt? Does he want you gone that bad? It makes sense. You’re a pain in the ass, with all the training you need. But...well, you thought he might’ve—

“I’ve changed my mind,” you declare.

Din, terrified, attempts to sound neutral. “About?”

“The worst job we’ve ever taken. This is definitely it,” you huff as he helps you down onto a smoother boulder, taking patches from a Tusken.

He goes to use them, but you raise a hand.

“If you even think about getting near my wound with those nasty gloves, I’m going to skin you,” you threaten.

Frankly, Din is too shaken to even laugh. The silence lays there, stilted, as he removes his gloves and sits somewhat behind you, on another close stone. You’ve taken yours off, too, seeing as one is ripped all the way through.

He’s careful with the bacta patch and his bare hands, making sure not to touch your skin.

Now, of all moments, would be the worst time to find out that you really don’t have a reason to stay.

While he works, he thinks, briefly, that he should say something. “(Y/N),” he starts to say. “I—”

But that happens to be the moment he’s putting the bacta patch on. You suck in a sharp breath through your teeth, wincing. Your hand flies out, reaching for something to ground you. Of course, because something out there has it out for you, you grab his hand, forgetting that his gloves are, for once in his life, not there.

You realise, ridiculously, that his hand is warm.

And then the world around you explodes into colour.

The faded yellow of the surrounding desert is overwhelming with how it burns into your eyes alongside the brilliant blue of the sky. The surrounding Tuskens are in browns and greys, simple things, but so, so beautiful to your new sight. You breathe out, a shaky action.

Behind you, Din comes to see the same, but his gaze is stuck on the back of your head—the (h/c) of your hair and how the light catches in it, despite it being a complete mess.

You barely have the breath to gasp, but you do, whirling around to face him.

His beskar is beyond what you’d pictured: a shining, sparkling silver that could stand out on a star. No wonder rooms fall silent at the sight of him.

Din has the same thought about your eyes. On death’s door, all he’d wanted was to know what colour they are and now he knows, but it feels so useless now. He doesn’t even know what to call them. Sure, (e/c) would work, however weakly. You are...something else. You always have been, but now it’s like he can see it, the beauty of who you are so plainly painted into your features.

Din doesn’t even have the time to be afraid of your reaction before the words are slipping out. “I don’t want you to go.”

You just stare at him for a long moment, words processing.

It...kind of freaks him out.

He jumps when you fling yourself at him, arms wrapped around his shoulders in the tightest hug he’s ever gotten. Immediately, he responds, clutching the back of your shirt like it’ll save his life.

“Thank the Force,” you breathe out, just beside where his ear is under the helmet. “I don’t wanna leave.”

Din lets out a breath of relief and tugs you closer so you’re practically sitting on his lap. It can’t be comfortable, but you don’t seem to mind. When you do finally pull away, it’s to press your forehead against his helmet. It sends a swell of affection through him again, your constant Keldabe kisses. He taught you something important to his culture, to him, and here you are, using it without thought.

“Is it too late to tell you that this is the Mandalorian equivalent of a kiss?” he murmurs, more than a little embarrassed.

You laugh softly, arms reaching to rest around his neck. “And I thought you were so cool.”

“I just blew up a krayt dragon,” he argues.

“Oh, you’re plenty badass, Din,” you tease back, “just...not smooth.”

He huffs. “I’m gonna kick your ass next training session.”

A grin comes over your face and, for a second, he can’t comprehend why that would make you smile—until he realises that he just promised a next time. You’d genuinely believed he wanted you gone and Din thought you wanted to leave, but neither of you were right.

A whine from below catches both your attention.

The child reaches up from the ground, making grabby hands.

You laugh, a noise Din echoes quietly, and pluck him from the ground, holding him in your careful hands. “Hey, buddy. Feeling left out?”

He squeaks a confirmation, his little hands—green hands, you realise, deeply amused—reaching for Din’s helmet. Once he has a comfortable hand, he bashes his head against the helmet.

Din yelps, not out of pain, but concern, grabbing for the kid, who wobbles dizzily.

“Oh, shit—” Din says.

“Woah, woah,” you get out between wheezing laughs. “Don’t do that! His head is much harder than yours.”

The kid makes a weak huff and curls against Din’s chest stubbornly.

“I think that was an attempted kiss,” you suggest to Din.

Underneath his helmet, he grins. Petting the child’s head with a gentle finger, he looks back up at you. “It was cute.”

“Very,” you agree.

Without prompting, Din reaches for your hand again, a little hesitant. You take his gladly, running your thumb across his knuckles, which makes him shiver.

“Clan of three,” he whispers.

You lift your gaze. “Hm?”

“The Armourer, she said, ‘Clan of two’ when she gave me my sigil,” he explains. “I wanted to correct her then.”

The smile on your face is beyond words. “Clan of three has a ring to it. You’re stuck with me for good now, Din Djarin.”

He snorts and raises your hand to his helmet, touching it briefly to the metal in lieu of kissing it.

Tatooine might be the worst place in the universe, Din thinks that it doesn’t matter so much where he is. Sitting here, with you and the kid, he thinks that this might be home.

River’s Tags: @hahaboop & @mystoragehatesme

Masterlist

425 notes · View notes

msbadass · 3 years

Text

Screaming Colors // Stucky Soulmate AU

Part four

pairing: stucky x reader Bucky x reader

summary: based off the TikTok series by @SerenaIvory.

warnings; fluff, marriage stuff, kidnapping, violence, cheating, angst, language, fighting, potential smut.

word count: 1.6k

a/n: omg I’m so glad you guys are like this series! I’m not going to be sticking to a posting such at all. I’m going to be posting them as I’m writing. some parts might be coming slower than others. super excited !!apology ahead of time for any grammar error or typos :)

Xoxo MSBADASS

After a few hours of research and resources we were able to find out that a group that goes by the name ‘The Flag-Smashers’ is who took (Y/N). One of Sam’s partners out near Libya; Joaquín Torres was already trailing them. He was able to give us the last know location of their hide out. Some abandoned building in Atlanta. Once we knew where we to go; we took off on the quinjet.

Bucky was a nervous wreck. Particularly because he had no idea what we were walking into and if was going to find (Y/N) severely hurt or even dea- Ok yeah, he needed to stop preparing himself for the worst case scenario. That is exactly what his therapist doesn’t want him to be doing.

The quinjet came to a stop mid air, hovering over the provided location. All three of the trained soldiers jumped out and found their way into an abandoned close by. They throw in their ear pieces and spilt up. Sam to the skies, Steve on the second floor and Bucky to the empty garage in the building.

“Sam, do you have visual on anything?” Steve asks

“It looks like some of them just left on one of the trucks parked near the building you guys are in.” Sam replied

“I see one” Steve said

“I see a truck as well” Bucky confirmed

“I’m going to scan for (Y/N).”

Bucky sees redwing flying down above the truck, scanning for any sign of her and the flag smashers. Just as the scanning starts the truck begins to pull off.

“Got em’!! They have (Y/N) in the red one” Sam says

“On which one?” Steve questions

“The red one.” Sam replies

“I can’t see the colors, Wilson.” Steve says, getting frustrated.

“I got her” Bucky says, taking off as fast as his legs can carry him. He’s practically flying down road. He is able to catch up to the red truck, jump on the back and open up the containers doors. He pulls himself inside.

“(Y/N)?” He says looking for her.

“Bucky!” She yells out. He runs to the back of the truck to see her zip tied, no visible injuries. He’s immediately relived, just glad that she’s ok

“It’s ok doll, I got you” he pulls out a knife, to cut the ties around her wrist and her ankles. She looks up at him. (Y/E/C) filled with fear and concern.

“Bucky, you have to go I’m not alone.” She says

“What?”

Bucky feels himself being grabbed and thrown into the truck behind him. The impact catches him off guard but is able to grab ahold with his metal arm just before falling. He looks up to see a curly red headed girl jumping from the truck, onto this one. Bucky begins to climb up only to be meet by the girl. She pulls in him, she’s insanely strong. She shouldn’t be this string she’s only have his size. She punches him in right in the gut, knocking the wind out of him. Is she a super soldier? Is there more serum?

“Bucky!” (Y/N) yells

“Run! Get out here, Sam and Steve are coming!” He yells back while fighting the curly haired girl.

(Y/N) jumps from one truck to the other, she makes her way to the top. She runs towards the girl, just right feel her arm being grabbed. She looks back to see it’s the man to took her. She throws a punch. He grabs her hand pushing her down.

“Don’t you dare touch her!!” Bucky yells, he starts punching the girl while running towards the man hurting (Y/N). He grabs his arm, yanking him off the truck watching him fall onto the road. The curly haired girl, still coming after him.

(Y/N) seeing this runs towards Bucky knocking them both off the truck. Bucky quickly wraps his arms around (Y/N) He holds her close, protecting her from any impact. They start rolling fast down a hill.

They come to a stop; both catching their breathe. Bucky on top of her. “Are you ok doll?”

She coughs and looks up at him. “Yeah-yeah I’m alright.”

They just stare at each other for a moment. Neither of them moving. Not sure of what to say or how to act. Him laying her wants necessarily awful either, there was no tension. It just felt very calm.

