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in1-nutshell · 1 month

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Hey, sooo could you do buddy as drifts sibling/sparkling (which ever you want) and knew him when he was deadlock with him leaving them on accident with them running into each other again with buddy still being a con would drift try to have them join the lost light?

We are going with the twin route because not even I'm ready for an abandoned sparkling one. Also added some extra things, hope that was okay!

Personally, I don't think he would ever willingly abandon his sparkling or twin under any circumstance

Hope you enjoy!

Drift's twin the Con who was left behind on accident

SFW, Platonic, Familial, Slight Angst, Romance, Cybertronain reader

MTMTE

Buddy had been by Drift/Deadlock side since the beginning.

From the overdose.

Meeting Ratchet and Orion Pax.

Meeting Megatron and joining the ranks.

Being one of the best snipers compared to their twin.

“I bet you 50 shanix you can’t hit the bot over there.”--Deadlock

“The one behind the rocks with that horrendous color scheme? Please, I’d do it for free, but since your offering…”--Buddy

Buddy closes their optics and fires the round hitting the bot on the shoulder.

“Non-lethal. Doesn’t count.”--Deadlock

Buddy holds a digit in the air.

The bot suddenly explodes.

Deadlock smirks.

“Compression rounds?”--Deadlock

“You know me Deadlock, I have to make my presence known one way or another. What better way with an explosion.”--Buddy

Deadlock reading his rounds.

“Always one for the grand entrances.”--Deadlock

Buddy smirks back.

“Always.”--Buddy

Drift/Deadlock was their entire world and vice versa.

Buddy was his light in this dark world.

The only rocks in the world they had were each other.

Through the fun times and worst times, they stayed loyal to each other’s side.

But then the accident came.

It was the two of them and a small group of Cons on a stake out.

No one knew about the bombing raids.

Drift remembered the screaming and grabbing Buddy’s servo trying to get to safety.

He remembered the feeling of violently getting flunked into the air and blacking out.

He remembered waking up to nothing but scraps of metal and holes in the ground.

He remembered screaming and yelling for Buddy, realizing they weren’t holding his servo or anywhere in sight.

He remembered clawing the dirt around him trying to find them, hoping that they had been partially buried and safe.

He found nothing and went back to the base empty handed and empty hearted.

Buddy’s death was one of the turning points for Drift when he thought about his purpose with the cons and eventually joining the Autobots.

He would later tell the life of his beloved twin to his closest allies on the Lost Light.

Not a day goes by when he doesn’t say a little prayer to Buddy. It was a way of coping with the loss for so long.

Obviously, Buddy isn’t dead.

As it turned out the explosion took them much farther than everyone else.

Their signal had gotten jammed with the surrounding fauna and injuries didn’t help.

They remembered blackout out for a while before a group of Decepticon’s stumbled across their stasis frame. After an accidental reactivation Buddy was brought back to their ship for repairs.

A group they called the Scavengers.

Krok, the unofficial leader welcomed them to their group.

Buddy ended up joining the group as they added more members slowly as they tried to get back in contact with everyone.

The Scavenger couldn’t count the number of times they found Buddy try and contact Deadlock.

They tried to get in touch with Deadlock, but soon it became clear to Buddy that there was no possible way to communicate with him or anyone without the specific equipment for it.

It was now hope that fueled Buddy to one day see their twin again.

It was never a dull moment with the Scavengers and Buddy liked it.

The addition of Fulcrum and Grimlock just added to the fire.

The war may have been a loss… but it wasn’t a loss for everyone.

Krok looking at Buddy who had fallen asleep at the main console again.

He sighed before going over and gently picking them up.

Buddy stirred a bit in their sleep but didn’t wake up.

“They fell asleep at the console again?”--Spinister

Krok just nods as he moves to get Buddy to their habsuite.

“How many times has it been this week?”--Misfire

“Its none of our concern Misfire… They’re just tired.”

“Maybe they should start actually recharging at a decent hour.”--Fulcrum

“Maybe…”--Krok

“They need to let loose a bit you know. Maybe, I don’t know, take them out?”--Misfire

Krok stops in front of the door.

He feels his face plate warmer than usual.

“They won’t be interested.”--Krok

“You could always shoot them.”--Spinister

“No!—I mean—Spinister we don’t shoot team mates.”--Krok

“Krok I think we all know you and Buddy are a little pass the ‘Team mates’ phase.”--Fulcrum

“What makes you say that?”--Krok

Crankcase points at him.

“You carried them to bed and actively tucking them in.”--Crankcase

Krok paused for a moment before walking to the doorway.

“Listen, they are just another valuable member of the team. Anyways—”--Krok

“Krok.”--Crankcase

“Who in their right mind would want to go out on a date me?”--Krok

“Krok.”--Spinister

“They’re smarter, they’ll find some one else to settle down with.”--Krok

“Krok.”--Fulcrum

“Even if they do want to settle—"--Krok

“Krok.”--Misfire

“What?!”--Krok

The four Scavengers point behind him.

He turns and is face to face with Buddy.

“GAH!”--Krok

Krok trips backwards but Buddy grabs him and pulls him flush to their chassis.

Krok feels warmer than usual.

“Buddy… I thought you were asleep?”--Krok

“When your one of the best sniper of the Decepticon army and Deadlock’s your twin, you learn how to sleep lightly and play robot-opposum.”--Buddy

Krok chuckles nervously.

Buddy smirks at him.

“You know… there’s a planet that’s Cybertronain friendly coming up. We could go do some site seeing, what do you say?”--Buddy

Krok tries to speak but he just dumbly nods.

All the Scavengers behind him face palm at the interaction.

Buddy’s smirk turns to a genuine smile.

“All right then, see you in a couple hours then Krok.”--Buddy

They wink and close the door.

Krok just stares at the door.

“What did we just witness?”--Misfire

“That Buddy clearly has more game than Krok?”--Spinister

It was no surprise that Krok had feelings for Buddy.

But when Buddy reciprocated them, that took them all by surprise.

They worked perfectly with each other like a well-oiled machine.

They worked together determined to stick with each other through thick and thin.

“Krok, you’re doing it again.”--Buddy

“Doing what?”--Krok

“The clicking…”--Buddy

Krok looks down at the clicker and slowly sets it down.

Buddy comes to his side and slips their servo into his giving a loving squeeze.

Krok just rest his helm on their shoulder sighing.

“Do you want to talk about it now?”--Buddy

Krok shakes his helm.

Buddy moves their servo and pulls him into a side hug.

“Is this okay?”--Buddy

Krok vents and nods.

They stay on the couch for a bit.

“Buddy?”--Krok

“Hmm?”--Buddy

“Thanks… Thanks…”--Krok

Buddy reaches and hugs him properly.

He responds immediately.

“No, thank you Krok…”--Buddy

The pair end up cuddling in Krok’s room for the rest of the night.

The pair had often danced around being Conjunxes, but both were too shy to bring that up.

The rest of the crew has their own romantic drama to watch now, and they don’t even need a TV for it.

One night the WAP’s engine broke down.

They sent out an emergency pin for repairs.

They received one back.

From the Lost Light.

The ships captain had offered a temporary stay on the ship while their ship was being repaired on the condition that they would be on their best behavior.

The team agreed.

Now The Scavengers were walking to the entrance port as the giant ship had latched onto it.

“Hey Misfire, who did you say the captain was again?”--Fulcrum

“Rodium? Rod? Hang on its on the tip—”--Misfire

The doors open.

“Guess we’ll find out.”--Krok

Buddy takes the lead.

Krok gives them a questioning look.

They walk in and nearly have a spark attack when they see the Co- captains, Ultra Magnus and a familiar felicon.

“Buddy? Your online?”—Megatron and Ravage

Buddy walks forward to the big grey mech.

They stick their servo out.

“Megatron. Its… been a while.”--Buddy

Megatron wordlessly takes the servo.

“It has…”--Megatron

“That’s Buddy? I thought they offlined a while back.”--Rodimus

“Well, they’re not.”--Grimlock

“Grimlock!?”—Rodimus and Ultra Magnus

“This day is just full of surprises isn’t it.”—Ravage

Upon remembering Buddy’s infamously and realizing that the ship was practically crawling with Autobot bot, the Scavengers formed a protective circle around Buddy as they continued to walk with the three other bots.

Ravage took this chance to leave the group.

He knew there was someone that needed to see this.

The group made it to Swerve’s and Buddy instinctively went on guard.

They were honestly glad they brought Grimlock as he gently pushed them forward when they wanted to stop.

Buddy felt uncomfortable knowing full well that many bots had recognized them, ye they weren’t doing anything.

As the group sat down in one of the larger booths, Buddy reached under the table and grasped Krok’s servo.

He sent out loving squeezes trying to soothe them a bit.

“How are you feeling about all… of this?”--Krok

“…Could be better honestly…”--Buddy

“At least Misfire and Grimlock seem to be having fun.”--Krok

Buddy looked over to see Misfire and Grimlock happily chatting with the red minibot bartender.

“Good for them—”--Spinister

BANG!

Buddy immediately moves in front of Krok upon hearing the noise.

There at the entrance of the bar was a white and red mech.

Behind him another white and orange mech panting behind.

“Drift… I swear if you ever do that again…”--Ratchet

Drifts optics frantically searched the bar until they found Buddy.

Buddy felt their spark stop for a second.

Their frame slightly trembled.

“Buddy?”--Drift

Buddy quickly moved across the bar and tackled the mech down in a hug.

Ratchet quickly moved out of the way of the tender reunion.

Drift latched onto Buddy.

They were both slightly teary optic.

“Drift… Oh Drift…”--Buddy

“Oh, Thank Primus… You’re here! You’re here!”—Drift

There was a lot of catching up between the twins as they left to a more private place on the ship.

Drift really owed ravage this one.

Throughout the next few days Drift and Buddy hardly left each other’s side. It soon was made official that The Scavenger’s would be a part of the Lost Light, the twins were overjoyed.

“Drift! I haven’t properly introduced my team.”--Buddy

Drift smiled at them.

It was almost hard to believe that this mech was once one of the most feared mechs in the Decepticon armada.

“You’re the ones who saved Buddy?”--Drift

“Yes.”--Krok

Drift shook their servos.

“Thank you doesn’t even cover it.”--Drift

Buddy slides next to Krok and holds his servo.

Drift looks at this interaction and gives Buddy a smirk.

Buddy looks at Ratchet behind him yelling at a poor bot that decided to play with his equipment.

They mirror his smirk.

“Who would have thought you fell for the one mech that saved your sorry behind all those years ago.”--Buddy

“You aren’t one to talk. At least he’s my Conjunx, is he yours yet?”--Drift

“Not yet—KROK!”--Buddy

Krok fainted in Buddy’s arms.

“DANG IT NOT AGAIN! SOMEONE CALL A MEDIC! OR GET SPINISTER HERE!”--Buddy

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN AGAIN!?”--Drift

#transformers x reader #maccadam #bot buddy #idw mtmte #mtmte x reader #mtmte x platonic reader #mtmte scavengers x platonic reader #mtmte drift #mtmte deadlock #mtmte scavengers

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celtic-crossbow · 3 months

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Series Masterlist

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Chapter 15

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore; Suicidal ideation; Allusions to necrophilia; Sexual themes A/N: Don’t get too settled! Things will be shaken up in some heavy, heavy ways in the next few chapters. Also, my edit button isn’t working so I can’t fix anything once this is posted. Just ignore errors and pretend I know what I’m doing.

Daryl lifted the pistol with one hand, firing off a shot with practiced precision to effortlessly hit the target— a can on top of an empty water barrel —some distance away.

“You… didn’t even aim.” You stated timidly, your shoulders tensed and trembling close to your ears. Your target, another empty can, was significantly closer but still an intimidating distance away.

“Yeah, I did. Jus’ been doin’ it fer s’ long that s’quick. Know what ta do without really thinkin’ ‘bout it.” He lowered his weapon and placed it in the holster at his hip, coming to stand just behind you. You had been practicing aiming for several days, even choosing to stay out after Daryl had left to complete other tasks. You had found that he was keeping an eye on you, hovering without suffocating you.

Things had changed since he had been sick. Drastically, in your opinion. It was like a switch flipped in both of you. He communicated with a certain ease now, the way you had witnessed him speak with Carol. Still a man of few words unless they were required, but less closed off than before.

Any apprehension you had around him had dissipated entirely. You were comfortable and felt a warm safety under his watchful eye. Even when you couldn’t see him, you knew he was there.

You had taken to sleeping on the mattress with him. The both of you were careful to keep space between your bodies, a boundary not so willingly crossed. He usually slept with his back to you, but you opened your eyes nearly every morning to see him rising from his side, facing you.

Your relationship with Carol was healing, bit by bit. Just that very morning, you had shown up to help her with breakfast. Silence remained throughout. You began stirring the oats while she chopped berries, taking a moment to look at one another with small smiles that said more than words ever could.

“Don’ look at what yer shootin’ at.” Daryl stepped up beside you and tapped the rear sight of the gun. “Line ‘er up n’ then look here. Ya can still see the can, jus’ a lil’ blurry now.” The archer took a step back and crossed his arms, eyes narrowed while studying your form. You were trembling, not only with anticipation but with nervousness. You wanted to do well. You had been practicing diligently, already embarrassed that he was reminding you how to aim properly. You smiled when you saw him nod his approval from the corner of your eye. “Whenever yer ready.”

You inhaled deeply, not focusing on the drumming of your heart or the noises of the prison around you. You let your sole focus simmer down to the weight of the gun, the slack you could feel in the trigger as you began to squeeze it. The target was indeed blurry beyond the sight but you could still see it. The can expanded and twisted into the face of Big Jazz, his cruel laughter echoing as you felt the first traces of resistance.

Daryl had warned you about recoil, so the kickback of the weapon startled you very little. You were too focused on the target. He had instructed you to keep the gun steady even after firing so that you didn’t pull it back too early and alter the trajectory of the bullet. There was a loud clink when the projectile made contact, clipping the can on the top right, sending it soaring.

You stared at it in wonder, the pride you felt beginning as a low buzz just below your sternum. Then you were beaming, lowering the weapon to turn your smile on Daryl, finding the man already smirking back at you. “I did it!” The calm in your voice betrayed the absolute thrill sparkling in your eyes.

He watched you curiously. You had been spending so much time dedicated to practicing the things he would teach, soaking up the information like a sponge and immediately. You never complained that he put you through the motions and wouldn’t let you try live rounds from the get go.

You actually never complained about anything.

You always smiled, albeit small and unsure, when you picked up your meals. You always offered a word or two of gratitude, putting forth so much effort toward acclimating yourself into the little community. You did the chores, no matter how tedious or exhausting. In between everything, you scurried off to practice on your own.

After all you’d been through, you were blossoming into something he’d never expected. Which only added fuel to the fire of his infatuation with you.

He was struggling to say the least, hoping to every deity that he was hiding it well. Every touch set his skin on fire. Every glance made the butterflies in his stomach do gymnastics. The urge to run from you, however, was strongly outweighed by the desire to be close to you. You needed to be safe. Even Daryl knew that it went far beyond his feelings of responsibility at this point.

“Yer a natural.” His smile fell away as you ran at him, throwing your arms around his neck. The embrace was the reason his cheeks flushed but the real problem was still nestled in your tight grip. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! How ‘bout ya, uh, put on the safety ‘fore ya come runnin’ at me, huh?” He was unwinding your limbs, handling your gun-wielding arm with extra care.

You pulled back with a grin that made his heart flutter. “I did.”

He blinked at you, caught off guard when you held the gun sideways to show that you actually had, at some point between firing the shot and throwing yourself against him, flicked on the safety.

After the initial surprise wore off, he snorted slightly. “I’ll be damned. Good girl.” The words were out of his mouth before his brain caught up. His face grew impossibly warmer, but his heart dropped when he saw the expression you wore. Almost a look of fear. One that made sense almost immediately. He had meant it as a compliment but it was something you most definitely heard during less than pleasant experiences.

“Sorry.” You dropped your gaze, that submissive stance he hadn’t seen in a while returning with such intensity that he found his hand reaching out, fingers tapping gently beneath your chin. You were slow to oblige, which was an improvement from your once instant desire to obey.

“Shouldn’a said it like tha’.” Daryl dropped his hand to his side, too focused on how he’d just made you feel to dwell on the tingle in his fingertips from the brief feel of your skin. “Meant it as…well, uh, m’ proud’a ya.”

The discomfort faded from your face almost immediately. “Thank you, Daryl.” Your teeth teased your bottom lip in front of an almost bashful smile. When he noticed the way you were bouncing on the balls of your feet, he sighed with a dramatic roll of his eyes.

“G’on n’ tell Carol.” You took off, your boots sliding in the gravel and almost toppling you over, but you managed to stay on your feet, tucking your handgun into the waistband of your jeans on the way up the hill.

Daryl didn’t even realize he was smiling until he noticed movement from the corner of his eye, turning to find Rick watching him curiously. The frown was instantaneous. “What?” He snapped.

Rick failed exponentially at covering his grin but held up his hands in surrender. “Nothing.” The archer didn’t like the way the other man laughed as he turned away.

Carol nodded enthusiastically with an amused smile as you carried on about your successful first shot, not daring to interrupt you. She was just elated that you had come to her willingly with your excitement and that your voice was still strong and even louder than you’d ever before shown.

“Good job!” She cheered, holding out her hand for a high five. You actually jumped when delivering the request, bringing laughter bubbling out of her throat. Rick had approached and was listening in toward the end, engaging you in conversation about the experience once you had finished telling Carol.

As you talked with the former deputy, she watched you, only noticing small signs of discomfort in your body language. You were healing. Little by little, you were feeling more confident. You smiled freely and frequently. You laughed. You were eager to learn. It was such a beautiful thing in a not so pretty world. It was like watching her own story, different players and scenes with the same underlying theme.

“Hey.” Daryl nudged her with his elbow. Carol looked up at him, standing beside her with his arms crossed and a stick of cinnamon between his lips. His blue eyes were trained right on you.

“Good job, Pookie.” She laughed when his lip curled, his elbow bumping her arm a second time.

“Whaddaya mean?” The archer inquired, rolling the cylinder between his teeth. Carol only slightly refrained from rolling her eyes.

“Look at her. That’s all you.” She nodded toward where Rick was intently listening to you explain what Daryl had taught you, as if the man had never seen a firearm in his life. The silver-haired woman observed her friend from the corner of her eye. The bowman had a different air about him when he looked at you, even if he tried like hell to hide it. Responsibility, my ass.

“S’all her. I jus’ watch.” He shrugged.

“I bet you do.” She said smugly, leaving him standing there with an exasperated expression that was just as much telling as it wasn’t.

Daryl had to go on a run. He had left you with Carol, under very strict orders not to move from the woman’s side. You didn’t like seeing Daryl upset or stressed, and he always seemed to be both when called away from the prison for hunting or scavenging. It was obvious to even you that he didn’t like to leave you behind.

“Keep practicin’. When I think ya can handle yerself, ya can go with me.”

So that’s what you did. Everyday. You would help with the chores that kept things running smoothly and in between, you would practice. Except the days Daryl was gone. Those days, you were Carol’s shadow. She was well aware of why and never complained. Though she couldn’t make time for you to improve shooting, she would take you with her to clear the fences.

That particular day, you had ended up soaked in dark blood and brain matter. You were obviously repulsed by the mess but dropping the walkers didn’t really bother you anymore. There was still a respectable amount of fear when facing a corpse but it was no longer debilitating.

Once inside the safety of the prison, you split from your chaperone and headed straight for the showers. Most of the community didn’t shower daily, understanding the need to conserve water. You were different. Rick gave the okay for your daily washes, knowing your history and why it was imperative for you to end the day feeling clean. Feeling new and untouched. Unsullied.

You always made them fast but thorough. The darkness that surrounded you there was suffocating, even with your lantern. It never failed to overwhelm you with the paranoia that some sleaze was waiting in the shadows to take you back to Big Jazz. It was the same song and dance each time, without fail.

