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moondirti · 2 years

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Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader Rated: Explicit Word Count: 3.5k Summary: Moving in with the Mandalorian involves way more sexual tension and boredom than you'd originally presumed. Warnings: Language, brief mentions of masturbation, just some more pining (I'm sorry) Notes: I got around to editing chapter two! My first version of this was a little rough and didn't align with the characterization I had planned. If you missed my last note, just know that this was originally posted on ao3 (you can see that here). There are a few more chapters out on there if you want to check it out. Additionally, thank you so much for all the love on chapter 1! Your likes, reblogs and comments mean so much to me

One thing about the Mandalorian is that he can not sit still.

It’s been a week since he bust your door down and tried to die tragically in your arms (though he’s insistent you’re dramatising it all, it truly did feel that way to you). Theoretically, he could have been fully healed by now - what, with all the bacta you’ve been slathering onto him - but his refusal to take it easy has had some adverse effects. For one, he almost immediately began sporting the beskar get-up again, despite your insistence on it not being a very good idea - you know fully well from your inept attempts at polishing it that it is heavy. It came as no surprise to you, then, when you found that his newly-formed scabs reopened under the strain the armour put on his back. Even he recognised his error upon witnessing the tempered rage you barely kept at bay while sanitising the area, his helmet premeditatively turned the other away to avoid your glare.

You seriously wonder how he hasn’t torn a muscle yet; your shoulders ache after slouching for too long, to carry upwards of 50 kilograms in pure metal at all times should be considered an extreme sport.

‘Probably why he’s so grouchy all the time,’ you grumble to yourself.

Because yes, Mando is grumpy and irritable and a pain in the ass. He boldly returns any painkiller he doesn’t deem necessary, can constantly be found doing manual labour around the house for all your instructions to rest, and sleeps on the other side of your very thin bedroom wall, meaning you can do little to relieve the ache between your legs that’s settled since his arrival. The thought of his toned back haunts you wherever you go; in the shower (apparently too small a space to get off), on your supply runs; hell, even when Mando is around do you catch yourself reflecting on the rest of his body, and whether it matches the portion you’re allowed to see.

Your assessment so far is as follows: living with the man is torturous. That conclusion is suddenly brought to glaring importance when you’re reminded of your promise to move onto his ship.

“Pack your things.” You’re plating freshly-grilled frog skewers for the kid when his father speaks from behind you.

“Huh?” The child grins in thanks; you pinch his cheek as you turn to Mando.

“We should leave soon. Been here too long.” When he isn’t on the verge of death, Mando’s sentences are always clipped, as if he has a limited amount of words he’s allowed to use per day. Perhaps that’s the case in his creed - speaking too much might risk revealing more than one should.

You don’t have time to shoot him the incredulous expression you’ve grown so accustomed to using in his presence before he’s walking away. “You’re not healed yet!” You vainly call after him. He resorts to his usual, handy response - nothing at all. Not like you expected him to actually acknowledge his weakness, though. He seems intent on getting off of Nevarro as soon as possible, in spite of both you and his wound.

“Wanna know a secret, stink?” You brush your thumb over the kid’s fuzzy head. He babbles back at you. “You’re my favourite.”

You discover rather quickly that you don’t have much to pack. The house you’ve decided to hold on to for practicality, meaning all of the furniture and knick-knacks you’ve collected over the years were to be kept as is. That left you with only your clothes, medical supplies and blaster to stuff into your duffel bag, alongside an old threadbare blanket you opt you can’t live without. You’re done that next morning, freshly showered and a surge of thrill circuiting through you.

When Mando leads you out towards the Razor Crest, there’s a particular lack of sorrow in saying bye to your home.

It may be that something deep within you that caused you to question if you are really cut out for a bounty hunter's life, bound to tuck your tail between your legs at the first sign of trouble and come skipping back to where it’s safe. Or maybe it’s the bitterness at those several, several, lonely nights you’ve spent here in silence, rotting on your couch while perusing through mindless holodramas, trying to get a taste of something more. There’s nothing for you here; your life has been a series of translucent meaning, stuck in a perpetual loop of charged static particles - buzzing, buzzing, buzzing. It’s misery fit only for the girl you were back on Corellia.

Nevarro’s rocky terrain and sinking black sands made it so that your group didn’t reach the Razor Crest until hours later. You briefly ponder on how Mando managed to get to you in his injured state when his ship is parked so far away, but you know better than to ask; tension radiates off him in waves today. You really don’t want to be on the receiving end of his killer cold shoulder.

