#I was technically working sideways for the whole this | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

targaryenrealnessdarling · 6 months

Text

The Green Prince | Bluebeard!Aemond x Wife!Reader

-Based on the Fairytale 'Bluebeard'- Halloween Special!

Summary: Six wives before her mysteriously disappeared, and someone in Dragonstone calls for her once her new husband entrusts her with his master key | Word Count: 8k~ | Warnings below the cut~

Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Aemond Targaryen Taglist

Warnings: dub-con, arranged marriage, victorian england setting, era-typical sexism, murder, uxoricide, blood, toxic behaviour, apparitions/ghosts, manipulation, threats of violence

She's heard only tales of Aemond Targaryen.

The Green Prince of Dragonstone. A wealthy gentleman who often stayed within the confines of his estate.

When she abandoned the frills and wide smiles of girlhood, thrust into the pomp and practice of womanhood, that is when the stories began.

She had never seen him. And she began to believe, that the people around her who spoke of him never had either.

They were of a decent background, her and her family. Not overwhelmingly rich. But well-off is what her father always said.

Enough to employ a small army of servants.

Enough to never have to worry about the troubles of daily life that so often would hinder an everyday individual.

She doubted Aemond Targaryen ever had to worry about that either.

One fact that simply could not be frayed, was that he was royalty.

Only in the sense that he was utterly untouchable.

He had this elegance about him, they would say, a sort of curious exoticisim from the way his long, silver hair would drift down his back, to the way his inhuman purple eyes would glimmer, half lidded and looking straight ahead, as if he were piercing a knife through the individual with his gaze alone.

Though they were technically neighbours, she saw very little life pass through the iron gates of Dragonstone. His estate so vast, that by foot, she would have to commit a whole hour to simply brush by the border of what she deemed was a forbidden land.

There seemed an aura of darkness over it, that she could not quite comprehend. But one that intrigued her all the same.

Last year, at the same time as now, she had been considered a child. No better for company than being banished upstairs to dwindle about her books and writings, out of the way of adults and their serious business affairs.

What had really changed in 12 months, that they now considered her a woman?

She felt age had little to do with it.

She felt that she had been grown in her mind for some time, and had actually changed very little from the age of three and ten.

But now, at the tender age of nine and ten, there was still a girlish nature about her face. A brightness to her eyes, and a plumpness about her cheeks. One that her mother had once commented that men would find appealing in a wife.

And so here she was.

Dressed in her finery, a glass of wine in a crystal glass delicately placed in one hand, she stood beside her eldest brother, who had torn himself rather blatantly from a woman he himself was courting in favour of supporting his sweet, youngest sister.

"Do not, for the love of our mother, allow yourself to be approached by Mr Gardner. He has had five servants in as many months. I am sure you can understand why", her brother mused with a contented chuckle.

She did not know why. Nobody had told her plainly.

Sometimes she wished people would just be honest with her. And not assumed she knew the inner workings of people's minds, after years of being shut away upstairs by her parents and brother alike.

The foyer and adjoining rooms alike were filled with people, all pretending to make pleasantries with each other. And as the night dragged on, several well known bachelor's having tried their hand at impressing her, she found her glass of wine was not as endless as she thought.

When a servant had spotted her, appearing at her side to refill her glass, she had turned her body sideways and locked eyes, finally, with him.

The one people affectionately named, The Green Prince.

Like most of the men tonight, he was dressed in a suit with a long overcoat that covered his dark green waistcoat. So dark were the colours of his outfit, that they almost appeared black, like the rest of it.

His hair was loose, with a few strands falling to the front over his shoulders, and as her eyes trailed up to his pale collar, where a tie was loosely wrapped about his neck, she saw that when she met his gaze, he was already looking at her.

He held his glass in a manner most unbecoming. Hanging at his side, his long fingers grasping the edges so delicately, she was sure for a moment it was floating in his hold.

His finger, she noticed, tapped idly at the side of the room, as if deep in thought as he looked upon her.

She saw his gaze drop to her outfit, one that her mother had chosen for her. A red, almost burnt tea coloured dress, with very little flounce and fancy to it. The collar hung delicately at her shoulders, the bodice tight and the only detail of any colour was in the stitching of her skirt, which he noted was a shimmering gold.

When he lifted his eyes, he took a sip from his glass, still almost filled to the top, his burning lilac gaze hovering over the brim. She sucked in a breath, her own eyes flitting over his face. And to the patch that covered the left eye.

She didn't know why her chest felt tight, and why she hoped suddenly for the appearance of her brother. Or her father perhaps. He was staring at her so unabashedly, that for an unmarried woman such as herself, she would be looked upon with immense judgement if she were found to be staring back at him in the same manner.

Knowing his gaze was burning at the back of her head, perhaps tracing the intricate pattern of braids her hair had been styled in, she decided to ignore him, until he had the decency to approach and introduce himself to her properly.

As any good gentleman would.

She meandered through the menagerie of figures, careful to keep her wine close to her so that she wouldn't repeat the same embarrassment as last year when she spilled the entire glass down Mr Bray, whose wife near lost her voice with incessant shouting.

Her father, ever cheerful, as rich men so often are, materialised at her side, grasping her elbow and tugged his daughter close to him. His breath smelled like red wine as he whispered to her.

"It appears you have captured the special attention of Mr Targaryen, daughter"

Her father chuckled when her wide, terrified and yet curious eyes met his.

How could she have captured his attention, when she had done nothing at all? She thought.

She did not yet know, the charms that the appearance of a female body could offer. And how it could transform a respectable man from a pillar of society, to a hungry, lustful beast at a moment's notice.

"I shall introduce you to him" her father insisted, leading her along at his side, despite her quiet protests.

"But father-"

"Hush now. Remember your manners".

His tone of voice was enough.

She had not experienced it as a mere female. But she had seen first hand what her father did to her brother when he disobeyed. Finding a sort of punishment worthy at the end of his cane as it cracked against her brother's palm.

Her brother still wore gloves often. That was his shield.

She had yet to find her own.

Perhaps hers was in her mind, she thought. That she might be able to protect herself with her ideas and opinions, twisting the minds of men, as her elder sister had said once, to suit the needs of the women they owned.

She often had to remind herself, she was property. And could easily be bought and sold, and kicked to the roadside if she had done something to mar her family name.

She was thrust into a sort of social assassination once again once stood before the famed Mr Targaryen, who nodded his head in greeting but said nothing.

"My Targaryen. What an honour it is to have you here. Please might introduce my daughter"

He bent somewhat at the hip, his hand moving to grasp hers, the skin soft and feminine.

"The pleasure is all mine, Miss"

His voice was like the purr of a cat. And though terrifyingly intriguing, she couldn't find it in herself to look away.

"And to you, Sir. Many thanks for the invitation" Aemond turned towards her father, giving another barely existent nod of his head, his expression flat and almost bored.

"It is no problem at all, Mr Targaryen. Please accept my condolences on the passing of your wife"

Late wife?

She felt rude to ask, so said nothing.

Aemond seemed to understand her curiosity, and gave a light smirk in her direction, though she was on his blind side.

"Thank you, Sir. It was a great tragedy indeed"

"Indeed" her father repeated, leaning forward as if to emphasise the size of his empathy for him, "I understand she was quite distressed for some time, was she not?"

She almost passed her father a warning glance. Thinking it rather rude for him to say such things about his late wife. Whether she may have been mad or not.

But Aemond merely nodded.

"Indeed. I am afraid, however, it was an inevitable accident"

Accident.

She of course, remembered hearing the gossip, and hearing her father read the newspaper every morning. An update about the mad Alys Rivers at the top of the page every time.

Alys Rivers, the Lady of Dragonstone, found dead in God's Eye Lake. A wound to the neck spells suicide.

A wound to the neck was a kind description.

Her pale skin was said to be slashed open on one side, everything visible within. And once the water had got to her, she was swollen, pale and blue, completely drained of blood. Almost entirely unrecognisable.

It was just as well she had no family. They would not have wished to see how she met her end.

The article found it necessary to articulate, that her body had been returned to her husband.

Across the room, another gentleman called for her father, and she felt the hot whips of panic at the back of her neck at the thought of being left alone with Aemond.

"Do excuse me" her father said quickly, disappearing into the sea of black and grey.

She herself turned back to Aemond, not wanting to be rude, and tapped her fingernails on the crystal glass nervously.

"I am very sorry to hear about your wife"

Aemond hummed, one of his hands behind his back like he had a secret.

"Thank you, Miss"

There was a long period of silence between them. And for a while, she wondered if she should be the one to break it.

Aemond laughed lowly, leaning down to her face as he caught something interesting in his sights.

"See your brother?" He murmured. And her face turned as well, not realising at first how close their faces were, but she could not very well pull away without offending him.

All the same, he smelled of sandalwood.

Her eyes followed his, to her brother on the other side of the room, where he was thoroughly embarrassing himself by laughing too widely with the woman he had been courting for several months.

"He is awfully close to that woman, is he not?"

She swallowed, raising her chin to appear more confident as she spoke, "She is to be his intended. It is only natural they speak freely with one another" she reasoned.

Aemond did not move away, his shoulder brushing against her side. It made her shudder.

"He is certainly doing something freely" Aemond hummed deep in his chest, a tone which sent a dull ache through her body.

Her brother leaned in close to the woman. And she watched her blush and throw her head back with a demure laugh, her brother leaning close to run his nose along her neck, grinning against her skin.

It felt forbidden to watch them be so close.

And yet he was so brazen about it.

"She seems to be enjoying herself, at least"

She couldn't find it in herself to reply.

For the woman did appear as if she was enjoying herself. And briefly, stood beside Aemond, his breath softly batting against her neck, she wondered herself, how it would feel if he did the same to her.

She wondered if he was thinking the same thing as her. Sneaking into her mind like a whisper, as if he were being a locked door, and was peering through the keyhole to uncover her darkest thoughts and desires.

Her brother leaned towards his intended, planting a kiss to the column of her neck. And she felt herself parting her lips as the other woman had, not only at the shameless behaviour of her brother, so consumed in wine that he felt no need to appear reasonable in front of other people, but also because she felt Aemond’s slender fingers at her forearm.

It was not at all like the way her father had pulled her to him, in ownership.

Aemond tugged her towards him in a sort of longing, his nose pressing into the plaits of her hair.

“I am going to ask your father for your hand” he whispered, “and he will say yes. And you shall be mine”.

She listened with her fingers wrapped around the wooden pillars of the staircase as her brother shouted obscenity after obscenity at her father. Every now and then her mother would insert her little, sweet voice that was inevitably crushed by the low boom of the two males in the room.

With her gaze planted firmly in her lap, tracing the patterns of the lace of her nightgown as she listened, she thought with a sort of sadness that the offer of marriage should be a joyous and happy occasion. And now in her household, the prospect of her being tied to the Green Prince himself was so offensive to her brother, that he felt the need to fight on her behalf.

Perhaps knowing his sweet sister had no choice in the matter.

“He is barely half a decade older than her and has had six wives in as many years, father!” he boomed, and she could tell by the way his voice bounced off the furniture that he was pacing and throwing his arms around.

“To give her away to that brute. It is unthinkable!”

“Be quiet!” her father roared back, “the wedding will go ahead as planned. We will not get a better offer than this!”

While she was happy, that her brother was trying to stick up for her, it was no use. He nor her had a choice in the matter.

Her father had said it himself.

We will not get a better offer.

Not she.

She was property. Something to be sold and given in exchange for goods or reputation. What she wanted, was of no consequence.

And she couldn’t help but think of her mother, several decades younger than her father, and how she must have felt at her tender age when confronted with the prospect of marrying a man much older than she.

In a way, she felt connected to her mother in that way. But also in a way that she resented her, for dressing her up, plaiting her hair and pushing her out into the rich man’s world, ripe and ready for the taking.

Passing her the torch of a woman’s anguish.

The wedding felt clinical. More akin to a funeral than a union of two people.

Her brother stares dagger into the back of her intended for the entire ceremony. All while her mother cried softly into her handkerchief and her father sat, stoic and silent, his chubby fingers caressing the sculpted ornament on the top of his cane.

She remembered his hands as they were bought together and the officiator had placed a sort of sacred cloth over them as he muttered his prayers. Binding them lawfully and before the eyes of God, for their whole lives.

His hands were large, his palms completely dwarfing hers and his long fingers wrapping around hers like tight vines. And at that moment, she had never felt so small in her life.

And noticed that his side of the wedding chapel, where his family members were supposed to sit and witness their union, was completely empty.

Six wives in as many years.

That is what her brother had said.

She knew Aemond had been married multiple times prior to her, but was her brother merely exaggerating?

In contrast to his hands, where the blood swam warmly through his limbs, his lips where the officiant asked them to seal their union with a kiss, were cold, and not forthcoming. As if he had not asked her father for her hand in marriage, but that this entire affair was so useless and merely for looks, that he’d rather be somewhere else.

That said. She could not escape the intensity of his gaze.

He seemed to focus solely on her, much to her discomfort, to the point where it seemed like he was not listening to a single prayer or hymn that was uttered in the chapel all afternoon. And though her eyes were elsewhere, to try and place the feeling that bubbled in her chest somewhere else, she often found his lilac eye drifting to the details of her necklace, to face, and pausing where she wet her lips nervously.

If he hadn’t possessed such a domineering, strong presence, she thought he would be devilishly handsome.

Perhaps a fact he already knew.

It was unlike her family to have celebrations, so they didn’t.

She gave each of the servants, some who she knew for most of her life a final embrace, thanking them for their hospitality and care where she did not receive it from her parents. And as her luggage was packed meaningfully in the back of Mr Targaryen’s carriage, with two large horses at the front, she gave her brother a tight embrace as well. Inhaling and savouring the musty smell of tobacco on his coat.

He looked saddened, but for the sake of appearances, forced a smile onto his face.

“Good luck, dear sister. Remember you may write to me, even though you are a married woman” he smiled, teasing her softly with a nudge to her shoulder.

She gave a softer hug to her mother, who usually was not keen to shower her with affection. But she supposed, she was the youngest daughter, so it was only natural.

Her father, after having busied himself in an idle chattering session with Aemond, merely tipped his hat, and did not shed one bit of emotion as she climbed into the carriage before her husband. Aemond's hand helped her up the step, watching as she disappeared inside.

The smell of his sandalwood perfumes on his coat was stronger as he sat beside her on the cushion, instructing the handsome, olive-skinned driver to move forward and away from her home.

She only waved to her brother. And watched as he had wet eyes, stepping forward a few paces like he was about to break into a run after her.

The carriage was much nicer than anything she'd seen in her young life, and though they were for all intents and purposes, considered neighbours, it was still a half hour ride to his estate.

Dragonstone.

Her skin prickled at the mere thought of it.

She'd never seen it before. Nor had any of her family.

All she knew was that it was often clouded in fog, that when you stood at the front gates you could barely see the arching towards and dark brick in the distance anyway.

All she had heard was what people said.

That it was a frightful, maze of a place. With winding corridors and crooked doorways, and barely any servants.

He was a rich man, why not employ more?

He did not say a word the entire way home. He only sat, cross legged, and fiddle with his fingers like he was nervous. Turning them over in micro-movements.

Don't speak unless spoken to.

As Dragonstone came into view once they crossed the boundary of the iron gates, she felt her breath taken away.

And it was only when Aemond assisted her with a hand as she stepped down from the carriage that she could really appreciate the sheer size of his estate.

It was so big it was beyond comprehension.

She briefly wondered if she would get lost in such a place.

"Cole will bring your things to our room"

Her heart started to flutter, and pitter patter all at the same time.

Our room.

She had almost forgotten her one wifely duty she was to fulfil this evening.

To appease him.

The thought made a sort of tightness in her belly, though she was unsure why. Of course, her elder sister had divulged her own horror story of her wedding night. Though her sister was twenty and she herself only five and ten at the time, the nitty gritty was of great curiosity to her.

"For several hours the poor thing just cried and it rather spoiled the mood. Turned out that he had…pleased himself the morning of the wedding so as not to become too excited when the evening rolled around.

Oh well, no matter. Instead, when he had a rather excited visitor the next morning he crawled atop me and breathed heavily into my neck while he tried to get it inside me. 'Twas over in an instant dear sister and I did not feel a thing".

Though the anecdote was funny, although awkward seeing as she sat next to her brother-in-law the next morning and tried not to giggle, right now, it did little to quell the gnawing inside her.

Aemond did not seem as quiet and unsure of himself as her brother-in-law was. She doubted a man of his standing would have any issue fulfilling his role as a husband.

As he had done, six times before.

Which triggered yet another question.

Why no children? Surely all six of his previous wives could not have been barren?

Did they commit suicide? Ashamed of themselves for failing to fulfil this task? Were they all mere accidents? Or did someone break in at night to steal his plethora of fine jewels and artefacts and run into one of his unfortunate wives along the way?

It seemed entirely impossible.

She watched Aemond walk confidently to the front doors, where a couple of servants stood to greet the new Lady of Dragonstone. His coat fluttered around his thighs as he turned, the ends of his silver hair hung like they were floating.

"Wife. May I introduce you to the staff. Anything you so wish, please do not hesitate to ask them"

The two servants stood, hands clasped, looking entirely scared stiff. One was a middle aged man with an apron dirtied at the edges, and the other a maid, barely five and twenty, who offered her a polite curtsy.

She simply smiled at them, "a pleasure".

They said nothing.

There was something melancholic. Ancient. And crushing about Dragonstone.

She felt the weight on her shoulders the moment she passed those gates. Did they feel it too?

Did Aemond?

This was the only moment he seemed to smile, as miniscule as it was with a darkened gaze, was when he turned to look at his new wife and nodded.

"If you will forgive me, I have some business to attend to. I will see you tonight for supper"

His expression never wavered, even as he bent at the middle to press his lips to her hand, above the ring he had placed on her finger not a few hours before.

The servants quickly scuttled out of her sight and so she thought to amuse herself by exploring her new home. Out of habit, she started upstairs, going straight to her bedroom to inspect.

There was a large four poster bed made of what appeared to be walnut in the middle of the room, with various ornaments strewn about, but very little to suggest that he actually relaxed in here.

There were no mementos, keepsakes, and she thought briefly she couldn't get a grasp on his personality this way either.

She blushed and felt that tightness again at the thought of sharing a bed with him, of what they might have to do.

The rest of the house was indicative of the first room she ventured to. Lacking a certain personality she was sure existed in her new husband but one he refused to show.

The estate was cold and empty, with flagstone floors stretching along the long dark hallways.

There were so many doors it was difficult to know what on earth could be behind all of them. She'd so far discovered the Library, the Dining Room and even happened upon the scullery rather by accident.

And then, one room…

It had a oxblood red door, worn around the edges and the colour faded somewhat. She noted the scuff marks around the handle and the hinges, as well as the stone beneath the door where overtime, footsteps had worn it down.

So she was doubly surprised to find the door locked.

Curious.

Her skin prickled, and she was sure for a moment that she saw her own misty breath. Like that feeling that someone is watching you but you are too afraid to move an inch. The tips of her fingers suddenly felt numb.

She felt it on her neck, an iciness.

But when she turned, her breath stuck in her chest from panic, she could only see nothing but the empty corridor.

And all was silent.

There was a heaviness in her chest which seemed to pass through her like trying to walk through honey, trying to pull your feet up just an inch to step forward.

And as quickly as that feeling came, it was gone and she turned back in panic once she heard soft, careful footsteps behind the oxblood door.

She clenched and unclenched her fists in fear, trying to reason with herself.