Hair still damp, you rubbed at it with the towel on the way back to the perch. The sun had already dipped behind the trees, leaving you certain that Daryl would be waiting for you. So when you reached the top step to find the space unoccupied, you grew nervous. Not only for the archer’s safety but for the fear of being left alone once the last shreds of light gave way to the faint luminescence of the moon.

Biting at your nails, you sat down on the mattress and laid out one of Daryl’s handkerchiefs. Cleaning your gun gave you practice while occupying your mind. You knew from experience that being left alone with your thoughts was dangerous.

During your isolation at the club, you idealized ways to end your suffering. That only led to wondering what would become of your body. Back then, your knowledge of walkers was limited. And you knew that Todd had sold some of the other bodies to clientele and what those men were doing when they didn’t need your services for a while. The thought of what would happen after your death was almost as daunting as what was happening while you were living and breathing.

Except you had this hope that, while you still lived, you might come to know someone. Someone that would miss you if you died.

Along came Daryl.

He was your savior in every sense of the word. He delivered you from the hell in which you were trapped. He brought you to a place of relative safety, despite the dangers that could infiltrate. He was teaching you and protecting you.

He had finally begun to drop his walls. He treated you like a person. He could still be abrasive but the moments had grown fewer and farther in between. He was ruggedly handsome with kind eyes and a nice smile when he would show it. It wasn’t often that his lips dared venture past a smirk. You liked his lips.

You dropped the clip when trying to return it to the gun, blinking at the pieces with wide eyes. You were supposed to be distracted from thinking, not swooning over a man who was as emotionally available as a thumbtack. Sure, Daryl was kind but you noticed he never spared any of the women a second glance.

They sure spared him several.

There was a smoldering heat somewhere in your chest when you thought of how the other females would eye the man as he passed them. The sensation was vaguely familiar, a piece of your pre-enslaved self prodded at whatever cage your subconscious had trapped it inside. You couldn’t exactly name it, but you were well aware that you didn’t like it.

With an annoyed huff, you glanced up toward the high windows. It was well past nightfall and the group had still not returned. This had never happened before and if you were completely honest, you were scared. The shadows were forgotten, every threat your mind could create was shot down by the vivid scenarios of what could have happened to Daryl. The final image your brain shoved to the forefront was enough to bring tears to your eyes.

Daryl as a walker at the fence.

“No, no, no.” You chanted, shoving yourself to your feet. You kept repeating the word all the way to the door of Carol’s cell. You didn’t tap on the bars or call out to her. The curtain was roughly shoved aside and you barged in with no still tumbling from your lips.

“Y/N? Hey, what’s wrong?” She had already pulled you into her arms, shushing you and stroking your hair.

“He’s not coming back, is he? It’s after dark. Daryl said nights are dangerous. He’s not coming back, Carol. He’s not coming back.” You sobbed against her. You had finally managed to find something good in this world. Someone good. The fear of that being stripped away from you was almost too much to bear.

“No, no. Honey, listen. They were probably just held up. It doesn’t mean—” She seemed to understand the moment that your legs gave out and followed you to the floor, still holding you tightly against her. “Y/N, everything’s okay.”

“It’s not okay! He’s not coming back!” Your voice was slowly rising, panic taking hold in a familiar way that you never again wanted to feel. “He’s not coming back! He left me and he’s not coming back!”

“Who ain’t comin’ back?”

Your head snapped to the doorway so fast that your neck twinged in protest.

Daryl was bruised, bloody, and more than a little dirty but he was there.

“Who ain’t— oomf!”

You hit his chest with enough force to stagger him toward the railing, his heartrate spiking from the fear that you both might topple over it. “Why weren’t you here?! You can’t leave me, Daryl! You can’t go!”

The archer was staring helplessly at Carol, admittedly unsure of what the hell he was supposed to do. She only gave him a gentle smile and stood, walking to the door of her cell and pulling the sheet closed. He could not suppress the glare that the doorway received.

He then turned his attention to the bundle of you currently holding so tightly to the shirt beneath his vest that he heard some part of it tear. Hug you. He should hug you. That was logical.

“Hey.” Daryl said softly, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other rubbed your back. “M’right here.” Your sobs didn’t seem to quiet in the slightest, surely alerting everyone else in the prison. Hopefully they weren’t asleep yet. “Y/N. M’here. Ain’t goin’ nowhere.” His brow furrowed when he noticed how hard you were trembling. When words were continuing to fail him, he settled with just holding you.

It felt like hours of listening to you cry, the vice around his heart tightening until he could barely breathe. When one of the former Woodbury residents peeked out of their cell to scowl at him, he knew he had to get you away from that area. Not before offering a glare that had the man’s eyebrows shooting into his hairline just before he disappeared back into his space.

You made no objections when he bent to sweep an arm beneath your knees, only refusing to release your hold on the shirt your tears were steadily soaking through. He was careful, walking slowly so as not to jostle you, like you were still that fragile burden he had carried to the prison all those weeks ago.

Once he had climbed the stairs, he attempted to place you down on the mattress but you held fast to him, twisting your fists for a firmer grip. Daryl couldn’t help the fond smile he gave to the top of your head.

“Gonna hafta let go eventually.” With a deep, stuttering breath, your hold finally loosened yet didn’t fall away. “Wanna tell me wha’ happened?”

“Nights are dangerous.” Your voice was so small that it reminded him of the first time you ever spoke to him, outside of that club. He did not want to see you revert back from the person you had worked so hard to become. “That’s what you said. When night came, I thought—”

“Ya thought I wouldn’ come back.” You nodded against his chest. “Ran outta fuel skirtin’ ‘round a herd. Gotta diff’rent car, got the crap we found, made it back.” You sniffled again.

“You were late.”

Daryl couldn’t stop himself from snorting. “Didn’ realize I had a curfew.” He was able to hold onto the humor of the situation until you finally looked at him. His heart went plummeting down into some dark part of him, knowing then and there that he never wanted to see that fearful hopelessness again.

“Don’t leave me behind again. Please.”

The archer swallowed hard, feeling like an asshole. “Y/N, I can’ take ya out there. It ain’t safe.” His hold tightened slightly when he turned to sit on the mattress, lowering your legs onto his lap, so that he could embrace you with both arms. You were still looking at him. Strangely, he didn’t feel anxious under your gaze, distressed as it was. He felt oddly…anchored.

“It’ll never be safe.”

He couldn’t argue with that point. Nowhere was safe anymore. “Not knowin’ how ta protect yerself gets ya killed. I can’ take ya with me n’ have ta watch ya the whole time. Get us both killed.”

“Then teach me.” You implored, actually shaking him with the hold you still had on his shirt. “I can use the knife. I can shoot. Teach me what else I need to know so I can go with you.”

Daryl’s expression fell. You were right. You were good with your knife. You were fucking great with the gun. There was only one thing left to show you. And he dreaded it more than actually taking you outside the fence. “Ya need ta know how ta fight.” Your head tilted in a way that he would have found adorable had he not felt like he was about to vomit.

“Can Carol or Maggie—”

He was already shaking his head. “Need ta know how ta fight someone bigger, stronger. Need ta be able ta hold yer own when I can’ get ta ya.” When, not if. There would undoubtedly come a time when you would be alone, for whatever reason, and need to be able to take down walker or human; woman or man.

He would need to teach you.

Which meant, at some point, putting his hands on you.

The images of finding you at the mercy of Lonny and Marvin. The stark contrast between the blood and your skin. The way you had surrendered, given up, and just accepted what would have happened if he hadn’t—

Daryl didn’t know when he had looked away, staring at some unimportant spot on the floor until your soft palm turned him back to you.

“Okay.”

He narrowed his eyes, filled with an anger he knew wasn’t for you. It was for the lowlife assholes that had touched you, made you afraid of your own shadow. You had struggled to claw your way out of the shell they had left behind and now he would be forced to bring all of that back to the surface. Maybe not at first, but before it was done, before he would even feel remotely comfortable taking you anywhere beyond the prison gate, you would be afraid of him.

“I can do it, Daryl.”

The fire he felt raging just behind his ribs began to fade when he looked at you, your fierce determination mingling with the softness your eyes always held. Somewhere down deep, he knew you could do it. It wasn’t really about that. It was him. He was the one afraid. He never wanted to be the source of your nightmares. He didn’t want to portray the monster that his father so openly and willingly embraced.

He somehow managed to swallow past the lump in his throat. “Okay.” He reluctantly agreed. “I, uh… need ta shower. Gettin’ guts n’ shit all over yer clothes.” When he tried to move you aside, this time you let him. Yet when he stood, your hand snagged his wrist and he found himself looking down at you again.

“Don’t go.”

“M’jus’ gonna shower, Y/N.” Had his absence really been that profound? “M’gonna be righ’ back.”

“I’ll go with you.”

Daryl was certain his jaw hit the floor. “W-wha’?”

“I won’t look. I promise. I just…I don’t want to be alone.” You released his wrist but he could still feel a tingling where your fingers had been.

“Y’ain’t alone. Carol’s jus’—”

“I don’t want to be away from you right now.”

Part of him wouldn’t mind if you tagged along. You weren’t going there to gawk at him. But the part of him that knew what he was planning on doing aside from showering was filled with a sudden shame that he was no stranger to but had learned to ignore.

“Please?” You fixed him with those doe eyes of yours and he knew he was well and truly fucked. The hunter rubbed a hand roughly over his face and began to dig through his pile of clean clothing for something to wear to bed. Before you, he had usually just slept in whatever he was wearing when he crashed, giving in to the need for comfort by pulling on some flannel pants on occasion. When you began to spend more time in his space, he had raided the scavenged clothing and found several things he could sleep in that would make it more comfortable for you. How could you relax if he was constantly covered in grime and guts with no reprieve?

“Fine.”

You didn't smile which actually surprised him. You loved to beam at him when he gave you your way, but this was different. He had truly scared you. Clothing and towel in hand, he started down the steps with you trailing behind. He shouldn’t have been allowing you to be so dependent on him. You needed to learn to be self reliant, self soothing. God, he was making you sound like an infant.

Maybe you simply didn’t know that it wasn’t exactly appropriate. You had been passed from man to man for so long that the lines of decency were blurred. He couldn’t fault you for that, and he wouldn’t try to educate you when you had been so shaken and he was aching and dog-tired.

The run had been a shitshow. He didn’t lie to you, those things did happen. He just omitted a few things that would have done nothing but compound your anxiety. He was well aware that you would need to know the realities of a supply run but he would explain those in detail when you were ready to join him. The thought made him cringe. He still couldn’t imagine you out there. Not that you weren’t doing well with training. You were. It was just that knowing you’d be anywhere near immediate danger made him sick to his stomach.

He was hyper aware of each and every step you took behind him, even with your feet being bare. As an afterthought, he wondered if he should have brought the lantern. He didn’t need it but perhaps you would. If you did, you hadn’t said anything, even when he stepped into the stall, still fully clothed.

He turned to find you holding some of your own clothes at your hip.

“Mine got dirty.” You shrugged, walking into the adjoining stall. Nothing but a single half wall separated you. When he saw your arms raise and the shirt being lifted over your head, he turned his back and inwardly groaned.

Why, oh why, had you needed to follow him?

“Done.” You announced, any trace of you gone when he turned around. Brow knitted, he raised to the balls of his feet to look over the barrier but still couldn’t see you. Next, he leaned forward and peered around the outside of the wall. You were sitting with your back against the tiles, your eyes finding his before you smiled shyly. “Is this okay? I don’t wanna make you feel uncomfortable.”

Uncomfortable could not even begin to describe how Daryl was feeling.

You watched as Daryl’s eyes narrowed, something almost playful twinkling within the cobalt depths. “No peeking.” He warned, his tone light, and then he vanished back to the other side.

You ignored the sounds of him undressing— the graze of his boots over his socks, the soft clink of his belt buckle —and busied yourself with chewing on your nails, trying to even out the ones you had fucked up during your earlier episode. Chewing at a jagged edge, you’d pull back to inspect your work and then continue to the next.

You had made it almost all the way across one hand when a weight plopped and settled over your head. The familiar smell of leather stifled any instantaneous fear, so you pulled at the veil to find it was the winged vest.

“Daryl,” you whined through a smile. “I just changed my clothes!” The shower started spraying behind you.

“Oops.” He replied flippantly.

Leaning forward, you cross-crossed your legs beneath you and set about carefully folding his vest, brushing away any dirt you could see by only moonlight, the rest left for when you could properly clean it. Carol had taught you how to care for and maintain it when the precious article came through in the laundry she had gathered, the one and only time you’d seen it in all the loads you’d helped wash.

Sweeping your hand back and forth over the material, you smiled at how far you’d come. There was a man showering less than ten feet away from you and you weren’t whimpering or cowering. You weren’t looking for an escape. It was a testament to both your strength and the influence of the aforementioned man in the shower.

Amidst your thoughts, the smell of burnt tobacco wafted into your face, your nose scrunching. You hadn’t even heard the lighter!

“Are you seriously smoking in the shower?”

“Who doesn’?”

You could tell he was letting the cigarette hang between his lips from the sound of his voice, obviously talking from one side of his mouth. You smiled and rolled your eyes but didn’t badger him further. There was no need. Your mind ventured far away.

It started innocently enough. You were picturing him washing his hair while drawing off the cigarette, exhaling the smoke through his nose and looking pleased as punch. You would have giggled had your traitorous mind not called upon the rest of his body. Just recalling what you had seen that night made your cheeks burn.

If it had ended there, you might have been able to brush it off without hindrance. Your subconscious was never kind to you.

You saw yourself sitting on the low wall that currently separated you from him, just as wet and just as bare. The archer stepped between your legs that were open in invitation. His scars felt like your own, your fingers studying them as he watched, the cigarette still pressed between his lips. You blinked up at him when he grabbed the smoke between his thumb and forefinger, flicking it into the shower floor to be extinguished and forgotten. That same hand glided up your thigh and dipped between your bodies, his fingers mimicking your own; delicately tracing the scars littered over your core.

“You’re just like me.” You whispered as his lips found yours.

“If ya mean tired n’ done with this shit day then yep, we ‘bout the same.”

You jolted sideways, eyes wide with surprise. “Daryl!” He was standing at the end of the stall in flannel pants and a Led Zeppelin t-shirt, his damp towel and dirty clothing in hand.

“Yeah?” He was waiting you out but you couldn’t seem to find words while your fresh little fantasy continued to flicker behind your eyes. “Y’alrigh’?”

“Yeah.” You cleared your throat, suddenly uncomfortable with his close proximity. “I’m good.” Clambering to your feet, you smiled and handed him his vest. “I’m just really tired too.” His narrowed eyes brought on worry that he wasn’t buying it but after a moment, he nodded toward the door.

“Le’s hit the sack. Gotta a long day tomorrow.”

You hummed your agreement and followed him out. Sleep was doubtfully going to be in the cards that night, not after what you had allowed to happen inside your head. Daryl wanted you, at least he had wanted you at some point. Did he still? Did you want him? Of course you did. He had made it clear that he cared for you. You were his friend. Maybe he did still want to fuck you.

That wasn’t something you could ever allow.

You were damaged. Healing but forever damaged. You’d been used so frequently by so many that you would never allow Daryl to lower himself to such desperation. There were plenty of women there vying for his attention. Maybe once he was less focused on you, he could start thinking more about his own needs. He would see that any appeal you had was nothing compared to a woman who could give him her whole heart and not just a pile of shredded fragments.

Finally settled, your shoulders were almost touching while the two of you laid on your backs. Silence was abundant for the longest time before Daryl cleared his throat.

“Night.”

“Goodnight.”

Simultaneously, you both turned away from the other; Daryl’s eyes on the wall and yours on the shadows past the railing.

Neither was aware that the other was thinking the exact same thing.

He deserves better.

She deserves better.

@royaltysuite@thegeorgiahuntsman@livingdeadblondequeen@deansapplepie@feral4daryl@walker-bait-1973@lazyneonrabbitt@bizquake@ririi-3@ankhmutes@littlelovingideas @blackvelveteen1339@sokkasimp101@lehhos @1ivinqdeadqir1main@loganlostitall @callmeyn@lilyevanstan1325@the-lonely-abyss@gutsby@eljaynosine_triphosphate @abbyreedus@wifeof-barnes@bananafire11@hutchersonsgurl@the-milk-is-rotten@she-could-never@Kenzimae67@nessa-mayfield@ilovedilfs4eversthings@richardsamboramylove55@annhells@abi67sblog@nessieart@imgeorgeclooney@brinteylovesaliens@eduardast4rgirl@daryldixmedown @willowaftxn83-87@atyourmomshouse01@bultamer@mia051 @memphiscity69@flowerspetalsthorns@riya12044 @ariacraigggg @morgan556 @carley12041 @timeladyrikaofgallifrey @twdislifee @bae-live-0 @elbellmam @aleemendoza2425-blog @ramdomhoe @ren9sstuff

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hllywdwhre · 3 months

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Afterglow

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x fem!reader

Summary: Ghosts from your past cause problems in yours and Cillian’s relationship

Warnings: None; let me know if I missed any

Word Count: 659

Notes: Based on the song ‘Afterglow’ by Taylor Swift

“I’m sorry!” You shouted across the room, looking at him as he sat in the kitchen chair across from you.

Both of the pupils of your eyes contrasted with the red that lined them, tears streaking down the two faces.

“I just want to know why,” he said, voice gravelly as he looked up at you, “Why don’t you trust me? What have I done to betray your trust that outweighs what I’ve done to gain it?”

Cillian’s voice reflected the hurt you felt, even though you were the source of the hurt.

“You haven’t done anything,” you admitted, walking to him, hoping he would allow you to and he wouldn’t stand and walk away from you.

“Then why do you keep building these walls up? Why do you keep forcing us into this cycle?” He asked. His voice held no anger this time; it held no malice or volume, just pure curiosity that only added to your guilt over the entire situation.

You weren’t used to someone wanting to know why you acted the way you did, just used to people running away from it. You didn’t want to sound like you were passing blame and refusing to hold yourself accountable, but it was because of how you had been hurt in the past.

So you told him.

You told him everything. As you spoke, you sat down in the chair next to him and told him how the past relationships had changed you. How you had been hurt by those who were supposed to protect you and how that had caused you to now bare scars that would never be erased. How you had opened up to others only for them to use it against you. How others hadn’t used it against you, but had lost patience in trying to understand you; they had told you they understood, but they weren’t willing to stay around and understand the deeper why’s.

“It’s all me… I’m in my head… and that isn’t supposed to sound like a line where I tell you it’s me and you comfort me and say that it’s not. It is me. I’ve been hurt and I’m acting as though you’re the one that hurt me, and you’re not,” you told him, finally looking back up at him as you finished.

“I’m still yours… at the end of this, we’ll be just fine. If you need to lose your mind for a moment, tell me, though. Tell me what’s happening and I’ll listen and reassure you. You’re all I want,” he said, taking your hand in his.

You looked down at where your fingers were interlocked and nodded, then stood up, and made your way to sit on his lap. Your arms wrapped around his neck, hugging him tightly, as if afraid to let him go.

“I’m sorry that I hurt you,” you said as you buried your head in his neck, allowing his familiar scent to surround you.

“It’s not your fault. You’ve had people hold a mirror up to your scars as if you don’t see them and say they’re the reason why they can’t be with you. That isn’t your fault. I’m here with you until the end,” he reassured you.

You lifted your head to make eye contact with him and kissed him softly, trying to portray the silent ‘thank you’ that you felt but didn’t have the right words to communicate.

He seemed to understand as he took your face in his hands, his thumbs rubbing the tears off your cheeks, and returned your kiss.

You pulled away a moment later as the reflection off of one of the wind chimes in his backyard hit your closed lids. The sun was rising outside, illuminating his backyard in hues of purples and blues and casting a mystical look outside.

“You’re worth every fight,’ he told you, kissing your forehead.