“(Y/N)!” They both recognize as Steve’s voice coming towards them.

(Y/N) pushes Bucky off of her, he picks him self up and helps her up as well.

Steve is booking it towards the both of them. Once he reaches her he grabs her and pulls her in for a hug. “Oh-oh my gosh. Honey are you ok? I’m so sorry. I should’ve been home with you. I should’ve nev-” He rambles on, tears filling his eyes. (Y/N) embraces him. Reassuring that none of this was he’s fault and that she was ok. Steve grabs her face and plants a kiss to her forehead.

Bucky starts to feel awkward, like he shouldn’t be witnessing what is happening in front of him. He offers to go back and grab the quintet to distance himself for just a few moments.

A couple hours later. Everyone is back home. Bucky went with Steve and (Y/N) just to make sure the both of them were ok. Steve makes (Y/N) go rest in bed, it wasn’t even a few seconds after laid her head down that she was dead to the world.

Steve comes back down stairs and makes a beeline towards the fridge. Grabbing two beers for the both of them. Steve pops the top off of one of them, takes a swig then rest his head in his hand.

“It’s my fault.” He states “I should’ve been here.” He takes another swing from his bottle

“She so home now” Bucky replies. Grabbing the other bottle laid it for him. “She’s safe now. That’s what really matters.”

“Yeah..” Steve said. “I guess you’re right”

“Of course I am, I’m always right.” He said with a cocky grin, causing Steve to role his eyes and smirk.

A few moments go by, both of the super soldiers just sitting in silence. The occasional sip of beer coming to ear.

“So..” Steve says “When we’re you going to tell me you’ve found your soulmate?”

A tinge of panic runs down Buckys neck. Steve must’ve remembered when I saw the red truck. Normal people can’t see colors idiot. Does he know about (Y/N)? Shit.

Bucky takes a swig from his beer then looks to Steve. “It happened awhile ago.” He starts to feel his hands clamming up.

“Tell me about her?” Steve asks

“Oh gosh, she’s amazing. Has the kindest heart and is braver than she looks.” Bucky could go on about how he cares for (Y/N) “but it’s doesn’t matter, it’s impossible.” He shakes his head.

“Nothing is really impossible, I mean look at (Y/N) and I. We still haven’t seen colors but I know we are made for each other.” Steve replies.

Bucky immediately feels pangs of guilt crawling up his spine. “What would happen if she saw the colors with someone else?” .

Steve huffed, “Ya know, I’ve asked myself that question too many times.” He takes another drink. “I can’t ever find the right answer. Any answer really.”

“Would you let her go?” Bucky said before even realizing it came out of his mouth.

“I don’t know. It would be the right thing to do.” Steve said.

Bucky looks up at him starting to feel even heavier in his chest. Steve meets his eyes.

“But I’ve lost so much already, I wouldn’t stand loosing her as well.”

Bucky nods at him.

How much more complicated can this get?

COMMENT! LIKE! REPOST

COMMENT TO BE ADDED TO TAG LIST!

@spookyparadisesheep @sherd-nerd @whatotherisleft @theseuss-asshole @addietagglikesbands @redsalv20 @intothesoul @fictionalboyofthemonth

112 notes · View notes

shelobussy · 3 years

Note

I know you talk abou st*cky in the interracial ships stuff, but can we talk about st*ny? Iron husbands is literally right there, but I also always sees Rhodey as Tonys moral support only. And ik Tony is very shippable with most characters, but the fact his ship is Rhodey is one of the lowest ships in ao3 (ironstrange, winteriron and god forbid stark*r all had more fics in ao3).. It's pretty telling this side also has racism problems...

I'll go ahead and answer this here, but letting y'all know that I do have a marvel sideblog if you want to hit me up there (@themarvelarchives).

Hey, I'm going to ramble for a good minute.

So after I posted my very incoherent, controversial take on St*cky vs SamBucky, there were a ton of ppl who came onto anon saying that St*cky shippers were racist. I think I only answered a few, but y'all were pretty insistent on it. I personally have not observed that St*cky shippers are so I'm not calling anyone out on that side of the fandom for that.

I also did not call out anyone on this side of the fandom bc that's not what my meta was about. I think I mentioned maybe once or twice in the whole post that there was underlying racist in the fandom, but since you asked, we can talk about it here.

Covert Bigotry In Fandom Spaces.

To understand what's going on in the MCU, we have to first look at what I call "woke-queer" fandom.

So "Woke-Queer" Spaces is the phenomenon where certain fandom members like to call ppl out on their bigotry, while covertly harboring their own queerphobia/racism/etc. An example of this that we're all familiar with is TERFS and how they like to claim that they are progressive and woke, while also claiming that trans women are fake and trans men are sexist.

How this translates to fandom, however, is the hypocrisy that is cancellation and callout culture.

For example, Supernatural in particular is a fandom that likes to call out the writers on their homophobia and racism, and yet, somehow, the fandom is chalk full of homophobia and racism. If you want to read more about this, here is a truly excellent article from the perspective of a queer woman of color.

Moving on, I've also talked in a previous meta post, on the internalized acephobia that exploded in 2019 after Good Omens was released. Rather than reiterate everything I said in that post, I'll just leave it at this: the controversy in the Good Omens fandom can be summed up by the fact that queer audiences are claiming that Ineffable Husbands is the wrong kind of queer. The hypocrisy oozes off the screen, doesn't it?

A final way this viably translates to fandom, is in how the Doctor Who fandom evolved over time.

So Steven Moffat takes over as head writer and showrunner in 2010. It's a new series, a new Doctor, a new Tardis, and new branding. He steps up the action, changes the color grating, and raises the stakes. Women are sexier, the Doctor is smarter (and more of an asshole, but that's another meta post), and every companion comes with their own impossible mystery that makes them Special™.

Series 5-10 got tons of woke points for having lesbian characters, an episode where the Doctor is homoerotic with James Corden, and an underlying trans narrative with the Master's reincarnation. What a lot of people forget, however, is that his series was incredibly sexiest, incredibly lesbian/biphobic, and basically turned the Doctor into everyone's fantasy sex-object.

This, unfortunately, brought out the worst of the fandom. There was RTD Era vs Moffat Era wars exploding in certain corners, TenxRose shippers vs ElevenxRiver shippers.

What does this have to do with covert racism in fandom cultures though?

Hnnngng ok, so back in RTD era's we get Martha Jones, the Actual Best Companion On The Entire Show. Except for the fact, of course, that she is written to be in love with the doctor. She's a brilliant character--smart, sassy, flawed, funny, flirtatious--and her entire plotline is reduced down to a school-girl crush on a white man.

She doesn't do well with fans, they scrap her after one season.

We move on to Donna Noble (The Other Actual Best Companion On The Entire Show) and RTD's era ends with them scraping her too and regenerating David Tennant's Doctor.

It will be five more series (not seasons, SERIES) until Doctor Who will have another black companion--who gets extra points for being gay--only to fall victim to "bury your gays" at the end of the season (but not really bc no one stays dead on Doctor Who).

The fandom's reception of Martha Jones was historically bad. The comparisons to her predecessor, Rose Tyler, were rampant and everyone was finding a reason to hate her.

The fandom's reception to Bill Potts was also historically bad, as everyone was screaming that she was being written for more "woke points" and that they wanted Clara back.

Fandom has a historically bad reputation of being problematic and, I would argue, the majority of it has to do with these toxic undertones of bigotry that slip under the radar. "Woke-queer" spaces, as I call them, are these instances above where spaces that claim to be inclusive of gender/orientation/race are covertly bigoted.

Marvel and Cancelling

Now is an excellent time to talk about the MCU.

Anthony Mackie (Sam Wilson) has recently come under a lot of criticism from fandom members for shutting down shipper speculation.

"The idea of two guys being friends and loving each other in 2021 is a problem because of the exploitation of homosexuality. [...] something as pure and beautiful as homosexuality has been exploited by people who are trying to rationalize themselves."

I can't find the rest of the quote, but Mackie goes on further to say that it was important to him to portray "a sensitive, masculine figure" without insinuating that there was romance involved.

Woke culture lost it's shit. Everyone was suddenly claiming that Mackie was calling them exploitative for shipping a gay ship as a queer audience, which could not have been further from the case.

Mackie actually makes some very excellent points in that sensitivity is not gay/queer. Woke culture loves to rag on Toxic Masculinity, but the minute someone plays a character who is loving and sensitive with no queer narrative in mind, they are immediately canceled.

What Am I On About

Okay, let's actually address what your ask was about, Nonnie. You pointed out--rather truthfully--that it is unfair to call-out racism on one side of the fandom, while ignoring it on the other side.

Well, I've gone back through my St*cky vs. SamBucky analysis (which is incoherent at best, I apologize for that) and I see maybe once instance where I called out fandom members for being racist. Here's what I had to say about racism:

"[...] Iron Husbands is a rarepair, probably because it’s an interracial ship."

"[there is] nothing wrong with shipping two white men, but it does become a problem when you ignore/bash POC/interracial ships to the determinant of your own white ship."