“I’m going into town to collect bounty pucks from Karga. I should be back by nightfall.” Mando declares before inputting something on his left vambrace that releases the ramp. You dodge the lowering gateway, grumbling when he steals your duffle bag to throw it onto the docking port of the Crest.

“If I unpack to a broken jar and spilled salve, you’re paying to have my closet revamped.” You huff.

“Can’t be of much help there.” He begins to usher the child’s floating pram onto the Crest.

“Oh, being stingy with where you got that cuirass tailored?” You clamber up behind him. “What if I want the latest Mandalorian fashions?” There’s a second where he wavers, helmet turning to face you with a fixed look.

Snorting, you pull away to look around. A narrow cage against the wall adjacent from you captures your attention, gas canisters and a system of wires adorning the inside. A carbonite freezer, you realise with a shiver; a model very similar to the one you used in the academy to transfer specimens through space. From your disjointed memories of your time there, you recall it has a sixty-percent survival rate for carbon-based beings. Truly, it’s a heartless piece of equipment, never the best choice unless one is going for convenience.

But of course, Mando is a bounty hunter. You forget that fact far too often when it’s just the two of you. Convenience, ruthlessness, is key for him.

Suddenly, you’re very aware of just how much he lets you get away with. You even have half a mind to apologise for your joke, especially while watching him take stock of his weapons closet. He handles the artillery with skilled precision, fingers locating each switch and clasp with little difficulty, like he has practised it in his sleep.

He’s good with his hands. You jot that mental note for later.

Blinking, you shake away the tangent and carry on with your self-led tour. On your right is the docking port, an area of space crammed with crates, toolboxes and old machinery; on the left, two doorways. You assume one leads to a bunk and the other to a refresher when you notice a distinct lack of the two in your inspection of the second level. All you find up there is the cockpit and a storage room for his frozen quarries. Overall, it’s a regular ship, save for the cold store on the lower deck.

You just had one question: “Mando? Where will I be sleeping?”

Scaling down the ladder, you appraise his armed form. He was a step away from leaving the Crest.

“On the bed.” His helmet nods towards one of the two doors to the front of the ship.

“That’s yours.” You don’t mention that the thought of sleeping next to him every night makes you want to combust - partly because you know that isn’t what he meant, mostly because your tongue is stuck in your throat.

“We’ll take turns.” That’s the end of the conversation for him. He turns to exit but falters when you stammer out:

“Erm… Is that alright with you? I don’t wanna intrude. I’m okay with sleeping on the floor, you know.” You sleep like a loth-cat in hibernation - hardly anything can get you out of it. And this is his home, you’d feel terrible if he couldn’t so much as nap because you were hogging his bed.

“It’s fine. I hardly sleep anyway.” His tone softens, his helmet bowing down at you. Although it’s barely noticeable, his inflection isn’t that of a liar. Somehow, his telling the truth is worse, if not for anything but the dysfunction of what he just admits to.

You frown. “That’s not good for you.”

There’s a modulated hitch of breath, a shake of his shoulders. Was he laughing at you? For what? You aren’t the idiot, not when he is the one parading around guns slinging with few moments respite. You open your mouth to expand on your point, only for him to interrupt with a hand at your shoulder.

It’s steady - comforting, and debilitating all at once. Then, Mando dryly remarks. “Yes, doctor.”

And he trots off, leaving you with only the sarcastic retort to turn over in your head until he comes back.

No sooner than when the ramp closes shut, you practically melt, knees entirely too weak given the distance you just trekked. Stars, the way he said it - the way he tauntingly used your designation and sauntered off like it didn’t itch the unreachable part of you so desperate for validation. He can’t have known, he can’t have known of the way it renders you a pile of useless putty in his hands. Still, he was entirely too confident with the taunt, infuriatingly self-assured for someone with a deficit in social skills. It's ridiculous.

The pressure at your core returns, broiling. You need to get this situation of yours in check before he comes back, for everyone’s sake.

You almost forget to tuck the napping child into the hammock you spot above the bed, too intent on finding release up in the cockpit.

Hyperspace is a marvel to behold. It’s all the light in the galaxy passing by in blurs of blue and purple, surrounding - engulfing - you in its infinity. The cockpit of the Razor Crest is absolute metal and mismatched parts, ugly in every sense, but in hyperspace, it reflects every colour, every shape. And seated in the passenger's chair, you are smack dab in the centre of it all, fascinated - for the first hour of travel - by the kaleidoscope that overtakes you.

Now, however, it’s been three. Three hours, and the beauty has begun losing its charm.