“This love is worth the fight,” you said in agreement with him.

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x reader #cillian x reader #cillian x fem!reader #Cillian Murphy x fem!reader

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hyrules-warrior · 1 year

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Someone needs to write a fic about Ellie being super protective of Joel’s right side. That is the side he is hard of hearing on, the side he was stabbed with the bat, the side he broke his hand punching the FEDRA guard, and the side he almost blew his brains out on (which is probably also why he can’t hear well out that side).

I can see Ellie being super protective and attentive, like obsessively so. She always tends to sit on his right and walk next to him on his right. She is attentive to any sounds she hears when on his right side to assess them for danger since Joel may not be hearing them himself.

She is quick to block others from his right, or gently guide Joel to turn that way with a touch to his side if someone is approaching just in case he isn’t aware.

She is paranoid of him getting hit on that side and is always trying to act as a buffer to avoid anything getting in contact with him there. Will getting hit there damage his scar? Is the wound not fully healed even if it has been months since it happened? Is it sensitive? Getting hit there again would surely cause an even more serious wound right?

Joel just kinda rolls with it. It was part of what made them an amazing team while on their journey. She covered for his weaker side and he could better protect them both with her looking out for him that way. He often calls her “right side” as sort of a joke and sort of a legit affectionate nickname and also a job title. Ellie loves it when he calls her that. It’s both affection from him and acknowledgment of the job he has trusted her with.

Being in Jackson proves to be a challenge. They get weird looks for sure since they are always together. When Joel gets added to the patrol roster it involves lots of yelling since Ellie is originally not allowed to go with him. Jackson rules state she is too young, even Joel asking for an exception to be made is ignored. He would love her to stay safe in Jackson but he knows they will both just worry about the other the entire time they are separated so he tries to get her on the roster with him.

Joel goes out on a few patrols without her until coming back one time with injuries from not noticing something coming at him from his right side. Ellie looses her shit, throws more fits and Tommy finally says he will go with her and Joel as a trial run since he was there when Joel was hurt.

Tommy is amazed. The difference in Joel alone vs with Ellie is night and day. Before, with Joel on his own, it seemed like he was missing a limb. He seemed uneasy, favoring his right side but still missing things leading to distraction and injury. With Ellie though, he is whole. Both of them seem so confident and comfortable with each other and being outside. They move as one unit. Tommy feels like he is intruding, throwing off their groove. They don’t need another person to help them. Joel notices everything, tracks, snapped branches, game animals, infected, raiders. Ellie hears everything, infected screaming, animal cries, gunshots. They direct each other to what is important, they barely need to speak to each other communicating through light touches, hand signals and whistles. Ellie and Joel move as one, flanking infected and distracting things from the other to let them get the kill. Ellie is a crack shot now too, clearly Joel has taught her well. She covers for his lack of hearing and truly is his “right side”.

Needless to say, Ellie goes with Joel whenever he is assigned to patrols from then on.

#I am obsessed with these two #and their codependency #I need more codependent fics #it's such an interesting dynamic #the last of us #tlou #HBO #ellie and Joel

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fatkish · 18 days

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Tamaki Amajiki x Reader: Fake Marriage

Tamaki and reader decided to get a marriage license for hero agency insurance purposes since their long time friends and so that should anything happen to Tamaki in the field, he can make sure that his agency is covered and that the reader would inherit it. The Hero Insurance companies can be extremely tricky to deal with so the reader poses as Tamaki’s spouse who is a non hero but works in the agency.

The reader’s quirk is called Archive. (If you’ve seen Fairy Tail, it’s the same as the blue Pegasus guy’s magic) Basically the reader’s quirk creates a vast information network that spans centuries into the past. This quirk is similar to Iida’s family’s engine quirk as it’s passed down through generations. Any information that has been learned throughout the reader’s blood relatives is automatically added to the archive.

Since the reader isn’t a fighter they work as a support for heroes. They help Tamaki by overseeing his patrols and helping guide him via their quirk’s communication link.

During the raid at the Gunga Mountain Villa and the Jaku Hospital, the reader was with All might inside the room with the attack coordinators. When Shigaraki took out communications via EMP, the reader was the only person who was able to still have any contact with the field.

Hado, Mirio and Tamaki all use the reader’s Archive quirk as network for information as well as communications since the reader doesn’t really have that many drawbacks. Tamaki is especially grateful for the reader since they’re always talking him through everything whenever his anxiety gets to him.

Since Tamaki is a naturally shy person, I personally headcannon that after highschool he decided to become an underground hero who specializes in steak outs, espionage, and any task with minimal interaction. Or at the very least, he’s a nighttime hero.

Reader handles the day to day stuff as well as hiring. The reader is the public face who handles the media as well as any publicity while Tamaki is the backbone. The reader has made sure that the entire staff from those who handle paperwork and manage menial and mundane tasks to even the sidekicks, all of them are aware of Amajiki’s shyness and most likely have their own social hang ups

Whenever there is a pro hero gala or event that they’re invited to, reader uses their marriage to keep fans from trying to get with Tamaki. The reader does a lot of the talking for him.

Whenever Tamaki has to talk to reporters, the reader is always telling him what to say and is telling him how good he’s doing and encourages him.

You always make sure to have Bento’s ready and prepared for Tamaki. You make sure that he has whatever food he needs and that his meals are both tasty and delicious as well as healthy and useful for his quirk.

For fun, and to tease him, you’ll write notes in his bentos for him to find. Often times the notes are the typical lovey dovey notes that a mother or girlfriend will write.

“Hey Honeybun,

Hope you have a great day out there. Keep your chin up and kick butt. I’m so proud of you💕💕 I made sure to pack your favorites this time so enjoy your lunch, love you<3 xoxo

Love,

(Y/n), your dutiful spouse”

He always blushes but loves the notes and secretly has a box full of them that he has kept since you started doing this is high school.

(I know it’s kinda short but I plan to add more as it comes to me)

#mha x reader #bnha x reader #tamaki amajiki x reader #tamaki amakiji #suneater #amajiki x reader #bnha amajiki #mha amajiki

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babygirlgiles · 6 months

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I think one of my biggest critiques about Catching Fire as a movie is that there’s entirely too much Gale in it. And I’m not just saying this as a Peeta Girlie, I’m saying this because Gale’s palpable absence is so strong at the beginning of the book that it’s a presence within and of itself and that’s central to the first part of the story!! The fact that Peeta is there when Gale isn’t is key to showing How The Games Have Effected Katniss!!

Katniss is experiencing this meteoric rise in economic class practically overnight. She’s gained an immense amount of privilege, relatively speaking, at an immense cost (the trauma of the Games, the damage to her emotional and mental well-being, the damage to her sense of self, the increased risk that immediate harm might come to her family and loved ones). She’s realizing that she really was part of her community before the Games by virtue of being distanced from that same community now. Because that’s what the Games, and the resulting class hyper-mobility, did to her: it’s set her apart from her peers. And Gale being absent is part of that. She doesn’t have to go to school. She doesn’t have to hunt or trade at the Hob. She doesn’t have to join the district’s industry. But Gale does have to do all those things. It’s why they only ever see each other on Sundays, the one day of the week he isn’t in the minds. It’s why they have increasingly little to talk about when they do meet, because their lives are so vastly different now and because the things that do occupy Katniss’s days are things generally related to her stratospheric class leap and/or the horrific cost of that leap, things she either doesn’t want to talk about or straight up can’t talk about.

She’s had this seismic shift in her life that’s detached her from her world and turned her into an island. Peeta and Haymitch (and to a lesser degree her mom and Prim) are the only ones that have been metaphorically cast out to sea like her. That’s why they’re a constant presence in the beginning of the book when Gale is not. And that’s why adding in scenes with Gale to the beginning of the movie (or keeping in scenes with Gale at the cost of like. literally every other thing that happens in that part of the book, including all the time she spends with Peeta and the others) undermines that point.

#thg #catching fire #Katniss Everdeen #the hunger games #hunger games meta #I mean there’s obviously other reasons I think Peeta’s presence is important athe beginning of the book #not just bc it shows how the games have effected Katniss bc of how her economic class has changed #but bc it shows how the games have effected her by bonding her to him in a way no one else could ever be #and it shows his steadfast loyalty etc etc #but also yeah having soooo much gale doesnt just undermine Peeta’s character development and the development of their relationship #it also undermines showing how Katniss’s life has changed as a result of the games

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simmerandwrite · 1 year

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Sink Into Me - 03 - mob!Steve Rogers x plus size! reader

Summary: You were simply doing a good deed, pulling the handsome stranger out of the way when a car jumped the curb. Little did you know that the life you saved belonged to Steve Rogers, the Army veteran turned art dealer with connections to the Brooklyn crime syndicate.

Steve Rogers, who won’t stop calling you his guardian angel.

Steve Rogers, whose new goal in life just might be repaying his debt to you.

Steve Rogers, who isn’t shy until it comes to his feelings and will stop at nothing to keep you safe.

Chapters: 01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08

Wordcount: 6.5k

Warnings: canon level violence (series), body image issues (series), smut (series)

Notes: Hey! This is coming out later than I wanted but life is busy these days so this story is taking a back seat. Thank you to everyone who has read so far - I appreciate all the interest! While I also appreciate every single ‘like’ on the chapters, a comment or reblog goes a long way to let me know how you are enjoying the story :) Trust me when I say a nice comment or reaction gif can really make a writer’s day and I would love to hear from you all! ( if you see me in the wild, i’m @simmerandcry)

----

The weeks of your life following the event at your apartment felt like a blur.

A lot of positives had unintentionally come from the whole experience. First, you had crossed into a friendship zone with Steve. If that’s what you wanted to call it. You both seemed to toe the line between friendly and flirty and you had no idea what it meant. Sometimes you simply traded thoughts sparingly during the day and other times there were almost-cheeky messages after the sun went down.

He had graciously supplied you with a new phone to replace yours and even put you in touch with a dog daycare in the neighbourhood that a friend of his operated, in case you wanted to look into it for Hercules.

Outside of all the positives though came the heavy downside to your entire experience. It felt like you barely slept anymore. Steve had very kindly returned back to your apartment the next day and even communicated with your landlord about repairing your door and window, and when a security camera was installed one day, you figured Steve had a hand in that too.

It didn’t stop you from feeling paranoid anytime you were there alone. You rushed home from work most days and crashed while the sun was still up, but once the darkness rolled in, every single noise outside made you feel nervous. Although you believed Steve when he said he would ‘take care’ of things, you couldn’t help but feel less and less secure as you grew more and more sleep deprived.

It was just another reason to break your lease and move on, but the idea of apartment shopping and moving was both a financial burden and a huge stressor added onto your life. Instead, you just powered through and hoped your fears would eventually subside, even if that felt impossible.

At least when you weren’t home, you were less anxious about everything.

“You look more exhausted everytime I see you,” Claire had nearly begged you to meet her for brunch on your day off while she was in between shifts. “Did things escalate with Steve the mobster?”

You rolled your eyes, stabbing your fork into the syrupy waffles sitting in front of you. “No, no. We talk sometimes but..” You tried to hide the excitement on your face when you saw a message come in from him. Not that you had been anxiously waiting for a reply from him or anything.

You [11:31AM]: dropped off Hercules for his trial at daycare today! Thanks again for the rec :) Steve Rogers [11:50AM]: Happy to help the little guy out, sweetheart. Kate will take good care of him, I promise Steve Rogers [11:51AM]: Let me know how it goes!

Fuck, it was those petnames that got you. It had to be flirting if he was calling you sweetheart, right?

Sweetheart, honey, baby, doll..

Not that you wanted to admit it, but it had been a long time since you had felt any kind of emotional reaction to another person like this. Your last situationship had been with a coworker months ago and it had not gone well for you when it crashed and burned. This kind of twist in your heart when you talked to Steve was scary. Almost scarier than the idea of your apartment being broken into, really. To feel wanted by another person, romantically or physically or both, was intimidating and hard to believe.

But the more you got to know Steve, the more worth it the risk seemed.

You shook your head of those thoughts and caught Claire’s cheeky smile as you put your phone away.

“Was that him now?”

“Yes, it was but-”

“Ahhh. I knew it. You have the anxious glow of someone in the early stages of crushing.”

You sighed and rolled your eyes. “Claire, it’s not like that.”

“Are you sure? Because honestly if any man is giving you his time and communicating and making you check your phone obsessively…” She gave you a look when you checked on your buzzing phone again. “Having feelings for another person isn’t a bad thing, you know.”

Maybe it was the fatigue, maybe it was the pull in your heart. Either way, you trusted Claire and without even meaning to, your insecurities spilled out. “Claire, he’s way out of my league. He’s a 10 and at my best I’m sure I’m not the type usually on his radar. Our lifestyles are so vastly different, I’m guessing all his kindness is to remedy the guilt he feels over my saving his life. Whatever this is..” you grabbed your phone and waved it around. “..is bound to fizzle out when he loses interest or thinks he has put in enough time. It’s just how these things work.”

You hadn’t even realized your eyes were squeezed shut but when you opened them, Claire was staring you down as if you had two heads.

“You just gave me like half a dozen reasons why you think this guy wouldn’t be into you. But has he told you otherwise?”

You paused. No, it hadn’t been explicitly clear what Steve’s intentions were. Maybe he was just kind, maybe he thought you were friends. Or maybe he was interested in more.

“You’ll never know if you don’t ask, babe.” Claire took a sip of her coffee cup and her eyes widened. “You should make a move.”

“What? Like asking him out? Absolutely not.”

“Just dial up the flirtatious chatter. Send him a late night selfie, something a little bit sexy.”

“Claire. I can’t.”

“Uhm, you totally can. You told me you sent some pretty risky things to that idiot from your work last year sooooo take the leap.” She clapped her hands together before raising her fists in a mock cheer. “Leap of faith, leap of faith!”

“Okay, okay.” You couldn’t help but laugh as you tried to quiet her across the table. “I will try the photo thing. But if he rejects me and I get sad about it, you’re in charge of my emotional repair. Deal?”

“Deal.”

---

Steve tried very hard to keep a clear line between his work and personal life. When he was meeting with a client or getting his hands messy taking care of less than legal business, he was in work mode. It helped that he was an independent person, keeping his personal attachments to a minimum as best as he could.

But with you, his lines were starting to blur. It hadn’t made much of an impact yet but when your name showed up on his phone or your face crossed his mind, he tried to dismiss it until he could give you all his attention.

The ‘No Phone’ policy at Billy Russo’s poker game helped that, thankfully. The game was really less of a formality now, another opportunity to discuss business behind closed doors. And once the cards were piled up and every chip was cashed out and accounted for, that’s when the important conversations took place.

The backroom of Russo’s newest warehouse served as a perfect backdrop for them - with subtle tinted windows looking out towards the Hudson. The high ceilings echoed with their idle chatter. Sam had moved away from the table to flirt with the bartender, leaving Steve and Bucky with Russo and his own partner in crime, Frank Castle. But despite the gameplay and niceties, Steve had an agenda.

“To answer your question,” Russo set down his crystalline glass and leaned back in his chair, eyebrows raised as a smirk grew on his face. “Of course Rumlow came to chat. I humoured the man but can you blame me?”

“He wants storage space,” Castle added in, answering the question before Steve or Bucky could even wonder.

Steve nodded. It wasn’t a secret that the docks, operated by Castle and Russo, had notorious clientele in the darkness of night. But Steve was their biggest partner and their working relationship had been ongoing for nearly a decade.

“Which we won’t give him, of course. I’m not an idiot. I know the rules.” Russo shrugged. “But I gotta tell you, Rogers - he’s getting pushy.”

To Steve’s left, Bucky grumbled. “If I see one of his guys out there with that new shit again, I’m finishing this. Discussion over.”

“Hey.” Steve reached his hand out to rest on Bucky’s shoulder. “One step at a time.”

“Becca said she heard about another kid, you know. Hospitalized because of that new shit.”

Steve’s lips tightened into a line. His biggest rule for anyone crossing his boundaries - no targeting the high schools. And this new stuff Rumlow had introduced, some unstable, addictive upper - it had already been making a mess. Steve knew he couldn’t control the movement of drugs and hey, why would he want to? It was lucrative for him. A twenty percent cut across the board kept his bank accounts padded. But the way Rumlow had started bleeding in, against Steve’s rules, it was getting out of hand.

“At least what you did to Walker scared him off for the time being,” Castle laughed, getting up to get a refill of his whisky. “What I wouldn’t give to see that guy’s smashed up face.”

Bucky smirked. “It wasn’t pretty.”

“He made his bed, sending that driver after my property. Then showing up to scare a witness who has no connection to this? He’s a bastard. You play stupid games, you win stupid prizes.” Steve tilted his head. “I think we’ve been clear enough for the time being. Just let me know if you see Rumlow again. Because if there is a next time, I'll deal with it myself.”

Russo stood up as Steve did, extending a gracious hand as a thank you. “So - to the club? I’m looking for an unforgettable evening.”

Steve laughed, extending his arm over the man’s shoulder. “Oh, I can promise you one.”

“Should I call up Meredith? Let her know she can come meet us?”

Steve politely ignored Russo’s bait. It had been an ongoing thing for months now - with Billy trying desperately to arrange a relationship between his sister and Steve. Quite frankly, it was embarrassing. Sure, Meredith Russo was a beautiful girl but Steve had decided a long time ago that if he was ever going to settle down with someone, it had to be genuine and not for the long term sake of a business relationship.

As they headed towards Shield , with Rumlow and Russo driving ahead while Steve and Bucky got into their awaiting car with Katy at the wheel, Steve finally checked his phone. How could he even humor the idea of Russo’s sister when there you were, sending him a few late night messages. And when he realized you had sent a photo…

You [11:45PM]: best method to tire yourself out before bed? You [11:51PM]: I’ve tried everything. currently I’ve decided to just bake cookies instead You [11:52PM]: (IMG-6521)

“Please tell me you’re pursuing that.”

Steve rolled his eyes when he saw Bucky leaning over to look at his phone screen. “Eyes to yourself, punk.” He sent his elbow across the backseat and nudged Bucky in the ribs.

As much as Steve knew he had to be rational before letting you further into his life, damnit - how could he think with his upstairs brain when you were sending him photos like that? Because even in the fluorescent lights of your tiny apartment kitchen, you were a sight to be reckoned with. From your casually messy hair to your revealing tank top to the way you were biting your lip… The tight feeling in his pants was another important reason to try and focus on his rational brain, the one who did things correctly to win you over.

But he wasn’t sure how much longer this type of talking was going to work for him. Sure, he wanted to get to know you better but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to get his hands all over you, too. He had a feeling you and him would go together so well.

He took in a deep breath and finally formulated a reply.

S Rogers [12:29AM]: I can think of a few ways to tire you out before bed, baby S Rogers [12:29AM]: and what I’d give to taste whatever you’re making S Rogers [12:34AM]: I won’t invite myself over but when can I see you? I need to see you. are you free tomorrow?

---

You nearly threw up when Steve asked you out. And as the minutes ticked by Sunday morning before you were to meet him for lunch, your nerves were getting the best of you.

I need to see you.

That meant he was interested, right? You had left a series of frantic voice messages for Claire, praying that she’d enjoy them on her morning break and true to her nature, she had calmed you down with a few positive affirmations and some advice for the sudden date.

You could do this. He wanted to see you. What was the issue?

The issue, perhaps, was your lack of sleep and how exhaustion was slowly creeping up on you. Maybe this was all a weird dream and you’d be showing up to lunch alone.

I need to see you.

Dressed in your favourite date outfit, which toed the line between casual and trying too hard, you headed towards the little lunch spot Steve had suggested. When you found him outside waiting for you, a wave of relief settled in your chest. There he was.

God, he was handsome. The mustard yellow striped shirt he was wearing hugged his chest perfectly, accentuating his biceps - which you suddenly had an urge to squeeze. You weren’t sure anyone else could pull off such a look paired with black slacks and dress shoes, but Steve managed it. Maybe it had something to do with his confident energy.