Undeniable footsteps, ones that had started at the threshold and we're now walking slowly away from her.

The blood rushed warmly back into her fingertips, and she rubbed them painfully against her navy dress, trying to will a feeling back into them.

Footsteps…

She only heard her own as she hurried down the corridor again, her shoes clocking against the flagstone.

So desperate to get away from that heavy, morbid feeling that she nearly hurtled right into the young maid.

"My Lady!"

"I do apologise" she uttered immediately, her chest pushing against her bodice with her hurried breath, "I was not looking where I was going".

The maid curtsied, as if she'd forgotten to and straightened, "Supper is to be served, my Lady. May I-"

"What is that room? Down the hall?" She asked.

The maid raised her eyebrows, "Which one, my Lady?"

She turned her head down the hallway once again to point to the one she meant, and her words died on her lips.

The door moved.

It was unmistakable.

The shadow where the door was leant ajar quickly disappeared, and the frame was filled once more by the large wooden slat against it.

There was no click of a lock to be heard.

She was so afraid she lost herself for a moment. Going all pale. So much so the maid had to prompt her.

"My Lady?"

She shook her head, looking back to see if the door would move again, and drift open as it had before.

But it never did.

And the thought that as she was running away before, the door was slowly inching open, scared her beyond belief.

"It's nothing, I apologise" she said quickly, "Supper, thank you".

There was nothing of note for the rest of the evening.

Supper was quiet. And the table was so long with husband and wife sat at either end, that they may as well have been in separate rooms while they ate.

It was nice enough food she was grateful for that. A selection of soups and meats, and breads to fill her belly between courses.

He did not speak.

He barely moved any other muscle than his arm to fork the meat into his mouth. She watched him every now and then, over the barely dancing flame of the candelabra, otherwise the room would be completely dark.

So she drank her wine, and stayed silent. Waiting to be spoken to.

The only thing he said was right at the end.

"Shall we retire for bed, wife?"

And she could not very well say no.

She made brief eye contact with the maid as she followed her husband to the grand staircase, each step feeling heavier and more nerve-wracking than the last.

Her husband was tall, broad and she had no doubt be enjoyed the domineering aura he gave off. Judging by the dark colours of his waistcoat and trousers, as well as the leather eyepatch over one eye, he enjoyed inhabiting darkness.

She thought with some amusement that the only bright things about him were his hair and eyes.

Things he could not change.

He was certainly a marvel of a man. And truthfully, she should count herself lucky that he is at least somewhat close to her in age.

Aemond closed the door softly once they were both inside. The curtains were now drawn, and the room was filled with an amber glow from the candles the maid had lit for them.

She needn't ask him for help, for her new husband immediately stood behind her, and began to unlace her dress as if they had been married an age.

His movements were so sure. And she felt with jealousy of some kind that he had done this with six other women before her.

No wonder he was practiced.

There was no room for romance when to him, it was all just a matter of duty.

She stood only in her chemise, having pulled her hair free of her braids, feeling his gaze the entire time.

"Are you intent on remaining silent, wife?" He asked, and she heard him pull off his waistcoat with every pop of his buttons.

"Or might you become more vocal in the marriage bed?"

She felt her cheeks flush and thickness in her throat. Inadvertently pressing her legs together where a sort of excitement was blooming.

"I could not say…" she answered.

And chuckled lowly, pressing his front to her back, dragging his nose up the side of her neck, just as she had seen before.

She felt something hard press against her backside, his hips pushing it against her and moving softly, creating just a tiny bit of friction.

"Tell me" he muttered, his lips tickling her ear, "tell me what a good wife does"

She was suddenly nervous, thinking about what other people had told her.

And it was increasingly difficult to think, with his large hands pulling her chemise off her body.

"A good wife…is loyal to her husband" she recited, her breath coming in short pants, "she is…loving"

He blew air from his nose, like he was amused.

"..and she is obedient"

"That's it"

Aemond peeled the chemise off her, letting it drift to the floor.

"A good wife makes herself available to her husband"

She gasped and he revelled in it, as he pushed her newly naked body onto the bed, her body sinking into the mattress and watching as her husband bared himself one button at a time.

"Of course. There a many other wifely duties" he grinned.

His fingers moved to his trousers.

"But for now, I only care about this one".

Being touched all over was strange. There was a dull ache in her core when her husband touched certain areas, a feeling that she didn't recognise.

Her confused and somewhat distressed face at the whole ordeal was endearing to him.

Her young, plump face looked up at him with gleaming eyes and shame arched in her eyebrows.

It hurt. Not as greatly as she thought. But it still did.

"Close your eyes. It will be over soon"

She did as he said, turning her face away. But it was not over soon.

His member throbbed inside her, and she thought she'd never felt more full in her life. Since closing her eyes, she could not see the way his hair began to tangle around him, as his hips chased hers and came against hers with a soft smack.

The pain gave way to another feeling still.

That same ache she felt when he'd touched her.

Aemond smirked when he saw the confused, ashamed expression on her face. At the way she pressed her lips together.

"I think you are enjoying this" he murmured lowly, pushing harder into her like he was intent in piercing her stomach, "if I did not know any better, you would almost be moaning".

She didn't want it to feel good.

Or did she.

It felt wrong.

And yet she couldn't deny when he raised her thighs, his fingers wrapped into her flesh, it did feel good.

"Look at me" he whispered, never stopping, "Look at your husband, who is giving you pleasure"

Some excitement sparked inside him, when she didn't do as he asked, her warm embarrassed face pressed into the sheets as much as she could. Her eyes closed.

He laughed when she refused.

"Yes - you feel it, do you not? No need to act all coy. I can feel your body's response"

Shame crept into her body, her limbs going all tight just as he'd said. Feeling herself hit that irreplaceable point, she simply whimpered and felt his length throb once more before he spilled inside of her, releasing all he had to give.

She thought with lewdness, that his spend was warm inside her.

Aemond seemed to take great pleasure in making his wife shrink into herself with embarrassment and shame every time they coupled. He loved that doe eyed look she gave him, as if he did not have his cock buried between her legs every night he could since the wedding.

He would have her any way. Fully clothed if the moment presented itself.

There was something erotic about taking something that looked so innocent and filling her with his spend. How she would act all coy, with it dripping down her thighs.

He delighted in the fact that he had managed to kidnap this sweet young thing, and use her for himself and his pleasure any moment he was able. And the month that passed since the wedding, he could not think of a time that was sweeter.

So it was with great irritation that he was called to King's Landing. Some business with his brother that apparently couldn't wait.

He did not want to leave her.

He spoke firmly, stood before the oxblood door in his travel wear.

"While I am away, you must not enter this room. Do you understand?"

When she nodded without asking why, he smiled in pride and placed the master key in her small palm. Entrusting that she would do as she had promised in his absence.

He thought he'd reward her when he returned, by fucking her in the comfort of their bed sheets, until she was pink in the faxe and begging him to stop. Just as he liked her to be.

As soon as her husband left, she felt even more that she was being watched. All the little hairs on the back of her neck pointed upwards.

The maid kept clear of her, which was nothing unusual. But it was almost as if she was escaping rooms before she herself knew why. As if she knew what invaded the invisible space within them as soon as her back was turned.

Did she hear the voices too? See the dark figures and closing doors?

Anytime she passed the long dark hallway to the oxblood door, she felt her curiosity grow tenfold. But also a sense of dread, heavy in her gut, tugging her back to this wretched place.

What could be behind the door, that her husband wished not for her to see?

In the Library, the fire crackled comfortably as she turned the faded pages of her book. The maid busied herself collecting the dirtied saucers and teacups beside her, humming to herself gently.

The air suddenly went cold around her neck, and a breeze passed, evident by the dangling of her earrings. It was not only her imagination.

"A golden key. Oxblood door. Give the six souls rest, sweet child"

She looked up at the maid, "I am sorry, did you say something?"

The maid straightened and shook her head quickly, eyebrows arched in confusion, "No, my Lady"

Why did the maid always flee like that? Like someone was chasing her? With their claws at her back like an animal in the forest?

The key was ornate, with winding patterns and several notches at the top. And when she held it in her small palm, it felt hot to the touch like an iron rod.

Aemond would punish her.

How? She did not know.

She slotted the key into the door, without the energy to turn it. And her limbs felt heavy, and her knuckles cold, like someone was pushing on it. Forcing her will.

"That's right. Insert the key into the keyhole, and turn…"

A voice echoed off the stone.

A low, sweet, mature voice.

Click.

The oxblood door gave way to light, torches lit at every corner, illuminating the oxblood colour of the floor before her.

A step down.

The floor rippled like liquid.

"Our souls…"

Her shoe was slick with something oily that clung to the suede. Irreparably staining them.

Her skin prickled. Vomit bubbled at the back of her throat.

Six torch-lit figures reflected in the blood on the flagstone floor.

Hung, wrists bound over their head. White skulls in various stages of deterioration, with strings of what was once luscious hair drifting past their bony shoulders.

She saw with dread, they were still wearing dresses that hung off their ivory skeletons.

She was sure she collapsed with grief, a scream echoing around her that did not feel like her own. The only sound she registered was the clanging of the key as she dropped it in shock, blood of Aemond's ex-wives enveloping the brass.

Her throat felt sore.

She watched their empty eye sockets. The dust over their bound hands and their feet as they dangled inches off the floor.

Breath hot in her lungs like she was clinging to life as she knew it, she scrambled for the key and pulled the door shut behind her with a mighty boom.

Darkness crawled up her skin, now that she knew what was behind it.

Was this her fate?

If she displeased him, would she be their successor?

She was sat, with head in hand, in a state of complete distress with sweat on her brow and neck as Aemond returned.

She had paced the room for hours she felt, wringing her hands, as if to find what she might say to him on his arrival. He'd see it on her face.

He would know she had seen the corpses of his precious wives on her soft, innocent features. Scarred forever by death.

His tall, broad form filled the doorframe. And he dropped his coat onto the bed with a tired huff, but said nothing.

She almost wished he would say something. To spare her this horrible anticipation.

But she watched as he took two careful steps in. His one eye flitting over to the key he'd left her on the bureau.

The blood had not lifted from the brass. She could not wash it. No matter how much time she committed to it, it would not become clean.

Her husband looked back at her like she was something to eat, his eye half open with only half his iris visible.

She sobbed and cried when he advanced and held her to the wall by her neck with ease, slamming her small body against it.

"You thought you would get away without punishment, hm?"

She sobbed like a child, her tears wetting her cheeks and neck, to his fingers. Her own tried to pry his away, feeling that he was hurting her effortlessly with his grip around her throat.

"Please…husband…"

He could have laughed.

"Now is no time for begging. Tell me, how should I punish you, wife?, he grinned widely, his tone low and condescending as he spoke to the small woman before him.

"Please…you may do as you like with me - just first, let me pray-" she begged with a hoarse, tired voice. Never feeling that she could be scared of him in this way.

He pulled his head away, looking down at her past his nose, his lips tight.

She felt his grip loosen, but the places where his fingers had been were sore and red.

"I shall do as I please. But since you asked so nicely to pray. I shall let you"

She felt herself breathing like she was swallowing fire a she stepped out the door, allowing her privacy to pray before he inevitably drove a dagger through her, or something of the like.

She rushed to the master key and locked the door with a quick slam and click, locking her husband out and flinching when his palms pushed with urgency on the other side. Rapping on the wood like an animal who couldn't see their prey.

She had no intention of praying.

"Open this door! Now!"

Her eyes scanned the room anxiously and with urgency. She felt her fingers shaking as he pushed the window open, looking down at the great height she would have to jump to escape him.

A sure death.

She clambered over the bureau, her knees knocking painfully on the wood as she advanced in a panicked state towards the ledge.

Her brother.

If she could just escape to him.

He would save her.

A clang of metal rattled against the floor as her husband, as strong as she was, sent the door flinging off the hinges. His large arms wrapped around her waist as she writhed, fearing her life. Expecting a blade to her neck. Or perhaps to be dragged to the oxblood door, to never return.

"Husband - please - have mercy-"

"It is too late for 'please'. It is time for you to feel the consequence of your actions"

She struggled so much, he tackled her to the floor, holding both her forearms behind her back in one hand, pushing her front to the cold stone floor, her warm cheek moulding to the pattern of it.

"I beg you - have mercy and kill me quickly-"

Her tears wet her face entirely, feeling his body over her back, pressing his hips into her backside, letting her feel his wrath.

"Mercy?" He chuckled darkly, "why would I show the likes of you mercy?"

"You who I have treated with care and respect. You who has disobeyed me"

"My Lady shall learn this lesson now"

His voice was dark and low, and it scared her more than the whisperings of the paranormal and the sight of what was behind the oxblood door.

She panicked with a warm face as he rucked up her skirts to her waist, flinching when she felt two of his thick fingers swipe across her hot centre while he continued to hold her down.

"I do not often take pleasure in teaching my wife a lesson. But, for you, I shall make an exception"

She pressed her lips together, not wanting to anger him with her whimpers and whines as she felt him slide his trousers down and rub his hot, throbbing member, ready and waiting for her, against her cunt, collecting her wetness on his length for ease of entry.

He sighed longingly, his breath tickling her neck, his eyelashes fluttering against her jaw.

She choked on her breath as he slid into her, his fingers holding her hips desperately to widen her legs to accommodate him deeper inside her.

"None of them were worthy - fucking none of them -" he breathed, his breath hitching with each soft smack of his hips against her, stretching her walls to the shape and size of him and groaning at the way her hot insides parted.

"Do you wish me to give you a child, hm? None of them - fuck - none of them could give me what you do-"

She whimpered, feeling his length fill her repeatedly and bully the end of her, each blow against that rough spot inside increasingly making her shame and despair at his use of her body ebb away into a forbidden and unknown feeling.

"If you do not behave, you will not be allowed that pleasure" he muttered, his breath coming in short bursts, his thrusts as well becoming sloppy and unconfident.

Her gut warmed with his length piercing her insides. And she felt as though she was missing something he was telling her in his own way. Eyebrows arched in confusion.

Even now, while he fucked her on the floor, she felt afraid for her life.

"Oh, little one, I am almost disappointed that it took so long for you to realise that I do not intend to kill you.”

Her wet eyes cracked open to turn her head in discomfort to him. Her cheek rubbing against the stone floor as he pulled her hips up to fuck her deeper.

"No. You shall give me children. Many of them if you wish to please me"

She tightened around him completely out of instinct, and Aemond groaned loudly above her, pushing his chest so hard against her back she felt she might break.

And her hands clenched into fists, absentmindedly pushing her hips back to him to chase the remnants of that sweet rapture she was sometimes awarded when coupling with him.

A sweet escape from this prison.

He laughed, when he realised that she was quite resigned to her fate.

That she, compared to his other wives, was finally worthy of giving him children. Of satiating his desire to dominate a woman so easily. How he enjoyed watching the look of shame and pleasure on her face, as she battled with herself to submit to him or not.

He slammed with a wet squelch back into her again, filling her with his warmth with a long, shuddered groan. His grip so hard around her forearm, she was sure blood did not reach her hands.

He continued to move shallowly into her, pushing his spend as deep inside her as it would go. As if, whether she wanted to or not, he would fuck his child into her and watch her grow fat and round.

And then, once she had one, would fuck yet another into her.

Her breath came fast and hot from her swollen lips as she trembled around him, unknowingly prolonging his pleasure inside her.

His lips brushed against her ear.

"No other words before I begin?"

It was difficult with her head pushed against the floor, but she nodded softly in confirmation. Relief flooding her as she saw her husband's smirk rise to his lips, both his hands dropping to her hips to tug her back onto his length.

"Then let us begin"

668 notes · View notes

incorrectbatfam · 1 year

Note

Not sure if you’ve heard of the ‘dad reflex’ where dads just save their small children from imminent harm (usually because the child is still learning how gravity works or just completely unaware of the world around them). I know Bruce technically doesn’t get the bat kids young but either way his batdad reflex has to be off the charts. What are his best dad reflexes? (They can be smol kids or cannon ages whatever sparks your creative juices most!)

Thank you💙💙

They're at someone else's gala and 27-year-old grown-ass Dick is swinging from a giant chandelier in an atrium 3 stories high when it gives out and Bruce "Wine drunk and raving about his kids" Wayne, who hears the tiny snap across the room, stops mid-conversation, grabs a steak knife, slashes a curtain, and swings from the balcony in like fuckin' Tarzan to grab him in the span of 5 seconds before 300 pounds of metal and glass come crashing down

Tim gets mosh pit tickets for his favorite band and Bruce goes with him because Bernard got caught up in something last minute, and after hours of waiting outside, they make it all the way to the front where, on the last song, Bruce's dad senses tingle in time to shield Tim from a malfunctioning confetti cannon all while glaring at the crew in a way that guarantees someone's about to lose their job

In a recon mission gone sideways, Bruce and Steph are taking on some goons at the harbor when one of them knocks her into the water, and without hesitation he throws aside the person he's fighting, dives into the freezing waves, and gives her his rebreather, holding his breath for what seems like forever until they resurface, and despite the ache in his lungs the next morning, it's worth it when he watches her turn waffles into a breakfast burrito

Duke's driving the Batmobile while Bruce is in the passenger's seat walking him through all the controls, and they're listening to the scanner and joking about their last mission when, just before an intersection, Bruce suddenly grabs the wheel and swerves, and before Duke can say anything a semi truck plows through the exact spot where they would've been

Cass tries to cook one day while Bruce is sitting at the bar doing some work, and he forgot what she was making, but all he knows is one minute he's answering an email and the next he's sprinting across the kitchen and sweeping her out of the way right before the pressure cooker explodes—and afterwards he doesn't let her clean up because everything is still scalding hot

The middle school holds a fundraiser at the petting zoo, and everything's going great until someone forgets to turn off their flash and the whole enclosure descends into chaos, and all Bruce cares about is scooping Damian up before a bull rams into the fence he was sitting on—then he makes eye contact with Clark, who just did the exact same with Jon

Against orders, Jason pursues a lead that brings him right to the Joker's doorstep. Dazed and disarmed, he doesn't realize what's happening until a long metallic scrape renders him frozen as those moments replay in his mind, and he thinks this is how the universe wants him to go out. Then he hears a swoosh and a click. Jason opens his eyes to Batman pointing a gun at the Joker, his silence sending a clear message: no more chances.

BONUS: Teenage Bruce tried to sneak out the window and Alfred was at the bottom ready to catch him

2K notes · View notes

suzukiblu · 5 months

Text

Day fifteen of fic NaNoWriMo; obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU.

Kon grins wider, then holds his cup out to him. Specifically, he tilts it so Tim can take a sip instead of just giving it to him.

Bastard. Bastard-coated bastard with bastard-flavored nougat-y filling and a bastardly ganache coating and bastard sprinkles on top.

Bastard.

Tim thinks several more accusing things, then leans over and tries the smoothie. It does taste pretty good, though it’s a little too sweet for him to want to drink the whole cup. Blackberry is definitely more his thing.

“Not bad,” he says anyway, because it’s not and also goddammit, Kon is still grinning at him. Because again: bastard. Absolute full and complete and entire bastard.

“Yeah, for the East Coast, at least,” Kon replies with an easy shrug, reclaiming his cup for another sip. Tim does not think about indirect kissing or anything that ridiculously juvenile and middle-school. Not at all. Not even slightly, in fact. “I dunno, the whole thing just reminds me, um . . . like, I didn’t really do the whole ‘childhood’ thing, obviously, but you know that thing where people talk about extra-liking stuff they used to eat when they were kids? Tropical flavors kinda make me feel like that. Comfort food or whatever. I mean, it’s not Loco Moco or musubi, obviously, but . . .”