And then there was the post you brought up where I addressed interracial ships in the fandom. That one is probably more relevant to this topic, to be honest, as I actually addressed fandom racism there. I assume that your reason for bringing up Stony is because it's a ship that is more relevant to my side of the fandom, HOWEVER, the reason I highlighted Stucky instead was because I was comparing the fact that they've both been around the same amount of time and are relationships that feature the protagonist and their best friend.

You brought up St*ny in the ask, however, so I'm going to talk about St*ny for a minute.

As someone who never has nor will ship St*ny, it never even occurred to me that some of the problem behind the Iron Husbands tag being so small is because everyone ships the white, boring ship. You brought up a very valid point, but because I was never in that part of the fandom, I can't really speak to any possible underlying racism there, besides what I've already said above.

I would be interested in hearing a St*ony shipper or ex-St*ony shippers thought on this, but sadly I don't know any. If you have any more thoughts regarding this, Nonnie, pls drop back into my inbox.

You do make some excellent points in this ask though, and I would like to talk about racism on my side of the fandom.

So back to Mackie and his Twitter cancellation. Notice that Disney made him address the rumors and not his co-star, Sebastian Stan. Anthony Mackie is put on blast and made to answer fan demands and receives backlash, while Sebastian Stan gets to fly under the rader. This is not, by the way, a criticism of Stan, but instead of the blatant racism Disney has been displaying over the past few years.

How this ties in with the rest of my post has to do with my "woke-queer" spaces bit. The outcry across the MCU fandom over Mackie was swift and unforgiving. He was cancelled on charges of homophobia and bigotry--all the while these same fans turn a blind eye to any queer interpretation of other interracial ships and discourse in their own fandom.

The racism that I'm speaking about, of course, is an almost passive racism. Of course if you don't ship a specific ship for reasons other than their race, it's perfectly fine. It's okay not to ship Iron Husbands or SamBucky or any other interracial fandom ships. However, the distinct lack of shippers in the fandom IS telling because there are people who would ship that exact ship if not for the fact that one of men is black.

I don't have much more to say about this except to thank you for bringing it up and for listening to my long rambling post.

(Feel free to bug me about Tony Stark, MCU ships, MCU Meta and anything you want to talk me about on this blog and @themarvelarchives.)

#this got long sorry #iron husbands #sambucky #james rhodes #tony stark #sam wilson #anthony mackie #doctor who #moffat critical #my meta #ash does meta #ash does fandom #marvel #mcu #fandom critical #fandom criticism #long post

62 notes · View notes

livexdolan · 3 years

Text

The Cage - Part One

A/n: so hi! This is a UFC based fic about Grayson Dolan. This is an AU with an OC. There is no face claim as of now but they might change idk. I’m not going to ramble lol I’m just very very nervous. Anywho please enjoy and let me know what you think! There will be many parts to this series by the way lol so this part is kind of slow but just wait aha

Word Count: 5924

Warnings: fluff, mentions of death, explicit language, and triggering topics (maybe?) mentioned

“I’ve always wondered what it’d be like to be famous- never telling anyone but I’ve always wanted to know- wanted to get in the head of someone famous and see what they go through- but I could’ve never guessed this was how I was going to find out.

It all started when I was 22, fresh out of college, with a crappy assistant job at a publishing company in Los Angeles, California. Having been stuck at this job for almost three years and never even having my articles read, I was starting to lose hope that I would never be more than an assistant. Until one day…”

“Lily! Get in here! And bring me a coffee!” I scurry to Mr. Lane’s office, clutching the coffee I had just gone and grabbed for him, stopping by my desk to grab my notebook and pen.

I opened his glass door and put his coffee down on his desk, pushing up my glasses as I opened my notebook and clicked my pen, looking up at him expectantly, waiting for him to say what he needed me to do. He looks at me, his eyes bright at first but quickly losing their color and he sighs as though he’s already exasperated, “What is this?” He holds up a copy of a story I had put on his desk.

Oh jeez, another rejection. I push my glasses up again and start to stutter out an explanation in a quiet voice, “Well, I-I heard you talking to some of the reporters about need-needing a new story for next week's issue and well, I-I already had an idea so I thought I’d-” He cuts me off with a quick raise of his hand and a stoic look on his face, giving nothing away.

“Look,” he sighs and rubs his face with both hands before continuing, “It’s not a bad story, but it’s a half-baked idea. That’s your problem. That’s why you haven’t gotten a byline yet- you can never deliver a full idea- let alone a full article, do you understand?”

I look down, refusing to let him see my cheeks burn red and my eyes water. This is what he says every time I give him an idea. “Do you want to be a journalist?” He questions.

I make eye contact with him quickly lifting my head and squaring my shoulders to try and seem more confident, “More than anything, sir.”

“Well then, I have a proposition for you.” He gets up from his chair, his tall, lean body going to perch on the corner of his desk as he looks up at me his blue eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint, “I’ll give you a lead, and if you can follow through and get me a full 12000-word article by Monday, you can keep your job and I might throw you a lead here and there. But if you fail to deliver…” He pauses momentarily, thinking over his next words carefully, “you lose your job.”

I gasp and try to reason with myself for a second, making a mental pro-con list before replying quietly, “What’s the article on?”

He shakes his head and smirks lightly, filling my stomach with more unease, “No, you have to agree to the proposition. Then, I will tell you the story.”

Can I do this? Can I risk everything? I mean, that’s what my life’s been so far, a lot of risks and sacrifices. But is this a sacrifice I’m willing to make?

What would mom do? I sigh, “O-ok. Okay, I accept. Now, what’s the story?”

He claps his hands together excitedly and looks up at me with a boyish grin, he moves swiftly behind his desk and grabs an envelope, handing it to my shaky hands, “Grayson Dolan, he fights tonight here at the arena, go with a press pass, get an interview with him and ask him a couple of questions. Oh, and make sure we get a quote.”

I stare at him open-mouthed, frozen to my spot, “What? The Grayson Dolan?! You and I are both very aware that he refuses to do interviews. This isn’t even possible.” I say without trying to raise my voice too much.

Jace just leans back in his desk chair, lacing his fingers together and putting them behind his head, “Not my problem- it’s yours now. If I don’t have that story in my hand Monday morning, just pack your things up and leave, got it?” He smirks up at me.

I just silently walk out of his office and back to my desk, sitting down and putting my head against the cool wood surface. I don’t know if I want to cry or punch myself in the face.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“And then he told me that if I accept- but fail to give him a story- I lose my job!”

“Wow! I never liked that guy, you know. He gives off such- such a douchebag vibe.”

I can’t help but chuckle at my dad’s voice dropping a little, he hasn’t been big on cursing since mom passed. At first, it was weird because both my parents cussed when I was growing up. But after mom passed, dad decided that, ‘there’s enough hate in the world’ and that he’s not going to add to it with foul language.’

“I know Dad, but what am I supposed to do?”

“Don’t accept it! You should never risk your whole career on whether or not some guy is feeling up to an interview!”

“Ok, one-” I start, “it is not just some guy! This is Grayson Dolan! And two,” I lower my voice and chew my lip, a bad habit I picked up in middle school, “I already agreed.”

“Of course you did!” he sounds exasperated and I pull my phone away from my ear a little out of reflex, “You are just like your mother, you know that?” he sighs and the line goes quiet.

“Daddy?” I whisper into the phone. He stays silent. It’s my turn to sigh and fall back onto my couch. I mutter into the phone, “He wouldn’t tell me the story until I accepted. I have to go get ready, I’ll talk to you after the match. I’ll be sitting ringside so look for me, ok?”

“Ok, I will. I’m still not happy about this.”

“I know Dad, you’re not happy with two-thirds of the things I do.”

That gets a reluctant chuckle out of him, “I guess you’re right. Good luck, by the way. If anyone can get an interview out of Dolan- it’d be you. And if you can’t, your childhood bedroom would love to have you back.”

“Ha-ha. Thanks. I love you.”

“Love you too baby, I’ll see you soon?”

“Dad,” my stomach drops at his hopeful voice and I can’t bring myself to tell him the truth, “Maybe, bye.”

I hang up the phone before he can say anything and I sink into the couch.

I wake with a start, my neck sore from the back of the couch. Oh no. I grab my phone in a haste, I turn it on and my whole body sags in relief when the time shows up; 6:45.

I have about an hour and a half to get ready, that’s enough time!

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Wrong. Very wrong. I feel a wave of heat wash over me, igniting my anxiety as I look at the time on my phone; 7:45.

I quickly put on my normal, light makeup consisting of moisturizer, skin tint, blush on my cheeks and nose, giving me an almost sunburnt look. I shape my eyebrows a little, fix my glasses, and put on my chapstick. I quickly brush out my short, wavy hair and clip back the front parts. I shake my head slightly to get my bangs in place and do one last check in the mirror before heading to my closet.

Too pink. Too casual. Too tight. Too- ugh where did I even get that from? I start moving the hangers faster, getting frustrated with my lack of options. I move past a pastel purple dress- wait. I go back to the dress and grab it off the rod, holding it up in the light.

When did I buy this? My eyebrows furrow as I look at the beautiful and delicate dress that I must’ve forgotten about. I pull it off the hanger and slowly put it on, saying a silent prayer that it fits.

I smooth the soft material out and look in the mirror. I’m pleasantly surprised by how the dress fits. It’s silk with spaghetti straps and is a lilac color with little flowers all over it.