When he noticed you down the block, the grin on his face grew.

God, he was handsome.

You remained as composed as possible while he greeted you with a hug, not before pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek. With a squeeze of your hand, he led you inside and immediately the server placed you both at a small table near the window.

You thought it might be awkward - the next part. The gradual move into ‘get to know you’ type of questions, but with Steve, it felt easy. Way easier than you could have anticipated. He casually ordered for you both once he confirmed your choice and cradled your hand in his across the table as you chatted.

The details in his face were so obvious in this setting - the golden blonde in his beard, the crinkles beside his eyes when he laughed, the shine of his blue eyes. You had a hard time looking away, because you felt so captured by him. And you didn’t want to jinx it, but you had a feeling that maybe he felt the same way too.

“I don’t know.” With your lip trapped between your lips, you scanned his face and held back a smile. “I think you’re lying. I find it really hard to believe that The English Patient is your favourite movie.”

“Oh, come on,” Steve laughed, pausing to take a sip of his coffee cup as he narrowed his eyes. “What makes you think that?”

“Gut feeling,” you replied with a shrug, tipping your head from side to side. “And I cannot imagine you deciding to put on a movie to relax and picking that.”

He pursed his lips for a moment then finally, his shoulders sunk down. “Okay, you caught me. My favourite movie is Singing in the Rain.”

You couldn’t help but let out an excited laugh, smile wide as you watched him. “Amazing. Unexpected, really, but somehow that feels just right.”

“What’s amazing is you saw right through me. I promise I’ll never lie to you again,” Steve crossed over his heart with his index finger before reaching his hand out again and tugging yours away from the edge of your water glass. “And now to be very honest about something - this , you and me, it somehow feels just right, too.”

You couldn’t get over his bold words but thank god he said it. What was this mysterious feeling that seemed to be sucking you both in, head first? You squeezed his hand and did everything in your power not to pinch yourself.

You could just feel it, enveloping you without hesitation - you were falling hard, already. It was a risk but you tried to remind yourself of what Claire had said: stop playing it safe, take the leap..

Steve barely humoured you when you offered to pay for the meal once the cheque arrived at the table. He spared you a quick glance over the billfold then took care of it with a swift flick of his wrist, sending the server away without another word.

Steve’s voice brought you back to the present, after momentarily losing yourself in him again. Your eyes had been fixated on the small area of skin on display above the buttons of his shirt, showing off just a hint of both chest hair and the ink of tattoos that were hiding beneath his gold chain.

With a small smile, you finally looked up and met his grin. “Sorry to stare. I was just trying to figure out your tattoos.” You watched as he swallowed hard, as if trying to contain his response.

Steve cleared his throat, motioning to the door as you both stood up. “Do you have any?” Using his closest hand, he splayed his palm against your lower back as you headed outside together.

You paused once you were back on the sidewalk, accepting the suggestion as Steve offered to walk you home. “I have one lonely tattoo.”

“And where is that hiding?”

“That is a secret.” You turned and looked at him over your shoulder as you started in the direction of your apartment.

Within a few strides, he caught up and reached for your hand. Jesus Christ, you were holding hands. How were you supposed to keep your composure?

Steve carried on, with no intention to skip over the tattoo topic. “At least tell me what the tattoo is of?”

“Just a song lyric that reminds me of my mom. I know that’s a bit silly.”

“I think that’s sweet. You’re close with her?”

“Oh yeah. She’s my best friend. I wish I could see her more but she refuses to move back to the city. She has a good circle out in Albany though so I try not to worry about her.”

“And your dad?”

“Uhm, non-existent.” You glossed over that quickly, tugging Steve along as you ventured through a crowd at the crosswalk. “What about you and nurse Sarah?”

“My ma - she’s whole heart. I almost lost her once and..” he trailed off, as if experiencing a jolt of unwelcome pain. “She’s the most important woman in my life.”

Once you got back to your apartment, you had a feeling Steve didn’t want things to come to an end yet. And truthfully, you didn’t either. Maybe inviting him in was too soon, especially in the middle of a Sunday afternoon, but he happily agreed to join you as you took Hercules for a walk.

You regaled Steve with the dramatic story about how you adopted Hercules (“He was my first attempt at fostering a dog and I immediately fell in love.”)

Steve told you about how he enlisted with Bucky and Sam after college. You traded stories about figuring your lives out in the city after your careers got started.

Before you realized it, you had looped around the block numerous times until finally, Steve remorsefully shared that he had some work things to take care of and he had to get going.

“I wish we could just keep going with whatever this is,” he insisted with a sad smile. Slowly, he reached his hand out and cradled your cheek. “Can I see you again? Dinner this week?”

“You want to see m-” You cut yourself off. Was now really the time to be filling your mind with self doubt? You were already putty in his hands, if it wasn’t obvious enough. “Yes, I’d love that.” It pained you but you knew your work week ahead was a bit intense. “Wednesday?”

Steve tipped his head back and groaned, very dramatically. “I guess I can wait until Wednesday.” He dragged his tongue across his lips, his hand travelling from your cheek towards your neck. “But in the meantime, I don’t think I’ll be able to wait until then to do this..” He met your eyes for an extra moment, waiting for your permission.

You had barely nodded your head before Steve tipped his head down and pressed his lips to yours. To describe Steve as eager would have been a disservice - but damn, the man was hungry. His lips moved in a way that seemed both calculated and feverish, leaving you catching your breath and Steve letting out a quiet growl for more.

The strap of Hercules’ leash dropped from your hand and before you realized it, Steve had caught it with his free hand, pulling away from you with a coy grin.

“Wednesday,” you whispered out the words, happily taking the leash back from Steve. “We should do more of that Wednesday.”

---

You [4:01PM]: crisis alert - Steve kissed me after our date You [4:01PM]: and it was so good. SO GOOD. Wanda [4:02PM]: !!!!! Wanda [4:03PM]: why is this a crisis? You [4:05PM]: I need to be grounded in reality Maria [4:05PM]: don’t worry, I’m always here to burst your bubble about some average man Claire [4:06PM]: let’s hope he’s above average Claire [4:07PM]: girl, get it. the real crisis is your underwear drawer, probably You [4:08PM]: wow, ouch You [4:08PM]: you’re probably right Maria [4:08PM]: booooooo

---

Steve was trying so hard to do this correctly. He could take any girl to dinner then back to his bed, but with you, he was strategizing. The extended lunch date had been step one. And leaving you with just a kiss, despite his undying desire for all of you, he was trying to establish this was important to him.

You were important to him.

Just getting to know you and seeing your smile, and God, hearing you laugh - he was done for. He hadn’t felt this way before and he didn’t want to fuck it up. It wasn’t lost on him how rare this flood of feelings were - when was the last time he anxiously paced around his office, half-assing his check-ins, delegating more than he normally would, daydreaming about you, counting down the minutes until he picked you up?

It didn’t help that you two had spent the last few nights on the phone, talking way later than either of you probably needed to be awake. But it seemed you couldn’t help yourselves.

When you messaged him about working late then picking up Hercules late and that you were running behind, he frowned.

You [5:57PM]: I’m really sorry Steve [5:57PM]: It’s okay, I had just gotten to my car You [5:58PM]: Well, if you want to head over now - if you don’t mind waiting, you can come in and hang with Herc :)

You greeted him at the door, already apologizing profusely for not being ready on time. How could he be mad when he got to see this side of you - in between outfits and still smiling so nervously?

“I pushed the reservation,” Steve assured you with a wave of his hand, resisting the urge to push you against the closest wall and pick up where you left off earlier that week. “Take your time.”

“Thank you, I really appreciate it,” you offered him another nervous smile before turning, heading back towards your bathroom. “I’ve been taking naps after work the last few weeks but working late today has just thrown me off. I swear I’m usually not like this..”

“It's okay, you’re giving me time to befriend Hercules anyway.” Steve took a seat on your couch, happy to spend the next few minutes playing with your dog while you got ready.

He couldn’t quite pinpoint it, but something about your energy seemed off. Maybe it was nerves, but after things had ended so positively following your lunch date, he hoped it was good nerves, at least. Positive energy, if possible. The connection between you had struck him so furiously, he supposed it made sense to look at it from a realistic perspective too, but he wanted you to be excited, not anxious.

As he leaned back into the cushions, he felt something poke into his back. Curious, he leaned forward again and twisted, eyebrows raising as he found a small cast iron frying pan lodged between your pillows.

Steve considered himself a very intuitive person. Once he took a half second to analyze your space, he was coming to a conclusion he hoped wasn’t true. Tipping his head to the side, he scanned the doorway. The landlord had quickly removed the broken door and replaced it with something more secure, thanks to a strongly worded phone call and thinly veiled threat from Steve. And yet, you kept a spare dining chair propped up behind it.

Behind him, the window above your couch had also been replaced - and you had left the protective plastic on the new pane, plus added an extra blanket to cover it up.

He stood up and took a few paces further into your apartment, sparing a glance into the kitchen. You had moved your knife block closer to the edge of the counter.

“Do you think those guys are going to show up again? At my apartment?”

Steve let out a quiet sigh, desperate to keep a rational mind as he called out your name.

“I’m almost ready!” You called back through the bathroom door, opening it slowly to find Steve’s concerned face. Your bathroom was tiny and even in the doorway, it seemed as if Steve was already inside the room with you. “Is everything okay?”

He nodded, barely. Steve sucked in a breath, dragging a hand across his jaw as he flicked his gaze down to watch you through the mirror. Fuck, he just had to ask. “I think so... But why did I just find a frying pan behind your couch cushions?”

Slowly, you brought your hand back down and rested it on the sink, meeting Steve’s eyes in the mirror. “Oh, uh.. I must have forgotten it there..”

He could see your immediate distress, the way you held your breath and gripped the edge of the countertop. “I mean, I know you have a small kitchen but if you are using your couch for storage..” Steve said your name, confidently calling your bluff as he searched for the explanation. He reached his hand out and rested it on your shoulder. “Hey, talk to me.”

You closed your eyes. “I can’t really explain..” You swallowed hard, head moving side to side in a curt shake. “I understand if you want to leave.”

His head shook slowly, one eyebrow drawing upwards in concern. “What? Why would I do that?”

“I could think of a dozen reasons why you’d want to bail now.”

“And I can think of a dozen reasons to stay.” He lifted his hand and cradled your chin, encouraging you to look in his direction. “Sweetheart, tell me what’s going on. Just try and explain it, please. I’m listening.”

Maybe you were tired, maybe you had nothing to lose. Taking a deep breath, everything just spilled out. “Fine. I.. I can’t sleep anymore. I’m scared here all the time and I don’t know what to do. I can’t afford to even think about looking for a new place so I’m hoping this’ll just go away and, well, I know this is a lot. Too much, probably. I’m too much - it’s okay if you don’t want to deal with it.” You choked out a laugh. “It’s not like I’d be able to attack someone if they broke in again! I mean, look at me - what kind of insane person hides wannabe weapons around her home, just in case? What am I going to do - attack some gun wielding idiot with a frying pan? I just.. it’s a dumb precaution I guess.” You shook your head, tearing your eyes away from Steve. “I’m scared. And tired, so tired.”

Steve took in a deep breath, then leaned in to press a kiss to the top of your head. With a few quiet words and his guidance, you were suddenly sitting on the closed toilet seat while he crouched in front of you.

“You’re not too much.” He rested his hands on your knees, thumbs swooping in circles against your skin. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

You shrugged, letting out a deflated laugh. “We met like five minutes ago. I don’t do this sort of thing-” You motioned between yourself and Steve, “-often and I’m worried I’m screwing it all up. Having irrational fears about living in my own home - you don’t want to deal with that.”

Steve sighed. If anyone was going to screw up, he knew it wouldn’t be you. “Contrary to what you might think, I don’t do this much either.” He motioned between you both the same way. “So, let's try and deal with this ‘scared to sleep’ thing together.” He offered you a small smile. “First thing - how about a nap?” He was confident that your door and window were secure though he was determined to check on those things later, too.

“But you made reservations and-”

He waved his hand, dismissing your argument. “C’mon. Do you think you’ll sleep better if I’m watching guard from the living room?”

A frown returned to your face. “I guess. But I bet I would have the most success if you were.. in bed beside me.”

Steve laughed, brushing his tongue over his lips to focus his thoughts. “I’m trying to be a gentleman, sweetheart.”

“We’ll keep it PG..” You stifled a yawn. “I promise.”

---

You half expected Steve to be gone when you finally stirred from your sleep. Even if he had crawled into the bed beside you and draped his arm over you, with one cautious hand rubbing your back as you drifted asleep.

But when you woke up, he was still on the bed. He had shifted slightly to sit up against the headboard, typing on his phone. The glow of his screen and your bedside table lamp cast a glow across his stoic features.

When he noticed you stirring, he turned his gaze in your direction. “Hey you.”

“Hi,” you replied quietly, propping yourself up onto your elbows. “Hope I didn’t sleep too long.”

“About an hour,” Steve answered, reaching his hand over slowly and brushing his thumb across your cheek. “Seems like you needed it though. The pillow drool is evidence.”

“Nooo,” you pushed his hand away and tried to hide under the blankets. “Let’s pretend you didn’t see that. Drool is for third dates, at the earliest.”

“Wanna come somewhere with me? I know it’s not the date we had planned but I need to check out one of my buildings.” Steve reached over and tugged down the blanket. “What do you say? We can bring Hercules too.”

You could already hear your excited pup getting up from his perch on the hallway floor outside your room, excited to be included in whatever the plan was. You appreciated Steve’s ongoing inclusion of your son. “Sure. I’m sorry I turned our evening into this.”

“You’ve got nothing to apologize for, sweetheart.”

You were quick to get ready again, although with a bit less attention to detail since your fancy dinner reservations had gone out the window. By the time you put yourself together and headed to Steve’s car, you couldn’t hide your loud, hungry stomach.

And instead of letting you dismiss your hunger, Steve doubled down and insisted he take you by his favourite pizza place on the way to his property. You laughed when he claimed it was a Brooklyn institution, deserving of every single pizza award in existence. You didn’t have the heart to tell him it was fine and your own preferred spot was way better. It probably wasn’t the right time to have a playful argument with him while he was greeted so warmly by the owners of the pizza shop.

One thing you appreciated immensely about Steve already was how much he seemed to care about Hercules and how he was a part of your life. Steve didn’t even hesitate to let him into his very fancy car and even mentioned that moving forward he’d try to bring a bigger vehicle to better accommodate your son.

Although you couldn’t be certain, from the way he discussed it, Steve clearly owned multiple properties of varying purposes. The building he eventually parked in front of was what looked like a refurbished apartment building. It was on a quiet street just a few blocks from Steve’s own apartment.

“Wow,” your commentary spilled out when you got out of the car, guiding Hercules along too. “You sure he can come in here?”

Steve grabbed your free hand and nodded. “Of course, this is a pet friendly building. Actually, it even has a mini dog park off the left side beyond the community room.”

You followed where he motioned beside the building, craning your neck to see a tall fence beside the far wall. “You’re kidding. Dang, a real luxury building, Herc. What a dream.”

“You have no idea,” Steve joked, pausing outside the door before someone appeared to let you in. “Thanks, Barton.” Steve turned and introduced you to the man as you walked in.

“Nice to meet you,” you said to Clint, who Steve described as a ‘jack of all trades’ property manager who helped maintain all of Steve’s buildings. “This place seems amazing.”

“You know how that phrase goes, right?” Clint threw up his elbow to nudge at Steve as you all headed to the elevator. “Jack of all trades, master of none?”

“Hey, you’re a master of a lot of stuff, I know. You should see this guy play darts,” Steve shot you a small glance and winked.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever, Rogers. Let me show you that newly vacated unit - third floor.”

You weren’t sure what the weird non-talking was that seemed to be going on between Steve and his friend, but you figured it wasn’t your place to ask. It seemed as if everything Clint was saying and explaining to you, he needed Steve’s approval for it.

By the time you got to your destination, Clint had gone through a thorough list of amenities about the building. You weren’t sure why he was doing that either - you figured Steve must already know about the building since he owned it but it was nice to hear about. Beyond the dog park, there was a small coffee shop being added to the lobby, plus there was a full gym and rooftop deck area for all tenants to use at their leisure. Full time doorman, co-working space, parcel delivery, basement storage, bike storage, garbage pickup.. It was beyond luxury.

Clint flipped through his keychain and let you and Steve into one of the units on the corner, then excused himself on a phone call.

“This building is amazing. Wait, I already said that. Incredible, there we go.” You took a few more steps in, taking in the bright lights and clean lines of the one bedroom apartment. “Wow.” While the bar for what you considered a decent apartment was low, this place was still impressive.

It wasn’t much bigger than your own place but the layout made way more sense and it was clearly recently renovated, with a small kitchen full of new cabinetry on the left wall that opened up into the main living room space. And god, the windows were huge - giving a nice view into the streets of Brooklyn. And shit - what was a dishwasher?

You looked back at Steve, who was watching you from his little pose leaning against the door. “Did you just need to see the unit to make sure it was all clean for the next person?” Truthfully, that didn’t make much sense but you seriously could not pinpoint why Steve had any interest in checking out the apartment.

He shook his head, a growing grin on his face as he pushed off from his pose. “Did you see the in-unit laundry?” In a few strides he pulled open a closet door to reveal a stackable washer and dryer unit. “Big closet in the bedroom too.”

You followed him into the bedroom, which shared the same view as the living room with windows that reached the ceiling. “It’s so nice. Whoever moves in next better appreciate it.” Your eyebrow raised up, curious when Steve started wringing his hands together, nervous. “Are you okay?”

“Oh yes,” he hesitated, tipping his head side to side before he took a step closer to you near the window. “I’m just trying to figure out how to approach this right. This apartment.. I want to offer it to you.” He pointed his fingers out through his clasped hands, waiting for your reaction. “What do you think?”

You laughed at the idea, unable to even take him seriously. “There is no way I can afford this place, Steve. Thank you but..”

“Don’t let the price be an issue.”

You scrunched up your face, keeping a firm grip on Hercules’ leash. “You can’t just give me an apartment.”

“I’m not,” He smiled, soft and honest. “I mean, I would but.. I’ll match your current rent. No deposit, no extra fees. You’ve got to let me give you back your sense of security. It’s killing me knowing you’ve lost that.” Though your resistance was wavering, he tried to reassure you. “Just think about it, okay? I promise I don’t have any ulterior motives. I just.. your safety is important to me. And I told you - a thousand favours.”

You closed your eyes, juggling both the uncertainty and excitement of possibility in your mind. “Steve, an apartment is worth a lot of favours, I think.”

“Do you know the exact exchange rate of rental property to favours? We could start a spreadsheet maybe..” His cheeky grin was practically spilling off his face. “You deserve to feel safe in your own home, sweetheart. Hercules too.”

With a gentle poke you tapped against his chest. “Just let me think about this one?”

“Okay, okay. Whenever you decide, whatever you decide, you let me know and we’ll get things sorted with Clint.” Steve took another step closer and slowly brought his hands up to your cheeks again, nibbling his own lip as he took you in. “Now, how about a sleepover tonight? I think we have some unfinished business from our last date.”

---

< Chapter 02 - Chapter 04 >

Notes: Up next: like our queen Miss Taylor sang in Labyrinth: ‘oh no, i’m falling in loveeee’ and maybe… some smut and danger and a peek into Steve’s business side. I’d love to know what you think so far! thank you for reading :)

#steve rogers x reader #mob boss steve rogers #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x plus size reader #mob boss steve rogers x you #marvel fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction #mob au #simmerandcry #simmerandwrite #story: sink into me #simmer and write

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lace-coffin · 4 months

Note

Hello 🤗 I was wondering what kinda rules do you think Asa would have set for one of his pets? I imagine he'd be really particular about them giving him respect and being submissive, but do you think he has a concrete set of written rules or more of a general guideline of what he expects. Idk of that made sense lol.