Tim blinks, makes a few mental notes, and wonders if there’s a single actually authentic Hawaiian restaurant in Gotham. Maybe? There’s got to be at least a decent food truck or two around, if nothing else. There’s always a food truck.

He could probably bribe one to come into the city for a day or two, if it comes to it.

“That makes sense,” he says, since technically Kon’s childhood pretty much was in Hawaii. He refuses to count the stupid fucking cloning tube, because counting the stupid fucking cloning tube is literally too depressing a thought to even contemplate. Fuck the stupid fucking cloning tube. Fuck it sideways.

Maybe Tim can just bribe a Hawaiian food truck to set up in Kon’s future cul-de-sac once a week or something, once he's conned him into moving into it. Just include it in their usual schedule or something, he doesn’t know. Or at least drop off a regular lunch order for him, maybe.

Whatever, he’ll work something out. He’s going to be working a lot of things out, at this point; hooking Kon up with a regular supply of his childhood comfort foods is not even an imposition. He doesn’t even know what either Loco Moco or musubi is, but he’ll put them on the list and do his damn research. He'll go to Hawaii and hire a personal chef straight from the source if he has to, at this point.

“Can I try yours?” Kon asks, grin going sly again. Tim’s head immediately empties out all over again, and he mutely holds his cup out. Kon’s grin widens.

He leans in and ducks his head and Tim has to deal with how long his eyelashes are and just how pretty his stupid face is and, worse, how pretty his stupid mouth is.

Fuck’s sake, this is just not fair at all. He knows Kon’s a flirt, obviously, but does he have to actually be good at it? Because Tim is not used to him being good at it, actually! Usually he’s being overbearing and too-eager and weird about it, in fact!

Tim has the unfortunate thought that maybe Kon always flirts like this and he’s just not seeing it as overbearing or too-eager or weird because it’s focused on him for once, then immediately dismisses said thought as a thought he absolutely cannot allow himself to ever have again. Just–ever. Not for anything.

Jesus, what is his fucking life right now?

Kon leans back; licks his lips. Tim dies, kind of. Like, just a little bit.

Alright, maybe more than a little bit.

“I like it,” Kon says, grinning at him. Tim tries not to think about how intimately he now knows how Kon’s mouth would taste right now, sharply sweet-sour with blackberry and tropical fruit and all warm and soft and wet and–never mind.

“Want a pretzel too?” he offers in a hopefully normal voice, tipping his head towards the stand.

“Sure,” Kon says, glancing towards it. “Sounds good, man.”

“Cool,” Tim says, incredibly awkwardly, and they head over. He orders a regular pretzel because he doesn't know Caroline Hill's pretzel order anymore than he knows her smoothie order, but “regular” isn't going to be interesting enough for Kon to make a note of either way. Possibly he should just be ordering things Tim Drake would, but the flaw in that plan is that Tim Drake isn't thinking very clearly right now and it is currently much, much easier to be in mission-mode than anything else.

Kon orders a cinnamon-sugar pretzel. Tim wishes the bastard would stop eating things that taste good, but also recognizes that it’s his fault that the bastard's been eating things that taste good. He’s literally the one both suggesting and buying said things for him.

So Kon’s mouth is about to taste like cinnamon sugar right now because of Tim, which is actually making the fact that Kon’s mouth is about to taste like cinnamon sugar right now infinitely worse.

Tim pays. They get the pretzels. Kon immediately tears off a bite of his and Tim wishes he had a cover identity that didn't like cinnamon, or at least was allergic to it or diabetic or gluten-intolerant or something. He could use a cover identity like that to fall back on right now.

“Wanna bite?” Kon offers.

“I'm good,” Tim says, because he will literally die if he takes him up on that offer right now. Or possibly go criminally insane like fifteen years ahead of schedule, which would be its own problem. He doesn't have enough kryptonite for that yet. “You like it?”

He doesn’t know why he asked that. Apparently he’s just a glutton for punishment.

“Yeah,” Kon says, licking sugar off his lips. “It’s good.”

“Good,” Tim says, then desperately flails for a subject that doesn’t involve the way anything currently in Kon’s mouth tastes. “Do you have a personal phone or just a work one?”

“Just work, technically. And then, like, I get issued communicators when I need them,” Kon replies, looking puzzled. “Why?”

Because Cadmus could very easily track and tap and block whatever numbers they wanted on that, Tim doesn’t say.

“I’m trying to get your number and I don’t want to call you on your work phone,” he says. “That seems weird.”

“You a little on the shy side, pretty boy?” Kon asks teasingly, flashing him a smirk. Tim does not examine anything about that statement or his own feelings about it. He also does not think about what Kon’s mouth tastes like, though Kon makes that incredibly difficult by immediately taking another bite of pretzel.

Has Tim mentioned what a bastard he is yet? Because he is a bastard.

“I’m buying you a phone,” he says, deciding if he just acts like it’s a foregone conclusion and some small little thing, Kon’s likelier to not reject the offer. “I cannot mentally deal with the idea of your boss seeing what I text you about on some random weekly report.”

“You can’t, huh,” Kon says, biting his lip around a grin and shifting in a little bit closer. “Why, Tim? What are you gonna text me about?”

Tim realizes how that might’ve sounded much too late, but by then it’s too late to rephrase or backtrack, so fuck it: time to commit.

“Depends on what you text back, I guess,” he says. Kon laughs, then grins at him again. His face is a little red again too. Tim is resigned to having to survive the experience.

“Well, I guess you’d have my number if you got me a phone, huh,” Kon says.

“I would, yes,” Tim says. He’s going to have to resist asking Kon to turn on “find my phone”, probably. Or adding any trackers or bugs to it. It’s the Bat instinct, but it’d probably creep Kon out if he caught a “civilian” doing anything like that. And also definitely concern him, what with the “supervillain creep” concerns he was already having. And Tim would have a really hard time paying for Kon’s entire life if Kon decided he was a supervillain before he’s even become a supervillain, so he’d prefer to avoid that outcome.

He guesses Caroline Hill could give it a shot if Tim Drake can’t pull it off, though. She’d still probably have better chances than him anyway, given Kon’s usual taste in people.

They eat their pretzels on the way to the electronics store and Tim tries to plot how to convince Kon to let him get him the best possible phone but is incredibly, incredibly distracted by watching him lick cinnamon sugar off his fingers. Tim actually hasn’t seen Kon with his gloves off too many times, come to think of it. Or possibly, like . . . ever. Like, he might’ve actually never seen him with his gloves off before.

Alright, well, that’s a thing that he hadn’t yet realized and is now going to be completely normal about.

Definitely normal. Very, very normal. So normal.

They toss out their empty pretzel wrappers outside the store and Kon licks a little more sugar off the pad of his thumb. Tim wonders if he has any callouses. Probably not, considering the TTK, but who knows. Maybe he trains with it down? Or maybe TTK just doesn’t protect his skin quite that thoroughly. Tim’s never actually seen him get cut or scratched or even bruised, though, so . . . maybe?

He really has no idea, at this point.

He supposes he could ask. Tim Drake’s already said he knew about tactile telekinesis and that he did some research, so . . .

“Does TTK protect you from callouses?” he asks, gesturing at Kon’s hands with his smoothie and a little too curious to repress the question. Kon tilts his head and smirks at him again.

“You tell me,” he says, then casually reaches over and catches Tim’s free hand in his own.

Tim had thoughts in his head at some point today, he’s pretty sure, but hell if he knows what any of them were.

#timkon #tim drake #kon el #conner kent #dc robin #superboy #rinfic #wip: obligatory sugar baby kon #long post

322 notes · View notes

desperate-daydream · 6 months

Note

can I request Seth Clearwater x male reader

where male reader is Bella younger brother Seth age but he phases and becomes a shifter and nobody knows how or why Seth and male reader imprint on each other and just being cute and wholesome with each other but Jacob is giving male reader a hard time saying thing like Bella should have been to phase and if did she imprint on me and ECT but Seth put stop to that put Jacob in his place after he make male reader cry

🍎 Twilight

❀ Seth Clearwater x male (shifter) reader ⚣︎

A/N: thanks for the request and sorry for the long wait, I had a terrible writers block until today and then I just wrote the whole thing in one go XD, and I know ugh, self promo but I have a twilight story on Ao3 with the main being Bella’s twin and Jake imprinting on him (maybe some of you will like that too even if it’s not that similar to this story) (that’s also why it felt so weird to write Jake so mean XD I basically just finished a chapter from that story before writing this one, but I hope you like it)

tags/warnings: set in eclipse (aka the movie where Jake is kinda toxic), Jake is mean and has some issues, reader is Bella’s younger brother, also I wanted Bella to be a good sister, reader is a shifter and imprints on Seth

here‘s the link to the story on my Ao3:

so that’s what imprinting feels like

“What happened?!”, Bella came jumping out of her car. Jacob had called her as soon as possible when Paul and Embry had found you in the middle of the forest. You had been scared - not just because there had been two giant wolves in front of you but also because you had just shifted into one too. They had managed to calm you down enough until Sam arrived. He had brought spare clothes from one of their “emergency supplies” that you put on after shifting back. Then they guided you to Jacob’s place. They had thought it would be the best idea since you had technically also grown up together with Bella although now you didn’t really have anything to do with each other anymore. And he was able to call Bella who had rushed over as fast as possible when she had processed what Jake told her. While waiting the other four wolves had already told you the essentialities of being a shifter and basically destroyed your whole world-perception.

As nice and caring as he had always been, Billy stayed by your side. You had gained a better relationship to Jacob’s dad than to Jacob himself. Especially since you still spent a little bit more time with your dad and therefore also Billy - even if it was just watching a game in your living room.

Bella came straight to you, only sparring Jake a sideways glance as she was too focused on you.

“Hey”, her voice was quiet and soft, “oh god, you’re shivering.” She placed her arms around you and pulled you closer. You hadn’t even noticed it until she said it.

“Just a bit much right now.”

“I know. Let’s go home so you can rest a little, mh?” You nodded.

“Wait, we still have so much to do now”, Jake said persistently, “You have to tell Charlie too. And what if he shifts again and hurts you?”

Bella now turned completely to him. “You can still do all of this tomorrow. He needs to sleep right now.”

Jake wanted to start again: “But what if-”

“Jake, let it be for now.”

That’s all she said before getting up with you and walking to her truck together.

“How did this happen?”, she asked on the drive home.

“I don’t know.” You put up your legs and put your arms around them even though you felt way too warm.

“I wasn’t feeling good and wanted to take a walk because it usually helps but then.. I don’t know.”

You big sister sighed and looked at you shortly before focusing back on the road. “Let’s worry about it tomorrow. It’s getting late and you seem tired.”

You only nodded while your eyelids already dropped.

When you arrived you walked straight to your room and the moment your head touched your pillow you were gone.

—

“We’ll do it step for step”, you stood next to Sam who would teach you today how to control your shifting so you would hopefully not hurt anybody around you or yourself - not to mention keeping the secret of the pack.

What he didn’t tell you then was that they’ve had a discussion just yesterday after Bella had picked you up whether or not they should officially include you in the pack since you were a new and special case. In the end they came to the conclusion that you would need and deserve the help and guide the others could give you. He also didn’t tell you that Jacob seemed a bit too disapproving of this new situation and that he guessed it had something to do with the thoughts he had heard from him that were once again centered on none other than your own sister.

“Okay”, you nodded; also to convince yourself that everything would be okay.

“Also, you’re not the only young member, don’t worry. Seth Clearwater, he is your age and has also shifted. You will meet him later at the fire.”

You had already agreed to come when he and Billy had invited you and Bella to come. Bella had added another dimension to this whole situation when she had told you about the Cullens and the vampire that was going after her. She had calmed you a bit when she reassured that she was as good as always protected by either the vampire family of her boyfriend or the wolves.

For the rest of the day you tried to shift on command and Sam and his fiancée Emily gave you a few tips on how to control your anger.

Then you went to the fire where you saw your sister again who immediately asked you how it worked. You still stood a bit away from the others as you told her about your training when you heard a voice. It was directed at Jake so didn’t turn around until the person came to a halt at Jacob’s side.

“Hey man, I saved you some burgers but if you don’t hurry Paul will-”

The boy stopped in the middle of his sentence when you turned around and your eyes met. Your first thought was: “Holy shit, he’s cute”. Your second one was: “So that’s what imprinting feels like”. And your third was once again: “Holy shit.”

Butterflies started fluttering in your stomach and the heat rose to your cheeks as you looked at the boy in front of you with wide eyes who still hadn’t closed his mouth.

To your luck Sam and Emily were still next to you and immediately understood what was happening. Sam suppressed a chuckle and introduced you to each other.

“(Y/N), this is Seth, the boy I told you about today. Seth, this is our newest pack-member, (Y/N).”

You saw his mouth form your name before he stuttered out a “hi”.

You willed your body to move again and said “hi” back just as stuttery.

“Uh-uhm..”, Seth started and was once again saved by Emily. “Why don’t we go to the others already.”

You nodded and then followed the other boy your age closely. What you didn’t notice was the pissed expression that had appeared on Jacob’s face. All of you was focused on Seth.

You sat next to each other and soon the gossip made it’s round so soon after Billy was finished with telling the first legend everyone knew what just happened.

Leah, who Seth had introduced as his older sister, looked at you with narrowed eyes but didn’t do anything else.

Throughout the evening your hands had brushed together a few times which had sparked the fluttering in your stomach everytime. And you had probably inched even closer together after some time too.

It was a bit awkward at first but it didn’t change the fact that you felt comfortable sitting next to him while listening and laughing with the others.

You were sad when saying goodbye but then Seth gave you his number and asked you to meet up tomorrow which you had agreed to almost too enthusiastically to not be embarrassed. It didn’t help that Bella giggled the entire ride home about her baby-brother having a crush.

“Naw, you grow up so fast.”

“Ughhhhhh, please stop.”

Bella laughed while pulling into their driveway: “Never, that’s my job as your sister.”

“You’re horrible”, you said drily while she just continued giggling.

But then she changed the mood quickly. “You decided to tell dad tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah.. Billy and Sam are gonna be there too to answer questions. I’m still not the best at wolf-knowledge.”

“Mhm, it’ll be okay, don’t worry too much. If you want I can be there too.”

You nodded and earned yourself a short side-hug from Bella before you went to your rooms.

—

You were close to emotional exhaustion after the conversation with your dad but it had a good outcome. Afterwards Edward picked up Bella and you went to meet up with Seth. Sam and Billy were so nice to take you with them to the Black’s home from where you would go to Seth.

Billy went inside while you waved at him and went to go.

But shortly before you arrived someone came to stand in your way. It was Jacob. And he didn’t seem to want to talk to you in a friendly way.

You still tried to be nice; he was like Bella’s best friend so you really didn’t want to make him dislike you more than he apparently already did.

“Why?!”

You were perplexed when he almost spat it at you. You also didn’t have a chance to respond; he just continued talking.

“Why was it YOU?! Why did YOU shift?! It should’ve been Bella if anyone else were to shift at all! But no! It was YOU! If it had been Bella then she could imprint on me! But it was you! It doesn’t even make sense! Why would nature want YOU to be one of us?! You’re unable to do anything! You’re weak! And now you’re just supposed to protect others?! To protect Bella?! Hah!”

His accusations that in the end didn’t even really make sense but still hurt carried on. You didn’t actually hear anymore what he said. You were about to cry and just wanted to coil into yourself but at the same time you had to suppress the anger rising in you. Your whole body shook from the exhausting try to hold yourself together. A few tears escaped your eyes and Jacob was still not done, probably just repeating himself by now but that didn’t change the fact that he was more than angry.

“Jacob! Stop!”, before you could register anything else a person appeared between you and the other. You felt relief wash over you immediately when you saw that it was Seth.

“How dare you scream at him like that! Accusing him of being the source of your stupid self-centered problems! How dare you make him cry! Don’t you ever even come too close to him again!”

Jake seemed to want to say something more but Seth turned to you, took your hand into his and gently pulled you with him. You only noticed that you were still shaking when Seth stopped after arriving at a clearing and pulled you into his arms. You couldn’t stop the tears from flowing and Seth pulled you closer while you clutched his shirt in your hands.

After you calmed down you whispered a “thank you” against his neck where you had hid your face.

“Of course”, he whispered back, “nobody is allowed to talk to or about you like that. Nobody." His arms tightened around you again and you felt his face hide in your neck this time. You smiled when you noticed him taking a deep whiff of your scent and then place a kiss there.

#seth clearwater x reader #seth clearwater #seth clearwater x male reader #x male reader #male reader #twilight #gay #mlm

123 notes · View notes

enteroctopusdarkysilis · 28 days

Text

✨Custom ice Toa !✨

And another one ! If the others were already experimental, this one is much, much more-

Closeups under the cut !

Front/back views :

That one was a lot of fun ! But it’s also not really stable, considering there are some weird piece combinations. This one also has disproportionate legs, compared to the rest of the body, but it’s alright.

With that one, I really tried to remain within Kopaka’s spirit (notice the ski blades and the Kanohi). The bow and arrow (which doubles down as a lance, and is using one of Kopaka’s blades), is a weapon I don’t think has been used before in the original bionicles (correct me if I’m wrong).

The arms/hands are using Pridak’s feet, because it works well and still allows for large movements.

I used some darker white pieces on the back and shoulders to get some slight contrats, and used technic pieces on the chest to get a proper body shape, with a leg piece underneath.

Legs :

(Too) Many details on the legs ! The blades under the feet are a combination of Kopaka Nuva’s blades and Glatoran blades, which also hold a shoulder piece used as a supplementary leg pieces.

Now is the here we enter the mess : all of the ankle sockets you can see are not used for the articulations, and are only here to keep the back piece in place (Star leg), while the actual socket is behind the technic gear plate. Then there is a socket which doesn’t even have a ball, it is directly stacked on top of another socket, and I use multiple feet to cover the leg areas which would expose how terrible the inside is. At the front, you might also notice a 1*2 curved slope tile held by two technic pins. It’s floppy, and it looks weird from the side, but the front appearance makes it worth it. Finally, at the front, I also use part of a Vahki’s head as a final plate, before we finally reach the connection between the legs and the body. As I said, that whole part is a mess.

Head :

Tried to remain close to Kopaka’s appearance here too, by adding a X-ray vision thing, but the most important part is that the Kanohi is Hero Factory Stormer’s mask, but sideways. The trans blue pieces are Borhok eyes, which fit perfectly, and I managed to cram a socket connector inside, making the head quite mobile and sturdy.

Next week is another one ! Not sure which of the three it will be, but I haven’t decided which one yet (tell me if you have a preference~).

I also finally received my new parts, meaning I can get back to working on my big project, yay !

#lego #lego moc #bionicle #lego bionicle

68 notes · View notes

casuallyawkardd · 4 months

Text

Close Encounters of the Spiderkind Pt III

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Single Mother!Reader

Summary: Miguel and you get the chance to get to know one another better while on a mission

Warnings: fluff, mentions of drug use but nothing crazy, super evil villain watch out, not fluent in Spanish so lemme know if I mess up

A/N: Finally the long awaited next part of the series! Thank you all for being so patient with me and I hope it holds up to expectation 😊 Also I finally made a masterlist for this series!

MASTERLIST | TAGLIST

One thing you liked about Nueva York was that you could see the stars at night. In your universe's New York, the lights alone would drown out their natural light, something you missed seeing back in your hometown. But here, they were plain to see, sparkling down on you from the open sunroof. Maybe someone in this universe developed lights that didn't snuff out the natural light of the world, that or maybe the future was less smoggy.