Maybe you’re salty. Each time you readjust or shift in the slightest, you’re reminded that you never got to cum. There’s a pulse that twinges with the least bit of friction, tucked away in a spot you didn’t manage to hit, a spot that Mando can probably dig out with ease. Pathetic. It’s like all you can concentrate on is how hard he’d fuck - pressing you up against some unknown surface of the Crest - or how desperately he probably needs it. Shit, is this going to be the death of you? This sexual frustration, that multiplies and stretches and grows exponentially whenever you are in his presence? You scowl to yourself, just as well, it would be a suitable end for a woeful life.

The man in question sits diagonal to you; arms crossed and legs spread. You already mistook him for asleep, having idiotically waved your hands and pulled faces at his visor for five straight minutes before he decided enough was enough and pushed your head away. You don’t think you’ll ever live down the embarrassment of it, in all honesty; you make a point to pointedly avoid his amused glances when he turns to check if the kid is still satisfied with his metal ball.

When his back is to you, however, you can’t help but be transfixed by his lap, captivated in his pose, his thighs, his-

You really need to cut it out before you start frothing at the mouth.

“What do you usually do for fun around here?” Your voice is rough with misuse. You cough to get rid of the scratch in it.

“Man the ship.” His helmet still faces the vast nothingness outside.

“That’s not fun.”

“You asked.” A smidgen of annoyance eclipses your incessant need for him. You gorge on it, chasing the irritation. You have more of a chance at satiating that, at least.

Leaning forward, you flick his pauldron, accomplishing nothing but hurting yourself. “Forgive me for expecting you to actually entertain me for once. I thought it safe to assume, given you’re literally doing nothing, either.” The remark escapes harsher than you intend it to be. Deep in your gut, where only doughy, vexing empathy exists, there’s a twinge of guilt. All the same, you hold your ground, resting your chin on a propped arm as you lour at the back of his head.

He hums, flicking a switch on the overhead panel instead of gracing you with a response.

“Do you wanna play a game?” The suggestion is not at all light-hearted, and is solely made to introduce a scenario through which you can channel your displeasure. Mando must pick up on this, for he shuts down the possibility before you get too ahead of yourself.

“I don’t like games.”

You clench and unclench your teeth.

“I can make it worth your while.” You grit out. “How about… one of us hides something and the other has to find it, hm?” You’re hinging on desperation here; you can’t help the optimistic lilt at the end of your question.

“I’m a bounty hunter. Finding things is my specialty.”

“That’s the fun part. You can go first.” That will occupy you for sure. He’s familiar with his ship, is intimate with every crevice and cranny, and if he were to give his all into concealing an object, it’d take you years to uncover it.

“You’re going to make a mess.” He waves. That’s off the table, then.

“Okay, message received. No sabacc?” You are not good at sabacc. You briefly recall losing about 500 credits on it at the academy, actually.

“No.” Probably for the best. You’re quickly running out of ideas, though, and you desperately need something to help you ignore the effects his drawl has on you.

“So does The Way say no to having fun?”

He sighs. “I play with the kid, sometimes.” The concession throws you off guard, your face abruptly warming with a flush at the domesticity of the act. His care for the kid hasn’t escaped you - you’ve picked up on it in the way he keeps a hand on his pram at all times and washes his mouth after meal times - but playing is another thing altogether. It’s one more point towards the new portrait you’re conjuring of the man beneath the suit. A kind man, a loving one.

“I’ve tried that. He’s too preoccupied with his… toy, to pay me any attention,” You side-eye the babbling green monster, who sits slobbering over the ball. If he wasn't so cute, you’d cringe at the mess he’s made of his romper.

“Try painting yourself silver, maybe then he’d be interested in you.”

You can’t help the giggle that erupts from you. It’s irrepressible, bubbling up from nowhere, stirring your chest with an unknown feeling. "Told you; I need me some Mandalorian armour. He exclusively likes metal things.”

And then he’s chuckling along with you, and you’re able to pinpoint it as a school-girl type of giddiness. What’s best is that you’re hardly horrified at the prospect, either. You like it, this flutter that racks through you. It’s so different to the heat - of both ire and lust - you feel when you’re around him. It emboldens you to keep talking.

“What do you say about answering a few questions of mine. I know your blood and bones better than I know you.” You simper, “You can ask me whatever too.”

“Alright.” He flicks on autopilot controls before kicking back to face you. You beam at the receptiveness.

“Hmm…” Pointing to the blaster at his hip, you ask, “Your first weapon, what was it? And how old were you when you mastered it.” You’re familiar enough with Mandalorian culture to know that weapons were part of their religion; it was as good a place to start as any.

Cocking his head, he deliberates for a moment. “Must have been a spear.” If the vague gesture he makes is anything to go by, the artillery doesn’t hold much significance to him. You can’t say you know much about them either, compared to your ingrained index on blasters and rifles. “I was put in a spar with it at ten, but I haven’t really used any since.”