What rules does Asa have for his pet/SO? (NSFW)

Asa Emory x gn!Reader

Trigger warning for power/bdsm dynamics and general Asa Emory things.

Requests are open!

This is a super fun ask omg! I love love love talking abt what kind of dom Asa is so I’m so happy with this request!

Honourifics- honourifics are always to be used when addressing or replying to asa. Sir, master are used regularly. If you really want to rile him up then daddy or Mister work prefect, the perversity of it doing something animalistic to him. Calling Asa God or “my God” will draw out his more sadistic egotistical side, tell him how you’re only committed to him, your life is in his hands and you’re nothing but the ground beneath him. Lave over his heavy leather boots in worship.

Collars and marking- collars are worn daily, taken off at night so you can sleep comfortably and not risk choking (he wants to be the one doing the choking ; ) ) if you’re uncomfortable with a full collar then a daytime collar can be worn, usually a chain of some sort with your name tag and return information on it. “Cricket, property of The Collection, if lost return to Asa Emory”

Respect- disrespect will not be tolerated, talking back or lashing out will end in punishment, it depends how severe the offence was. Ignoring him or muttering a rude comment under your breath might earn you a single slap to the ass to correct you in the moment. Having a smart mouth the whole day will have worse consequences and may require a scene to be planned and negotiated prior.

Scenes - your BDSM relationship with Asa is a 24/7 dynamic, this means all the planning and communication comes with it. You use the traffic light system, green for good/continue, yellow for slow down or take a break and red for stop. Asa would never do anything you don’t want or consent to, he may be strict and domineering but your safety is key to him. If your mouth is restrained or you’re not feeling up to speaking in sub space then there are non-verbal safe words in place for you to use.

Clothing and inspections - all clothing is to be approved by asa before you get ready for the day, you can either pick out an outfit on your own and have it approved or let your master choose one and lay it out on the bed ready for you. He’s more than happy to aid you in getting dressed, loving the sense of dependancy you show him.

Bodily inspections are done once a week, Asa prides himself on keeping you in the best physical health he can, this doesn’t end at just an ordinary checkup however. Slipping on his latex gloves (unless ur allergic!) and prying your holes open, delving his fingers into you as your squirm against them under the guise of checking you’re healthy. Filthily commentating the entire time. “Look at that pretty pink hole, stretched open all for me”

Scheduled meals and bedtimes - Asa likes routine and can get antsy when running behind (totally not me projecting my autism onto him) this transfers over to your routine too. Lunch and dinner (and dessert < 3) are served at the same time every day, asa expects you to be ready and waiting at the table. A strike will be added to your chart if your late. Three strikes and a punishment will be given. Sir will decided where you dine everyday, if you’ll be joining him at the table or eating on the floor from a personalised bowl. Breakfast isn’t at a set time, he knows the amount of sleep you get/need will fluctuate so he’s happy to let you sleep in until you feel ready to get up.

Bedtime is usually also at a set time, around 1 am, he knows you’re not a child and won’t make you sleep early but still wants you in bed at a reasonable time, usually ushering you into bed at 12 and giving you an hour to read to watch videos. Usually you either share a bed with asa or sleep in your kennel/cage, sometimes in a combination of the two you sleep at the foot of the bed.

Language- Asa discourages the use of swearing but he won’t punish you for it, he might give you a stern look but that’s the extent of it.

Chastity - your sir has a dainty key hanging on a chain around his neck at all times, your body is his as is your sexual pleasure and your genitals. Chastity devices are worn until he decides it’s time to play, attempts at touching will result in punishment, he does however like the desperate look on your face as you rut against the fabric of the sofa like a pathetic mutt in heat. He won’t let you know that though. Sometimes he’ll bring you to the edge of orgasm, panting and whining as your body shakes, only to remove his hand/cock or toy and slide the device back on. The pitiful cries and “it’s not fair”s from you after are even more beautiful than seeing you cum in his mind. Don’t lash out or act out after otherwise the time spent without release will be extended just to spite you.

Relating back to food and drink Asa expects you to drink a minimum of 500ml of water or juice a day, he knows 1-2 litres is unrealistic and doesn’t want you needing to pee constantly. He’s happy as long as your hydrated, if you have particularly bad days with fatigue or depression he’ll help you drink by bringing the straw to your mouth as he holds you. Medication needs to be taken at the correct time, both your alarm clock and Asa’s watch has an alarm set on it so you don’t miss it.

Whilst Asa can be sadistic most of his rules are for your wellbeing along side your obedience, only wanting the best for you whilst you’re under his control.

I hope u like this!! Was literally so fun to write! I love this chunky bug man and ungodly amount <3

#slashers #slasher x reader #slasher headcanons #asa emory #asa emory x reader #writing #my writing

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hazbin-loony-bin · 2 months

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You know the Angel Sir Pentious thing has SUCH great potential for angst. Cherri has acted as a corruptive influence for Angel Dust, not respecting his desire to change: therefore, she could similarly jeopardize Pent. Or perhaps he’s entirely committed to Heaven after seeing how great it is and bonding with everyone there. Cherri however is perfectly comfortable in Hell: she gets to do all the drugs she wants and play ascended arsonist and there’s no pesky police like in the world of the living.

sure there’s also this burning sensation that all sinners experience but she’s kinda numbed to it by now and she was running from dwelling on pain even when she was alive

So Pentious is hurt, like so many before him, of an addict choosing their drugs over their significant other.

AD doesn’t know what to do exactly- he always hated people like Vaggie giving him grief and had to grow into the decision to quit himself, so he tries to respect Cherri’s ‘autonomy’ that way, but also is upset that she and he would be separated the same way if he manages redemption, and is also ofc feeling for Pent since they’d grown a little closer due to Charlie’s efforts and Angel was the one who tried to set them up.

Do people KNOW Pent is now in Heaven? Does Sera try to hide it? Does Emily help them have secret rendezvous? Is that even possible?

If it isn’t?

If they can only communicate by go-between? (or perhaps holograms like Adam uses, for slightly less angst but still ‘I can’t touch you’)

If it’s public, tho

perhaps Cherri does want to reform, but she simply, as Alastor predicted for most sinners, perpetually falls back down the addiction hole.

Pentious considers giving up Heaven for her- she tells him don’t even think about it.

Charlie is a mess- she doesn’t necessarily want to tell Pentious what to do, but her now-poster-child possibly giving up his graciously bestowed and, to her mind, hard-won position is absolutely driving her insane. What if people lose heart if he backs out? Why would he give up something so good on someone he barely knows?

She doesn’t understand it personally NOR politically.

perhaps she does mellow on one of the angles (understanding him) but not the other (“you’re a landmark case” “you have eternity” “surely you can put this off at the very least”)

Emily chats with Pent and discusses how many angels don’t have partners and that’s more of a norm than in Hell and Earth. When you’re emotionally whole, you just aren’t as driven to depend so desperately on other people.

Pentious fears that that means losing a part of himself and, even though it’s a mistaken takeaway and it’s not the point, has an identity crisis just the same.

Culture shock affects the entire gang as they hear how different everything possible is in Heaven. Some of them are happy for him, some of them are jealous.

Alastor has a grand old time gleefully exploiting that angst and watching carefully for any deep enough despair to make deals.

He’s so far removed from the possibility himself + aroace that any kind of separation he identifies with not one bit

until it seems that Rosie-

#cherrisnake #angel sir pentious #hazbin hotel spoilers #emily hazbin hotel #amatonormativity #platonic Alastor/Rosie #platonic Angel Dust/Cherri #hazbin hotel theory #hazbin hotel speculation

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pycobutterpie · 3 months

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Stranger in my kitchen

Summary: Dean goes full to protective dad mode, as he sees a stranger in his kitchen touching his daughter.

Pairing: Dean x reader

Warnings: firing a gun in front of a baby

Word Count: 1392

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so please don't judge me for using a translator for this original text. I wrote it together with my friend Minnie who has added the part of Lu and Y/N. We are so exited to add something to this beautiful community of writing for dean. Also this is my first fanfic ever published outside my inner circle of writing friends. (In our story it also became true, that Dean is Bens real father. And Bobby never died. ;) )

[Y/N's POV] It was actually a normal day at the Winchesters' house. Dean had been on a hunt with Bobby and should be home soon. Ben was still sleeping his bed upstairs. The two dogs were running around in the garden and also needed a little time to themselves… Baby Cassidy was already awake with her mother Y/N. Cassy was in damn good hands and was currently sitting in a little baby bouncer on the kitchen counter and Y/N was clearing out the dishwasher. But they weren't alone. On one of the bar stools sat a man, not much older than Y/N and Dean, in a smart dark blue suit and white shirt that wasn't completely buttoned up. In his hand was a steaming cup of coffee and on his hand was a ring with a black rectangular stone in it. With the other hand, he nudged Cassy's bouncer and smirked at her. Y/N had just tied her hair up in a bun and was wearing just a top and hot pants as she crouched behind the counter at the dishwasher. Cassy started laughing and just babbled to herself.

[Dean's POV] Hunting. An activity in which Dean felt completely free and could rely entirely on his instincts. It was what he had learned, what he was born for. Making the world a better place, saving lives. The family business.

For once, it wasn't about changing diapers or talking to stuffy principals. No, Wendigos didn't talk and Dean understands Bobby without words. So the men had chased the thing in the nearby St. Jeffreys mine for a few hours and finally sent it to purgatory. It was life like before the unexpected baby happiness. The hunt had been all about instinct, speed and accuracy. That was what Dean had been living for the last few hours.

And that was what he needed now, when he saw a strange man sitting at his kitchen table, holding out his hand for his Cassidy. The strange man was wearing a suit. He was sitting with his back to the doorway through which the hunter had just stepped. An advantage, if only for a split second.

And the pistol was already in Dean's hand, loaded with silver bullets, aimed at the stranger's back.

Dean pulled the trigger immediately.

There were no thoughts clouding his mind. No details that he noticed. Shoot first, ask questions later. That had always been the motto. At least that of John and Dean Winchester. The bullet that Dean hoped would save his daughter went off with a loud bang. Then his gaze was diverted by a person appearing from behind the counter. It was Y/N, who Dean's subconscious had classified as missing before. That's why he hadn't hesitated for a moment to shoot the stranger. Because nobody was allowed to get too close to his little Cassy. No one.

If you had time to look at Dean, you'd see a serious guy with soot and dust on his face, trousers and jacket. A bloody scratch adorned his left cheek, his knuckles were cracked and his palms were scraped open.

[Y/N's POV] Y/N hadn't given any thought at all to the fact that her cousin Lu had announced himself. Twenty minutes before his arrival. Of course, that was typical of him, as always. If he announces himself at all. But she was a good hostess after all, offering her visitor a coffee immediatly. And although he wasn't purely human, she knew he posed no danger whatsoever. Not to Ben, not to her, let alone to Cassy. She had even asked him to help her with some of her research into Cassy's powers and how to secure certain parts of them. But nonetheless, she knew Dean would be back later today. But she just figured the situation could be resolved with a simple round of introductions. But that wasn't the case. Dean came in in the manner of his father and started shooting at everything he didn't know and couldn't categorize. Great…

But Lu was quicker. He had already heard the footsteps crunching on the smooth tiled floor. Because Dean's shoes didn't look particularly clean from the hunt in the forest and so he also heard the safety catch on the gun and then automatically raised his hand towards Dean and the bullet made it out of the barrel of the gun but fell to the floor just before it hit his suit.

Y/N screamed briefly and slapped her hand over her mouth, but then saw how battered Dean looked… "Baby! What happened?" She had also dropped a cup that she had just taken out of the dishwasher and then immediately ran over to Dean, took the gun out of his hand and stuck it securely in the back of her waistband.

Lu had stood up in the meantime and straightened the front of his Armani suit and then looked over at Cassy again and stroked her lightly over her small hand. "Well, it looks like your daddy in a damn bad mood…" He looked to Dean with a grin now, being slightly provocative of course… But that was just the way he was. Otherwise, he was a kind-hearted person, if you could call him that…

[Dean's POV] Dean lips twitched in anger as the guy stopped the bullet just like nothing. That wasn't human. Something like that shouldn't be in this house. Briefly, he froze slightly as Y/N took the gun away from him and remained totally calm. She even seemed taken aback by Dean's reaction. Only slowly did he realize that she could also have an insurance agent visiting or someone from the youth welfare office. But that was out of the question, because the man was totally unimpressed by the fact that he had almost been shot.

What was wrong with the guy and his mocking grin? Dean looked at Y/N in amazement, because she must have guessed what had happened. He almost nagged at her: "A strange, supernatural guy is trying to touch my daughter. This maybe?" Long slimy fingers trying to hurt a cute baby. But not in Dean's kitchen!

Quickly, the hunter rushed to Cassidy and picked her up from the rocker to his dirty arms. The comforting smell of fresh baby skin and diapers came into his mind and grounded him a little. The little girl didn't quite know whether to be happy or cry and looked a little frightened.

Dean turned his child away from the stranger so that he couldn't touch her again. The protective father turned threateningly to the suit guy: "Get your paws off her or you'll have mine in your face!" He would love to deform that polished face a little, given the stranger's audacity. Dean protectively placed a hand on Cassy's head. Only Y/N's light-heartedness kept the hunter halfway to the ground. Eagle-eyed, he tried to spot something about his girlfriend. Some strange behavior. Was she under a spell? "So, what's this, huh?" he asked, still growling slightly.

[Y/N's POV] Lu stood there grinning, his hands buried in his pants pockets by now and leaning against the counter in the kitchen, really very relaxed and not at all intimidated. He then picked up his coffee cup, spread his little finger and simply watched the spectacle that was unfolding between the two of them. As panicked, angry and heroic as Dean was acting, it really amused the cousin.

Y/N rolled her eyes, but then realized that she should have warned Dean that Lu was coming over. She ran a hand through her hair and then said, "Dean…please… If there's someone in this house, I let them in here, otherwise Evangeline and Bones would have struck. And I told you about my cousin Lu from Vegas back then, didn't I? May I introduce…my cousin Lu from Vegas…yes, Lu is not human. He's a warlock. And yes, I invited him here to think about this magical barrier for Cassy's powers and to talk to him. But that won't work if you just shoot him. He's my biological cousin and I hope we've settled the issue now!", she said with a sigh. "Lu? This is Dean… My fiancé and father of my daughter. He's not usually that pissed off. But with Cassy, he sees red… And he has an aversion to strange men in suits…"

#happy birthday dean winchester #deansbirthdaybash #dean winchester #spn #supernatural #dean winchester x reader #angry dean winchester #protectiv dean winchester #dad!dean winchester #dean winchester x daughter #chocolatecakecas

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ladyinwriting18 · 1 year

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The Experiment (Doc Ock x Reader)

Summary: Otto Octavius has come up with a little experiment. Will you be able to prove the doctor's hypothesis correct?

Words: 6,241 Co-Author: simpremerat

Warnings: Daddy Kink, Sex In Lab, Multiple orgasms, spanking, sex toys, PIV, oral (female receiving)

“I expect you in my lab at 10:00pm, little sunbeam. I have so much planned for you, it would be a shame to delay because I have to punish you for being late.” The text from your boyfriend sends you into a tail-spin of questions. Was he surprising you with a night on the town? Or having dinner sent to his lab? Should you dress classy? Sexy? Would there be other people there? You read over his text.

The word ‘punish’ jumps out at you from your cell phone screen. The ominous undertone is impossible to ignore. Otto Octavius isn’t one to pussy foot around. He wouldn’t threaten a consequence if he didn’t plan on keeping true to his word.

Throughout your entire relationship he’s always been very clear and concise with his feelings, wants, and expectations. He’s an excellent communicator which was one of the many aspects that made dating him so easy.

Your heart rate picks up just enough to cause the hairs on the back of your neck to stand up. Whatever he had planned, it clearly wasn’t going to be your typical dinner date. With this in mind you start getting ready. If Otto had gone out of his way to plan something special for you, then you would dress the part for him. You would make it worth Daddy’s while.

Your hands run over your body as you slip on a new lingerie set. It’s sheer with swirls of lace flower patterns all done in your favorite color. It makes you feel overly feminine and beautiful. Over it you put on a simple black cocktail dress, so as not to ruin the surprise underneath. Stepping into your black heels and adding final touches to your make up, you find yourself anxiously checking the clock. While cheekily showing up a few minutes late sounds enticing, it would surely prolong the surprises of the night. With your mind made up, you lock your front door and make your way down the street in the direction of Otto’s lab.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ A few blocks away Otto is doing his own last minute preparations. All the while his mind spins with possibilities of what he could do with his pretty princess behind the walls of his lab. The rest of the staff had long since left for the evening, ensuring there would be no interruptions. Thrilling as it might have been to have the threat of discovery hanging over your heads, he wouldn’t share this, or you, with anyone.

He’d already changed out of his normal work attire. Instead of a lab jacket, he wore his leather duster coat. His chest is bare but he wears black pants, and heavy leather boots.

Otto waits by the table that ordinarily serves as a workstation. Well….he supposes in a way it still is. However, it no longer holds his notes and microscope because very soon his perfect girl would be on top of it. Beside it, a tray with an array of toys, all new. He couldn’t have the ‘data’ corrupted by being predictable. You’re always so…curious about his work, and so he came up with an idea for an ‘experiment’. Just. For. You. He glances down at his watch to check the time before flicking his gaze towards the glass double doors at the exact moment you walk in.

Right on time like the good girl you are.

The smile that is reserved for only you breaks over his lips, but when he pauses to take you in, his eyes darken with undisguised lust. He would have had the same reaction to you showing up in sweats, but seeing that you had gone out of your way to please him leaves him hard. “Oh sunbeam, you’re perfect.” A content hum follows his words as he closes the distance between you.

“Hi Daddy. Did I make it on time?” You ask cutely even though you were right on time.

Otto grins at your clear search for praise. He catches your chin in his palm and tilts your face to meet his gaze. His little sunbeam in the palm of his hand. “You did. Such a good girl, doing exactly as Daddy asked and coming to his lab.” His thumb runs over your bottom lip, “And looking so beautiful too. You spoil me, don’t you?” You blossom under his praise and lean into his touch. He makes you feel so good with just a few words and a light touch to your chin. “I’m glad Daddy thinks I look beautiful.” If you wanted to say more, you weren’t given the chance because he inclined his head to claim your lips. The kiss is soft and deceivingly chaste as his mind fills with the image of your makeup running down your face from yet another orgasm.

“Forgive the secrecy,” He mumbles against your lips, reluctant to break away. Still he trades the hold he has on your chin for your hand. “But I thought you might enjoy a surprise.”

Your eyes light up at the word.

Hand in hand, he guides you further into the lab towards the table you usually find him working at. His supplies are gone, and it takes you only seconds to realize he intends to replace it with you.

You aren’t given the chance to voice your realization before the touch of Otto’s lips brush against the shell of your ear so he can murmur into it.

“Daddy wants to show his curious girl his work. A little experiment. Would you like to hear about it?”

He catches a lock of your hair, and twists it around his finger before giving it a soft tug like a bell. His breath tickles the sensitive skin of your ear in such a way that you find yourself clenching your thighs together. You nod your head and he continues. “I want to test a hypothesis. I think my Little Sunbeam can give me at least four orgasms tonight while her Daddy uses her like his good, eager little cum slut on his table.” Your knees nearly buckle. Wicked man. Such a wicked man with an even more wicked mind. “Do you think you can prove my hypothesis right?”

His words break you from your thoughts.

You meet his gaze. The passion in his dark eyes penetrates your soul. You lean in to press the tip of your nose to his. “What does my Doctor need me to do first?”

A grin spreads across his features. Even his metal claws click with excitement. It’s a sin of how effortlessly perfect you are. He chuckled indulgently at your quick agreement and wonders if you’ll keep it once you realize what he has in store. Not that his plans are bad, but he didn’t intend on either of you leaving this lab until you were a wet, dripping mess that was barely capable of coherency. Straightening his spine, he runs a single hand along your side. “First, I need you to hold still.” His hand continues its path, moving up to take hold of the zipper at the back of your dress. He pulls it down until the smooth black material is a dark puddle at your feet. When he catches sight of what lies underneath, his eyes widen. You look over your shoulder to see his reaction to your new lingerie set being revealed to him. You can’t help but giggle at how stunned he seems. Surprising him has always brought you great joy, this moment is no different.