This wasn't the Nueva York you were familiar with, not technically anyway. What had Miguel called it? Earth-928C? It was another version of Miguel's home, one where there were enough differences that they were their own separate universes, but not so much so that it was classified under a different number. Speaking of Miguel..

"Remind me why I was chosen for this mission?" you asked, breaking the silence between you two. The man in question gave you a sideways glance, not looking too happy with your tone.

"Because Jess is already on one with Peter B and she suggested I take you instead," he answered matter-of-factly, nostrils flaring as he let out a huff.

"And...why did Jess have to be the one to come?"

"You know, you ask a lot of questions."

"And you avoid a lot of them," you quipped back, shooting him a half-hearted glare before sighing heavily, arms crossing over your chest. "I get the whole 'mysterious leader' thing, but I don't think it's too much to ask for a little more detail-"

"I needed someone to pose as my date to this event," Miguel cut you off. You awaited further explanation, but the other spider seemed to think that answer would suffice. It certainly explained the given dress code for the mission. Miguel sporting a suit, appearing like a simple black, but was shown to be a deep red when the light hit it just right. His eyes gave you the up and down, as if just now seeing your ensemble for the first time. "You clean up nice."

"A simple 'I like your dress' would work, O'Hara," you huff.

"Fine, I like your dress, happy?" he retorts and you roll your eyes, the compliment not as sincere when you have to pull teeth to get it.

Yet another moment of silence followed as the car drove on, a divider keeping the driver oblivious to the conversation between you two. "What's the mission?" you asked finally, "I know you mentioned something with anomaly capture, but we were in a rush so..."

"Ay dios mío," Miguel pulled up an image on his gizmo. "A variant of Doctor Octavius was detected here," he pointed to the flashing dot on the map, "that building just so happens to be where Alchemax is hosting their annual charity event. Make sense?"

"Mmm," you hum, "and do you expect that they'll just let us walk right in?"

"Of course they will," he said, clicking the hologram away and leaning back against the seat, "the Miguel of this universe still works for Alchemax, he's expected to be there."

"And you plan to pose as yourself in this dimension?" Miguel nods to confirm your thought. "What if the Miguel from this universe comes too?"

"He won't."

"And you know that because..?"

Miguel didn't respond, looking out the window as the car came to a stop. "We're here, let's at least pretend we like each other."

Stepping out, Miguel offered you his arm for you to get out of the car with ease. The building before you was tall, much like the skyscrapers of your universe, only maintaining that futuristic quality most things seemed to possess in Nueva York. The lights you could see from the top floor told you of your destination, all that was left was to make your way inside.

"Why the cameras?" you asked, indicating with a nod of your head to the flashing lights and large crowd around the base of the staircase that led to the entrance.

The sight made Miguel grimace, "Paparazzi," he spat the word, "makes sense, these things usually attract that kind of crowd. Celebrities, billionaires, anyone Alchemax can sucker into funding their projects." His disdain for the company was evident, as to why he had such a deeply rooted hatred for it, you had yet to hear that story. "Come on, let's just go in. Try not to be obvious." Before you could respond, he was already leading the way; his arm linked with yours as the two of you managed to slip inside.

The way up was uneventful, one high tech elevator ride and you were on top of one of the tallest buildings in the city. According to Miguel at least. On the way up, Miguel had shared the plan: lie low and wait, plain and simple. It wasn't like his usual plans, Miguel seeming to prefer getting in and out as quickly as possible, anomaly captured and sent to HQ in the blink of an eye.

"There's too many people," he explained, "one wrong move and this building could come crashing down with everyone inside. Just act natural and let the target reveal itself to us." Just how dangerous was this variant?

You were reluctant, but chose not to argue with his plan, especially once you saw the venue. The event was being held in a ballroom of sorts, designed for events such as this one. The room was large, accented by a stunning silver chandelier. There were tables for guests to sit at on the borders of the room, many already occupied by elite figures chatting away about business and what have you. Horderves and cocktails were being distributed on metal trays that hovered about the room. The room, the people in it, all that you saw combined into a reminder of just how advanced Miguel's universe truly was.

"Miguel?" a man's voice called out, the owner coming through the crowd. He was an older man, tall like the man at your side and equally well dressed, if not more. "Well, isn't this a treat?" There was a teasing tone to his voice, offering a hand that Miguel stiffly shook.

"Mr. Stone," Miguel mused, forcing a smile to maintain the facade, "How are you this evening?"

"Well," Stone replied, looking in your direction, "And who might you be?"

"Oh, just Miguel's date," you tell him, throwing your name out there as well.

Mr. Stone smiled, taking your hand in his, "I doubt something as lovely as you is 'just Miguel's date,'" he said before planting a kiss on the back of your hand. A gesture that made you want to retract your hand immediately, but you kept with the pleasantries.

"Well...I'm-"

"My girlfriend," Miguel interjected, pulling the unwanted attention off of you.

"Girlfriend?" Stone seemed surprised by the bit of information. "Didn't know you had one. Thought you were becoming a sort of recluse."

Miguel just shrugged, despite the comment seeming backhanded, an insult hidden behind a pearly white smile. "Well I have to get out sometimes," was all he said and Mr. Stone nodded slowly in acknowledgment.

"You should spend some of that time coming into the lab. I'm sure your team's been missing you."

"I'll think about it." Before the older man could continue, Miguel placed a hand on the small of your back, gently pushing you forward and through the crowd, finding solace at an empty table.

"You know him?" you dared to ask, based on the sour expression marring Miguel's features.

"Tyler Stone," was all he said, huffing in annoyance, "He's in my universe as well, or I suppose was. This version doesn't seem to be as much of an entitled prick at least."

"Oh," was all you had to say, glancing around the party. Whoever this Stone person was, he seemed to have struck a nerve in Miguel, making him more irritable than usual. Something you didn't plan to tolerate all evening. "Miguel?"

"Mmm."

"Why the hell is everyone in every version of your universe so damn tall?"

Miguel paused, looking around confused before looking back at you, "I'm sorry?"

"I mean really, I've looked this room up and down and I'm pretty sure I'm the shortest one here. What's the average height, six foot three?"

He hummed in amusement, "Six foot one for women."

"Nuh uh."

"And six foot six for men."

"What the hell!?" you guffawed, your dramatics making a small smile appear on your partners lips. "What are they feeding you in the future?"

"Dunno, better food?" he shrugged, sitting back in his chair, posture more relaxed than it had been. "Anti-gravity tech is more normalized in my universe too. It's been proven to have an effect on the development of kids."

"And you know that because..?"

"Did a report on it in middle school."

"Of course you did."

"Keep the snide remarks to yourself," his tone hardened for a moment and you wondered if your attempt at lightening the mood had struck a nerve, but he continued on. "You know, I'm sure Vada could benefit from some anti-gravity therapy."

"Hey, my little lady is perfect at the size she is," you warned, the smile on your face keeping the conversation light hearted. "Plus, I want to savor her being small for as long as I can."

Miguel chuckled, "Ain't that the truth."

The air around you two seemed to shift with that little comment, your smile slowly fading in sync with his. You felt like you should say something, break the ice once more to relieve the somber air. "Miguel, I-"

"Es suficiente," he interjected, rising from his seat and adjusting his suit. "We need to stay focused. Start searching for the target, let's get a move on."

Complying, you rose to your feet as well, stopping after taking the first step to follow. "...No."

Miguel froze at the single syllable, turning to look at you over his shoulder, "What was that?"

"No," you repeated, his eyes now narrowing at you. "You were the one who said we needed to lay low, right?"

"...Yes, but-"

"Well," you interrupted and his jaw set in annoyance, "then we should take advantage of where we're at. Enjoy the party and all, yeah?"

"That's not-"

"If you need to get a hold of me, just call me on the gizmo."

"No, Y/N, we need to stick together," Miguel reached out to stop you, but you were already walking off, a platter of bruschetta catching your eye. Miguel let out a deep breath through his nose, "The anomaly could be anywhere, it's dangerous to be on your own."

"I'm not alone, I have you," you called back to him playfully, trying not to laugh at just how peeved he looked. "Let loose O'Hara, don't be such a stick in the mud. Is that whole wall an aquarium?"

You never knew rubbing elbows with the elite could be so...enjoyable. It seemed many found your conversation refreshing, a change of pace from the usual, high society vernacular. It helped that they had expensive taste as well. The food was immaculate and you regretted not bringing something to stash away extra. Something Vada could have tried when you got home.

Speaking of your little one, she had managed to get a hold of you through Lyla. You had been hesitant to let an AI watch over your daughter, but considering she looked to be in one piece, it looked like this little experiment worked out just fine. Vada was even ready for bed, hair washed and wearing fresh pajamas. The call was to simply say goodnight, you promising to tuck her in when you got home.

"Tell Miggy I said goodnight, too," your toddler demanded, making you laugh.

"I will. Goodnight, baby."

"Goodnight, Mama."

As soon as you hung up, the group you had found yourself in was bombarding you with questions. 'You have a daughter? How old is she? Sounds like she misses her mother, huh? Why didn't you bring her tonight? Who's her father, maybe we know him? Is it Miguel?'

"Oh no, nothing like that," you had to chime in, waving your hands defensively, "I had her with my ex, she's too young to come to something like this." When they pressed for more information, particularly about Vada's father, you provided some dodgy answers before making the executive decision to excuse yourself.

The balcony seemed to be the place most people were going to get a moment of peace. It was dimmer, the only light coming from the windows looking into the ballroom. Some were having a smoke break, while others used the fresh air to keep the alcohol in their stomachs. Miguel was among them, neither drunk or smoking, leaning against the balcony on his own.

"This doesn't seem like the place to find a Doc Ock anomaly," you teased, coming to stand beside him.

He acknowledged you with a sideways glance before looking back at the city below. "Didn't get the chance to investigate much. Too many people trying to talk to me."

"Oh no, whatever will you do?"

"You're hilarious," he matched your sarcastic tone with his own.

"It must be nice though, people seem to like you a lot here. Or.. I guess the Miguel of this universe, at least." You looked over at him, debating your next words. "Miguel, how did you know he wouldn't be coming tonight?" You could see his jaw set, eyes now purposely avoiding yours. It was frustrating to say the least. "Come on, Miguel. Why can't you just tell me?"

"It's none of your business, that's why."

"Oh, but it's yours? Cuz it's you in another dimension? Tell me, when do I get to know the 'business' of every other version of me?"

"You know what? I'm getting real sick of-" Miguel whipped to the side to face you, his shoulder bumping yours and you stumbled to catch yourself. That seemed to give him pause, Miguel going quiet once more as the two of you now stared at each other. You were trying to understand what was going through his head, but his expression was as hard to read as ever. Blinking slowly, he let out a heavy sigh, going back to leaning against the railing. "It's just personal, alright? The Miguel of this universe and I have... a lot in common."

You didn't say anything, not sure what you would say anyway. Leaning forward on the railing, your eyes focused on your fidgeting hands, looking up when Miguel continued. "He's addicted to Rapture, a disgusting drug that Alchemax developed, just like I was," reluctantly his eyes met yours, gaze softer than it had been before. "except I succeeded where he will inevitably fail. He'll perform an experiment to get rid of the addiction, but it'll backfire. He'll be dead by the end of the week."

"Oh, Miguel, I.. I'm sorry to hear that," you placed a sympathetic hand on his forearm. You bit your lip in thought, unsure what to say under these circumstances "That must be hard, knowing a version of yourself is going to... you know."

Miguel just shrugged off your touch, "It wouldn't be the first time," he replied, you frowning at how quickly he brushed it off.

"Still, I'm sorry," you repeated, Miguel only humming to show he heard you. The two of you didn't say much after that, but it wasn't awkward like the other periods of silence between you tonight. There was tension, but time seemed to help melt it away. It began to feel almost natural, the kind of quiet you were used to sharing with a select few people. The breeze came in, cool against your skin, save for the part of you that pressed against Miguel's side, welcoming the warmth he had to give. "Hey," you said, "this might be a bad time to bring it up, but Vada did want to tell you goodnight."

A puff of air escaped his lips, making a 'tch' sound, shoulders shifting in a mute laugh. "Did she now? Well that's awfully generous of her." Miguel savored the sights of the city a moment longer, letting your news sink in before pushing off the railing, standing to his full height. "Come on, we should head back in. We still have a mission to finish."

"Right," you agreed, following after him. You had forgotten how bright the ballroom was, squinting at the brightness invading your vision. After that, it was back to the mission. This time you stuck close to Miguel's side, there to diffuse the small talk as politely as possible while he continued to search the room.

"The anomaly is in this room, stay on the alert."

You nodded at his instruction, eyes peeled for any guests who might be glitching in and out of reality. However, your attention was limited, eyes drawn to the aquarium you had seen earlier. It truly was a sight to behold, Miguel had pulled you away before you got the chance to get a good look. Twenty feet in height and a blue that was equally unnatural and alluring. Decorated to perfection, because of course it was, with well placed rocks that had corals of various colors and shapes sprouting between them. The fish were just as diverse, shapes and colors that glided about the water. Some you had never seen before, while others were a familiar sight. A pair of clownfish nestling into some anemone, a whale shark swimming above the reef, an octopus with a monocle and- Wait a minute.

"Miguel," you patted his arm to get his attention, pointing at the discovery. Your eyes had not deceived you, there was indeed an octopus, sporting a monocle that was reminiscent of a cyberpunk style, the glowing green eye within darting around suspiciously. Upon second glance, you saw that this octopus also sported two mechanical tentacles, the style matching the device over its eye.

"You've got to be kidding me," Miguel groaned, "this was a high threat alert." As if to answer his question, the creature glitched, startling a school of fish that then scattered about the tank.

"Yeah, real threatening, he might take over the entire aquarium."

"Can it, let's just get the thing and- what are you doing?"

"Hold on, I want to take a picture. Vada's gonna get a kick out of this."

Tags: @l0sert0wn @deputy-videogamer @arctic4life @sasaleleselfships @autismsupermusicalassassin @snert-bees @qundadedingle11 @uniquelyabnormallyoriginal @fangirlreice7 @mouse-teagreat @andr3wgarfieldsupremacist @yellieeeee @thesrtuggleisveryreal @escherichiacolli @sweeteaacorner @marvelouslovely-barnes @meeom @candlewitch-cryptic @iwanttogohomeandtakeanap @melovetitties @ilovemycat6808 @vegas-writing-den @pippethealien @shibble @mommyhange1 @chiikasevennn @pokhouu @jenniferdixon05207 @m0sscr3ates @momos-peaches @insanelycrazyanddelusional @miggyoharaswife @justtnat @imliquidesmooth @thedevillovesflowers @mvc2019 @starrynightnight @risinglightmoon @charming4u @whitetearx @blueparadisecollection16s @idontknowwhatimgoinghere @ziyahshinez @migueloharaslxt @obi-mom-kenobi @allysunny @viriexo @futuristicpandakid @louderfortheback @tomhollandisabae @itzsab @blue-pears-blog @geraskier-thots @saintskully @johnny-pie @keenzinemugstudent @rizahawkeye1380 @realalpacorn @prettylittlebrowngirl @leahnicole1219 @i-feel-violated @fandom-ash @graysonshaven @qiaipia @3zae-zae3 @melovetitties @marcswife21 @the-silvercrow @erissco @stqrlightrs

#miguel o'hara #reader insert #miguel o'hara x reader #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o'hara headcanons #miguel o'hara x you #x reader #close encounters of the spiderkind #miguel o'hara x single mother!reader

84 notes · View notes

milf-harrington · 10 months

Note

For the made-up fic title prompt:

"Just another normal doomsday"

♡

Just Another Normal Doomsday

Hawkins, 1987.

"I'm just saying, punk rock gay sex is different to hippy gay sex."

"How?"

Robin shrugged, stirring her straw through her milkshake before lifting the whole cup to her mouth to drink it. "It's sexier."

She was sitting with her legs crossed underneath her, back leaning against the bus window so she could face where he was sitting across the aisle. The bus was pleasantly dim, but watery sunlight streamed through a gap on her side and bathed her face in blue shadows while her hair lit up with bronze at the ends.

Steve snorted, leaning sideways with one leg stretched over the aisle, muddy sneaker propped up on the edge of Robin's bench. A cardboard tray filled with chips was nestled in his lap, the corners darkened with grease and grainy with salt.

"You're just saying that because your parents are hippies."

From Steve's backpack, their walkie (one they shared, with masking tape scribbled over in colourful markers stuck to the back, their names written in each others handwriting) crackled to life, codes carried out in a cloud of static that made them both sigh in unison.

Robin burped, dropping her empty milkshake cup back into the bag their food had come in. "No," She protested, milk lining her upper lip before she wiped it away. "I'm saying it because it's true."

"They're both gay!"

"But being punk rock is gayer!"

He flicked a chip crumb at her when she reached for her bag, watching it dodge her flailing attempts at a block and get stuck in her hair. "I'm telling Eddie you called him gay."

She blinked at him, face scrunched up in the same expression she used to give him whenever he opened his mouth at Scoops. "Eddie is gay, and I'm telling him that you called him punk rock-"

Something outside shrieked, high and rattling like broken glass against a sheet of metal. They shared a look like the ones they used to share at Family Video, when customers were being unreasonable and they couldn't say anything about it or they'd get fired.

Steve leaned down to grab his bat from the floor, wiping the grease off of his hands onto his jeans as Robin stood and stretched. There was still a deep purple bruise tucked into the inner corner of her eye from a demo-bat attack on patrol a few days ago, and Steve felt the matching one on his shoulder twinge when he hauled the nail-bat over it.

"He won't do anything," He told her, stepping in front to take the lead as they moved towards the front of the bus. The windows were still sloppily boarded up from a night that felt like a hundred years ago, just Steve and a bunch of kids who were in over their head. "I call him punk all the time, I think he's grown immune to it."

They stopped at the door, Robin squeezing past to stand on the other side, where the controls were. They stayed quiet, peering through the dirty glass to get a grasp of the how many and where. Dustin's code said three, but they'd been wrong before.

"Yeah, but if he hears you've been spreading that around?" Robin whispered, reaching behind her to wrap bandaged fingers around the lever. She whistled low, mostly breath, and Steve rolled his eyes. "You won't have to worry about demodogs, is all I'm saying."

"Yeah, yeah." He muttered, tightening his grip on the bat as the door shuttered open and a gust of warm air hit his face.

He crept outside, second-hand work boots crunching lightly on the gravel as he listened to Robin hurry up the ladder to the roof. She was going to yell directions and throw molotov cocktails while he did the actual hard shit. Technically the lookout part was supposed to be Eddie's job, and Robin was meant to be at Steve's back with her axe, but apparently they were at a crucial stage of the campaign and he "couldn't miss it".

Part of Steve hoped he'd get eaten, if only to get his boyfriend to reorganise his priorities a bit.

A half hour later, Steve leaned against the side of the bus, sweaty and panting while Robin offered him her water-bottle. She reeked of cheap alcohol and the sharp smell of burning, glittering shards of glass caught in her fringe. Gore dripped from the nails in his bat, and one of the dogs had gotten a good swipe at his shin, but he remained mostly un-grievously-injured. He still hurt everywhere though, body complaining about all the diving over and around and behind random bits of junk and machinery.

"Metal gay sex is probably gayer than punk rock gay sex." He decided, and Robin hummed thoughtfully.

"You'd know."

He shrugged, tilting his head with an ehh. "I've never slept with a punk so I can't be sure, but you've met Eddie."