I don’t have time to overthink my outfit now. I throw on my roommate’s white Timberlands, grab my black purse, making sure my ID, wallet, and phone are all tucked safely inside. I grab my press pass and put the lanyard around my head carefully.

Taking a deep breath, I walk out to the living room where my roommate is sitting waiting for me to come out.

I clear my throat and try not to look too awkward. Ryan looks up from her MacBook and gasps, tossing her laptop onto the couch next to her, she moves over to me, her long legs gracefully walking around the coffee table.

She investigates every part of my outfit, making me feel small and self-conscious. Before I can stop myself, I start rambling in a quiet tone, “Is-is this too much? Do you th-think it looks okay?”

She grasps my shoulders and a wide smile makes its way onto her face, “Of course, you look amazing!” I smile at her and she winks at me, “When that pretentious ass sees you- he might want to do more than just let you interview him.”

I snort and roll my eyes and she laughs, “Yeah right,” I mumble.

She walks over to our coat rack and pulls off a small black cardigan, “Here, I know it gets cold in there,” I smile gratefully and take it from her, folding it over the crook of my arm and taking a deep breath.

I start to walk towards the door and she calls my name, I look back at her as I open the door, “You look hot Lil- knock ‘em dead,” I smile at her and nod, walking out before I get sappy.

I pull into the busy parking lot of the arena and gulp down my bubbling anxiety. I find a parking spot, towards the back of the lot seeing as I don’t get bothered by having to walk a little. I go up to the line, seeing a sign that says, ‘PRESS ENTRANCE HERE’ I smile at the worker looking at me and pointing to the Press sign and then at my pass hanging around my neck, he nods.

I go towards the other entrance and show a different security guard my pass and he opens a door for me, I smile up at him, “Thank you-” I glance at the small name tag, “Don.” He blushes slightly and coughs.

I blush too and walk through the door quickly. I realize that I’m ‘backstage’ and can hear the fans cheering for one of the main card fights happening. I check my small watch and see that it’s going to be another hour or so before Grayson Dolan fights.

I take another deep breath and start walking forward, trying not to look like a lost puppy and failing when a man wearing a UFC crew shirt comes over to me with furrowed brows, “Who’re you looking for?”

I look at him, his deep voice vibrating against the walls, “Grayson Dolan,” I answer back.

He gives me a once-over and I try not to make a face when he meets my eyes and smirks, “Oh, he’ll like you.” I furrow my brows but decide not to question it as he points down a long hallway, “Four doors down, take a right, then the last door on the left is him- the one that’ll say, Grayson Dolan.” I thanked him even though he was a bit rude, and made my way down.

Once I turn down the hallway I see someone sitting outside one of the rooms on a single chair. I make my way closer and my heart drops into my stomach when I see it’s a girl sitting outside Grayson Dolan’s room, “Hello? Are-Are you okay?”

The girl looks up at me from her phone and gives me a once-over, except it’s different from the way the worker did- she looks annoyed with me. She stands up, her high heels making her about an inch or two taller than me, “Who are you?” She asks, crossing her arms over her chest, pushing her cleavage up.

I cough to clear my throat a little, taken back by her abrasive tone, “I’m a reporter- Are you okay?”

“I’m perfectly fine, and if you’re here for Grayson Dolan- he won’t talk to you.”

“I- I’m sorry, why do you say that?” The woman steps closer to me and I try not to gag at the smell of her cheap, overused perfume. I step back from her and she straightens up slightly, glowering at me.

“Just run along, maybe you’ll understand when you’re grown,” She says, looking back at her phone, when she glances up and sees I’m not leaving she rolls her eyes, “Grayson Dolan doesn’t talk to reporters. I wouldn’t be surprised if you weren’t actually a reporter anyway, you’re probably just here to fuck him, huh? Get in line,” She laughs.

My whole body feels like it’s on fire. I don’t understand why she’s being so rude and malicious towards me but I have to get this interview. I can’t let people like her bring me down anymore. When she gives me a fake smile and sits back down, I decide to be the bigger person. Not snapping back at her and ignoring her. Because she doesn’t know me and she doesn’t know what I’ve been through.

The door opens before I can say anything anyways and we both look over, startled. A man looks over at us, then turn and glances back inside the room before he nods, looking at me, and asking what my name is, “Lily Taylor, here with Ace Publis-” I try to tell him but he cuts me off opening the door wider and my eyes widen as he tells me to come in. I try to keep from laughing when the girl asks if she can come in but he just shakes his head at her, I turn around quickly before he shuts the door, “If I were you- I wouldn’t lie to others and say you’re around his age, it’s very obvious that you’re old enough to be his mom,” And the door shuts on her shocked face.

I realize my heart is pounding in my ears and that is probably the meanest thing I’ve ever done, “I should probably apologize,” I whisper to myself and jump slightly when I hear a deep chuckle.

“What can I help you with, Ms. Taylor?” My shoulders tense at the familiar voice and I turn around slowly, facing a couch with a very amused Grayson Dolan sitting on it.

“I- I’m so sorry for being so rude to her. I didn’t mean to be.”

“Why do you think I’d care about her? She’s been sitting out there for two hours,” He laughs and I think he caught the raise of my eyebrow but ignores it, “I asked you once, Ms. Taylor, I don’t like repeating myself.” He reminds me of his question.

I square my shoulders, “I’m here with Ace Publishing & Co., I would love if you could answer some questions for me,” I smile at him, trying to come off as friendly.

His amused expression drops and he scoffs, “You’re one of them? God- here I was hoping you were a die-hard fan. Was going to make you feel very special,” He smirks at me and I scrunch my nose out of habit at his gross words. I quickly stop, realizing I need this, “Frank- show Ms. Taylor out please,” He sighs, and my eyes widen and I stick my hands out and Frank stops moving for a second.

“Wait! Wait! Please I-” Frank huffs at my refusal to move and grabs my arm as I move closer to Grayson, “Please. I wouldn’t be this adamant if I didn’t need this. Please. My career is counting on this moment. Please, I will get down on my knees and beg if I have to, please,” I put my hands in a pleading gesture, hoping he’d take pity.

He holds his hand up to Frank and he lets go of my arm, I sigh and straighten up a little, hoping to gain back some of the dignity I seemed to have lost, “What do you mean?” He cocks his head to the side curiously and I blush, glancing at the ground.

“My boss he uh- he told me that if I don’t get at least a quote from you I can kiss my job goodbye and well, it’s not the best job but I’ve worked my ass off to get where I’m at and he’s being unfair and I understand that this isn’t your problem and I understand why you don’t like to talk to interviewers-”

He cuts me off, “You know why I don’t talk to interviewers?” I look up at him and nod meekly, “Why? Explain it to me,” he crosses his arms and I think he might be upset with me.

I look back down at the ground and take a breath, glancing back up at him through my lashes, “You don’t do interviews because doing an interview is personal and revealing. You’re scar- scared to let the world see who the Grayson Dolan is because you don’t think they’ll like you as much.”

He cocks his eyebrow and uncrosses his arm, sighing, looking away from me to the wall, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek as he contemplates for a minute, “You got like 20 minutes to ask me whatever you want, and no stupid questions that all the interviewers ask, okay?” I nod and move to sit in the chair next to the couch.

“Do you mind if I record this? I’d like to keep this paper-free, meaning I don’t have a notebook out and try to write everything down. We’re just going to have a conversation and let it flow. I can stop recording at any time if you say something you’d like erased. I’m not here to expose you, just here to get to know you. As a person. Not as a fighter. I’m not going to ask you anything about how being a fighter’s been or what your inspiration is. I’m going to ask you about you. As a whole. Because the UFC is not your personality,” I explain to him, pulling my phone out and pulling up my voice memos app and looking back up to him, waiting for an answer.

He stares at me until finally, I say his name quietly, hoping he’s okay, he blinks and flushes, shifting, “Sorry, y-yeah, that’s okay. I just- I didn’t expect you to be like- acting like a human.”

I laugh and start recording, “Maybe that means I’m a bad journalist? I don’t know- I feel like it’s easier to connect and get the questions in without papers and cameras and all that other stuff.”

(this part is going to be a dialogue as though we are just listening to the recording)

“That makes sense, and no I can tell you’re going to be great, you treat me like I’m just- a guy, which doesn’t happen often.”

“I bet, you don’t deserve that though. Okay, I’m going to start us off with some icebreakers- so tell me what your childhood dream job was, your favorite ice cream flavor, and 3 things you do on the weekends.”

“Oh, jeez, what is this- first day of 6th grade? Fine- Uh, I always wanted to be a pro wrestler, that was my dream job as a kid. My favorite- vegan- ice cream flavor is probably mint chocolate chip. And, uhm, three things I do on the weekends...okay okay I got it; eat, sleep, workout. Now you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you, Miss Reporter. If you want this to flow you gotta participate as well.”

“Okay, fine. Uh- as a kid I always wanted to be a veterinarian, and then when I was like 10 I realized I wanted to be a writer. My favorite ice cream flavor is probably mint chocolate chip as well. And on the weekends...I’d probably say; read, watch fights with my dad, and drink tea with my best friend at a cafe.”