“You are….exquisite, Little Sunbeam.” Otto breathes out, inclining his head to kiss your bare shoulder.

His praise has you nearly wiggle your ass back into him, feeling mischievous. A feeling that quickly fades as large hands make their way up your arms and then around to the front of your body. “Otto,” Your mouth falls open in a moan when his hands cup your breasts. He palms them while his fingers easily find your nipples, pinching them through the thin fabric of your bra. The lace is so thin that you might as well be naked. Your nipples harden from his touch. He knows your body too well, alternating between pinches and light tugging that leave you squirming in his grasp.

You can already feel Otto’s hardness pressed into your backside. It only worsens your squirming. Your hands grip at his sleeves while he paws at you.

“Does that feel good, Princess?” The smugness in his voice tells you that he already knows the answer, but still you know he’ll expect an answer. “Yes, Doctor Octavius.”

You swear he purrs at the sound of you using his formal title. “Keep holding still while Daddy helps you onto the table?” You nod and he bends, hooking an arm under your knees and keeping the other around your back so he can lift you off your feet. Even though he had warned you, you still giggle loudly when your feet leave the ground. “Daddy is so strong.” You whisper as nerves bubble in your belly. The two of you had been intimate countless times before, but tonight seems different. More….sexually charged.

You can’t deny that your cunt is already damp behind the lace of your panties. Otto gently sets you down on the table, helping you to lay back before two of his tentacles snaked around him. The cool metal claws glide down your stomach, thighs, and calves. Your body arches to meet their touch. You enjoy the feeling of them just as much as you enjoy the touch of his hands. To you, they are just extensions of the man you love, and therefore a part of him. And like a good girl, you love every part of your Daddy.

The claws lock into place around your ankles and slowly start pulling your legs further apart, giving him an unobstructed view of your pussy, concealed only by a scrap of feminine fabric. Your toes curl inside of your heels, as the throb of your cunt becomes stronger. You feel like his toy. Like his personal plaything, all laid out on his lab table. The thought alone is enough to make you want to cum. “Now, Daddy has bought some new things, and he’s going to use them…but first—” He looms over you, bending down to whisper to you, his face hovering just above your own. “First, I want to see if I can make my girl gush all over my face with just my tongue. Do you think you can do that for me?”

Your cheeks flush but you nod without hesitation, and beg for the chance. “Please can I? Can I cum on your tongue?”

“Of course my good girl can.” Otto growls, lips twisting into a smirk as he moves to the end of the table. His claws drag you down towards him so you’re in the perfect position. He runs his hands up your legs, appreciating the smooth warmth of your flesh. When he reaches the apex of your thighs, he traces the pretty lace pattern of your panties, “As lovely as you look in these, they’re keeping me away from what’s mine.”

The sharp sound of ripping echoes throughout the lab. He’s ripped your panties clean off your body, revealing your glistening sex to his gaze. He bends down, releasing a raspy exhale before turning his head to leave kisses on your inner thighs. You whine, bucking your hips off the table. He’s taking his sweet time but you need that skillful mouth of his on your cunt. You continue your impatient movements, struggling within the hold of his claws. But Otto is unphased. He won’t be rushed. A third tentacle moves to press into your lower abdomen. There is something so darkly appealing about the way you squirm for him. The thought that you’re so needy that you can’t stay still. He didn’t have the heart to continue being cruel, so he glides his tongue down to your slit. He groans at the taste of you. “You taste devine my sweet girl.” He explores your depths with his tongue, savoring the taste of you like you were his last meal. You’re about to plead for more, but the words die in your throat the second his mouth wraps around your clit. He sucks at that throbbing, swollen gem of yours, loving the way your thighs shake. His hands latch onto your hips, dragging you closer and holding you just where he wants you. “Mmmhh! F-Fuck, right there!” Your hands grip the sides of the table, knuckles white from how he sucks harder on your clit. You throw your head back since his claws stop you from doing much else. “Feels so good! Don’t stop. Please don’t! You’re s-so good with y-your mouth, Daddy!”

The muscles in your stomach tighten as his tongue steadily works you higher to your peak. His mouth is so warm, wet, and fucking perfect. The pleasure he gives is almost deafening. Your blood pumps through your veins so hard that you swear you can hear it.

You can remember in the beginning of your relationship when Otto was determined to learn every inch of your body. It wasn’t something most men bothered with, but not Otto Octavius . No, he had studied you so he could turn you into the mewling mess you are now.

You’re so close to cumming that you aren’t sure you’ll even get the chance to ask permission before you do, but still you try. “I’m so close to cumming. Please let me cum? Please let your experiment give you her first orgasm?” He can’t drag himself away from your soaked cunt long enough to tell you that making you cum is the whole point. So instead he nods while lapping away at your clit. His permission is a blessing. The moment he gives it you let go and cum hard, gushing all over his face. “Mmmh my good, sweet girl.” Otto moans into you, lapping up every drop his tongue can catch. It’s only when he feels your body still that he gently withdraws. The tentacles on your stomach and ankles slide away as he straightens and walks back to the head of the table. You feel dazed, your mind only having enough function to tell you to refill your lungs with air. A hand runs over your sweat-dampened hair. Your eyes flutter open to find Otto hovering over you with a proud smile adorning his lips. He stares at you as if admiring a piece of fine art. His eyes roam, taking in how incredible you look blissed out. Your face flushed, your hair tousled, your nipples peaked behind the fabric of your bra, your legs spread wide. To him you are a masterpiece.

“Daddy is so proud of you. You did so well for me. And I know you can do it again, can’t you?” You bask in his praise, not hesitating to answer, “Yes Doctor, I can cum for you again.” “Good, whenever you’re ready, turn over onto your knees with your ass up.” Wanting to give you time he walks over to the tray table and picks a single item from it. By the time he’s turned back around, you’ve already moved yourself into position. Your face and upper body lays flat on the table while your knees are propped up with your back arched, leaving your ass and cunt on full display. A tremor runs through you from being this exposed, but it also feels good to simply obey and forget about everything else. Something catches your eyes, a long black piece of silk dangling from his finger. Your brain quickly registers that it’s a blindfold. “Would you like to wear this for me?” You nod and stay still as he ties the blindfold in place. The world around you goes dark but heightens your other senses. “If you become overwhelmed or need to stop you tell me. Immediately. Is that understood?”

You’re touched that even after all this time he still takes his time to remind you of the parameters of your dynamic. “Yes Otto.” He hums, pleased by your response. Shortly after, your ears pick up on the sound of his steps walking away and then coming closer again. You can only assume it’s to gather more items. You try to listen for more clues but the only thing you hear is a small thunk of something being placed beside you on the lab table. “Are you nervous about what the Doctor is going to do with his beautiful, cock hungry experiment next?” You aren’t given the chance to answer before he starts running something along your body. It starts at the nape of your neck and travels down your spine. You automatically recognize the touch of leather. It caresses your skin as strands of it fall on either side of your body.. You shake your head and answer him. “I’m not nervous. I want it, want to feel it.” He stops at your backside, letting the handle rest just between your asscheeks. “Then tell me; what do you think this is that I’ve been running along your skin?” He’s certain you know but he wants to hear you say it. “A flogger? Made of leather.” He chuckled indulgently at your accurate guess, tapping the hand of the flogger to the base of your spine. “Clever girl. Yes, a flogger made of leather. Just for you.” You preen under his praise, a smile curling at the corners of your mouth. That is until something is pressed against your nipple. You gasp at the vibrations that instantly cause your nipple to harden. “Do you feel what else I can do to this magnificent body of yours?” You don’t know where the vibrator came from but you don’t care. “Yes Daddy. I want more. Please give me more?” “My poor, pretty little experiment. Already so desperate when the doctor just made her cum.” His tone is soft, a mix of sympathy and degradation. Caught between his desire to pleasure you and make you mad for just the thought of his touch. He moved the vibrator to your other nipple, pressing it down a little harder. Your pleas grow louder and his tentacles stir around him, reacting to his thoughts. You owed him a few more orgasms and he was planning on getting them. Lowering his hand from your nipple, he brings the vibrator down your stomach, circles your navel before bringing it to your clit. Your hips buck back just as the leather strands slap across your backside. You cry out, the mix of pain and pleasure has you gasping. You aren’t sure it can get much better but then the vibrator shifts, sliding through your slick folds and slipping inside.

However the stimulation on your clit isn’t lost, making you realize that the toy he’s using has a second attachment to stimulate your clit and g-spot simultaneously. You cry out his name but it’s cut off by the flogger being brought back down onto your ass.

His jaw clenches at the sound of it against your skin. “Your skin marks so easily.” Even if it’s faint, just those two strikes left traces of pink across your skin. Small marks of his possession that only left him hungry for more. The leather strands snap across your back. You give a high pitched yelp from the impact. “Fuck! Thank you Daddy! Mark me more Daddy? Please?” You grind back onto the toy the more he whips your ass. Your cunt is so slick that you’re starting to drip. “So fucking wet.” He breathes, “How long do you think it’ll take you this time, Little Sunbeam?” His gaze roams over every inch of you. Your submission is his favorite possession. Far more priceless than the money and power and prestige he’d once allowed to be his everything. As important as his work is to him and as much time as he devoted to it, it’s moments like these when he knew he’d gladly give it all up for you.

His perfect sunbeam.

He pumps the toy in harder, increasing the pace while the second attachment buzzes against your swollen clit. You pant and whine each time the toy hits your g-spot. It feels so good that you have difficulty holding steady. Your whole body trembles under the build of tension and pleasure. The flogger comes down again and your cunt clenches around the vibrator, hard enough that you gush. “Otto!” You cry out his name, knowing you’re close but he doesn’t stop the movement of either of his hands. Three more strikes to your ass and you’re falling apart. “That’s it, cum again for me Sunbeam.”

Your ears ring from how hard your orgasm hits. Involuntarily your thighs clamp together around the toy and his hand. Your body is as stiff as a board until the waves of your orgasm subside. Only when your muscles relax does your body unfurl and your head rests back down on the lab table. Seeing that you’re starting to lay back down does he carefully slide the toy from your depths before passing it and the flogger to one of his awaiting claws so they could return the items to the tray. He places his hand on your back and rubs soothing circles against your soft skin.

“Keep breathing, Princess. Nice and slow. Daddy’s going to take the blindfold off now.” He does just that, sliding it off slowly so you could adjust to the light. Once it’s off he tosses it aside. His actuators began moving around you and turn you on your back. Coming face to face with him and you smile, cheeks flushed from your two orgasms. “Hi Daddy.” He returns your smile. “Are you alright? Do you need a break? Water?” He questions softly while his gaze sweeps over you, lingering on your soaked cunt and the glistening pleasure on your thighs.

You reach up to cup his cheek, “I’m more than alright. I want to keep going. I still need to give Daddy two more.” “Very well, Sunbeam.” He smirks and reaches for you again, tracing his thumbs over your nipples. “Would you like to choose what you cum on next? Another toy? Or perhaps my fingers in those leather gloves you like?”

Your chest arches into his touch, eyes about to fall shut until he mentions his gloves. You perk up at that. “Gloves. Please use your leather gloves.”

He turns his face into the hand at his cheek and leaves a kiss to your palm before stepping away so he could grab his gloves. Moving back to your side, he lets you watch him slip his large hands into the cool, stiff material. He reaches out and traces his index finger along your jawline. “My Little Sunbeam…so sweet, so responsive. Will you keep being a good girl for me and get my fingers as wet as that cunt of yours?” He brings two fingers to your lips, seeking entrance. You take the thick digits into your mouth, moaning at the taste of leather that fills your senses. You start by delicately sucking, trying to retain that image of innocence to entice him further. It’s your favorite game to play. Being the innocent mouse caught in his sharp claws. You coo around his fingers and stare at him with wide eyes. He looks back at you and curses under his breath at the feeling of your mouth and that pleading look you’re giving him.

It’s all too much. With his free hand, he unzips and unbuttons his pants so his cock springs free from the fabric. It curls up towards his navel as he wraps his hand around the base. “You’ve had me hard for you all day, Little Sunbeam. I’ve been distracted with thoughts of you since this morning.” His confession has your face heating up, but it’s the breathlessness of his voice that has your eyes traveling down his body. You find him stroking his length in his gloved hand, pre-cum already leaking from the tip. Your hips buck and a long muffled moan leaves you at the sight. You twitch with want, finding it difficult to stay still while watching him. And the worst part is, he knows it. “See something you like?” You nod with a whimper, hands reaching for him to grip the opening of his coat. “Does my experiment want her Doctor’s cock?” You whimper louder and try to pull him closer by his jacket, but Otto doesn’t budge. Instead he slips his now wet fingers from your mouth so he can shift his attention to your cunt. “Always such a good, good girl.” He mumbles, and places just his thumb on your clit, stroking it as soft as he would a kitten begging for attention. “And if my good girl wants my cock then she’s going to have to give me that third orgasm before I cum all over her tits. Can you do that?” “Yes, Daddy. I can do th-nghh!” Your words turn into sounds as his index and middle fingers slip inside you. He begins to slowly pump his fingers in and out of your depths. Your mouth falls open and your brows knit together, pleasure once again crumpling your expression. His thumb presses harder against your clit, circling it and making your entire body jolt as if being shocked with electricity. “Yes! Don’t stop! More, please more!”

Your cries has his fist moving faster up and down his length. To him, you’re nothing short of a religious experience. He can hear your wetness smash against his gloves, eliciting a deep guttural groan from his chest. “You better hurry with that orgasm or Daddy is going to end up painting your chest.” His head tilts back in pleasure as he moves his hand in tandem with quickening thrusts of his fingers in and out of your soaked core. His need builds by the moment. But then again, so is yours. Your cunt repeatedly clenches around his leather clad digits. Your body quakes and your mind feels fogged over with heat. You can’t pull your eyes from him, watching as his head tilts back. But still you manage to grind down on his fingers.

His fingers hit you deep, causing fresh juices to spill out of you and coat the palm of his glove. It's all too much, too erotic. Watching him touch himself. The feeling of leather inside and pressed to your clit. You’re starting to come apart much faster than you thought possible after already cumming twice, but your body seems determined to give Otto whatever he wants. “Daddy!” You gasp, not capable of stopping what’s coming. “So c-close! I–mmmhhh!” You can’t even finish your sentence before your hips arch off the table and your inner walls spasm. You scream out his name as you cum. It hits you hard, takes your breath away, and rocks your body off its axis. You suck in air to try and refill your lungs. It feels as if you’ve just ran a mile. You slump back and a few overstimulated tears roll down your cheeks. He withdraws his fingers from your core slowly and carefully, all the while keeping a close eye on you as you come down from your high. Ridding himself of his soiled gloves, his hands come to cup your face. His thumbs glide over your cheeks to wipe away your tears. “My perfect girl. Daddy’s here. He has you.” He lets one of his hands move to your hair, catching a lock of it and twining it around his index finger. His loving voice and soft touch cause you to stir, the corners of your mouth twitch in an attempt to smile. You’re floating on a cloud or maybe an ocean wave.

Whichever it is, you feel amazing. Tired, but weightless. The feeling of subspace keeps you warm until your eyes manage to flutter open. Your eyes meet, seeing that his face only inches from your own has you humming. He isn’t sure he’s ever seen you look so spent before, he rather enjoys it.

“I’m so proud of you, Little Sunbeam. You’ve done so well for me. Better than I could have imagined.” You swallow thickly to moisten your throat so you could speak. “I like making Daddy proud.”

With a smile Otto leaves a kiss at your hairline. “Now…I think you can prove my hypothesis correct and give me one last orgasm, but you must tell me if you need to rest. I won’t have you passing out or uncomfortable. I want you to enjoy my cock just as much as I’m going to enjoy giving it to you.”

He mentions finally giving you his cock and your arm comes to wrap around his broad shoulders. You pull him in so you could lazily kiss his mouth, forgetting all about his question. But your throat starts to feel dry again, forcing you to pull back. “I don’t want to stop. I want to finish Daddy’s experiment, but can I have some water first?” “Of course you can, my love.” He breathes, but doesn’t move away. Instead one of his metal claws slithers over to grab a bottle of water from the tray table. “Here, let Daddy help you.”

The same metal arm snakes around your shoulders and guides you upwards so you don’t choke. He unscrews the cap and brings the bottle to your lips, letting you drink your fill. As much as his cock begs for attention, nothing is worth endangering your health. “Drink as much as you need, Little Sunbeam.” You do, greedily drinking more than half of the bottle. The water feels so good sliding down your raw throat. When you’ve finished you pull back and breath contently through your mouth. Otto’s claw pulls back, letting you rest back down on the lab table and discarding the bottle. “Soooo,” You draw the word out while batting your eyes up at him. “Does this mean I can have Daddy’s cock now?”

He tosses his head back with a gruff chuckle. Leave it to you to be on the brink of exhaustion and then in the blink of an eye be ready for more at the thought of his cock. “Don’t fret, Princess. I think we’ve both waited long enough.” He straightens his spine and walks to the edge of the table. The actuators move with him, two of them trailing down your legs before clasping around your ankles to pull you forward so that your feet dangle over the edge and Otto can step between your thighs. He hadn’t bothered to tuck his cock back into his pants, allowing it to now rest against your cunt. His wraps around the base to guide it through your folds, teasing you from your slit to your clit. “I thought you said we’ve both waited long enough?” You pant and squirm.

A wicked grin spreads across his features. “Hm, I did say that, didn’t I?” Without another word he slams inside you. You gasp at every inch being pushed into you so fast.

He immediately tenses, moaning at the feeling of your cunt swallowing him whole. He feels your walls flutter around him, trying to accommodate his size. “My Sunbeam is always so tight.” He groans, closing his eyes and gripping your hips in his firm grasp. You moan in response and throw your arms around his neck. He starts by moving out slowly, then back in, giving you time to adjust. But Otto knew he couldn’t wait much longer, not after watching you cum three times.

Brown eyes look down and sees his cock glistening from your juices. He isn’t sure he’s ever seen a more beautiful sight. He slams into you, unable to keep his pace slow, earning him a yelp from your trembling lips. “I’ve waited all night for this. To stretch you out with my cock and use you like my perfect little toy.” Your eyes are glued to one another as he talks. Both of you taking in the other’s blissful expressions. You find yourself clinging onto his shoulders, nails clawing at his flesh. You’re so turned on, so stimulated from every orgasm he’s given you.

The movement of his claws catches your eye. They seem to be opening up a bottle of lube. “Daddy? What’s that for?”

“What’s that for?” He repeated slowly, enjoying your anticipation. Your mounting need. He could almost taste that final orgasm. “This is a lube I created just for you. To make sure my Sunbeam experiences the most pleasure possible for her last orgasm.” He keeps up the momentum of his thrusts while his claw brings the bottle over you and starts to drizzle the contents onto your cunt. “Daddy made it?” You gasp when he tells you he’s created the lube for you. It makes you feel so loved that he’s taken time away from his busy seclude to create something so intimate for you. At first you feel nothing new, but the more Otto thrusts into you the harder your inner walls clench. The lube seems to be stimulating you and making your cunt feel warm. “D-Daddy! It’s making my pussy tingle.” You whine, head tilting back at the overwhelming sensation.