"I have indeed. Speaking of- are we having dinner at Wayne's tonight?"

Steve groaned - not in complaint, it's just that his everything hurt and he'd forgotten about their dinner plans - and ran a hand through his hair. It was greasy and damp with sweat and monster blood. Overhead, a flock of demobats shrieked and weaved among each other, not bothering with the two of them as they headed off towards the quarry.

"Yeah, I said we'd pick up mince for that chuck-in he makes, but that was before the butcher got eaten this morning and I don't think Melvald's is open today."

Robin sighed, scooping up her bag and shrugging it over her shoulder. She held out a hand, fingers spread and wiggling expectantly, and he grinned as he clasped their hands together.

The headed off towards the tracks, a short-cut to the trailer park, and swung their hands back and forth between them.

"I could make that pasta my mum taught me?" Robin offered. "Pretty sure the Munson's will have all of that."

He groaned, this time in delight, and swung their hands a bit higher like a kid on the swings excited to touch the clouds. "God yes, please."

#this might be ooc im really fucking tired lmao #hope you enjoy!!#the concept of steve and robin just hanging out in the bus at the junkyard while on patrol is something thats been in my head for a while #very glad to have an excuse to write something for it #my writing #stobin #platonic soulmates #bit of steddie #steddie #robin buckley #steve harrington #stobin ficlet #asks #leeloooonfire #also the whole 'punk rock gay sex is sexier than hippy gay sex' part at the start #is taken directly from a conversation i had with my best friend one afternoon #i cant remember the context - i just found the exchange written down in my notes app and i went OH PERFECT

177 notes · View notes

djolikejoe · 11 days

Text

hello Quinn nation, here's a small humble offering for you

In the two years you'd been on and off with Joe, you'd met most of his friends. Got on well with them though you didn't know any of them particularly well. You and Joe usually have already broken up again by the next birthday party or housewarming that comes around.

You spot him the moment he enters. It's getting late, nearing half past ten when he stumbles in. He and his friends aren't particularly boisterous but you feel like you could sense him. Smelt the waft of cigarette smoke tangled his cologne the moment he passed the threshold of the door.

You and Ally are wedged into a back corner so you watch Joe scan the entirety of the bar, then the restaurant as inconspicuously as he can. He's smiling and nodding along to his friends' chatter as he looks. But he misses you, obstructed by the gaudy decor and swarming waiters. You swear you almost see the corners of his mouth frown from all the way across the restaurant as he settles at the bar.

"What? Who is it?" Ally smirks, assuming it's someone much more famous. You debate on lying. Saying it's someone from a show she doesn't want or a band she doesn't know. But after two years, you don't see much point in it. Your friends had been begging you to cut contact with Joe after the first break up. You'd rarely hold on to exes after the relationship but for some reason, even through all the hurt he'd caused then, you couldn't let him go.

A million reasons kept you tethered to him but you hadn't physically found your way back to him until about a year and a half ago, you ran into him while working in London. Well, technically, he ran into you and you had a coffee stain on your then-brand new top to prove it.

You caught up easily, accepted the invitation to his flat with even more ease. It's been up and down since.

"Joe," you tell Ally, shrugging non-chalantly. She studies your face closely. There's no hint of anxiousness or giddiness. She raises and eyebrow and turns to look. Joe looks the same. Ally sighs before turning back to you.

"Are you gonna say hi?"

"Eventually. Probably." You shrug again.

"Of all the fucking places in LA," Ally scoffs to herself, shifting her body to sit sideways so she can easily look between him at the bar and you in your seat. "Why is he even in LA? Didn't he spend 99% of his time here whining about it last time? I thought he'd never come back after that."

"Who knows." You move your attention to the approaching waiter, nodding as Ally orders another (much stiffer) round of drinkers.

"Maybe he's booked something here." She glances back at him then back to you with an almost accusatory glare.

"Probably." You sigh, shifting uncomfortably under her eyes. "Who cares. I'll deal with him later. Tell me more about Annie's wedding. Is she gonna let you wear the dress?"

Ally groaned, fully distracted by momentary rage at the mention of her sister, who's turned into a Bridezilla the moment she got engaged. The conversation moves quickly past Joe but you keep him in the corner of your eye the whole night.

It's not til' your final round of drinks that Joe finally spots you. He comes charging straight for you, megawatt grin plastered on his face. He's shaved. He looked five to seven years younger than when you last saw him. You'd always liked the scruff but never told Joe that. Seeing him in his baby-faced glory made your heart beat a touch faster.

It was a lot easier to hold him at arms length when he physically...wasn't right there too.

"Laaaaaaadies," he drawls, with a cherubic pink tint blooming across his cheeks from the alcohol. "What a coincidence." He winks at you, much less subtle than he thinks. Ally, of course, doesn't miss it and gives you the same disappointed frown she always does. You'd seen the frown a lot in the last two years. It still made your heart sink.

"Hi Joe." She says with a curt smile, standing up abruptly and Joe startles, stumbling back into an empty table beside you. "Lovely to see you as always." She says to him, total deadpan. Ally then turns to you. "Thanks for dinner. I love you. I'll see you next Thursday." She rounds the table and comes to hug you. "You're better than this. Please realize that." She says in your ear before two-finger saluting Joe and marching out of the restaurant.

Before Joe can say anything, the waiter brings your bill. You pay, leaving a generous tip and fish the lighter out of your purse. You hold it up to Joe in question, no words necessary.

He grins again, like a fool. And grabs your hand to pull you outside.

Your cigarettes aren't even halfway finished when he first leans into kiss you. Finally able to admit to yourself how much you missed him, you flick it to ground and blindly stamp it out with your boot. Without breaking his kiss. Now free, your arms wrap around his neck and pulled him closer. On hand held your face with the same ferocity, craving the same closeness. While his other hand held his still lit cigarette at his side.

"You want to?" He pressed, nosing against your face when you break for air. "Come back with me?" He nods along as he's talking, eyes wide, with the same innocence as if he asked for a simple ride home.

You want to. Could feel the desire to pulsing from the core of your body, heart beat thumping straight to your pussy all night.

But then you heard Ally's voice in your head.

You're better than this.

You look at Joe, smiling as his warm eyes squint in a smile back, eyes squeezing from cheeks pushed so wide. You let your hand savor in the feeling of his soft skin. Then you looked at the cigarette in his hand.

With a sigh, you kiss him firmly again. At first, he thinks how you've chosen to accept his invitation...but then the kiss is cut short. You smile at him again, soft fingers tracing the lines of his lips before you drop your hand to his middle. It only takes a gentle press of your hand to get him to take a step back and give you a little space.

"No." You tell Joe. "Not tonight." But you let him hold your hand until your car arrives. He waves off the driver and opens the door for you himself. You roll down the window to say goodbye but he leans inside it.

"Sick of me already?" He asks, a playful smirk and eyebrow raise poorly masking the hurt deep in the endlessness of his brown eyes.

"No," you tell him sincerely. "I just meant what I said to you last time." For his sake, you don't spare the details with the driver in ear shot but he knows what you mean. Or nods like he does anyway before he kisses your temple and bids you goodnight.

#joseph quinn rpf #joseph quinn x reader

23 notes · View notes

last-words-ofashootingstar · 1 year

Text

Petals : Otona Blue

Yandere Kang Yeosang x fem reader

a/n: anon, i accidentally deleted your request so i hope you find this ! "I would love to hear the backstory of why Yeosang calls her petal. I know it's because she played the love me/love me not game but can we see the whole scene??" yes, yes you can. i will take every change to write for these two. thsi took forever but i love it

"He loves me."

✫彡wordcount: 1.3k

♡´･ᴗ･`♡(ಡ‸ಡ)genre: yandere, hurt&comfort

ಠ_ಠwarning/contents: NOT EDITED, overarching yandere behavior, age gap(19-23) (technically not together yet), small injuries, emotional manipulation, breaking & entering, destruction of property

Otona Blue tags: @thatswhywerefever @babiestarrcandy

main story: read it here! this takes place during that story and fills some time-void

MATURE UNDER CUT MDNI

He sits next to you slowly.

The hot summer breeze does little to comfort the stinging of your bleeding knees. You sit quietly and graze your hand over the freshly cut grass, looking up at the clouds with tear-blurred vision. Your jaw hurting to much to greet him.

His presence was welcome, comforting. Even as you were basked in silence and a tense aura.

He swivels sideways and sits cross-legged on the pavement next to you, his bag in his lap. He digs through it, pulling out a small first-aid kit.

You glance down at it and almost laugh. "You carry that around all the time?" Your voice is hoarse and raw, small from the way you keep your jaw clenched.

"Never know," he offers with a small smile, ripping open an alcohol wipe. He scoots forward and slowly inches his way to the wound. You push back his hair out of his eyes when the wind knocks it around.

You hiss as it comes in contact. Fingers wrapped around his wrist tightly, you give him the best puppy dog eyes you can manage. "We need to clean it. You get an infection." He pouts, holding it still flat against your knee as you stomp, grinding your teeth.

"It burns," you cry as his hand warms up the injury. You are tired beyond belief from the day you've had and the last pinch of pain is sending you spiraling.

"That just means it's working."

"Don't talk to me like a child!"

Both of you are taken back by your outburst, even more so by the way that you physically shove his hand away. You watch in pure horror as his face drops from the comforting, gentle Yeo that you know and are coming to love... into that distant and scary man that keeps all the bad things away. Only now, that scary face is directed to you. "Yeosan-"

He shoves the kit back in his bag and stands in a hurry, not sparing a single glance as he turns. You, in such a hurry, scarcely notice how he slows down at the sound of your wincing and give your time to catch up.

He keeps up the act as you snatch onto his backpack and try to slowly him down. "Yeosang, please! I'm sorry, it just hurt and I didn't mean to sh-"

He grabs your wrists as you come infront of him, pulling them close to his chest as he looks down at you. "You clearly don't want my help anymore, that's what I'm seeing. First, you let those bitches jump you. Then, you refuse my help. I don't kno-"

"Please, don't go." You sob, fisting his shirt where he cages your hands. "I- I'll let you clean them, I won't shove you again. I didn't mean to, just don't go."

He tuts his tongue, looking around at the attention your outburst is causing. Students all around the courtyard are throwing glances your way. And that doesn't bode well for what he has planned later tonight. He needs to stay under the radar.

"Fine. Stop crying," he says shortly, keeping up his fake anger long enough to make your heart hurt. Then, in the blink of an eye, he's back to being your Yeosang. He cups your face gently, avoiding your bruising jaw. He smiles as he thumbs away the tears he's caused. "Let's go get cleaned up somewhere else."

—

He lifts you up to the tall cement flower bed and sets you down slowly. "Here," he hands over his sweater and sets it over your lap to cover your skirt before he squats down.

You busy your hand with the stem of a Butterfly Weed. Your tears have dried up on the short walk to the campus' greenhouse, but your heart still stings- as do your knees as he cautiously wipes up the dried blood and swipes over the cuts.

You snap the stem and bring it to your lap as you bite back the painful whimpers. You pick at the flower and think in your mind. He loves me. You toss it away and pluck another. He loves me not.

You continue on the full flower until he places a large bandage on either of your knees and takes it slowly. "What are you doing? Picking petals?"

"Yeah," you shrug. He chuckles, plucking one off the still full stem. "It's supposed to be like... a fate thing. You back and forth between to options and the last petal is supposed to tell you which is true, or which is better. Does that make sense?"

"Seems silly, but it makes sense." He hands it over and asks, "what are you asking them?" He smirks at the way you pause. He knows the main purpose of this little fortune telling game.

"If I should attack Un Ji with a sock of frozen butter." That's the first thing that comes to your mind, and you laugh at your own brain. He busts out giggling, covering his face as he bends down in laughter. He holds onto your sneaker with his other hand, balancing himself as you both laugh loudly. "What?" You gasp between chuckles, holding the edge of the cement.

"I did not expect that from you."

"What? You're saying your not down?" You ask sarcastically. Of course you would never attack someone, let alone with a sock full of frozen butter. But Yeosang would. And you've got him all fired up for his plan.

He brushes it off with a small laugh, "pick up those petals, Petal."

You flush at the nickname, brushing the petals off his jacket and standing carefully. "You gonna drive me home?"

"Don't I always?"

—

You step out onto the porch. Feet padded only by socks as you venture onto the dewy grass in your pajamas.

He slides out of his car. Boots tapping on the concrete road as he sneaks closer to the silent house.

It's dark out.

You never got to finish your game.

He needs to get revenge.

It's chilly.

He acts so strangely towards you. Does he even care for you like he says he does?

You're so precious to him. That bitch Un Ji should pay for how she's hurt you.

The leaves rustle in the trees all around.

You turn into your small garden just below your window. You pluck up a dying Azalea.

He slips into the back door. He knows nobody is home, but he's still stealthy.

The moon watches over you from both sides of town.

Yours hands shake lightly as you begin.

His hands are steady as he carries the tied up sock.

It tries to tell you stories of lovers just like you.

The petal floats to the dirt.

The rock solid weapon smashes into the picture frames on the wall.

It tries, but it has no words that reach you.

Another, lands on your foot. You giggle and kick it away.

He brings it down onto the coffee table and breaks it in half. He screams.

It has so many warnings that fall onto deaf ears of its love-struck children.

"He loves me."

"Bitch!"

It tells you that Yeosang is dangerous.

You twist it off and blow it from your fingertips.

He swings his arm back and lets the makeshift weapon collide with the large television.

It tells him that his love is festering.

The second to last petal.

He kicks open the bathroom door.

It tries.

You place it between your index and thumb.

He holds the lipstick he finds between his index and thumb.

It really does.

The last petal is left alone on the stem.

He scribbles profanities on the mirror.

But alas...

"He loves me."

"Anything for you, Petal..."

—

#kang yeosang #yeosang #ateez yeosang #yandere yeosang #yeosang x reader #ateez #yandere ateez #yandere fic

107 notes · View notes

korgidorgi · 1 year

Text

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Words: 5,053

Warnings: Angst, cursing, claustrophobia, abandonment

Summary: After a mission gone wrong, your view of the Avangers, your family, has changed.

Oof, i haven't written or posted one of mine in ages. I wrote this a while ago and went back to edit it a bit for you to enjoy.

The mission was supposed to be short and simple, otherwise they wouldn’t have let you go. You’re on the younger side of the avengers. The youngest, actually. You practically grew up with the heroes, Pepper’s adopted child, and technically Tony’s too. There was no keeping you away from all the world saving and violence, but once you were old enough you were trained, and on the rare occasion, allowed on small training missions. You were never exposed to the true nature of missions, so no actual fighting was involved.

This mission’s gone sideways. Everything was going perfectly until some building system malfunctioned. It was too late when the system alarms went off and the building was quickly engulfed in flames. You and your team's priority now is to help evacuate the building. You’ve gotten a lot of people out with the help of Steve and Natasha. All of you have suffered a few burns here and there, nothing to any huge concern. The three of you are outside now, looking back on the burning building. The heat from the fire radiates quite a ways out.

“Rogers, there's more people in there, we need to help them!” You yell over the roar of surging heat.

“Y/N, it's too dangerous, the building is collapsing,” he responds, trying to get the team to safety, “we can’t save everyone.”

“I saw them on the way out, I can get to them and get them out!”

“Y/N, no.” His tone is commanding but holds an exhausted bite. “I’m sorry this is the mission that’s going to make you see this, but you can’t go in there. It’ll kill all of you.”

“We can’t just sit around and let them die! We have to try!” You plead, still staring at the building.

“I’m sorry, we have to fall back.” He steps closer to try to pull you back.

You avoid his grasp, taking off into the building and into the flames. Coughing on the smoke, you hurdle fallen supports and other debris, shouting for the survivors. You hear the muffled yells of the two people you were referring to earlier. You make your way towards their location, dodging falling debris. The building shakes and groans under the damage it's sustaining, causing more materials to fall. The room they're in is blocked by shrapnel; it's the only way in. You try to kick the debris away, desperate to get to them and get them out of here. You slam your foot into it repeatedly, moving it inch by inch until there's enough space to crawl around and reach the people.

“Hey, you’re going to be okay, I’m going to get you out of here.” You reassure them.

You grab a man's hand, pulling him and his buddy with you to send them through the crawl space you created. Just as they make it to the other side, the space collapses in front of you again, sealing you away from them.

“Just go! Continue to the left and you’ll find an exit,” you call to them, “I’ll find a way out, just go before the whole thing comes down!”

All you can do is hope they listened and left to save themselves. You quickly glance around the room for any means of escape. The vents could work, but upon inspection, it's practically crushed. There’s no windows in this room to escape out of, which leaves you trying to get past the debris in the doorway again.

You desperately try to kick and move the hot debris away, but it’s much more stubborn this time. The building gives another unnerving shake, groaning from it's severely weakened supports. More debris breaks off and falls from above, parts of the floor give out as well, leaving gaping holes into many fire filled abysses. You continue to strain yourself, now trying to lift and pull pieces of the building out of your way. The heated material leaves burns on your hands and shoulders and your legs, slowing down your efforts a lot. You stand back a bit to look around again for any other way to escape. You find yourself falling as the floor underneath you gives out. Flames reach out and lick at you as you pass, the heat burning your clothes.

You hit the ground hard. Rolling over, you try to pick yourself up but a new ceiling pushes you back down as it tumbles overhead. You crawl towards the end of it, hoping to beat it before the rest of the building crushes you. Your hopes are crushed as more pieces of the building fall into your path, blocking you from moving anywhere. You can at least look for a place where you hopefully won't get crushed, so you try to pull yourself towards a small nook in the rubble. You pull yourself over, curling up against the corner hoping to wait out the collapse. The building gives one final quake before the rest of it comes tumbling down on top of you.

•••

Your eyes open with a flutter. It's dark and your body hurts. You quickly realize where you are as the stab of the burns begin to take over you. You shuffle your body around and try to push the large hunk of debris off of you. It’s too large and heavy for you to move at all. How deep under the rubble are you? How long were you out? What about Steve? And Natasha? Shit, you’re in so much trouble when you get out of here.

You give it a few minutes, clearing your throat from dust, “Steve! Nat! I’m down here!”

Your throat is scratchy and your voice cracks as you yell for them. You yell for them again.

“Steve! Natasha! Anyone!?” You pound on the rubble above you, “Someone, please help me! I’m right here!”

As time ticks by, your voice soon completely goes, leaving you breathless and voiceless. No one has come to help you at all. It's been a few hours since you came to, you think. Rescue parties take a while sometimes, yeah. And you must be far down, so they’ll come eventually, right?

You eventually pass out again, exhaustion and your wounds taking their toll on you. Your dreams are vivid, multiple of them consisting of you being rescued by various people, only for you to wake up again to the same rubble on top of you. You desperately hope the avengers try their hardest to find you. You hope that Tony would have some of his suits sifting and scanning the rubble for you and any other survivors. If anyone is going to find you, it's Tony. One particular dream you were rescued by some people you don’t know. They didn’t look like medical professionals or rescue volunteers. By now you’re used to being let down, expecting to finally open your eyes to the same rubble.

A light is flashed into your eyes, making you wake. It’s not a dream.

“She’s responding.” A woman says, holding you.

“Great, let's move out. A dead girl is no use to us.” A male voice sounds from outside of your vision.

The woman places her arms under your legs and back, lifting you up with ease. Your head rolls to the side and a wheeze escapes your lungs.

“Don’t worry, you’re going to be okay.” She reassures you.