“Every single weekend?”

“Yeah, my dad lives on the other side of the country so we do a FaceTime call and watch UFC together. My roommate has a job that takes up a lot of her time during the week so we go to this small cafe by our house every weekend.”

“Wow.”

(this is where the rest of the interview would be but, for later in the timeline, we aren’t going to cover every question she asks him :))

“Okay, now tell me about your family. Where you grew up, were your parents married, did you have a dog, and how do you think this all helped make you the man you are today?”

“I grew up in New Jersey; my dad left when I was 10. I’m allergic to dogs and cats, so I have a parrot named Gizmo. My mom never remarried and my sister lives with her. My brother and I moved to LA when we were 18, with no money, no job, just hope. We went to a gym and asked them if they’d train us. The next thing I knew, my brother was getting a job working at the gym and becoming one of my trainers. I learned how to fight and used my wrestling experience and worked my way into the UFC.”

“You didn’t answer my last question.”

“Yes, I did.”

“No, you told me how you got started in the UFC. I don’t want to know about that- everyone knows that story already. I want to know how you think the things you went through as a child have shaped you as a person.”

“I- I guess- I don’t know, to be honest. I don’t think much of who I’ve become so that question is hard to answer.”

“Why do you say that? You are one of the most accomplished men in America.”

“To others, but this- I wasn’t supposed to be a fighter. Everyone sees me as accomplished but I just feel like this was an accident. There was no great event in my life that caused me to become an MMA fighter- it just happened.”

“You don’t believe in fate, Mr. Dolan?”

“No, I don’t. Do you, Ms. Taylor?”

“Yes, I believe that we all have a path we are meant to follow and that everything happens for a reason.”

“Why?”

“Because- I don’t know- it’s nicer than the alternative to me, I guess. I don’t want to live in a world where nothing has a reason behind it. We’ll move on to the next question. You don’t disclose personal information; relationships, family, children, etcetera.”

“Where are you going with this?”

“Why is that? Are you afraid?”

“Afraid? Of what?”

“The same reason I said earlier as to why you don’t like interviews; you are scared people will see the real Grayson Dolan and not like you as much or think you’re different.”

“Are you like- a profiler or something? Why do you think that?”

“I’m not a profiler- I’m a journalist. It’s my job to look for clues, pick up on the small things about someone no one else would notice.”

“Ok, I’ll accept that. Is it my turn to ask you questions?”

“No that’s not how this works.”

“You said you wanted this to be like a normal conversation, did you not?”

“Yes, I did say that, but-”

“Okay, well, I don’t know about you but normally when I’m getting to know someone- I get to ask questions just like they do.”

“Fine. What do you want to know?”

“I want to know...if you’ll go out with me?”

“What? Like on a- like on a date?”

“Yes, a date, Ms. Taylor.”

“Uh- I don’t know, maybe, I-”

“30 minutes to the fight, Dolan! Gotta get you warmed-up!”

(the story is back to normal now)

“So?” He questions as he stands up and I try to gather all my stuff. Trying to push down the butterflies while I stop the recording. I just continue to get more flustered, especially when he puts his hand out for me and I shyly take it, he pulls me to my feet and I stare at him through my lashes.

“I- sure. On one condition,” I smile slyly up at him and he raises an eyebrow at me, I ignore the unfamiliar feeling between my thighs at the look on his face and continue quickly, “You have to win this fight. I’ll be in the front row watching. If you win- I’ll go out with you.”

He smiles and then chuckles, “I thought you were going to make it hard? I could win this fight in my sleep baby, I’ll let you know the time after the fight, just stick around, yeah?”

I snort and roll my eyes, ignoring the pull on my heart when he calls me baby, “I’ll be there,” He smiles at me again and I jump a little in surprise when I feel his warm, large hand on the small of my back, he opens the door for me and leads me into the hallway.

I try not to laugh at the face of the Instagram model when she sees Grayson’s hand on me, “I’ll be looking for you in the front row, just so you know.” He teases.

I smile at him and kiss him on the cheek, “I’ll be the one cheering the loudest. Knock Em dead!” I walk away quickly and glance back seeing him standing there, his right hand gently going up to touch the spot I kissed and we both blush. My heart drops into my stomach when he looks over and sees the model. I have to turn the corner and get to my seat so I don’t see how he reacted. He wouldn’t sleep with her right after asking me out, would he? My subconscious snaps back; you barely know the man! Maybe he does this all the time! I push her down and ignore the bad feeling in my gut.

As I sit down in my seat, everything that just happened hits me and I slouch into my seat, what. the. fuck. I’m going on a date with Grayson Dolan! I got an interview with Grayson Dolan! I kissed Grayson Dolan on the cheek! I bite back a smile and take out my phone, taking a video showing me smiling at the camera, then flipping the camera around and showing off how close I am to the octagon. I sent it to my dad quickly.

He responds almost immediately.

*From Daddy: Wow!! So cool! Have tons of fun! Not too much though! Not ready to be a grandpa...yet ;)

I snort and roll my eyes, responding and then turning my phone off when the lights in the arena dim.

*To Daddy: Lmao, shut up. I’ll try to have fun though! The main card is starting! I’ll talk to you later, love you <3

After I watch a few of the fights before Graysons’, I take some pictures and jot down some information about the fights and who won, knowing it’ll add more substance to my piece.

I watch as the whole arena transforms and the whole place is bursting with barely-contained energy and the place goes dark. Suddenly, lights start beaming and music starts playing, I smile at the Kid Cudi (each fight he uses a different Cudi song) choice for tonight- Enter Galactic as it blasts through the speakers everyone goes wild, Grayson moving swiftly to the octagon with his head low and singing the song softly to himself. I can tell he’s not the same Grayson I was talking to, he has flipped the switch- as he told me he does- and is now The Grayson Dolan- UFC Fighter and Champion.

He takes his shirt off and I blush at his tan skin, the rippling muscles making my brain go straight in the gutter. The ‘doc’ pats him down and puts vaseline on his face. I try not to laugh at how weird he looks with his eyebrows slicked down.

He makes his way into the octagon and I see him scanning the front row when his eyes land on mine. I smile at him but he just gives me a curt nod in response before turning away. I’m taken aback by his attitude but I know he has to stay in his fighter mentality.

The other fighter, Dominick Reyes, comes in and he has a good amount of people cheer for him but the majority of the arena boos when he comes out. I know that having some of how this fight goes in my article will make it look better because it’s such a big deal, so I jot some notes down, some about Grayson and some about Reyes.

I subconsciously chew on my nail, scolding myself when I realize what I’m doing. He’s going to win. I tell myself to calm down, I’ve never been to a fight before so the chaotic and anxiety-filled energy around me must be getting to my head.

The ref announces them both, and then they go to the middle, Grayson goes to touch Reyes’ fist, but Reyes pulls back and smirks at Grayson, “C’mon pretty boy,” he sings.

Grayson’s jaw clenches and he starts moving around the octagon, Reyes slowly falling into a pattern of chasing him around. Grayson continues to step to the right until suddenly, he moves to the left, and Reyes doesn’t see it. I watch in astonishment as he puts all of his power into the punch, hitting Reyes perfectly on the temple. Reyes drops to the ground and Grayson’s about to follow him to the mat but the ref stops him, officially calling the fight. Grayson looks over at me, my mouth hanging wide open and he smirks, winking at me.

That asshole just winked at me.

I stand up quickly, cheering loudly with everyone else and he shakes his head, turning back to his team as they run into the octagon to hug him. Once Grayson is done with everything and the crowd starts shuffling out, Grayson comes over to me, “D’you see that?” He smiles and I smile back.

“Yeah, yeah, I saw,” He chuckles and grabs my arm pulling me into him.

I gasp as I hit his hard, sweaty chest, “You’re sweaty,” I scrunch my nose up and try to pull away but he tightens his grip, staring down at me with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“You owe me a date,” He responds and I roll my eyes, ignoring the hammering of my heart at how close we are to each other.

“What time and where?” I say, acting bored.

He chuckles down at me, “I’ll pick you up at 5:30. This Saturday. Just bring your beautiful self and don’t worry about anything else.”

“What’s the dress code?” I raise my eyebrow and he shrugs.

“Whatever you want to wear, although I’ll tell you right now they might frown upon you wearing lingerie or something like that.”

I snort and as he moves away from me a little and we start walking behind his team I realize that I’m a lot colder than I realized, rubbing my arms subconsciously and realizing that I left my sweater in the car damn it.

Grayson notices me rubbing my arms and bumps my shoulder, “You cold?”

“A little. I have a sweater in the car, I’ll be fine.”

He frowns as he opens the door to his dressing(?) room, “I have a jacket you can wear.”

He goes over to a chair in the corner and grabs a big, soft black jacket with DOLAN on the back and the UFC and Reebok logo on the front. I shake my head, “No, r-really it’s- it’s okay,”

“Just take it, you can give it back later, s’not a big deal, I don’t need it. I’m way too hot right now.”

He hands it over to me and I look down at it in his hands and then glance back at him, crossing my arms. He rolls his eyes and comes over to me, putting it on my shoulders and looking down at me, “Just wear it. Please?” He whispers and I flush, seeing that if I moved too fast our lips would be touching.