“That’s it, Princess. Surrender to it.” His fingers press firmer into the swell of your hips. The likelihood that you’ll have fingerprints bruised into your skin come morning grows. He thrusts in and out of your core as his claw drip more lube directly onto your clit. It’s harder for him to speak now, but he grits the words out. “Rub your clit for Daddy.” Your toes curl at his gruffer tone. You know what it means, that he’s close to cumming. Not wanting him to cum without you, you reach a trembling hand down between your legs. You stroke your clit in smooth circles while staring up into his dark eyes. “Like this Doctor?” He grunts, beads of sweat forming along his hairline. “Just like that. Doing so well for me.” You want to say more but the lube kicks in, causing your clit to throb beneath your fingertips. Your toes curl, finding it hard to keep focus. You stroke your clit faster and grind down to meet his thrusts. Your mind goes blank. The tingling of the lube and being stretched out by his cock has you shaking as a familiar tension spreads throughout your lower body. Your free hand grips the edge of the lab table while the rest of you shakes and Otto knows your peak is drawing near. “That’s it Sunbeam, prove your doctor’s hypothesis. Cum for me just one more time.”

Heat is rising in your body. Every muscle feels like a bowstring pulled taunt. “I’m gonna! I’m gonna!” You can’t even complete your sentence before your body jolts and your orgasm hits. Your vision blurs and a ringing echoes in your ears. Above you, Otto tosses his head back with a shout. Your inner walls closed in around him so tightly that it caused him to cum right along with you.

He fills you to the brim, emptying every drop inside your depths. Without warning he moves his hands to rest on either side of your head, caging you in so he can lean down and kiss you. You purr, gripping the front of his jacket to hold him in place, but you’re much too weak for that. The kiss doesn’t last long. You’re both shaking too hard. Your chests rise and fall with labored breaths. The air around you starts to settle. You both stay tangled together even after his cock softens and slips out of you. The thought of being parted is too much to bear for either of you. Otto is the first to speak while gently stroking your sweat-dampened hair back. “You truly are magnificent, Little Sunbeam. So perfect for your Daddy.” He holds you close and places kisses at your cheeks, the tip of your nose and then your forehead. You nuzzle into his kisses with a giggle and brush your lips along his before he reluctantly straightens his back. “You, my dear, are a true marvel. Giving me orgasm after orgasm. Daddy is so proud of you.” His claws have already pulled a chair beside the lab table. He pulls his pants back on before curling his arms around you to lift you into his embrace and sitting down in the chair. Feeling his body heat has you tucking yourself even closer to him and laying your head on his shoulder. Both of you are content to simply bask in the afterglow. His fingers play along your spine. You coo at the pleasant feeling and listen to his velvet like voice. “Daddy has you. Rest now, my love. I’m here to take care of you. I’ll take you home whenever you’re ready.” You nod and let your eyes drift close. You aren’t sure how much time passes and neither of you cares. Both of you have what you need and that’s each other. A playful grin tugs at the corners of your mouth before you open your mouth to speak. “I’m glad your experiment was successful, Doctor Octavious.”

Otto chuckles, squeezing you tightly as his chest rumbles with laughter.

“As am I, Little Sunbeam. As am I.”

#lady in writing #otto octavius #otto octavius x reader #doc ock #otto octavius smut #alfred molina #otto octavius fanfiction

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the-bad-batch-baroness · 11 months

Text

Beloved

Fives x Fem!Reader

Chapter 1: Hormones vs Pheromones

Summary: A horrible smell leads to a precious discovery. You and Fives have been enjoying your life together, but everything is about to change now that you’re pregnant. While your hormonal imbalance rages, Fives must hang on for dear life as he’s dragged through the stages of fatherhood. Luckily, the 501st has his back and comes to the rescue more than once.

Pairing: Fives x Fem!Reader

Characters: Fives, Kix

Tags & Warnings: established relationship, suggestive themes, pregnancy, morning sickness, vomiting, humor, domestic fluff, insults, sarcasm, light angst, dialogue heavy

Word Count: 4.8k

Author's Note: I came up with this idea after listening to a podcast about a woman whose pregnancy hormones made her absolutely hate her husband. Then it turned into a series… Whoops. Written in second person, but from different perspectives. Main focus is on Fives. Also, lots of dialogue because sarcasm and insults require some talking.

Beta Read: By the lovely @commander-sunshine because I was going to throw this fic in the trash and she convinced me otherwise. Thanks babe 💚

@clonexreaderbingo Square: Fives

Chapter 1

Your life is blissful nowadays. You and Fives live peacefully in the GAR Commons, which houses the entire 501st Battalion. The communal building complex has multiple accommodations, including studios, one bedrooms, and multi-rooms that will fit up to four clone troopers at a time. There’s also a community mess hall, medbay, shooting range, weight room, and even a courtyard with benches and flowers to enjoy. For GAR standards, it’s a nice place to live.

As an ARC trooper, Fives was able to swipe himself a one bedroom for the two of you. It’s a little thing, but it’s cozy and it’s spacious enough for all of your needs. When you first moved in, you completely fell in love with its simplistic charm. It has all of the necessities, a bedroom, refresher, kitchen, living area, and lots of closet space. You quickly set to work making it a home for you and Fives by adding pictures, a couple decorative pillows, and some nice curtains.

There’s not much else you could ask for to complete your little world. The life of a clone trooper’s wife isn’t always the best, but you never let yourself dwell on the unpredictable aspects of the war. Some days Fives will wake up and be gone for sixty-five rotations and other times he will wake up and be gone for two rotations. Better still, some days he wakes up and doesn’t have to go anywhere. Those are your favorite days, the ones where you get him all to yourself.

Everything is pretty quiet at the moment. Fives hasn’t gone out on assignment for eighty rotations, which is his longest base assignment on record. Although, he still has duties at the GAR headquarters. Sometimes he trains the shinies and other times he has local missions, but at the minimum, he still makes it home for dinner every night. Well, almost every night. Once and a while, he’ll kick back at 79s with the boys and drink late into the night like old times.

Fives isn’t the party boy he used to be, so you find it funny when he makes an attempt. When you first met him at 79s, he was wild, rowdy, and an absolute terrible flirt. He tried time and time again to get you to go out on a date with him using cheesy pick-up lines, but they never worked. Eventually, he stopped trying, and you found yourself missing his playful advances. You thought he was charming and funny, and adored his hearty laugh. Finally, you caved and began dating.

Now married, he spends more time at home and less time at the bar. Neither of you know when he will ship out again, so it’s important to spend quality time together as a couple when he is at home. This particular evening is brimming with relaxation while you watch the latest holo-film. Both of you are snuggling in bed, your head resting on his shoulder while he holds a bowl of popcorn on his chest. You put your hand in the bowl, take a few pieces, and pop them into your mouth.

“He’s going to die,” you say while munching away.

Fives cocks his head. “You think?”

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” you nod.

“Why do you say that?” Fives asks while grabbing a handful of popcorn.

“They’ve built him up way too much to let him live,” you point out while gesturing towards the holo-film.

“Brutal,” Fives shakes his head.

“I know right?” you chuckle and toss more popcorn into your mouth.

As the holo-film draws to its conclusion, you begin to doze. You nod off repeatedly, all the while Fives giggles to himself at your adorable attempts to stay awake. He turns his head to look at your sleeping face and plants a small kiss on your temple. He flexes, stretching his legs, and carefully lifts you off his shoulder to lay you down without waking you. He turns the holo-film off as the credits roll and gets up to bring the popcorn bowl into the kitchen.

He returns to bed and crawls in next to you, spooning your back tightly against his chest and draping an arm across your stomach. He breathes deeply, inhaling the faint scent of your gardenia and jasmine shampoo before snuggling in for the night. But, just as he gets comfortable, you shift under his arm. He shifts with you and readjusts. A couple minutes later, you shift again. He sighs and repositions himself to accommodate you. The third time you squirm is when he breaks the silence.

“What’s the matter?” he mumbles into his pillow.

“Do you smell that?” you ask as you scrunch your nose. You can smell a putrid odor in the air, but you can’t figure out where it’s coming from.

“Smell what?” Fives takes a whiff, but all he can smell is your shampoo and maybe something else mixed in with it.

“That smell,” you answer in annoyance as you roll out of his arm’s hold and onto your back. “You don’t smell it?”

“I don’t smell anything but you,” Fives laughs as he props himself up on his elbow.

Your face scrunches in repulsion of his movement and you pinch your nose. “It’s you!”

“Me?!” Fives exclaims, a mix of surprise and confusion.

“When was the last time you showered?” you ask in disgust.

He blinks in bewilderment at your question. “This morning.”

“I don’t believe you,” you argue while sitting up. “You smell awful.”

“You were there,” he reminds you with a sigh. “In the shower, with me.”

You think back and realize he’s right, you both showered this morning and you’ve been together all day. You wonder what else it could be. “Deodorant?”

He sniffs his armpit to make sure. “Yeah, I put that on too.”

You both look at each other, puzzled at the weird occurrence. You think as hard as you can about where else the smell might be coming from, but you swear it's originating from Fives. You ask him to move again and he sits himself up against the pillow. Your nose is immediately assaulted by a horrendous smell and you gag in response. You turn away from him and gag again. Fives raises an eyebrow in concern at your bizarre response to his body odor.

“Why don’t I go take another shower,” he says as he gets out of bed.

You're not sure if it will help, but you nod in between gags as he moves away from you.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, not knowing what else to say. He doesn’t know what’s going on, but it seems like he’s the cause and he feels bad about it.

You lean back against your pillow and try to relax. The awful scent still lingers, but at least it’s weaker now that Fives has left. You grab his ill-scented pillow and toss it off the bed to try and get rid of the rest of the smell. You roll over on your side, away from Fives’ side of the bed, clutch the covers to your face, and begin to cry. Why you're crying, you don’t know, but you feel the need to cry anyway. At least the congestion from crying will help clog your nose and keep the stench out.

When Fives returns from the shower, toweling dry his wet hair, he sees you laying in bed crying. He drops the towel, rushes over, and crawls onto the bed next to you. He places a tender hand on your back to let you know he is there. “Cyare, what’s wrong?” he asks with concern.

“I…” you say through coughing sobs. “I don’t know. I… I just want to stop.”

“Stop what?” he inquires, looking for any semblance or idea of what is causing you to be crying so suddenly. He visually looks you over to make sure there’s nothing externally wrong with you.

“Everything,” you cry harder and curl into a ball.

Fives is even more baffled. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

“I don’t know!” you yell in frustration at yourself for also not knowing what you mean, and for the fact that he’s asking you questions you don’t have the answers to.

“Udesii, cyar’ika,” Fives soothes while rubbing your back. “Shh. It’s alright.”

As his hand gently circles your back, the putrid smell returns and you reach around to push his hand away to make him stop. Fives is taken aback by your rejection and recoils his hand. You turn your head to look back at him with apologetic eyes. You’re not sure why you pushed him away, but you don’t want him touching you right now. Something isn’t right. This is all wrong. Your emotions are running wild and you can’t seem to get them under control. You start crying again at your helplessness.

“Cyare…” Fives trails as he watches and listens to your insatiable distress, but there’s nothing he can do about it. If he knew what to do, he would be doing it already. There’s nothing in his training that has prepared him for whatever this is. All he can do is be here for you if you need him.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you say through your tears.

“Maybe we should go see Kix in the morning,” Fives suggests.

You nod, thinking it might be a good idea to have a medic look you over. Fives brings a hand down to cup your cheek, a sweet gesture he always does when you’re feeling down, but instead of leaning into it, you slap his hand away. You put your hands over your mouth in shock at what you just did. Fives curls his lips and sighs as he flops back against the backboard in defeat. He doesn’t know what to do and you don’t know what you want him to do. Everything is confusing.

“I’m so sorry,” you say as more tears fall. “I… I don’t know. I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay,” Fives interrupts before you can berate yourself further. “I know.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you repeat as if saying it out loud will help you solve the puzzle.

“If it’s my smell bothering you,” Fives begins, his voice wavering with uncertainty, "why don’t I sleep down there, with my pillow.”

“Fives,” you begin to protest, even though you really do want him and his unbearable stench to be somewhere else.

“It’s fine, really,” Fives chuckles as he slips off the duvet and lays himself down next to the bed. “I’ve slept in worse places than our bedroom floor.”

You bury your head in your pillow as your shattering cries take over again. Fives can hear your muffled sobs and it kills him that he can’t hold you through them. You don’t know why you’re upset. It’s a terrible emotion to both want and not want your husband. It never crossed your mind. You have a playful and fun relationship, and always enjoy his company, that is, until now. You can’t wrap your head around it, but you’re hoping a good night's sleep will fix everything.

Eventually you both fall asleep, for the first time, separately. When Fives is home, you always sleep together in some form, whether it’s backs touching, spooning, or legs intertwining, even his hand accidentally smacking your face. No matter if you're happy with or angry at each other, you never sleep without some type of contact, that is, until tonight. You both feel it, the sting of separation, but there is a part of you that just can’t bring yourself to touch him right now.

As the early hours of dawn break, you feel a stirring in the pit of your stomach. You shift to try and alleviate it, but it only gets worse. The feeling travels up your esophagus and into the back of your throat, making you squirm in discomfort. “Fives,” you call out to him as you hold your aching stomach.

“Mhm,” he mumbles sleepily from his little blanket nest on the floor.

“I don’t feel good,” you answer as you curl yourself up a little tighter.

“What kind of ‘not feel good’?” he asks as he slowly sits up and rubs the sleep out of his eyes.

“I think I’m gonna puke,” you say while jolting up and putting a hand over your mouth.

“Oh no,” Fives groans as he stumbles up off the floor to find a bucket. “Hang on!” he calls back as he scurries to the kitchen.

Your stomach muscles contract and you start to gag. “Fives!”

Fives rushes back into the bedroom with a small bucket and comes around to your side of the bed, but he’s a little too late. Your mouth fills with saliva in preparation of what’s to come and you can’t hold it in any longer. Fives dives for it, but misses by a couple inches as you vomit on the bedroom floor. He’s able to catch the end of it, while simultaneously grabbing most of your hair to hold it out of the way. You continue to vomit into the bucket until the spasms stop.

“Sorry,” you pant when you can finally speak again. Your chest hurts from the convulsions and your throat burns from regurgitating your stomach contents.

“Don’t worry about it,” Fives says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’ll clean it up.”

You smile lazily at him and are grateful he is there to help you, but something still doesn’t feel right. As he gets up to find some cleaning supplies you get a whiff of the same smell from last night and start gagging. Fives turns to bring the bucket back just in case and shoots you a worried look. Something is wrong with you. Something is very wrong with you. You don’t know what it is about his scent all of sudden, but it’s the most nauseating smell in the galaxy.

“Please, get away from me,” you plead through gags while putting up a hand to signal him to stay back. “You smell so bad.”

“That’s it,” Fives sighs while rubbing his forehead. “We’re going to see Kix.”

He leaves the bedroom to empty the bucket and comes back to clean up the floor. He places a clean bucket on the bed for you to use, trying with difficulty to respect your new boundaries. He then opens the dresser and throws on whatever he can find the quickest and tosses you one of his shirts. You grab the shirt, but it's covered in that horrific smell so you throw it at his back and it plops on the floor by his feet. He slumps his shoulders and you put your head in your hands and start to cry again.

Fives lets out a discouraged sigh and grabs something of yours from the closet that will be comfy to wear to medbay and something you won’t mind throwing up on, just in case. He eventually finds an oversized hoodie he knows doesn’t smell like him and he tosses that to you. You smell it to be sure, and you sigh in relief as you pop it over your head. You grab the clean bucket and slowly get up from the bed, legs still wobbly from the stomach convulsions earlier.

Fives does everything in his power not to hold you steady. He reaches, but he pulls back knowing you’ll probably start vomiting again if he gets too close. He grabs the keys and your bag and opens the door to the GAR Commons hallway and waits for you to follow him. You trail after him as he leads the way to the medbay. It’s strange walking behind him and not alongside him, or holding his hand, but you quickly realize that following him was a terrible idea.

You stop and vomit into your bucket. You’re not sure where all of this is coming from, because there’s no way you have this much food in your stomach, but you don’t take the time to try and figure it out. Fives stops at the familiar sound and turns around to look at you. His eyes are compassionate. “I’m leaving a trail, aren’t I?” he asks knowingly.

You nod.

He sighs. “Why don’t you take the lead and I’ll follow you?”

You nod again and walk past him while holding your breath.

As you enter the medbay, you see Kix bustling about as he gets ready for the day. The medics always start early, but since Kix is in charge of the Common’s medbay, he has to start earlier than the other medics, which is great for the both of you. He doesn’t notice you at first, but as you both hobble awkwardly into his periphery, he catches a glimpse and stops what he’s doing. “Are you two okay?” Kix asks as he checks the time and looks at your fatigued states.

“I think I’m sick,” you answer while clutching your bucket.

“I can see that,” Kix says as he notices the bucket you're holding and glances at Fives suspiciously standing a good distance away. “Come on, let me take a look at you.” He gestures with his head for you to follow him to one of the exam rooms.

You both sit down, on opposite sides of the room, and it doesn't go unnoticed by Kix. He can already tell something is amiss. He sits down backwards on the rolling medical stool and crosses his arms over the seat back. He looks at you, sitting closest to the door, and then swivels the chair to look at Fives sitting in the opposite corner. “So, tell me what’s going on,” Kix asks as he swivels back to look at you.

“It started last night,” you begin to explain. “We were watching a holo-film, ate some popcorn, and then went to sleep. But, suddenly, I started smelling this weird smell and it made me super nauseous. But the weird thing is that the smell was coming from Fives.”

Kix raises an eyebrow at your last comment and looks over at Fives who’s sitting with his arms crossed over his chest, foot tapping rapidly on the floor. Kix can only describe the expression on the ARC trooper’s face as a mix between confused, concerned, and annoyed.

Feeling Kix’s stare burning a hole in his skull, Fives adds to your comment about his odor. “Then, I took a shower thinking that would fix the smell issue.”

“Did you use soap?” Kix asks blankly.

“Yes, I used soap,” Fives answers with an unamused huff. “But she still said I smelled.”

Kix narrows his eyes and looks back and forth between the two of you, but doesn’t say anything about what he’s thinking yet.

“Then I woke up this morning feeling like I was going to vomit,” you continue on with the timeline of events.

“Yeah,” Fives interjects with a small laugh. “And she missed the bucket too.”

“Shut up, Fives!” you exclaim in frustration at his irritating laughter. His penetrating voice grates against your eardrums, so you rub them to try and get some relief. None of this is funny to you and you don’t understand how he could be laughing so flippantly about it. Something is seriously wrong with you and his perceivable apathy is making you furious.

Fives’ mouth drops open in shock at your uncharacteristic outburst, but Kix just snorts at it. Your overreaction is the last piece of information he needs to connect a few dots that have been rolling around in his head since you got there.

“What are you smiling at?” you exclaim at Kix with annoyance. You wonder why everyone all of sudden thinks you’re suffering is a joke.

“I think I know what your problem is,” Kix chuckles as he pushes his feet to the floor and rolls his chair backwards to one of the drawers. He pulls the drawer open, grabs a small box, and slowly wheels himself back over to hand it to you.

You look at the box and your eyes widen. “You’re joking?”

“Afraid not,” Kix grins while placing his chin in his palm. “You have most of the early stage symptoms.”

“What?” Fives asks nervously, completely oblivious to the contents of the box as he cranes to look from his position across the room. “What is it? What does she have?”

You let out a heavy sigh at Fives’ pestering questions and toss the small box to him with an exasperated shake of your head.

He examines the box and gives Kix a puzzled look. “This is a pregnancy test.”

“So, you can read,” Kix says sarcastically.

“How did that happen?!” Fives wonders in shock.

“If I have to explain it to you, then you probably shouldn't be having sex,” Kix answers bluntly.

You place your head in your hands in defeat and let out a small squeal of irritation. How in the world did you end up with this idiot for a husband? What was it that you saw in him that made him so appealing? At this point, he has as much appeal as a bantha’s backside, and that’s being generous. This changes everything. You can’t be pregnant, can you? Your life has been perfect up until now. You don’t need anything else to make you happy.

“I know how it happens,” Fives retorts with an eye roll. “I’m just surprised that it did happen.”