She carries you away. Bright lights shine across the extensive pile of rubble you were under. The sky is black, a few stars poking through. She makes her way to the back of a van, placing you on a soft material and climbing in next to you. The van starts, quickly rolling away from the scene, and the woman begins addressing your wounds. A liquid pours onto your burns, causing them to sting. You hiss at the sensation, trying to pull away, but she holds you still with a gentle hand. She whispers reassurances, but you fade in and out of focusing, finally passing out once more as she nears the end of addressing your wounds.

•••

You awaken once again, this time, bright fluorescent lights overhead instead of the dark rubble. You scrunch your eyes shut, trying to keep out as much light due to its brightness. You bring your hand up to cover your eyes and an IV needle sticks out of your arm, causing you minor discomfort to your movement.

“Hey, you’re awake.” A soft voice says.

The light turns off, the soft glow of the cabinet lights around the room being the only source of light now.

“Sorry for the bright lights.” She says.

You hear her take a seat next to you and she fiddles with a plastic bag, probably the fluid they’re giving you.

“We found you under the rubble of that building last night. You were pretty far under, but we found you.” She says. “Can you tell me your name?”

Upon trying to speak, your throat betrays you, causing you to begin a coughing fit. It burns from the dust you’d inhaled and the dryness of it. You hack for a while, the irritation refusing to go away. She quietly hands you a glass of water once you’ve settled down a bit. You nearly inhale the water, drinking it all in one go.

“There, take it easy,” she takes the glass from you, “don’t talk until you’re ready to.”

She sets it aside, turning back to you. She watches you as you adjust to the room, glancing around at everything.

“I’m Dr. Shielen, I’ll be monitoring you and taking care of you,” she introduces herself. “You’ve sustained quite a few burns, all of which needed my attention. They should heal fine with time. You’d been under the rubble for quite a while, almost three days. You’re lucky you survived that long.”

You try to speak, your throat straining, “Y-Y/n.” Upon speaking, you erupt into coughing once again, but it settles down much quicker.

“Welcome to The Voiceless, Y/N.”

•••

Three years have passed. The Avengers never came for you, they didn’t even search the rubble of the building. You’d not been released from the new group that had found you soon enough. In your time, you grew to resent the Avengers. You’d connected all the dots. All the missed holidays, all the skipped times, all the avoiding, it’s because you were never important enough for their time. You’d always asked to hang out with them, but they were always busy, brushing you off and sending you away. It didn’t surprise you as much as it should have when you realized they were never going to try to find you. You gave up on the hope that they tried and failed and kept trying. They never came. You couldn’t get in contact with them from the place you are now. These people at least treated you like someone. Like they cared.

You’re now completing your own missions with them. They plan small attacks on large establishments, notorious for mistreating their workers, the public, or the environment. Mini rebellions against the corporations. It costs lives, but it’s a small sacrifice to pay for the end goal. Local police have now involved the FBI, which have chased you from base to base across cities, states, and the country. Your teams wear masks, protecting their identities, and providing a sort of symbol for the group. You’ve kept a close eye on Avenger activity, watching them perform and grow as a team. You watched them deal with Ultron and replace you with Wanda. And suddenly, you wanted their attention.

You found a new motivation, a new goal. You firmly believe in the fair treatment of people, so why not scale up your operations? You spoke with the leaders of your establishment, fighting for larger operations as the band grew and grew over the years. More people joined the cause, more people were willing to fight. You used it to your advantage. More people means you can establish multiple bases in multiple areas, grow the fighting force, and finally take a large stand against the capitalist world.

You were selected for a project, the science division was experimenting with new technologies and ideas. They needed a willing subject to be granted superhuman abilities. The process was extensive and top secret, but they finally finished successfully and began your training. You trained to work with the shadows, and you became their best stealth soldiers. With a new role came a new outfit for missions. You were allowed to choose the design, going for comfort and practicality. You kept the mask, your own design and build.

Soon, you were leading larger scale operations. With your new abilities, high risk tasks were much easier. Your missions now are no different than what you’ve done before, except for the fact that you’ve now got abilities. You don’t use them often, but when you do, you keep it on the down low, not wanting to attract too much attention. Your abilities have earned you the code name Shadow.

Things have gotten slightly out of hand. Your team is falling back, taking heavy fire from security and law enforcement. Your mates are getting desperate.

“Shadow, I know you’d rather not, but we need your abilities.” Your scout says across comms. “We need a way out, all the exits are blocked.”

“On it,” you confirm, “I’ll clear a way to the west side of the building.”

A black smoke begins to emerge from your hands, allowing you to travel in the shadows and get past the opposing forces. You materialize behind them, sending a wave of dark energy across the hall to knock them off balance. Their gunfire turns to you now, but you use your abilities to block their attacks. You send your energy back towards them, taking out their ranks.

“Go, now,” you command, “before they return with more firepower.”

“Thanks, Shadow.”

Your team moves out ahead of you as you give them cover. You shoot back at them with your own weapons, only using your abilities when you begin to get overwhelmed.

“You guys head out, he’s still in the building. I’ll take care of him.” You inform your squad, holding off the building's defenses.

You hear your squad's confirmation before swiftly sending a large wave of energy across the hall, taking everyone down at once. You begin to make your way to the elevator way down the hall. You call it once you arrive, holding your weapon close as you wait for its arrival. Shots are fired upon sight of you, which you quickly return, taking them out. A whole team rounds the corner way down the way. Waving to them playfully, you step into the elevator and select the highest floor. The doors close and the elevator ascends before the team can get to you. The ride up is smooth, except for the sudden power outage. The elevator comes to a stop and the lights flicker before burning out.

“Jesus christ…” You mutter to yourself. “I have to do everything myself, huh?”

You dematerialize, sifting your smoke through the cracks in the doors, traveling up the walls to the top floor. You materialize in the hall, the smoke flowing out around you and creating a dark aura about you. A sudden surge of confidence flows through you, powering each step you take even more than the last. Security is lined up in the halls, leading straight to where you want to be. Your shadows creep outward towards them, snaking around them before dragging them around and taking them out. The smoke chokes them, causing them to fall unconscious.

The doors of the room you want in are thrust open by a wave of your energy, the smoke piling into the room in a thin layer across the floor. It leeches from your fingertips, flowing down and around you. The man in the chair at the desk ahead of you turns to face you.

“Who are you?” He demands.

“Your downfall.”

You raise your arm to give a wave of your hand to get rid of him, but a sudden projectile prevents you from doing so. A shield embeds itself into the wall to your right, stealing your attention away from the corporate leader. You look to the source of the infamous shield.

“Captain America, nice to see you again.” You greet, turning to grab the shield out of the wall.

He prepares himself to catch the shield, expecting you to throw it right back at him.

“Oh, no, I’m not going to hurl this at you,” you reassure, “relax, friend.”

“We are far from friends,” he quips, “who are you?”

“Well, my friends in the field call me Shadow.” You reply, playing with the shield in your hands.

You run your fingers over the scuffs on the metal disk, admiring its form. The scuffling of the corporate leaders movement brings your attention back to him and you wave your hand, sending a small wave of smoke to sit him back down.

“You and I are far from finished, friend.” You warn, not looking away from the shield or the Captain.

“Leave him and I won’t have to hurt you.” The captain warns, balling his fists and lowering his stance.

“Nah, I think it would be fun,” you tut, “going against one of Earth’s mightiest heroes.”

You smirk at the Captain, watching him plan his next move. You keep an eye on him as you proceed to step towards the man in the chair. You watch him straighten in his chair, stiff in his seat.

“Do you have any idea who I am?” he asks.

“I do, which is part of the reason I’m here.” You respond.

“Shadow, step away from him, this is your last warning.” The Captain threatens.

“I don’t think you understand what I’m here to do, or why.” You state, dancing your fingers on his desk. “If you don’t want him dead, then fight me.”

He tenses, watching you closely for your next move. You’re all too relaxed for facing him off.

“Coward.”

Upon hearing the word, he charges you, trying to catch you from the side to get you away from the man in the chair. You gracefully dodge his attack and use his shield to block his next swings.

“Did you bring your friends, Captain?” You tease, dodging another attack.

He continues his assault on you, missing each swing and each kick he throws at you. You continue to dance around the room, narrowly avoiding his attacks and frustrating him more.

“This is fun and all, Cap,” you shrug at him, “but I should probably do what I came here to do.”

The smoke around you thickens, darkening the room and providing the cover you want for your execution. The captain coughs and tries to clear away the smoke around him, but to no avail.

“Widow, I need backup,” you hear him say into his coms.

“Now or never,” you mutter, stepping towards the desk.

Your target tries to stand and run away, but you make sure the shadows hold him in place. The smoke sneaks around his throat, slowly suffocating him.

“W-why me-?” he chokes.

“Because your company is shit. You’re allowing abuse to run rampant in the system. You take advantage of your workers labor, abusing them and stripping them of free will.” You explain, strolling around him and giving a show of your authority. “You know it’s happening, you choose to ignore it and even encourage it. You’re too rich for your own good, and you’re just becoming more greedy. Your time of profiting over people’s suffering is over.”

The breaking of glass makes you turn your head to the source. The Black Widow stands in front of the window she’s just smashed through, ready to charge you.

“Miss Romanoff, I’d suggest you not make a move. This man is already on his death bed. You’d be stopping nothing by engaging.” You warn. “I’d end you too.”

“Save your breath. Let him go.”

“I don’t think I will.” You grit your teeth behind your mask. “Why do you protect a man that profits from his laborers suffering?”

“Enough of this.” She raises her arm to fire a projectile at you.

You dodge it, blocking with Captain America’s shield, but a second one if shot, hitting you and electrifying you. You stumble to the ground, dissipating into shadows to escape her, dropping the shield. She pulls out her gun, ready for your reappearance. You materialize behind her to strike but she beats you, hurling her fist at you. The force of her attack breaks your mask, scattering it across the floor, broken into a few pieces. You stumble back, turning your back to her, and holding a hand to your face. Pulling it away, you see blood on your fingers as it drips from your nose.

“Quite the punch, Romanoff.” You sneer, wiping the blood away.

Before you can look back at her, she has you knocked down and pinned to the floor, ready to take another swing at you. Upon seeing your raised eyebrows and wide eyes, she hesitates, her fist drawn back to knock into you again.

“Natasha, wait--” Steve’s voice rings out.

You use her hesitation to your advantage, dissipating into shadow again and reappearing behind her and to the side once more. You connect your knee with her face, knocking her down. You step towards her, but a blast from across the room knocks you away.

“Kid, I don’t want to hurt you, but you take another step towards Natasha, I won't hesitate.” A new voice enters the scene.

“Good to see you too, Tony,” you greet, standing up, a little unsteady this time.

“Y/N, I need you to stop this. We can talk this out peacefully somewhere else--”

“Talk this out? You’ve got a lot of nerve,” you stalk towards the Man of Iron, black smoke pooling around you and whirling around in your stride.

The telltale whiz of an arrow alerts you to another incoming projectile. You dodge it as it imbeds itself into the wall behind you. Hawkeye then appears, crashing through the window where Natasha first came in. He has his bow drawn at you.

His sudden appearance causes you to react, using your shadows to manifest and pool around the avengers. With a wave of your hand, Hawkeye is dragged off his feet.

“Y/N, stop this! You’re surrounded!” Steve shouts, warily watching the smoke and shadows around.

He straps his shield to his arm, ready for you to target him. Natasha points a gun at you, Tony has his hands up, ready to fire at you. They watch the room fill once more with smoke, quickly limiting their fields of vision. You swiftly make your way to the Widow and Hawkeye, aiming to take out two birds with one stone. You swing at Natasha, the movement alerting Hawkeye. An arrow whizzes by, narrowly missing Natasha and yourself. She manages to slip from your grasp, whirling around and wrapping her legs around your shoulders to bring you down. She instead hits the floor by herself as you materialize into the shadows. A metal arm shoots out, trying to knock you down. You dodge it, nearly running into Captain America’s shield in the process.

A cloud of red clears most of the smoke out of the room, leaving you in the open once more. You growl, drawing your power out again and coating the ground in a dense layer of shadows. You glance around the room, trying to find the new Avenger. You move the smoke around, using it to halt the others in their tracks as it bolts their feet to the floor and wraps around their drawn weapons to prevent them from moving and using them.

With the Avengers frozen, you spin around, eyes scanning the room for her. Your breath grows jagged, your chest heaving in anticipation. Wanda finally flies through the window, red glowing around her hands and throughout her irises.

“We have ourselves a party, I see,” you comment, glaring at the Avengers.

“Let them go, and I won’t hurt you.” Her strong Sokovian accent is present in her voice and she plays with the magic in her hands.

“Make me.” You glare at her, shadows swirling around your feet.

She takes a single step forward and you have your shadows holding her in place too. Her eyes grow wide for a second before she glances down at her feet. You tilt your head, giving her a small smirk as the shadows swirl upward around her as well.

“Y/N, where have you been?” Tony asks, fighting your hold on him.

“Oh, y’know, here, there,” you begin, taking your focus off of the witch in front of you, “grounded by the people who actually rescued me.”

You look around at the Avengers, all of them frozen in your smoke and shadows.

“You know, I was under the rubble for…” you trail off in thought, “what, two days? And no one, no one, even cared to look. I was pleading for you, begging, praying, that you, especially you, Tony, would finally lift the rubble off of me. That big piece that was keeping me from moving, from breathing.”

You examine their features, they’ve still not stood down, ready for you to inevitably snap again.

“Tony, if Steve didn’t look for me, I would have thought you, of all people, would do your damndest to find me,” you frown at him.

“We did--” Tony struggles in the smoke, trying to think of how to calm you down-- “look, can you just relax and we can talk this out. No one has to get hurt.”

“You’re telling me to relax?” You let out a dry chuckle. “I haven't seen you in however long, and the first thing you do is fire at me and then,” you let out another laugh, “tell me to relax.”

“You’re the one trying to murder people.” He shoots back.

You drop your arms to your side before swiping one through your hair, leaning back. You cross your arms over your chest, leaning towards him and glaring at him.

“Fuck. You.”

“Y/N, Steve and I tried to look for you after the building fell. I promise.” Natasha finally speaks. “We tried to find you, we didn’t want to lose you. Tony would have killed us if we came back without you.”

“And yet here you stand…” You snarl.

“I- that’s not what I meant to say,” she tries, “We looked for you, Tony tried scanning for you with Jarvis, we didn’t find you.”

“Two days, Natasha!” You yell, striding over to her. “Two… Days…” You get in her face, staring her in the eyes, breathing heavily. “Tony scanned the rubble…” you run a hand through your hair, taking a few steps away and scoffing once more, “bull… shit. I know how Jarvis works, he’s way more advanced than that, he would have found me!”

“It’s true! We tried to find you! Jarvis tried to find you!” she shouts back, “He just wasn’t strong enough!”

“I should just kill you now,” you mutter, running another hand through your hair.

“Something was blocking the signal, he couldn’t find you.” Tony confirms.

“I guess I just wasn’t important enough for you.” You mutter.

“Y/N…” Steve starts, but you cut him off, raising your hand.

“Y’know,” you begin again, shaking your finger in the air, “I’ve thought about it. Not once has anyone here dropped anything to show me that I was cared for,” your lips quiver, all the pent up anger and resentment beginning to bubble up, “even when I asked for it. You were always too busy with your own shit.”

“Y/N, I’m your father--” Tony begins, immediately getting cut off.

“You were never a dad!” You snap, your sharp voice echoes about the quiet room and the shadows swirl in response to your outburst. “Happy was more of a parent than you and Pepper combined!”

Your nose twitches and your eyebrows knit together, your eyes bore into Tony.

“The people who found me,” you lower your volume, “yeah, they used me for experiments, they beat it into me to be the best soldier thay have, but at least they treated me like they cared. I tried--” you breathe-- “I tried to reach out to you, but I was dragged back in. Soon, I gave up trying to escape and they began to trust me and treat me as one of their own.”

“Y/N, we care about you--” Steve begins, once again being cut off by the swirl of shadows around him.

“Oh, yeah? What do I find when I come back into the field?” You tilt your head in question to Steve, then to Tony. “You replaced me.”

You spin around, looking at everyone, a tight, burning feeling starting in your chest once more. Your nose scrunches and your eyebrows meet again.

“You all replaced me!” You scream, shadows swirling. “You replaced me! With her!” You aggressively point to the witch.

Hot tears blur your vision and you harshly swipe an arm across your face, brushing them away. It doesn’t stop the onslaught of tears that follow.

“You replaced me!” You repeat, wiping your face to keep the tears away. “You replaced me, you replaced me, you replaced me!”

You begin gasping for air as tears run down your face and your neck. You keep repeating it over and over and over. You claw at your chest, pounding on it, wanting the feelings to stop, gritting your teeth and sinking to the floor. The moment your knees hit the floor, the smoke clears, settling and calmly flowing out the window into the breeze. Sobs wrack your body, leaving you a shaking mess on the tile.

A soft hand finds itself under your chin, lifting your head up. The tears change direction, flowing towards your ears and down. You try to blink them away, sniffling. Red hair fills your vision and two arms wrap themselves around you, pulling you into her chest. You calm down enough in her arms to talk.

“I should kill you, you know.” You mutter, staring at the floor behind her.

“But you won't.”

part 2 is out now!!!

#avengers x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #avengers fanfiction

229 notes · View notes

leslie-lyman · 1 year

Text

All Hallow’s Eve (A Stranger At My Gate Drabble)

summary: A little look at what is, technically, Tessa and Pero’s second Halloween together.

rating: G (though my entire blog and its contents are only for those 18+)

word count: 1.5k (I’m still counting it as a drabble, fight me)

a/n: I started having some Tessa and Pero thoughts on my walk home from work this afternoon, then cranked this out after dinner. It occurred to me that it might be fun to spend just a moment or two with these two today, given the importance of All Hallow’s Eve to their story. Happy Halloween, everyone!

Masterlist. | Series Masterlist.

———

Pero will never admit this out loud, but he secretly loves when Tessa fusses over him. Little touches that show that she cares, like she’s doing now, adjusting the collar of the white shirt that lays under the light blue vest she’d picked out for him.

“Alright, Flynn Rider, gimme your best smolder.”

“I will do no such thing,” he replies evenly, scowling at her.

“Perfect.”

“Hey now,” Pero grumbles, reaching down to tickle her side, “it worked on you, didn’t it?”

Tessa lets out a small shriek and twists away from him.

“Pero, behave. I promised Amie we’d hand out candy at her place while she and Thom take the kids trick-or-treating and we cannot be late.”

“With you in that dress, mi amor?” He cocks an eyebrow at the frilly purple garment that is turning his love into Rapunzel for the evening. “I make no promises.”

___

“Moira make it to Florida okay, Tess?” Henry says as she and Pero fill bowls of candy in her sister’s kitchen.

“She texted me when she landed earlier,” Tessa confirms.

“Tessa said she goes on this trip with her witch friends every All Hallow’s Eve?” Pero asks.

Amie nods.

“And Moira never misses a year when it’s Nancy’s turn to host. The woman takes to South Beach like a spring break co-ed.”

Henry barks out a laugh.

“Remind us, Pero, to tell you one day about the time we had to bail the whole lot of them out of the Miami-Dade County jail when they got booked on disorderly conduct.”

As with every nugget of information Tessa’s family shares with him about Moira, Pero is equally impressed and terrified.

Thom wrangles the kids into the kitchen, their whole family outfitted this year as Toy Story characters. Molly, Toby, and Finn — done up as Bo Peep, Rex, and Woody — rush to give their aunt and uncles hugs before racing out the door, eager to start collecting candy. Thom places a big red cowboy hat onto his wife’s head, completing her Jessie ensemble, and she helps him shuffle out the door sideways so as not to damage his Buzz Lightyear wings.