I nod softly and he steps back. I take a deep breath and put my arms through the sleeves and the jacket immediately warms me. I relax into the warmth and pull it tighter around me and he smirks, “Like you in my clothes.”

I blush and look down, “I- I should be goi-going,” I point my thumb at the door and he bites back a smile.

“Yeah, I’ll see you Saturday then?”

I nod and stutter out a response as I walk back to the door, “Y-yep! 5:30! Wait- I didn’t give you my address o-or my phone num-Ow!” I yelp in surprise when the door handle digs into my lower back and he can’t hold back his laugh as he walks over to me, trapping me between him and the door.

I swallow at his large frame covering me up, his arms resting on each side of the wall by my head, I can see his large biceps and the veins running up his arms in my peripheral vision. He smirks and leans down, “Check your pocket,” he says softly and I look up at him with furrowed brows.

I slowly move my hands to the jacket pockets and after digging around a little I feel a small piece of paper in the right pocket. I pull it out and open it up. I glance up at him in surprise at the digits scribbled onto the paper.

“H-How did you- why-” He cuts me off by moving away from me, my body on fire from how close he had been to me.

I move off the door when he motions for me to move and he opens the door, “Ms. Taylor,” He says, trying to hide a smirk.

I scoff incredulously and walk past him, stopping outside the door in the cold hallway, I turn back to look at him before I walk away to go have a panic attack in my car, “Mr. Dolan.”

A/n: okayyy so I know it’s bad and I’ll be editing it soon but I’m posting this on an ipad lmfao so please cut me some slack.

Tag List:

@pineappledols @episkygrant @georgia302 @dolan-habits @leahs-existentialcrisis @persistence-ofmemories @bubsdolan @ohdolans @vinylhazza @vintagedolan @astrodolan @zeusgrayson @deeperdolan @blindedbythelightt @dolsobsessionz @evergreendolan @dicedols @plantbasedgray

174 notes · View notes

breakoutime · 3 years

Text

Rewarded

Hades x (Neutral)Reader

Warning, nsfw!

Tags: Cockwarming, size kink, exibitionism? praise kink? (ask to tag pls)

Summary: Reader has been working hard for the house of Hades, and the master of the house has noticed and wants to reward them.

Authors note: Ok, VERYFIRST TIME writing smut, hopefully its good, or at least passable, english isnt my first language soooo yeah keep that in mind... P-please gimme feedback >///<

Your job at the House of the dead was a strange one. You weren't quite sure how to name it, but for now everyone referred to you as “The assistant”, you never really stayed in the same place for long, always being the one everyone called for help when a task was too much to handle. You have been assigned to Dusa to help with the cleaning, you’ve been working hard with the other shades inside the archive, you’ve been even assigned to stand by Achilles' side when the master of the house had visitors and considered some extra security was necessary. Dusa would always tell you how happy everyone was with your presence in the house, how helpful you’ve been, and how amazingly adaptable you were, having skills that allowed you to act and serve in all these different areas. Your face was quite often on the board at the Lounge, and it was obvious Hades himself was quite pleased with your performance. It was often that you would be called into his desk, to either give a report on your current task or to be praised for your hard work, which always left you inspired and happy for your next task.

You had to admit, your hard working attitude came not only for your passion for your work, but also for the passion you felt towards your master. You couldn't be quite sure when it started, it definitely wasn't there when you first arrived at the house. Hade´s was a rough man, cold, strict, serius. You would always hear him berate the others when their performance was not enough, often punishing them if their results were lacking. It was somewhere between Orpheus' punishment for refusing to sing, and when Zagreus started to openly fight back against his father, that you were called, alone, to Hades’ desk. Of course, at that time, you were anxious, wondering if even with your efforts, the master was disappointed in you and called to have you berated and punished, just like Orpheus was not so long ago, but no. Hades had specially called you simply to praise you, to say how, when so many of his workers, when even his own son was unable to handle his duties, you alone were there to support, cover and pull the needed effort and time to have the house working properly. You weren't able to suppress the smile in your face, or the tingling in your stomach as you heard the so often strict and stern master, praise your hard work for the whole house to hear. Slowly but surely you became obsessed with it. With working hard just to hear Hades himself telling you of your good work and how pleased he was with you. Soon you realized that those words did more than just kindle the fire of your hard work, but also left you warm with another kind of fire, one that burned between your legs. Now, everytime Hades praised you, you had to- no, you needed to take a short break to indulge yourself in that heat, to touch yourself and satisfy this burning need that arouse from you each time that booming, rough voice reverberated through your being, just to tell you how good you’ve been to this house, to him.

Today, you were hoping for such a praise, since you’ve been assigned to work at the archives, getting a lot of paperwork ready for Hades’ reviewing. This was your favorite thing to do, since the Lord was always so busy with paperwork at his desk, always reading and writing and filing, he never had anybody else there to help him with that particular part of the process, sure, at the archives many shades worked to get said paperwork ready for him, but no matter how hard you worked or how many shades he had at his disposal, he was always glued to his work, concentrated and dedicated, but also tired and slightly bored of the repetitive tasks he has at hand. There wasn't much you could do other than work hard and please him with your work, which immediately sent another jolt of heat through you. Of course, your stack of documents was done, which meant you now needed to personally deliver them to his desk. Your smile was proud and your face was slightly flushed from the heat you felt, feeling a bit too eager today to hear what your master had to say. Silently you wondered if it was noticeable, if the master knew that your enthusiastic work and demeanor came from these kinds of feelings, or even if the other people in the house knew. For a moment you thought how would Zagreus react, if he knew you had the hots for his father, but you quickly had to shake that thought and compose yourself, as you passed Achilles and walked straight up to Hades’s desk.

As always, he was seated there, in his throne, reading attentively one of the many documents he had in his desk. One small part of you felt bad, because the stack of documents was considerably going to grow with the one you were holding, but sadly that stack was going to work either way. Patiently you waited, the stack was heavy but his desk was way too tall for you, and you already knew that interrupting him was never a good idea. If only you could float like Hypnos or Thanatos, or if you were taller, but just like the prince, your stature meant that you’d need some help to get up the desk. Soon, you saw Hades pick up his plume, signing one of the documents, a sign that he was done with his current one, and immediately you made your wade to his side, ready to hand the paperwork for when he stretched his arms to receive them. With a pleased hum, he acknowledged you, taking the stack of papers and thanking you in the process.

“Quick and efficient as always. Glad that there is someone here who never disappoints me.” You had to stifle a laugh, the comment was not only a praise to you but also a small insult to Hypnos, who was floating and sleeping soundly in the hallway in front of you two.

“Now,” he said, tidying the new stack of documents before fully turning to you. “The house has been working quite efficiently lately, so i'm afraid there are few dignified chores left for someone of your skill and dedication...” That wasn't exactly a bad thing, sometimes you were given time off to rest, but there was something different about the way he spoke, the way he was looking at you. Anxiety started to build in you, and as you opened your mouth to say something, he simply raised his hand, stopping you. “Except one thing.” He moved, lowering his hand to your level. “Come here.” You could feel your heart hammering in your chest, your knees trembling, and cold drops of sweat falling from your brow. Was he really telling you to climb his hand? Nervously, you took a seat on it, allowing your master to raise you and place you comfortably in his lap. This was new, very new and confusing, you’ve never seen anyone have the honor of sitting on Hade's lap, but there you were, comfortable laying in one of his powerful thighs, staring up at him. Your master, who everyone respected and feared, who always made your very being burn was giving you this sort of treatment, of affection? His voice is lower this time, huskier, “Today I have a different task for you… A different kind of service that I need” His hand was on your back now, rubbing it gently. “One which will be quite pleasurable for you and for me.” You had been staring at him this whole time, looking at his eyes, his expression, which was something you’ve never seen before, desire was evident in his face. Desire for you. “I have made a concoction, to allow you to handle such a task-” he continued, now his other hand lifting his robes, exposing himself for you. You could not believe it. Your master wanted this from you, just as much as you wanted it from him. His size was massive, proportional to a man of his build and stature, you couldn't help but reach out, running your hand over it, how were you supposed to please him? Even with your both hands you wouldn't be able to stroke him firmly, much less fit him inside of you- But your thoughts were interrupted by something uncorking. He did say something about a concoction, but how-