“Contraception isn’t one hundred percent effective,” Kix explains. “Abstinence is, but we both know you don’t have any of that.”

“Does it even matter?” you interrupt their annoying banter, about ready to smack them both. You’re not sure where all the agitation is suddenly coming from, but your fuse is wearing thin. You get up and walk over to Fives. “Give me that.” You swipe the box back from him and go to the nearest refresher to take the test.

“So, how did you know?” Fives asks after you leave the exam room and close the door behind you.

“Easy,” Kix answers with a shoulder shrug. “The hormone changes during the first trimester can be drastic, including morning sickness, food cravings, breast tenderness, irritability, heightened sense of smell, and in rare cases an aversion to the father.”

“She has at least four of those,” Fives notes while listening intently.

“The others will come eventually,” Kix explains further. As a medic, pregnancy is not what he is trained for, but he can never be too knowledgeable about these types of things, considering the amount of men he has to look after. One of them was bound to have a baby at some point in his medical career.

“Is she really not going to like me anymore?” Fives asks nervously, still thinking about the list of hormonal changes Kix mentioned.

“Eh,” Kix scratches his head, trying to be realistic and honest. “More like she’s going to hate your guts, if this morning’s events are any indication.”

“Hate?” Fives questions with concern. “How long is that going to last?”

“Could be just the first trimester,” Kix begins while thinking out loud. “Or the full 280 rotations.”

“280 rotations!” Fives exclaims. “What am I supposed to do during all that time?”

“I don’t know,” Kix says. “That’s your problem, not mine.”

“Can’t you give her something for it?” Fives frantically asks as he goes into panic mode.

“Yeah,” Kix says sarcastically. “Vitamins and prenatal supplements.”

“No, not that,” Fives corrects while waving his hands. “I mean for the hormonal changes.”

“You want me to give her something to change her pregnancy hormones to non-pregnancy hormones?” Kix clarifies with a raised eyebrow. “Fives, I know you can be clueless at times, but that’s gotta be the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“But, how am I going to survive this?” Fives asks, desperate for guidance. “She can’t even stand the way I smell.”

“Again,” Kix repeats. “My only concern is mother and baby, not your identity crisis.”

“C’mon, Kix,” Fives pleads. “You gotta help me.”

“Get a therapist,” Kix advises bluntly.

Fives and Kix’s conversation comes to an abrupt stop when you swing open the door to the exam room. Fives sees you crying and isn’t sure if they are happy tears, sad tears, or angry tears, but he’s bracing for all the possibilities. You look at Fives, smile, and nod your head to let him know that the test is indeed positive. You are pregnant. You are going to be a mother and Fives is going to be a father. You feel an overwhelming sense of joy at the prospect and can’t stop smiling.

“Congratulations,” Kix says with an ear-to-ear grin. “You're going to be parents.”

Fives takes a deep breath as his heart beats rapidly in his chest. Him, a father? A parent? He doesn’t even know what a parent is, let alone how to be one. All at once, the issues of last night and this morning seem to melt away as he’s now flooded with anxious thoughts about what the rest of your lives will look like. Will he be a good father? How does one take care of a baby? He’s a soldier. He isn’t bred for this sort of thing. It’s not part of his genetic make-up.

Rex is good with kids, but him? He is the most awkward person alive when he gets around kids. Most of the other clone troopers seem to be naturals, always knowing what to say, what to do, and just fun to be around. He, on the other hand, makes children cry. Echo too. Maybe his batch got messed up during the cloning process. Maybe the rest of Domino Squad was terrible with kids and he just didn’t know it since his original batchmates have long since departed.

You cock your head at your husband's silence as his brain short circuits from the news. “Fives?” you prod to try and get a response. He hasn’t moved or said anything since you came back into the room, so you’re not sure what his thoughts are. What if he doesn’t want to be a father? What if he doesn’t want a baby? What if he doesn’t want you anymore? The destructive thoughts wash over you in waves as your anxiety increases while awaiting his response.

Kix, seeing the dazed look in Fives’ eyes and your nervous expression, picks up a tongue depressor off the counter and throws it at Fives’ face. It bounces off his cheek and he slowly looks up at the two of you. Finally realizing he is not alone with his thoughts, he snaps out of his swirling haze and sees your worried face. The affection and protectiveness he feels for you, his now pregnant wife, begins to overwhelm all his senses.

Fives shoots up from his seat, rushes over to you, and pulls you against his chest. He squeezes you tightly and presses adoring kisses against the top of your head. “We’re going to be parents,” he whispers against your hair, the corners of his mouth turning up into a smile.

“Yeah,” you mumble into his chest as fresh tears of joy roll down your cheeks. “We are.”

Kix watches the adorable display and sighs happily. It’s not every day a clone trooper makes a baby and he knows he’s going to have his hands full with your prenatal care. He chuckles to himself as he thinks about what the rest of the pregnancy is going to look like and if Fives will be able to survive it. However, something is nagging at the back of his mind and he can’t quite put his finger on it. But then his thoughts are interrupted by the sound of you retching. Oh, yeah.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologize to Kix. You are mortified at what you just did. It was so involuntary that you didn’t have any time to find somewhere else to let it all out.

Kix shakes his head and sighs as he gets up from the medical stool. “Don’t worry. I’ll get an orderly to clean it up.”

“Can you get me something to wear while you’re at it?” Fives requests as he looks down at his vomit-covered clothes.

“Might as well get used to it now,” Kix waves dismissively as he leaves the room.

“Sorry,” you apologize again while looking up at him in embarrassment. “I forgot how bad you smell.”

“This is going to be a long 280 rotations,” Fives sighs while pulling off his soiled shirt.

“It might get better, right?” you encourage while trying to offer some optimism into the bleak situation.

“I hope so,” Fives agrees, but he has a sinking feeling it won’t be that easy.

Chapter 1

Masterlist

A03

Tag List: @nahoney22 @commander-sunshine @kixs-husband

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achillesuwu · 6 months

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Izzy death & The end of the golden age of piracy

I like the explanation someone gave here and I will add a bit to it (yeah Izzy death was rushed and the way they filmed it wasn’t…very good (Ed’s hand why do you suddenly appear, stede why are you smiling then sad, everyone why do you look like a pack of children in front of a tv playing boring ad—) :

basically, this show happens when the the end of the golden age of piracy is near (the real Blackbeard dying marked that end in real life). Izzy in s2 began to represent actual piracy; he grew to be a "proper" pirate.

He actually tell us that in the last ep :

"it isn't about glory, it isn’t about gettin’ what you want. It’s about belonging to something when the world has told you you’re nothin’. It’s about finding the family to kill for when yours are long dead. It’s about letting go of ego for something larger. The Crew. »

"You are not a pirate, lad. You are a spoiled, entitled bunch of twats dressed in puffy, blue nighties."

"Kill us. Kill us all. Our spirit will last throughout your entire fuckin’ empire because… we’re good. And you are a rancid syphilitic cunt."

"it isn't about glory, […] It’s about letting go of ego for something larger. The Crew. " izzy s1 was very much focused on his pride, on the way pirate should be. He cared about the crew but he is way too focused on Blackbeard, too focused on them living but not actually being happy (‘You see him as some sort of a…pet’, ‘you are not proper pirate’, the whole mutiny that happens because the crew was fed up with his attitude, ‘piniiiiiiing about his boyfriend […] Ed better watch his steps.��). Izzy in s2 learned that he has to let go of his ego for something larger, the crew, to be a community (the whole ‘you are born alone, you die alone’ & him getting his unicorn leg, La vie en rose ‘It’s him for me, me for him in life. He said it to me, He swore it to me till death do us apart.* And as soon as I see him, then, I feel him bringing me back to life.** Me being Izzy, Him being the crew. The crew give a purpose to Izzy.)

*the literal translation is more ‘It’s him for me, me for him in life. He said it to me, He swore it to me for life’ but it’s implicitly a marriage vow. (Native french speaker here)

**‘And as soon as I see him, then, I feel my heart inside me beating.’ But here in the context of ofmd I think the romantic meaning is remplaced by ‘this is my purpose in life and it makes me feel alive’

"It’s about belonging to something when the world has told you you’re nothing" Izzy s1 insisted that Edward was nothing, in s1 he also thought that he was nothing without Blackbeard, he thought the Crew of the revenge wasn’t his crew but just a bunch of moron. In s2 we see him learn that he is someone outside of his job toward Blackbeard & his dying speech show us that he learned that Ed wasn’t nothing either (something something about the cursed jacket being Blackbeard’s heart and Izzy agreeing that it isn’t cursed but for the crew [and Edward now] they have to let it go). + I don’t need to explain that we see him in s2 actually seeing the crew as, well, an actual crew where he belong too

‘It’s about finding the family to kill for when yours are long dead’ (I won’t spend a long moment on that because it’s more about Edward but something something Ed actually killing for the first time in ep 8 something something something Him accepting his darkest part fully (piracy) when he think Stede could be dead. Well actually it really fit—)

So, Izzy dying isn’t about the old way dying as some people seem to think it represents(the old way are already dead at that point as many pointed out). It’s about… well, piracy dying. The golden age of piracy is ending (merthur when will I get free of you—).

And yet, why did David said this ?

Well, people, again : Izzy speech !

"Kill us. Kill us all. Our spirit will last throughout your entire fuckin’ empire because… we’re good. And you are a rancid syphilitic cunt."

(Edit : also it’s interesting that the only other time syphilis is said in the show is in the cursed jacket episode)

So, him dying is about piracy dying. HOWEVER, community ( as we can see with the revenge) still seems to thrive because even if ‘piracy’ dies, the core of it will not. Community & their stories (the unicorn is an animal of legend) will still outlive everything else, expecially the assh*les [the British empire]. The seagull (Button) represent change. Piracy died because everything end at some point but what is death if not change? (The Sandman is this you ?) What if life began again ? Good will not just triumph against Evil, it will outlive it and if it dies it will rise again changed.

OFMD isn’t about the immortality of thing, it isn’t about staying miserable where you are, it’s about the death of thing. No matter how hard it’s you have to try, let go of the rope that bind you and change.

So yeah, I agree, that final episode was rushed but I disagree, Izzy dying wasn’t pointless.

#izzy hands #OFMD meta #ofmd s2 spoilers #ofmd season 2 #ofmd s2 #Edward teach #the crew of the revenge #Stede bonnet #our flag means death meta #our flag means death #our flag means death spoilers #technically a bit of The Sandman #I guess

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ultrasonicbath · 2 years

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as the u.s. tour comes to a close, i want to take a moment to talk about a phenomenon i’ve seen taking place within mcr internet fan spaces these last few months, my thoughts on it, and how i think it relates back to digital media literacy.

(before we start, i want to make it clear that i’m just some guy and i am definitely not the most qualified person to talk about this, but i think some of the things in this post really, really need to be said. my hope is not necessarily to change your mind or to “get you on my side,” but to encourage you to think critically and independently, even during your daily scroll on social media.)

————

so, what is this ominous phenomenon i’m talking about? i’m referring to some of the comments i’ve seen mcr fans make regarding gerard’s gender—specifically the public, speculative, and seemingly unironic ones that attempt to put a label or a semblance of a label on his gender nonconformity.

(i think now’s a good time to mention you should read this entire post before engaging with or commenting on it. stay with me. we’re in this together.)

here is a post that i think does a good job of explaining this a little more in-depth for anyone who’s out of the loop.

regardless of my personal opinions on all of this, i understand why it’s happening. much of mcr’s fanbase is trans and/or non-binary, and seeking out representation from familiar, comforting figures is not out of the ordinary. i don’t think anyone involved means harm, and this isn’t a callout post. i’m just adding to a discussion i think has been largely one-sided up until recently.

————

what is the point of me making this post? to put it bluntly, i disagree with how much of the discussion around gerard’s gender identity and expression is being conducted.

(again, please stay with me.)

what is it, specifically, that i disagree with? is it the celebration of gerard’s gender nonconformity? is it the possibility they might not identify, partially or wholly, with their gender assigned at birth? is it the joy their gender expression has inspired in many mcr fans?

no. it’s none of those things; not even close. i can’t even put into words how i, a gender nonconforming trans man, felt when gerard wore his cheerleader dress in nashville. it was a special moment and i was so happy to see him happy.

but something that bothers me about the “gender wars” narrative is the idea that anyone who’s not all-in is, if not an outright transphobe, someone with deep-rooted biases they need to work through. i haven’t seen this from everyone, but it’s floated around here and there.

nuance in conversations like this is incredibly important. the human experience is rarely black and white. and i believe the notion that it must be, especially when it comes to topics such as queer identity, largely stems from closed-mindedness and fear, conscious or unconscious.

i have certainly witnessed people online assert that gerard must be cis, and there’s no way he can’t be cis, implying if he ever identified as anything other than cis that would be bad and gross and weird. i strongly disagree with that viewpoint because it’s transphobic and gerard is a real person who none of us know personally who can do whatever the fuck he wants. in the same way, i disagree with the viewpoint that gerard must be trans, and there’s no way he can’t be trans, implying anyone who disagrees is a transphobe who refuses to pay attention. because gerard is a real person who none of us know personally who can do whatever the fuck he wants.

i’m aware gerard has also made comments in the past about his journey with gender identity, the connection he feels to women and femininity, and even his experimentation with drag while he was in college. he’s said he should be referred to with either he/him or they/them pronouns, he’s an earnest supporter of the trans community, and he’s historically rejected the sexist shithead rock-dude stereotype.

i’m not here to downplay any of those things, nor am i trying to invalidate anyone who has taken comfort in or identified with those things. just a couple of points i would like you to think about, though:

some cis people also question their gender identity and/or use multiple sets of pronouns for a multitude of reasons (i’m not saying gerard has to be cis, i’m just giving you an extra viewpoint to chew on);

i’ve personally met plenty of men or male-aligned people who strongly identify with women and femininity. i strongly identify with women and femininity and i’m still 100% a trans man and will throw anyone who tries to tell me otherwise directly into the sun (again, i’m not saying gerard must be a man or male-aligned);

gender nonconformity and transness are complex, nuanced topics. labels can be useful, but they are not a be-all-end-all;

and i’m going to be blunt here—assuming and/or declaring someone is transfem when they haven’t publicly referred to themselves as such, just because they are comfortable discussing their own femininity and sometimes have a feminine presentation and feminine mannerisms, is basically an upgraded form of gender essentialism and completely disregards the existence and experiences of amab cis-passing queer people and gender nonconforming people. i understand it’s a tough pill to swallow, but intent doesn’t always equal impact, and just because someone may not see it that way doesn’t mean that’s not what they’re doing.

even if gerard is transfem, he’s still a real person who has a right to privacy and autonomy, and he never has to publicly label himself if he doesn’t want to. no one is entitled to seek out the details of his identity, but least of all us, a bunch of strangers on the internet who will probably never have a full conversation with him.

not one of us is an “authority” or “expert” on gerard way or my chemical romance. we can learn about the band’s history and public personas or laugh at the funny, quirky parts of their lore or cry when we think about how far they’ve come in the public eye, but what gives us the right to dig into every tiny crevice of gerard’s work and interactions and public existence searching for “clues” as to whether or not he’s trans? what gives us the right to label his gender identity for him—a process that is incredibly personal? i know “parasocial” is basically just another hollow internet buzzword at this point, but let’s not forget the very real consequences that parasocial relationships can certainly have.

do i think it would be fucking awesome if gerard came out as trans tomorrow? absolutely. do i also think it’s fucking awesome that they’re an older gnc person? that so many queer people have discovered and accepted themselves in part because of them? that they now exude joy onstage and bravely dress and act the way they do? one million times yes. and we can celebrate those real, concrete, factual things without tinhatting, overstepping boundaries, or jumping to conclusions. if they were to come out as trans tomorrow, that wouldn’t invalidate any of my arguments or make the behavior i’m critiquing acceptable, because the point isn’t about whether or not gerard is trans, the point is about how some of mcr’s fanbase is treating them.

gerard has uplifted and respected us time and time again without even knowing us as individuals. so i want you to take a moment to sincerely reflect and ask yourself this question: where is our respect for him?

————

alright. i’m glad you’re still here. let’s talk about what can actually be done about this.

i think a lot of this problem boils down to a lack of critical thinking. yes, that’s thrown around a lot as a clapback on this website, but i don’t mean it as an insult. we’re all guilty of not thinking critically, myself included. especially in the age of the internet, it’s impossible to be perfect all the time, when we’re bombarded with information from every angle.

this is why learning about and consistently practicing media literacy is so important. it’s something i’m passionate about because i’ve seen firsthand, time and time again, how it can make or break a person and their worldview, to the point that i spent hours writing about it for my upper-level journalism courses (before i dropped out lol) and worked for two semesters as an editor for a college newspaper.

if these conversations about gerard were happening in private group chats between friends who already know one another, my opinions on the topic itself would still stand, but it wouldn’t be any of my business and i obviously wouldn’t think to write an entire post about it. but everything changes when these discussions are had on a public platform with little regard for nuance.

“misinformation,” or the unintentional spread of false information—not to be confused with disinformation, where the person spreading it knows what they’re saying isn’t true—might not be a totally accurate descriptor for some of what’s going on here, honestly. none of us can prove what gerard is thinking or feeling. but based on what we do know, what he’s publicly and concretely shared with us, i think it’s as close as we can get. a lot of the posts i’ve seen don’t read to me as “hehe funny celebrity headcanon that’s obviously just for fun.” or even “i relate to this person’s art and/or publicized experiences, but i understand i don’t know them and at least some of that is just projection.” rather, they seem to make invasive leaps and use inaccurate vocabulary while simultaneously taking themselves very, very seriously, and that concerns me more than if a random tumblr user was just trolling to start fandom drama or something.

to put things into perspective, this is why every single one of my journalism professors drilled it into my head that you have to get your news from multiple sources. those sources must have differing perspectives and you need to look at every single one with a critical eye, no matter how trustworthy they may seem (listen, i get it’s way more complicated than that and i could go off on a whole other tangent about the glaring problems with mainstream news media in the united states and not in a cringefail right-wing way, but this is an mcr blog, so let’s just focus on the basic principle here).

obviously, i don’t think anyone should engage with transphobes unless it’s for the sake of making stronger counter-arguments, because their beliefs are provably harmful and false. but someone making good-faith criticisms of speculating about a stranger who has not publicly come out as trans and/or non-binary is markedly different. i’m not the only person who’s written something like this, and i encourage everyone to seek out similar posts and think about the points they’re making, even if you don’t agree with every single one of them.

this speculative commentary on gerard’s identity has spread like wildfire and created a polarizing echo chamber, from what i’ve seen. i understand why. but it’s still deeply worrying to me. seeing as this is primarily happening on tumblr, i’m concerned less because i think gerard will ever see or care about these posts (that’s obviously still important, though), and more because of what this says about how people in mcr fanspaces view celebrities they feel strongly about and engage with information they see online at large.

please do research on digital media literacy, and please use reputable sources with authority on journalism and communications to do so. don’t take what you see on social media at face value. don’t trust any one social media user to feed you commentary or shape your viewpoints, and that includes me. read with a critical eye. think about the possible implications and intentions behind the words other people use, big or small, and why those might be there. be aware of your own biases and blindspots. remember that you’ll never be perfect, not even close. and while you’re at it, learn more about the experiences of gnc people, and the experiences of queer people of all different ages, backgrounds, cultures, races, identities, perspectives, lived experiences, etcetera. if you can, engage in diverse irl lgbtq+ spaces. they put things into perspective in a way the internet never will.

but i still use tumblr in 2022, so what do i know?

————

if there’s anything you think i overlooked or misconstrued in this post, tell me! i want this to be a living, breathing conversation, not a monologue. these are important issues and they deserve our time and attention. thank you so much for reading.

#terfs and truscum don't fucking touch this post btw you're not welcome in this conversation or anywhere near my blog #tumblr like fucked up the spacing between words for some reason but man idc anymore i've already been working on this for way too long #mcr #my chemical romance #gerard way

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