“Be good until we get back, you crazy kids!” Henry shouts at Tessa and Pero, one hand on Walter’s leash and the other around Martin’s waist. The two of them had decided to go out with the kids this year, wanting the chance to show off their costumes as Blue and Josh after the rain had thwarted everyone’s trick-or-treating plans last year.

Tessa and Pero settle themselves on Amie and Thom’s front stoop. The whole month of October has served as the last round of modern holiday education for Pero, Tessa and the rest of the Walsh family including him in their Halloween traditions as they had those of Thanksgiving, Christmas, Valentine’s Day, St. Patrick’s Day, Easter, and the Fourth of July over the past year. Pumpkins Pero had picked and helped to carve now stood guard on either side of Tessa’s front door. He’s gone on a hayride and wandered his way through a corn maze. He’s watched spooky movies and been the eager beneficiary of Tessa’s return to fall cooking, their house always smelling of pumpkin, cinnamon, apples…

And now, he’s let her dress him up to partake in the tradition of costumes and trick-or-treating, happy to spend a few hours dressed up like that Flynn character from that movie with the long-haired girl with the pretty voice if it means he gets to see Tessa all done up in her lace-edged dress, an innocent pink bow sewn to the neckline between her breasts that makes him think anything but innocent thoughts.

Paper bags with battery-powered tea lights line the driveway and front walk, a collection of carved pumpkins are clustered on either side of the door. The air is cool and crisp, the sky cloudless, the faint smell of fallen leaves on the breeze. The yellow glow of the porch light lets folks know there’s candy to be had at this house, and turns Tessa’s hair appropriately golden.

Slowly, children and families start wandering up. There are a few costumes he recognizes, classics like vampires and ghosts, a number of tiny witches to whom Tessa gives a little extra candy, characters from that movie The Wizard of Oz that Tessa loves so much. There are plenty of others he doesn’t — a lot of young girls are going as Ms. Marvel this year, and many teenagers and grown women are the Scarlet Witch. Tessa coos over a young boy dressed as the Mandalorian (who, she insists, Pero is a dead ringer for, even if he doesn’t see it), who comes up to get candy along with his Jack Russell terrier dressed as Grogu.

Some of the children eye Pero with trepidation, the inherent spookiness of the holiday and the shadows cast by the porch light making him look even more intimidating than usual. But then a girl of about five dressed in an absolutely precious Rapunzel gown of her own approaches them, and Tessa and Pero can see the look on her face change when she realizes who they’re dressed as.

“You’re Flynn Rider!” she squeals, then marches straight up to Pero to loudly whisper in his ear, “You’re my favorite Disney prince.”

Pero has had enough practice at playing pretend with Tessa’s niece and nephews that he’s able to get over his surprise and muster up a suitable reaction.

“Thank you, princesa,” he says, giving the girl a courtly little bow from where he sits. He drops an extra large handful of candy into her bag with a wink, and she practically sprints back down the drive to her waiting parents, loudly telling them how Flynn Rider and Rapunzel live at that house.

Tessa giggles next to him and leans her head on his shoulder, murmuring something about how she knew Flynn would be a great costume for him. But Pero is lost in thought, the mirror image of this scenario playing out in his head, in which he and Tessa are the ones standing at the end of the drive, and the little girl in the princess dress running excitedly to meet them is theirs.

———

Once they’re home, Tessa plops their doggy bag of leftover candy down on the counter and goes to get herself a glass of water. Pero unlaces his boots, tugging them off and placing them on the mat. There are so many places for his things now in the house, so many reminders in every room that this place is theirs, not just Tessa’s alone.

When he straightens again and looks to her she’s gazing out the window over the sink, the one that in the daylight offers a view of the woods that conceal the Gate in their depths. Pero makes his way over to her and wraps his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on top of her head.

“You are thinking very loudly, angel.”

Tessa sighs, but it’s a contented sound.

“I was just remembering…it was a year ago tonight.”

Pero hums.

“I’ve been thinking about it, too.”

Tessa turns in his arms, resting her hands on his chest.

“You left quite a first impression that evening.”

Pero grimaces, imagining the way he must have looked, wet, injured, unkempt, unconscious, Tessa and Henry literally dragging him into the house that first night to take care of him.

“You were quite a surprise too, you know,” he tells her.

“Oh yes? What was it exactly?” She teases him gently. “My house full of magical gadgets? My inability to understand any of your languages? My absolutely incredible grilled cheese sandwich-making skills?”

Pero shakes his head, brushing the tip of his nose against Tessa’s.

“You were so kind to me,” he murmurs. “So kind when you had no reason to be. And you weren’t afraid.” He says it like he still can’t quite believe it.

“Of you? Never.” Tessa curls her fingers into his shirt. “You were mine, right from the start, even if it took me a while to realize it. And I was yours.”

A year. A whole year she’s been his, a whole year they’ve belonged to each other. It’s not enough. Pero wonders if any amount of time ever will be.

He slots his lips over hers and kisses her, loving the way she responds, always meeting him kiss for kiss. Tessa never leaves any room for doubt that she wants him.

She pulls away for a moment, a suggestive glint of mischief in her eye.

“Trick or treat, Pero?”

His answering grin is her only warning before he scoops her up and tosses her over his shoulder, pulling an indignant squawk out of her.

“I think, mi amor,” he says, heading for their bedroom with his prize, “I won’t be satisfied until I’ve tried both.”

———

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pero tovar x ofc #Pero Tovar #pero tovar fanfic

179 notes · View notes

anxiouspineapple99 · 7 months

Text

Of Healing and Breaking Again

Chapter 5 Or The One With The Reunion

Summary: After the Batch reunite with an old friend, Avery reveals her experience with the inhibitor chips and vows to help them in any way she can.

Pairing: Tech x FemJedi!OC

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: alcohol consumption, order 66, youngling death

A/N: I cannot thank @dystopicjumpsuit enough for helping me with this chapter! I have been sitting on it for months and it’s finally ready to be seen.

New here? Start here

Masterlist

Tag list

“Go! Go! Go!” The sound of yelling, thundering footsteps, and Wrecker’s boisterous laughter brought her back from her deep meditation. She curiously leaned forward as Wrecker bounded on board with a metal crate containing some kind of lizard, followed by Omega who was beaming from ear to ear. Tech and Echo entered and immediately positioned themselves in the cockpit to prepare for departure followed by Hunter, his deece drawn yelling something that she really wasn’t paying attention to.

She turned her attention to the crate, “This is a whole lot of ruckus for whatever that is,” she pointed more bemused than anything.

“A job’s a job right now and we need the credits,” Hunter quipped as they ascended into the atmosphere.

“Sith’s hells who did you guys say you were getting the lizard from?!” Avery barked as Tech’s evasive maneuvers tossed them about the Marauder haphazardly.

“Ehh some Rhokai. How much longer until we're in hyperspace, Tech?” Hunter demanded.

“That depends on when Echo plans on getting the drive back online,” Avery heard Tech shoot back from the cockpit followed next by Echo’s irritated, “I'm working on it!” She stumbled to the jump seats and secured herself next to Omega while holding onto a panicked Nuna.

“I don't think Ruby likes this very much”

“She’s in good company, Nuna isn’t thrilled either,” Avery laughed and Omega giggled.

“You named that thing? What's with these guys?” Wrecker hollered incredulously.

“Well, we did steal from them,” Omega looked at Avery sheepishly.

“Technically, the Rhokai stole the lizard first. We are merely intercepting it,” Tech corrected her.

“They don't see it that way!” Wrecker’s fraying nerves were revealing themselves through the strain in his voice as he clung to the jumpseat.

Another evasive maneuver sent the crate tumbling causing the door to swing open, and the lizard Omega affectionately named ‘Ruby’ escaped. This immediately elicited panicked screams from Wrecker which only escalated when Ruby firmly attached herself to Wrecker’s frantic person.

“Stay calm! You're scaring her!” Omega scolded as she started to wrestle Ruby off Wrecker. Nuna hissed and scampered to hide in Omega’s blankets as Avery leapt to Omega and Wrecker’s aid.

“Hold still Wreck! I’m trying to get a grip on her!”

“Hyperdrive's online.”

“Got her,” Omega declared triumphantly.

Once certain they’d made the jump to hyperspace, Avery stumbled back into a seat and heaved a sigh as she picked up Nuna who’d re-emerged from Omega’s room. A growl emanated from the little loth-cat.

“I don’t know why you’re mad at me. I didn’t let that lizard out,” Avery grumbled in response. She scratched her behind the ear but Nuna was having none of it. With a hiss and a swat she jumped from Avery’s hands and joined Wrecker who’d attempted to get comfortable on a rack.

The soft footfalls and slight creak of the seat behind him shifting alerted Tech to Avery’s entry into the cockpit.

He felt her boot come to rest on his arm rest as she softly spoke, “Did you know that kyber crystals sing?”

“Beg your pardon?” asked Tech, his attention never faltering from the Marauder’s controls.

“Kyber crystals, they sing. It’s how we find the crystal that was intended for us.”

Echo swiveled his seat to face her, “Really? What does it sound like?”

Avery paused for a moment giving a soft sideways glance before continuing, “Different for everyone. They are on the verge of sentience, but more accurately they have a type of… collective consciousness I suppose? They communicate with each other and with Force wielders. I’ve heard some say their crystal sounded like bells, others said a melodic hum. Both of my crystals sang to me through the Force, I mean actual words. It was unnerving as a padawan to hear a disembodied voice singing in my head.”

Echo’s eyes were wide with wonder as she spoke. Although Tech remained transfixed on the control panel he too, was still listening. He always listened. Besides, this was fascinating.

She paused for a breath, a vacant stare coming over her face, “They scream as well.”

Tech looked up from the control panel and glanced at Echo, noticing the shift in her tone. They tentatively looked at her waiting for further explanation.

“Red crystals, like our Inquisitor friend has, don’t exist naturally. Kyber crystals are naturally attuned to the light side of the Force. When Sith acquire a crystal they bleed it. Torture it. They force it to the dark side. And it screams. I could hear the crystal in that Inquisitor’s saber.” Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper, “I’ve never heard it before and I pray I never hear it again.”

She looked up and glanced from Echo to Tech recognizing the deep concern in their eyes. “Well it seems my fun fact of the day has suddenly become a lot less fun. Sorry about that boys! I’ll see myself out!” And as quietly she’d entered, she left.

“I am so glad I’m not a Jedi,” Echo huffed.

Tech nodded emphatically in agreement. “That entire interaction has left me a bit perplexed. While I do enjoy the acquisition of new knowledge, it came out of nowhere.”

Echo shrugged, “Maybe being choked to within an inch of her life, you know, affected her.” He tapped his temple to emphasize his implication. “Or maybe she’s always been a little quirky. It’s not like we really know her yet. Regardless, it may have been unexpected but it was still interesting.”

Tech hummed in agreement.

For the first time in a long time, Avery felt as if the Force was beginning to flow through her like the rushing current of the Andrevea River. It wasn’t the powerful rush she’d been accustomed to but her connection to it was finally strengthening.

“What are you doing?” Omega’s curiosity had gotten the better of her, regardless of Echo advising her to leave well enough alone.

“Convening with the Force,” Avery opened only one eye as she cocked her head toward Omega.

“And what does that mean?” Omega sat next to her, mirroring her position.

“It means I’m listening to it. Communicating with it.” Avery looked around, as if to ensure no one else was listening and then dropped her voice to a whisper, “It tells me secrets.”

Omega’s eyes widened with awe and excitement. “What sorts of secrets?”

Avery inhaled and closed her eyes. She reached out into the Marauder only lightly touching the inhabitants. She’d vowed long ago she wouldn’t look into the minds of others without their consent barring extreme circumstances. It always felt intrusive and she hated it. But she still poked at the aura they released into the Force. That was more like reading a street sign.

She turned back to Omega and narrowed her eyes, “You want to let Ruby out of her cage again. Why?”

Omega’s eyes widened as a devious grin crossed her face, “Whoa…”

“Omega,” Avery repeated in the same firm tone she used with the younglings in the temple, “why do you want to let Ruby out?”

The smile never left Omega’s face, “I’m not going to. She’s just cute. And I think if Wrecker gave her a chance…”

A smile crept across Avery’s face, “I think Wrecker has had enough Ruby for now. And I’m thinking Nuna has too, based on the fact that she’s commiserating with him on one of those impossibly uncomfortable racks.”

“Wait, how do you know that?”

“I told you, the Force tells me secrets. Want to see something else it can do?”

“Yeah!”

“Nuna!” Avery gave a sharp whistle. The little loth-cat wandered out looking peeved. “The attitude isn’t necessary, miss.” Avery chided as she scratched Nuna behind the ears.

Omega watched intently as Avery closed her eyes once again. Nuna bounded into the cockpit. After a moment they heard the rumble of Echo’s voice followed by Tech’s. A devious grin crept to Avery’s mouth as she knew it wouldn’t be long. First there was a clatter followed by two indignant shouts, Hunter’s uproarious laughter, and then Echo’s bucket scooted out of the cockpit. It was promptly followed by Tech and Echo who were tripping over each other in the pursuit. Omega melted into a lump of giggles watching her brothers chasing the helmet around the Marauder.

“That loth-cat is a menace!” A grin pulled at the corners of Echo’s mouth as if the chaos was enjoyable for him.

“Nuna!” Avery gave another sharp whistle and commanded her through the Force to come to her.

She lifted the bucket off her and handed it to Echo, “It’s my fault. We were playing a game. I told her to do it.”

“Smart little thing,” Echo’s soft baritone was laced with a chuckle. He scratched the loth-cat behind the ears and returned to the cockpit.

“She did it with her mind!” Omega was awestruck by the show she’d been witness to.

“That is not possible, Omega. And may I have my hydrospanner back?” Tech was far less amused.

“Yes, sorry,” she plucked the tool from Nuna’s teeth and handed it back to Tech.

“Thank you. We are approaching Ord Mantell,” Avery didn’t need the Force to hear the audible grinding of Tech’s teeth as he walked away.

“I’m going to have to apologize for this later, aren’t I?”

“Yep!” Omega giggled as she and Avery strapped in for landing. “So do you know Cid, too?”

“Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure. Should I know Cid?”

“Echo said she was an informant for the Jedi during the war.” Omega’s query was innocent but struck a nerve none the less.

“Ahhh, I see. I wasn’t involved in the intel and fighting aspect of the war. I was the one fixing the damage inflicted.” Her tone was harsher than she’d intended.

“Oh…” Omega dropped her eyes as a pinkish flush dusted her cheeks. A twinge of guilt struck Avery as she hurriedly reassured her.

“But if this Cid is a friend of yours then they’re a friend of mine!”

“I want to gather my bearings so I’m going to take a look around. I’ll meet you at Cid’s.” Avery fussed with her datapad as the others gathered Ruby in preparation for delivery.

“How will you find it?” Omega worried her fingers, unwilling to leave Avery’s side without confirmation that she wouldn’t get lost.

“This Force will guide me little one. Besides I’m pretty familiar with all your Force signatures at this point. I’ll find you, don’t worry!” Avery gave her a gentle push toward her brothers who waved as they carried their bounty toward Cid’s parlor.

Avery took her time wandering the streets of Ord Mantell City, Nuna by her side every moment. The sea of faces varied from unsavory characters to benign individuals just trying to make their way in the new Empire.

She’d finally decided to make her way back to Cid’s after procuring some new clothes from a relatively unpleasant shopkeeper and found an isolated place just outside of the city to train. She allowed the Force to guide her to the squalid parlor, her boots crunching as she strolled the rundown streets.

The pungent odor of Cid’s parlor violently assaulted Avery as she entered causing her to slightly recoil while scrunching her nose. The lurch in her stomach was quickly forgotten when she heard the raised voices inside.

“What's in your head is more dangerous than you can imagine. I've seen what happens when the chip activates, and I don't want to bury any more of our brothers. Trust me. It is not something you can control. I couldn't. It's a risk you do not want to take.”

“How do you suggest we get them out?”

“Good question. I'll be in touch.”

Avery pulled the hood of her cloak tightly to her face as she and the stranger passed each other. Nuna followed close on her heels as she approached the bar.

“Hey…” Avery shimmied onto the barstool next to Tech.

Tech glanced up from his datapad with a curt nod.

“Can I buy you a drink? As an apology for the whole hydrospanner thing earlier.”

“As I mentioned when we first met, I will not say no to a free drink.”

“Great! Another round of what you’re already having?”

Tech nodded once more and Avery reached over the bar to grab two glasses and the bottle. The silence hung heavily between them. Avery shifted her weight on the barstool and cleared her throat.

“So what are you working on?”

“Analyzing the statistical probability of differing outcomes for our previous mission and how to improve efficiency for future expeditions.”

“Impressive!”

“Obviously.”

Avery giggled. Tech’s unabashed confidence continued to be undeniably attractive and his small quirks, such as constantly adjusting his goggles, were charmingly endearing. He was also very lovely to look at.

“Does this place always smell this bad?” She continued, scrunching her nose as she’d done earlier.

“Yes. Though you will get used to it.” Tech paused for only a breath, a sliver of hope creeping into the remainder of his thought. “Assuming you intend on staying here with us.”

Avery cocked her head slightly towards him, “I don’t have anywhere else to go. And you lot have grown on me.”

Tech hummed but maintained focus on his calculations. The tension was easing, however, and they soon slipped into amiable silence as Avery stroked Nuna who had fallen asleep on her lap.

Avery scowled as she sipped the cheap swill from her glass, “this moonshine really is terrible.”

Tech nodded and lifted his finger “Yes but it is affordable.”

“I can splurge to get us something better than this. Also is this glass dirty?” Avery held the glass up, scrutinizing the smudges that were clearly not fingerprints.

Tech shrugged, “I have counted at least seventy-five health code violations since we arrived. So yes, your glass is likely dirty.”

A moment later a patron exited the refresher. Avery’s eyes widened in horror as she grabbed Tech’s thigh. He started at the unexpected but not entirely unwelcome contact, and met her appalled gaze.

She silently mouthed “Did he wash his hands?”

Tech leaned forward squinting at the patron’s bone dry hands and adjusted his goggles once more. He turned back to face her and somberly shook his head in dissent. They both stared, completely dumbstruck, as he proceeded to down the remainder of his drink, drop the glass with the clean dishware, and left.

In unison Avery and Tech flatly added, “Seventy-six.” The unexpected synchronization drew a chuckle from Avery and a soft smile from Tech.

“Well that has right put me off this.” Avery sighed and placed the half full glass and a few credits on the bar. “I passed a few shops on the way here that sell alcohol. I’m going to buy a bottle of something at least drinkable for us. I’ll meet you back on the Marauder.”

She slid off her seat, her hand brushing his arm gently as she walked toward the door. Tech couldn’t help but notice that the new pants she’d purchased hugged her thighs quite alluringly, unlike the more Jedi-like trousers she’d worn prior. Nuna padded to him and jumped into his lap, making herself right at home, purring contentedly, jarring him from his excessively long appreciation of Avery’s backside. He couldn’t help but think those pants alone would have convinced him to forgive her.

“So who was your friend and what was he so concerned about?” Avery poured Jaffa cider for Hunter, Echo, and Tech and tucked her legs beneath her in the copilot seat. Omega and Wrecker could be heard playing with Nuna elsewhere.

“That was Captain Rex,” Echo said flatly before taking a drink.