You process his words, searching for an acknowledgement that wouldn’t offend. “That’s… really young.”

“Mandalorians by birth start younger.” And though he nods, there’s a subtle hesitation in his statement, like he's ashamed to admit it. You can't decipher why; he’s the best damn warrior you’ve ever come across, regardless of status. Curious, you attempt to prod further.

“You’re not a mandalorian by birth?”

“I was rescued by one as a child.” You consider biting the dust and bringing up the elephant in the cockpit, but you are already breaking new ground with the guy. You don’t want to make him relive his trauma just yet. “I’m a foundling.” The kid coos.

“Takes one to know one, huh, stink?” You toss at the baby, who now reaches for his father. Mando picks him up with one swooping movement. “Where are you from, then?”

“Aq Vatina.” It’s said so quietly you almost feel bad for asking. He pauses. “Are you from Nevarro originally?”

“No, and thank goodness for that." You break off for a moment. It isn’t like you are proud of your birth planet either. "Corellia.”

The air shifts. The Mandalorian’s hand stills upon the child’s chest, his visor now solely trained on you. You can’t blame him, your home planet truly does have a reputation for being an awful place. Yet with the way your cheeks tingle, you think he might be reassessing the tell-tale arch of your nose, the dimensions of your face. More than anything, you feel the cogs in his brain turn as his perception of you settles.

“Born and raised there, went to the medical academy when the Empire was still around. Jus’ moved later in life.”

“Hm,” This hum is much more thoughtful than the dismissive ones he’s thrown your way before. You don’t like it, being perceived like this, with this past. Not to mention, the uncomfortable reminder of why you really left Corellia leaves an ache in your bones. An image of your father’s face flashes to the forefront of your mind. “Explains the mouth on you.”

Shaking it off, you mumble. “What’s the weirdest dream you’ve ever had?”

“I’m not answering that.”

You roll your eyes. “Fine. Longshot anyway.” You reconsider, landing on a generic question that’s been clawing at you for ages now. “How old are you?

You’ve tried to guess in the past, based on a multitude of factors you’ve observed. He has the exemplary stamina of someone still in their prime. Initially, that placed him in his twenties. That is, until more of his personality made itself known and you found he acts like a senior citizen greatly dissatisfied with the view in their nursing home window. That raised him to a solid forty in your head.

“Lost track. Probably in my late thirties.” Close enough.

You chortle. “Old man.”

He shakes his head. “I’m getting there.” Something in his timbre reminds you of his back, of the skin that warms up so easily under your hands. His muscles pulse with life whenever you touch him, flourishing under the small instances of physical touch. The life of a Mandalorian must be an impoverished one, to go without all the things people needed to live - that pure, skin-on-skin contact. For almost forty years, no less.

You’re suddenly extremely honoured that he’s taken to you as his doctor.

“I’m about a decade your junior.” You try to fill the silence; he didn’t ask, and you don’t manage to catch onto his reaction, mind too addled with a snowballing jumble of emotions that you race after, trying to untangle. Yes, there is the ever present desire that seems to be a condition of being his companion, but there’s also an effervescent centre to it all, sparkling in and out of existence all too rapidly for you to place.

“Kriff…” You perk at the curse. “You’re just a kid.” His cadence has drawn to a gentle murmur, as if everything has just fallen into place for him.

Your heart twinges, frightened that his opinion of you has degraded, somehow. He likely regrets inviting yet another responsibility, another addition to his burden in trying to survive the galaxy while remaining as morally sound as possible. You’re not just a kid, no, but you are all of those other things. Useless. A liability. More trouble than you’re worth.

If Mando senses the change of tone in your next words, he doesn’t mention it. “Only in spirit.”

You need to mean more to him, you conceive.

chapter three →

#the mandalorian #din djarin #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #x reader #star wars #pedro pascal #grogu #baby yoda #reader insert #fanfiction #series #The Remedy #friends to lovers #smut #angst #fluff

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margridarnauds · 1 year

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For the Top 5s if you're still doing them: 5 favorite artworks or historical artifacts? (either overall or ones you've seen in person)

Going to go purely with paintings (general), because if it was artifacts, I would have to weigh these paintings against, say, the Tara Brooch, or Brían Boru's harp, or the Book of Kells, or the Stone Corridor at University College Cork, and......I couldn't choose. (Also why the Book of Kells isn't included in this -- it'd rig the system.)