A small vial was in his hands, the liquid of which looked like nothing you had ever seen. It shifted in color, going from red to orange to green, it must have been made from Hades’ power. “Do not fear. Spread yourself for me, and I'll take care of the rest...” You didn't have to be told twice. Breathing heavy, you allowed your master to pour that strange liquid into your entrance, which seemed to burn you in the most pleasurable way, making you let out soft pleased sounds. “It was about time we took some sort of break, so few of us take our work seriously...” gently, he applied pressure with his finger into your entrance, which to your surprise stretched without problem to fit his finger, coating your insides with the strange liquid as it went in. “And you are one of the bests of course.” His words were like honey, fueling the need inside you. “That's why I know only you will be up to this task….” He removed his finger, having your insides well coated and warm for his member. “I want you to keep me company, to keep me warm... While im at my desk today.” Your legs were shaking, but you knew what you had to do, he really didn't have to tell you. Bracing yourself against his chest, slowly you pressed your entrance into his member, even with the concoction, it took some effort, the tip slipping a couple of times before being able to get in. The stretch should have been painful, but all you could feel was pleasure, the burn of the strange liquid must have changed you, allowing you to take such size and not feel an ounce of pain. “Hmmmmm, go on now, get comfortable- Ah~!” Your master moaned when you started moving, the tightness of your hole breaking a small part of his determination to keep this quiet. You yourself weren't being quite quiet either, whimpers, moans and whines coming out of you as you slowly adjusted your tight grip on Lord Hades’ cock as you sank down, coming to a rest against him, now his member fully sheathed inside of you. Your Lord seemed to be taking a moment to compose himself while you simply slumped against him, your thighs twitching as your insides squeezed exquisitely around your master. In the back of your mind, you wondered if this was some sort of dream, one witch you’d never want to wake up from, but as Hades moved a document from the stack to be reviewed, one of his hands went for you, lifting you barely from his cock and pushing you down again, making him growl in satisfaction and you cry out in pleasure. “Absolutely perfect. Even now your performance is impeccable.” You couldn't really answer much to that, being a bit overwhelmed by this whole situation. “I was hoping to work while you kept me pleased, but you’ve demonstrated to be far more… stimulating than I thought.” He shifted you again, making you see stars and your insides to tremble. “But It hardly matters, this just means my paper work can wait....” He looked hungry at you, even more so, now holding you with both hands with the clear intention of focusing on you. “Now I’ll have to work on giving us both a reward for working so hard.”

With that, he started really moving you, pounding at you slowly and gently at first, but quickly picking up pace and intensity. Your screams of pleasure practically echoed in the house, you were unable to repress them, far too gone in the pleasure to care. “That's it, L-let everyone know your price- your pleasure!” He boomed on top of you, now lifting you up to lay on the desk as he stood and pounded away at you. “Let this be an example for everyone- Only the best can get this from me” Hades growls and loudly proclaims on top of you now, his movements so fanatic you can't understand how you havent came ten times by now, but the ecstasy you felt right now was more than worth it. You couldn't help but look around, now laying in said desk you had vision of Hypnos, who clearly had woken up and was openly staring with both of his hands over his mouth, a deep flush evident in his face, and achilles, who clearly was looking away, red and ashamed of being in proximity of such an act, and of course, many shades where looking, some even cheering at the expectable, even with the little features they had, you could see a pang of envy on them, which only fueled your pleasure. With a mighty grunt, he slammed deep inside of you, filling your insides with his seed, which was all you needed to break and finally cum yourself, blacking out for a second, over the overwhelming wave of pleasure he had just given you, that delicious burn his liquid gave you coming back with vengeance, making you ride your orgasm with that pleasure too, leaving you utterly spent and satisfied. Maybe it was that same liquid which made your orgasm wait, so that you could reach it with master Hades.

Now, with both of you panting, he gently pulls out of you, covering himself again and using a clan rag on one of his drawers to help you clean up. The adoration in your face must have been evident, since the look he gave you was both gentle and smug. “I’ll leave you to rest in my quarters, but once I'm finished with this paperwork, I'll join you one more there, I won't be long.” With that, he picked you up and carried you to his room, just in time for zagreus to rise from the river, shooting you a questioning look as he saw his father carry you away. You were far too tired to care, really, the only thing that mattered now was the fact that Lord Hades himself was laying you on his bed, where he would surely instruct you to pleasure him, now in private. Curling up. you knew you needed some rest if you wanted, like always, to give your very best for the task.

#Hades #hades game #reader insert #reader #reader x hades #hades x reader #hades game reader #reader hades game #breakoutime's post #dirty tag #sexy tag #yes those two are my ns fw tags ok

261 notes · View notes

electricsockhead · 3 years

Text

💓 jenelope headcanons 💓

side notes:

1 -> it’s established relationship cuz idk how to write f-t-l with them 😖😖😖

2 -> this is set in like seasons 1 & 2, so there’s no kids and jj is still media liaison

3 -> please come talk to me about them!! idc if you’re seeing this posts 6 months after I posted it or 12 years (if I’m still active) PLEASE COME TALK TO ME ABOUT THEM 🥺🥺🥺

4 -> Trigger Warnings:

brief mentions of SA! (talking about their job)

possible displays neurodivergent traits! (if you’re neurotypical, this trigger is not for you, it’s for those in ND community who get triggered by stimming and mentions of breakdowns. also, the only reason “possible” is added is because I’m not neurodivergent (nor a doctor) so I have no personal experience with with these, and I don’t know if they’re considered neurodivergent traits. if you’re neurodivergent im 100% willing to listen to your opinions and thoughts on this!!!)

jj loves falling asleep over penelope, and loves holding one of her hands and just fiddling with her fingers (interlacing them, kissing her knuckles, etc)

Penelope always played with jjs hair when they do that, and she loves trying to make a braid with just one hand. sometimes she tangles jjs hair a little and they laugh 🥰🥰

when JJ is having a bad day she sits cross-legged on one of Penelope’s desks and just fiddles with Penelope’s toys

occasionally throughout the day penelope will go over and just hold her waist and rest her head on one of JJ’s thighs and JJs hand automatically goes to her head and starts fiddling with her hair

On days where she can’t stay in Penelope’s office she takes one of the toys with her and is fiddling with it all days and doesn’t let go for too long

On those days when they get home they cuddle and sometimes if it was really bad jj will break down and cry into Penelope’s shoulder and Penelope just comforts her through it 🥺🥺🥺

sometimes she also gets really touch averted so they’ll just sit next to each other while jj sobs into her hands, and Penelope just sits with her so she doesn’t feel alone 🥺🥺

On game nights they always have so much fun and they rarely bicker over the color/object of the players because penny will always go for the smallest or pink one and jj will always go for the one with more texture or blue one (ex. on the life game, penny gets the pink car and jj gets the blue one, or monopoly, jj gets the Statue of Liberty because it has a lot of bumps and she runs her fingers through them all the time because it calms her down and helps her feel grounded, and penny gets the hat because it’s small and sometimes she likes to just run her fingers through the “hem” — they rarely ever leave their pieces on the board which causes them to forget where they were but it’s ok cuz they always have fun 🥰🥰)

On their days off, they like to go on picnics and jj takes care of the setting while Penelope takes care of the snacks

jj always picks somewhere with a body of water, usually a river but they live nearby a lake and sometimes they go there as well

she absolutely loves seeing the water just move on the river or just stare at the cute ducks on the lake

Penny always has cookies and extra money in her bag cuz she knows jjs gonna want to get ice cream

at dinner time, usually penny cooks, but jjs always with her, sitting on the counter and trying to help out (even tho penny said not to worry, and that she likes to do it by herself, and also to give jj a break from always working), and when she has nothing to do (or nothing in her hands to fiddle with) she’ll set the table extra nice with candles and wine

jj loves when they’re too lazy or too tired to cook anything so she just makes ham and cheese sandwiches for them and they sit on the couch and watch TV.

Penny loves putting on romantic dramas or romantic comedies while jj likes putting on western/action movies (it gives closure she never got as a kid 🥺💔)

One thing they can’t watch is horror because then the next day they can’t really do their job right because they just keep going back to the movie that depicts what they only see the aftermath of (like yeah they see the dead body and they’re informed of sa, but if a movie is graphic enough that it’ll depict it, then the next time they hear a victim was SAed they’ll be able to picture it and it just makes the job a lot harder to do 🥺💔)

On a lighter note, they have movie nights every Saturday and a lot of times they settle for Disney movies, and they’ve watched lady and the tramp so much that they know a lot of the dialogue

They also sometimes like to put it on mute and make up their own dialogue, and they always have so much fun with it

They have this little plush toy they keep in between them, so when one has a nightmare they can cuddle it while also cuddling each other (like if jj has a nightmare, she’ll get cuddles from penny, with the plushy in her own arms)

every morning they wake up half an hour earlier then they’re supposed to so that they can be lazy in bed and steal sleepy kisses and still get up in time and not be late for work

they never tried to hide their relationship from the team, but they weren’t necessarily public about it.

Hotch was the first to know, and he’s like “there’s fraternization rules against it, so no one on this team should be in a relationship” but then pulls them aside and he’s like, I don’t know nothing, I ain’t see nothing, but if hypocritically there was something, I’d be happy with it, BUT I DONT KNOW NOTHING (aka, he supports their relationship, but doesn’t want them to get in trouble 🥺🥰)

the next to find out is Morgan and he’s * o f f e n d e d * that his bbg never told him and she was like “you never asked 🤷” and he’s like “yeah, fair point” (obv. he also supports it)

When Elle finds out she’s like “hot.” And they both blush, but she’s supportive and it hurts them more then anyone else when she leaves because she’s the only other queer woman they’re close with, but then when Emily joins, she can smell the gays a mile away and it brings them a bit of comfort

When Spencer find out he’s also * o f f e n d e d * they didn’t tell him, but he gets super excited and buys them a bunch a Pride stuff for them because he knows they might not use it so he gets an excuse to have gay shit lying around his house (🚪🚪🚪)

Gideon never really payed attention to their “friendship” but when hotch offhandedly mentions it he acts like he already knew, and doesn’t make a big deal out of it (let’s be honest this man is an ally ☺️☺️)

as time progresses, they become more and more open about it, and occasionally will display copious amounts of PDA, and the team finds it absolutely adorable because they’re so happy for them 🥰🥰

the end ☺️✨

if y’all don’t mind, I’m tagging @geeky-son-dr-reid and @gleaminginthespotlight 🥺 ilysm

59 notes · View notes

saynotoshityouhate · 3 years

Text

Chaos

Summary: Everyone was convinced you’d never meet your match. That was, until you got the literal kick to the head of a lifetime.