“Rex? Of the 501st?” Avery narrowed her eyes. The memory of the 501st marching on the temple still sent chills down her spine.

“Yes, the same. He is concerned about the inhibitor chips.”

Avery cocked an eyebrow and swirled her drink, “Why would Rex be worried about those?”

“He is worried our chips will activate and thus put Omega and anyone else we may care about in danger.” Tech's matter of fact statement churned her stomach. The thought of another child being endangered by the Kaminoans blatant disregard for life was unacceptable.

“You know, the Kaminoans told us the chips were implanted to suppress aggression.” Avery huffed a scornful laugh. She was just as angry at herself for not pushing back more.

A heavy silence befell the cockpit as Hunter and Echo glanced at each other and then back at their drinks.

“Fascinating.” Tech leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees. “That was not entirely true but also not entirely false. In addition to making the clones more…obedient and thus easier to train, the chips activated with Order 66. It is why the regs turned on the Jedi…as you already know.”

“And you?” Her shoulders collapsed inward slightly as she drew her cup close in an effort to shield herself.

“Our deviant nature and Echo’s enhancements courtesy of the Techno Union appear to have made us immune to the chip's effects. With the exception of Crosshair. However Rex insists we have our chips removed. To be safe.”

Tears burned in Avery’s eyes. She pulled her knees to her chin and pressed her face to them. She had to stop running from the pain but it was agonizing still.

“Are…you okay?” Hunter reached out hesitantly, worried her reaction was that of volatile anger. She pressed her head back into the seat, teary eyes clenched shut. She sighed, wiping her face.

“When talking about Jedi, what do you think of? Who comes to mind?”

Echo spoke up, “General Skywalker…Commander Tano…General Kenobi…why?”

“Adults, right? Or late adolescence in Ahsoka’s case,” her voice was even and unreadable.

“Well…yeah. I suppose,” Hunter dragged his words slowly trying to decipher the meaning behind Avery’s question.

“Not every Jedi in the temple was an adult or older adolescent. Many of them were younger. Much younger. I wasn’t just a physician. I was one of the carers for the youngest Jedi in the temple. Those developmentally aged five and younger by human standards. I was the one who found them…after. I was able to help a few, very few, out of the temple when the 501st…” she took a shaky breath. “But I was too late for most… They weren’t a threat. They weren’t traitors of the Republic. They were…babies. Some were barely walking. It didn’t matter. Order 66 called for the execution of all the Jedi.”

She stared at the control console as silent tears streaked her cheeks. “Master Shaak Ti told me about the presence of the inhibitor chips. She said the Kaminoans insisted they were for suppressing aggression but…I didn’t believe them. We were at war. Aggressive soldiers would be ideal. I tried to research on my own but I was already banned from Tipoca City and the Jedi Council was adamant on keeping the chips a secret so I was shut down fairly quickly. When Order 66 happened and I heard the internal struggle of some of the troopers, I put two and two together. It was the only thing that made sense.”

Echo and Hunter looked on, horrified. Tech could only look away, jaw and fists clenched.

Avery continued, “Rex is right. I have seen what happens when the chip activates. It’s not just adults in the line of fire,” she glanced out the open cockpit door at Omega blissfully playing with Nuna and Wrecker.

“I’ll help you boys any way I can. It’s the least I can do. I failed every trooper that was in my care during the war by not listening to my instincts about those chips. I can help you now.”

“You…are not angry?” Tech’s brow furrowed.

“At who? You? The rest of the clones? No. You all had already had your autonomy denied you once in not being given a choice whether you wanted to fight or not. Even if Order 66 were carried out by choice I couldn’t exactly blame them. Everyone reaches a breaking point eventually.”

“I…we…are so sorry,” Hunter rubbed the nape of his neck and grimaced knowing the apology would be little comfort.

“You owe me no apology. The only ones who owe me an apology are those bloody Kaminoans and whoever told them to put those chips in you.” She stood up and studied the empty bottle.

“This calls for another round. I’ll be back.”

Avery pulled her hood up as she slipped past Hunter. And as she left down the boarding ramp, Omega and Wrecker called after asking for her to bring back more Mantell Mix.

Tag list babes 💕: @wolffegirlsunite @523rdrebel @moonlightwarriorqueen @littlemissmanga @sunshinesdaydream @blueink-bluesoul @starrylothcat @dystopicjumpsuit @wizardofrozz @secondaryrealm @sinfulsalutations @the-bad-batch-baroness @clonemedickix @mooncommlink @808tsuika @msmeredithrose @starqueensthings @stardusthuntress @ladyzirkonia @idontgetanysleep @eyeluvmusic21 @freesia-writes @mandos-mind-trick

#star wars #the bad batch #anxiouspineapple99 writes #tech x oc #tech x jedi!oc #oc: avery leto #clone force 99 #tbb hunter #tbb wrecker #tbb omega #tbb echo #tbb tech

24 notes · View notes

lovetransaction · 7 months

Text

the brother within: #3

3) being liminal, the dog is the guardian of the threshold, and is thereby a protector of hearth and home, of structure and tradition; and, – Daniel Deardorff, The Other Within: The Genius of Deformity in Myth, Culture & Psyche

When Sam was two months old, a wasp flew in the window and landed on his tummy. Mom had fallen asleep for just a minute, Dean knew she needed a minute sometimes so he didn't wake her up, he stood by the crib and watched the wasp's pointy brown body moving in circles against Sam's so-soft onesie. Sam hadn't noticed yet. Dean put two of his fingers on Sam's tummy and the wasp crawled onto them and it felt gross but he held his breath and walked to the window and the wasp flew back out before he even got there. He went back and Sam was looking at him, and Dean said, "you're ohhhh-kay," the way Dad said it sometimes, which meant that it was.

---

Dean started crying and couldn't stop when Mr. Darling sent Nana out to the doghouse when he watched Peter Pan. He never did finish the movie.

---

There comes a time when Sam has an imaginary friend and Dean doesn't much like it. There comes a time when Sam has a secret dog during secret Flagstaff and Dean doesn't like that either. There comes a time when Sam has both a girlfriend and a dog that Dean doesn't know and that's shitty too.

Dean doesn't like dogs in his car. Dean paid attention to that one Aesop's Fable about the manger, but he doesn't think it applies to him, not really. Who uses mangers anymore anyhow? They'd just burn up in the fire and take the baby messiah with them.

---

"Good boy," Dad says, tired, and hauls Dean onto his lap all sprawled and sideways so he can swizzle his fingertips into Dean's hair and then wrap him up in a tight hug. "You're always taking care of us," Dad mumbles against the side of Dean's head, fingers moving behind Dean's ear as he sighs. They both smell like the tomato and rice soup Dean had managed to cobble together out of a tin of Campbell's and some leftover fried rice, and the tang of it isn't exactly the nicest but it's comforting. Like home. Sam's on the other end of the sofa conked out from eating the last tin of pudding, and Dean turns around until he can settle against Dad properly. The rise and fall of Dad's stomach, the occasional thick way he clears his throat -- he swallowed some kind of ectoplasm on the last hunt and it's still working through his system -- and the swish of Dad's fingers through his hair. Dean's getting too big for this, he knows. But for tonight he made it all feel right, he did it all good, and his brother and father are sleepy and quiet and Dean's a good boy.

---

He wasn't gonna fuck a poodle, come on. Not one that looked like that.

---

"You're me but backwards," Chuck says to him at one point. Dean's still stinging from the don't confuse me with your dad remark, especially since technically Chuck is supposed to be basically everyone's dad, otherwise what's the whole frigging point of the Our Father?

"You're backwards," is what Dean says, and Chuck grins and shoots finger guns at him. "You should've kept your dad's dog tags," Chuck says. "You know what I do with lukewarm things. You should commit to the motif."

Dean doesn't ask what the hell Chuck's talking about. Dean leaves it alone.

---

Sam's the one who guts the hellhound. Dean can't do anything but watch.

---

The bunker is the best place they've ever been and Dean doesn't waste time in making it a home, because Dean knows better than to waste time. For a while after that extra forty in Hell he'd counted his age in dog years, because that seemed to make more sense. But most of that wasn't really living. Most of that was a choke chain, and sometimes he still feels it biting into his throat in Alastair's voice, and Azazel's, and John's. He feels bad about that last one and he doesn't. Dad had outlasted him in Hell, after all. If anybody would understand it would be him.

---

Sometimes, Dean thinks, all of their hard work and sacrifice isn't what they're left with in the end. It all comes down to a miracle.

#dean winchester #vetala in samarkan #spike brought up the longer quote #and i jumped on this point #dean as a liminal creature makes me NUTS

16 notes · View notes

wordsandrobots · 17 days

Text

Contact

[@lilenui informs me today (8 April) is Shino/Yamagi day. Actually, they informed me of this via a post four days ago, which proves I can write fast when I have a looming deadline, since I bashed this out inside 24 hours.

Anyway, in honour of today, here's a flip-side piece to accompany Falling for a Fool. Content warnings for extremely bi himbo energy and general dumbassery.]

————

It shouldn't have meant anything.

It probably didn't.

Touching other people was such a normal part of everyday life, Shino barely thought about it most of the time. A nudge here, a knock there, the clasped hand or bumped fist, a slap on the back for a job well done or a kick to the ass for being an idiot. He couldn't count how often he'd lifted one of the little guys where they couldn't reach, or knocked about with those in his weight class, or simply slung his arm around a familiar pair of shoulders just because.

What was there too think about?

Why couldn't he get this time out of his head?

The battle with the mobile armour had been intense. A giant monster robot from hundreds of years ago on a rampage that nearly ended with Chryse getting flattened, that was only stopped because Mikazuki went all-out. When the dust settled, Tekkadan were heroes once again. They'd done something nobody had since the Calamity War and by rights it ought to have been the start of bigger and bigger things, putting them on the path to truly becoming the kings of Mars.

Hadn't worked out that way, but still: they got to prove how awesome they were!

And in the middle of it all, Shino headed out to fight in a mobile suit he barely knew how to use.

Yamagi had been pissed at being dragged into the cockpit to work the new Ryusei-Go's equipment. He didn't wait to start bombarding Shino with homework afterwards, insisting he wasn't about to take a job as a full-time operating manual. That sucked because reading a mountain of technical mumbo-jumbo was more likely to send Shino to sleep than help him understand the rail-guns and the transformation mechanism and so on, but he supposed it was fair.

He'd practised hard until he could remember which buttons did what, first try.

His record now stood at switching to and from shelling-mode three times in a row without throwing anything out of whack, which had earned him a rare nod of approval.

So all in all, the situation worked out well, for him specifically. He got a Gundam to call his own, did his part in the battle, bringing down a canyon to split the mobile armour off from its drone swarm, and Yamagi was still talking to him despite everything. Sure, with what had happened since, it felt like a very small achievement in amongst a storm of massive disasters, but you took what you could, right? It definitely wasn't nothing, to finally have the strength to protect his friends.

Yet the memory kept worrying at him, like a stone in his boot.

Not the whole thing, just one particular part.

Because there'd been this moment, on-route to the target, where he'd needed to swerve. He can't remember what he was avoiding, exactly. An outcropping or a crater, some common hazard of speeding across a rocky desert, pinging on his sensors. He'd done what he always did, throwing the Ryusei-Go into a sharp sideways jink, and normally that'd be that. Only, he had another person stuffed in there with him and when he hit the dodge harder than he'd meant to –

The cockpit rocked as he regained his balance.

And Yamagi's hand struck his shoulder.

Which made sense. Yamagi was sitting across Shino's knees, folded practically in half, and there wasn't anything else for him to have braced against. It was that or being pitched across the cabin. In any case, Shino hardly felt the touch. Yamagi was not what you'd call heavy, or especially strong. He could've pushed with all his might and it'd likely have done very little had Shino been standing up, much less sitting down with a back-rest behind him.

But Yamagi didn't push.

He flinched away and hunched up, and began tapping furiously at his data pad.

Now, true, Yamagi wasn't the world's biggest fan of being manhandled. A holdover from how he got treated when he first joined the CGS and quite a lot of the time after then, before Orga took charge. Probably from being a small, slim little guy who worked for a military company in general, really, especially since getting so badly sick from the Alaya-Vijnana surgery meant he never took to the training. It was understandable, if he was sensitive over getting shoved around

Shino did his best to respect that, even when circumstances meant he needed to physically move Yamagi about the place.

Yamagi usually let him know if he went to far, with glares that had him regretting his life choices.

Except this wasn't that. Yes, Shino did catch hold of Yamagi as well, to stop him going flying, and got shrugged off for his trouble, but he was fairly sure that hadn't been the reason for the reaction. No glare, for one thing. Could it run both ways? Did a dislike of being touched make you hate touching? That didn't sound right. Then again, Shino couldn't say he'd ever paid much attention to who or what Yamagi went around touching. Maybe it was just something he'd failed to notice?

No, hang on, Yamagi helped him put on Alaya-Vijnana connector blocks all the time.

Surely he'd have noticed if that made Yamagi uncomfortable?

If they hadn't been fighting a life-or-death battle, and if Orga hadn't chosen that exact moment to come on the comm to tell them to get a move on, Shino would probably have asked Yamagi what was up then and there. He regretted missing the chance. He got too caught up in the high of victory to remember to do it when they made it back home, only thinking he should after Yamagi had already shoved the pad into his hands and hurried off, boots dangling from his…

Wait.

Did Yamagi run away from him?

He replayed the scene in his head, trying to recall the exact expression with which Yamagi delivered the instruction to read the damn files already. He'd had his head lowered, fringe falling across his face, making it hard to see fully and meaning it was even harder to picture in hindsight. Vaguely annoyed and despairing? That wasn't exactly unusual. Sometimes, Shino genuinely wondered why Yamagi had put up with him for so long.

That was probably why Shino was worrying about this.

He and Yamagi made such a good team, he hated the idea of anything coming between them.

Was it just a gross place to put your hand? Checking for himself, running a finger around the point under his collar bone where the slab of muscle on his chest gave way to his arm, there didn't seem to be any strange bumps or warts or whatever. Maybe the bare skin felt bad? Mobile suit cockpits weren't much better than mobile workers when it came to overheating and getting ugly-sweaty. Except Yamagi had been wearing gloves…

And Shino never got complaints from people who touched him there while working up a nicer kind of sweat!

The thought wrapped around to hit his brain like a live grenade.

No. No! Absolutely not. Why would he think for even a second that that had anything to do with it? Sure, yeah, it was technically an intimate place to touch, and looking at things from that angle – the angle where he hadn't been wearing a shirt and he and Yamagi were closer than they'd ever been before in their lives – then the connection wasn't a totally wild one to make. Under other circumstances, for other people, it might have been sensible. But come on!

Did Yamagi seriously think Shino thought he'd been trying to cop a feel?!

That was crazy!

For starters, Shino would never think that. Tekkadan was his family and as far as he was concerned, that put everyone else in it squarely off-limits when it came to any sort of intimate touching, giving or receiving. That was just… obvious. Orga said they were a family, and Shino cared about the guys around him the way you were supposed to care about your brothers, so of course he wasn't about to start leaping to all the wrong conclusions just because –

It suddenly occurred to him he hadn't ever checked if the others took the same meaning from what Orga said as he did.

Perhaps he needed to change angles again.

Yamagi being into guys wouldn't be the most surprising thing. All the crap the First Group bastards used to sling around aside, it was hard not to notice how uninterested Yamagi was in girls. Or at least, he wasn't interested in going out on the town to pick them up. Like Orga, except without the feeling the point was flying over his head. Yamagi seemed to understand sex as a concept, he just didn't appear to want it with the kind of people who showed up in Shino's magazines.

Didn't he ask if Shino was into girls once? As though there could be any doubt!

…had he maybe wanted a different answer?

OK, this was starting to feel weird. Now Shino was wondering if he'd ever seen Yamagi look at someone in a way that suggested he wanted to get it on with them! He was always so quiet and serious, it was ard to picture him being horny. Or giving anybody the time of day, honestly. The closest he got was maybe how he'd looked when they were putting the Alaya-Vijnana into the Graze Custom. The intense concern he'd shown over the pain the testing caused Shino.

Since then, he'd made it a mission to always perfectly tune Shino's A-V system, to avoid it hurting him again.

Did… did he do that for anyone else?

An itch spread across Shino's scalp as he took stock of the sheer amount of stuff he relied on Yamagi to do for him. Hell, there hadn't been a question that he'd be the one to head off to the Saisei to get Gundam Flauros fixed and turned into Ryusei-Go the Fourth. Shino bought the paint out of his own pocket but he'd known he could rely on Yamagi to make sure his new machine came back a roaring pink. Shino knew he could rely on Yamagi, full-stop, with pretty much everything.

Which was great!

Having a comrade – a friend – who'd make sure he got what he needed to fight the way he wanted was amazing!

Why though? Why did Yamagi do that? Shino was always bugging him with new ideas and he was always going along with them, despite his better sense. Sometimes, he'd explain bluntly why a suggestion was stupid and impossible given their resources, then come back an hour later with a plan to get close to something like what Shino wanted, and the result would turn out even better. In fact, the only time he'd flat-out refused was…

When they talked about funerals.

When Yamagi said he'd not make ice flowers bloom for Shino because they were too expensive.

Shino got the strong urge to slap himself across the face. He'd known he was being given the brush-off back then, it just hadn't occurred to him that was because – because, well, how could it have been? 'Cos when you started bringing in things like… then you weren't talking about sex any more, were you? And he could deal with somebody thinking he was hot, he could handle them being embarrassed over that, but if it was more than just a guy into guys being into a hot guy –

He was getting ahead of himself.

Way, way, way ahead of himself.

So what if Yamagi's flinch could possibly, maybe be taken as a response to… that. What other clues were there? He hadn't squirmed or blushed. He was a predictable level of snitty over being treated as on-site tech-support. He'd… not exactly been pleased when Shino got a tiny bit loud over Ride using Ryusei-Go the Third to snag the monster's attention. Nothing out of the ordinary for someone so cool under pressure, the only sign of nerves was a single foot tapping against Shino's knee.

Hold on.

Back up.

For a long few minutes, Shino sat with what snatches he could remember from before the flinch. The yelp Yamagi gave on being hoisted through the hatch. The restless patter of his toes, like he was trying to grab on with them. The all-business voice in which he rattled off information about the Flauros cannons. The faint reek of engine oil, soaked into his overalls, mingling with the new-clean smell of the cockpit and the animal musk of another body. The way he kept looking away –

None of it should have meant anything.

It still probably didn't.

But if Shino's suspicions were on the mark, then there was somebody in Tekkadan who did not think of him as family, or at least, not the kind of family Shino had assumed they were. Which meant he needed to figure out what to do next, because he couldn't just leave the guy hanging after going so long without realising. He'd have to say something, do something, decide if he wanted to see what came of saying yes…

Surprisingly, there didn't seem to be much of a question over that.

Good to know.

Even so, he ought to make sure. It'd be a huge pain in the ass if he worked himself up to asking an important question only to find he'd completely misread the situation. That'd be a real jerk move, inflicting such an awkward mess on Yamagi, and then Shino'd be the one dealing with horrible embarrassment. No, the smart thing would be to get a second opinion, check his working, make sure he wasn't chasing down the wrong rat hole with all of this.

And Eugene was sitting right there, so –

“Hey, can we talk about Yamagi? Do you think he… likes me or something?”

#shino x yamagi #norba shino #yamagi gilmerton #gundam iron blooded orphans #gundam ibo #g tekketsu #tekketsu no orphans #fanfic #my fic #spoilers

6 notes · View notes