Word Count: 1726

Tags/Warnings: alcohol, possible concussion, slight illegal behavior, just a little smutty

I’m feeling chaotic, let’s go dancing. Who’s in?

Your friends were used to you starting craziness as soon as you clocked out on Friday afternoon. You were sure they all got your text and rolled their eyes, but they were stuck with you at this point.

You got all ready - glam but also comfortable - you never knew where the night was going to go. Last time you went out, you ended up dancing until 2am, and then watching the sunrise from the rooftop of an abandoned warehouse. You weren’t sure how many of these weekends you had left - your friends had started settling down and were less enthusiastic about joining you in your shenanigans. They all had tried (and failed) to set you up with their boyfriend’s friends - unable to find someone who could match your energy. But at the same time, you loved your life. You could do anything you wanted, whenever you wanted. You were financially stable, had a good job, a nice apartment...you weren’t really looking for anyone or anything to come in and change things.

You met the girls at the club, wearing the dress that made you feel most confident, paired with your worn in Converse high tops. “HEY BITCHES!” You gave each friend big sloppy kisses on both cheeks. They handed you a drink - you were last to arrive, as usual. “Y/N, I was just telling the girls about the engagement party my future mother-in-law is planning. You wouldn’t believe how tacky it is going to be! The invitations alone…” You cut her off after pounding your drink, and pointed to the dance floor. “I’m gonna go there now. Bye!” Setting your empty glass on the nearest table, you ran over to the middle of the dance floor.

You loved the feeling of the stereo bass pumping in your chest. The ringing in your ears blocking out your inhibitions as you moved your body without care, your skin lit up in colors and sparkles. Here, in this moment, you were truly happy. Not a care in the world. No thoughts in your head saying you were unworthy of the love your friends had found. Complete and full contentment at the life you had chosen for yourself. And it was then that you received a swift kick to the side of your head.

A few seconds later, you opened your eyes to see the hazel eyes of a wild haired, sweaty man. “Fuuucking hell, kid! I thought for sure you were dead. Are you alright?” You blinked up at him and nodded, unsure how you got to be flat on your back in the first place. “I’m so sorry, I was carrying my best lesbian friend on my shoulders, and when we spun around, her fucking foot hit you in the head.” He wipes his hand down his shirt before handing it to you, helping you up off the floor. The man was tall, dressed in a hilarious mismatch of clothes, with a mop of brown hair that stuck to his sweaty forehead, partially covering his eyes. He sported a patchy moustache/goatee combo which brought your attention to his plush, pink lips.

He leaned down to look you directly in your eyes, examining them closely. “I don’t think you have a concussion...are you sure you’re alright?” You took a deep breath. “Yes. Totally. Super duper alright. All good.” He chuckled a deep laugh, showing off his imperfectly perfect teeth. “Awesome. I’m Adam - we’re going to go find shit to throw off the overpass. Wanna come?” You nodded enthusiastically, never having been this lost for words in your life. He grabbed your hand and dragged you out of the bar, barely giving you the chance to smile or wave at your friends as you exited.

Adam and his friends brought you all across the city. Finding items to keep or to toss, literally, off of the highway overpass. Your group steadily dwindled as you explored the city’s hidden pockets, eventually leaving you, Adam, and a reusable grocery bag full of spare car parts and rotten vegetables alone on the pedestrian bridge that crossed the city’s busiest highway. Standing together, you looked upon the city skyline, standing proudly against a dark sky that was littered with stars. It was your favorite view. Feeling Adam’s gaze on you, you turned to look up at him. “Everything okay?” you asked, unsure why he was making such a face. “Yeah, kid, just making sure you’re not gonna have a seizure or somethin’ dumb.” He chewed the inside of his cheek as he resumed looking at the city.

With the early morning hour, there wasn’t a ton of good targets to toss your garbage at. “Wanna split a pizza?” You asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence. Adam smiled and nodded, giving you the chance get him back for earlier, to grab his hand and run. You took the long way, zig zagging through dark alleys, running up and down stairs, eventually landing at your favorite, hole in the wall 24-hour pizza parlor. “Jimmy!!!!” You squealed are the shop owner, waving at him and jumping up and down. The proprietor groaned, pushing himself out of his chair and walked up to the window. “What can I getcha, y/n...and friend?” Adam smiled at Jimmy, and then you, and then Jimmy again. Nervously laughing and still trying to catch his breath, he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Anything but fucking green peppers,” you both said, almost simultaneously. Jimmy rolled his eyes and headed back to the kitchen.

“Jimmy’s the best. He almost single handedly fed me all through my senior year of college. I was building this Trojan Horse out of Amazon boxes inside my apartment and I couldn’t access my kitchen because it was full of boxes so…” Adam grabbed your face, pulling you in for a rough kiss, his pillowy lips absorbing the blow. Your eyes were wide open, arms limp at your side. Sensing you weren’t reciprocating, Adam pulled back, hands still on your face. “I’m building a boat in my apartment right now, gonna sail down the Hudson. I’ve never met anyone like you before, like me - someone who could keep up with me and not be some fucking loser.” Adam looked deep into your eyes. “We were meant to meet tonight, Y/N. I was supposed to hit you in the head with my best lesbian friend.” Adam squeezed his large hands together, smooshing your face. “Fuck the pizza, come see my boat.”

Jimmy walked up at that moment, pizza box in tow. “No, no fucking my pizza. Here - on the house - now get out of here. And y/n, I don’t want to find this pizza on some roof or in a tree or whatever the fuck you’re planning on doing tonight.” You turned your head towards Jimmy, with Adam’s help, and said through your smooshed face “Fanks Jummy.” Grabbing the pizza, you looked back up at Adam. Adam moved your head up and down, speaking in a high pitched voice “Yes, Adam, I’d love to see your boat!” Looking down at you with a cheesy grin, you started to laugh. “Fwine, but wet go uf my fwace.” Adam flailed his arms into the air. “Well let’s fucking go, kid!”

Adam wasn’t kidding, he really was building a boat in his living room. It was the coolest thing you’ve ever seen. “Are these old pallets? Is that a fisherman’s knot? Did you repurpose 2x4s from…” “Whoa whoa y/n don’t get a lady boner over my awesome ass boat!” Your eyes were sparkling, climbing over piles of wood and fabric and an overused power strip. “When is she going to be ready to sail?” you asked, your voice giving away your excitement. “Why,” Adam stalked towards you, backing you up against the mast, “wanna be my sexy first mate?” Your heart was beating through your chest. This wasn’t your average one night stand, this was different - you could tell. This wasn’t the plan. But you couldn’t deny that he was your match. He was right, you were meant to meet tonight. You took a deep, shaky breath, looking into Adam’s eyes. “Aye, aye, captain.”

Adam growled, wrapping his arms underneath your bottom and lifting you up. You wrapped your arms around his neck and legs around his waist, squealing in surprise. He slammed your body harder against the boat’s mast, shoving his tongue into your mouth and squeezing your ass as he ground his rock hard erection into your pelvis. You lifted one hand from his neck, reaching down to unbutton his jeans, the slightest graze of your fingers causing Adam’s hips to thrust. The energy of that motion cracked the fragile integrity of the mast, causing Adam to fall forwards, landing on top of you, the broken splinters of wood scratched along your back.

You both groaned. “Fuck, kid, you ok? How’s your head?” Opening up to the same concerned, hazel gaze from earlier in the evening, you replied “Yep. Super duper.” That was good enough for Adam, who stood up quickly, ripping his jeans and underwear down, kicking his legs for assistance. You lifted your hips to shimmy your own panties down to your ankles. Adam returned to his place between your legs. Looking up at him with a grin, you laughed “ahoy, matey. shiver me timbers.” Adam grunted - “you’re so fucking weird, and so fucking wet,” he ran two fingers through your slick, “and just for me.” You whined, moving your hips to meet his hand. “Gotta make sure you’re ready for me. Gunna drop anchor in this hot cunt.”

Adam spent the rest of the night straddled over your back, where you laid on your stomach on his bed. Using a tweezer, he removed the hundreds of tiny splinters that had embedded themselves into your skin. You sighed contentedly, taking a large sip of milk, unsure what the future held. But for the first time, in a long time, the thought of sharing that future with someone didn’t make you sick to your stomach. You turned your head to take a look at him, wearing lab safety goggles “in case one flew out at him.” Smiling, you rested your head on his pillow, before falling asleep and dreaming of sailing down the Hudson together.

#adam sackler #adam sackler x reader #chaos #saynotoshityouhate #adam driver character universe #adam driver #adcu fic rec #adcu #adcu community

52 notes · View notes