Francois Boucher, "Louis-Philippe-Joseph (1747–1793), duc de Montpensier, Later duc d'Orléans"

This was NOT an easy list to create, because there are a lot of paintings that I like for different reasons, paintings that have been significant throughout my life (I'm not including the Maiden and the Unicorn tapestry, even though it's probably my ultimate favorite piece of all time, purely to make the decision slightly easier), paintings that I've only just now discovered, paintings that I like for their themes, paintings I like for their aesthetics, paintings that I like because of the backstory to them that aren't immediately apparent, paintings that I like because I see them about once a week whenever my schoolwork isn't killing me.

But, in the end, I had to choose this one. Probably not the most stylistically complicated of all of them on here, but...very human. The thing I like about getting to be hyperfixated on someone with a wide range of documentation (which is very rare for me), and the thing that's painful about it, is that...you see their entire life. People often want Philippe to be a monster from the time he came out of the womb to the time he died, but, at some point, he was just a baby, the same as any other, surrounded by this ridiculous amount of Ancien Régime wealth and status, but just a baby. Surrounded by playing cards and a rocking horse and a little kitten, with his little cap and shoes and dress. Both of his parents are alive, even his grandfather (who would disown him as a child out of the belief that he was replaced with a servant's child.) He doesn't know anything about politics or old grudges. He doesn't know about mortality yet. He doesn't know about all the other babies alive at the same time, born in one room houses with little food and less fuel to warm themselves during the winter. He's only the Duc de Montspensier, not a title to sneeze at, certainly, but nothing on the Duc d'Orléans. Who would have thought that baby would meet his end at a guillotine at the age of 46, as one of the most hated men in Europe?

2. Herbert G. Schmaltz - Zenobia's Last Look at Palmyra

Such a wonderful, wistful painting. You can almost feel how much she loves her city, even as she's looking at it being invaded, on fire, and knowing that things will never be the same again, as the Romans, just at the corner of her vision, are urging her on the ship to Rome. Maybe she's be spared, like some versions of her story have it, maybe she won't and will die like so many enemies of Rome did, but either way, things will never be the same again. I think it's the sort of painting that you're not all that impressed by if you see it when you're younger, only to come back to it time after time again as you get older.

3. Merson, "Rest on the Flight Into Egypt"

#3 was actually the hardest of all of them to fill, just because that's where I had to decide last, and so I had to debate which painting was going here, what was going to be my final choice. And I went back and forth between Caspar's "The Wanderer", Pether's "Eruption of Vesuvius", and this one. Ultimately, I chose this one because, while I like the composition of the others, I especially love the contrasting colors Pether used on his, I love the spirit of the Caspar....I really liked the humanity of this one. I'm a very firm atheist at this point -- As a medievalist, I can appreciate certain aesthetic and literary aspects of historical Christianity, I can appreciate what it meant historically to people and what it still means to people, but, for me? No.

But here, I love how you can see the Holy Family exhausted, weary, snatching a moment of time underneath a sphynx before they have to go. I love how you can tell that this is very much a product of that Egyptomania that really gripped the 19th century, the artist pretty clearly using the Holy Family as an excuse to draw out a really cool sphynx, but also the way that he incorporates the Family into the scene, with Mary taking refuse in-between its paws. I love the serenity of the night sky, the stillness of it, the way that he uses Glowing Baby Jesus as a light source, the limited, deliberate use of detail.

4. Henry Fuseli, "The Nightmare"

....yes, it's very stereotypically goth, but I absolutely adore it. I love the use of shadow and light, I love the combination of the grotesque and the sort of classical ideals of beauty, I love the drama, I love *the fucking horse*. It's a no-brainer for me to include it on the list. (Also, fun fact: I first learned about it when I was like....12/13, from a Scarlet Pimpernel Chauvelin/OC fanfic, of all things.)

5. Stephen Lawlor - "Woman" (2004)

This is going to be the only one I can ever confirm whether I saw it in person or not -- The answer is: of course I did. When I was visiting Limerick, I had the chance to go the Hunt Museum while it was on display. And, to be blunt...I don't like most modern art. Nothing against the artists, but I prefer the more classical styles, anything from the 16th to the 19th century (you know, that very brief time frame of three hundred years), with a lot of favoritism for the 17th and 18th centuries in particular. And, while I can see the PROCESS behind a lot of modern art....I just don't enjoy it.

But Lawlor. Oh, his stuff sinks into your bones when you see it. And there's a backstory to it -- When he was staying in a house in Sweden, he saw the ghost of a young woman who had tried to elope with the family's servant in the 19th century, only to accidentally be shot by her father. Lawlor was staying at that house one day and, as he was in his bed, he saw a vision of a woman. Totally faceless, gradually forming into something more distinct. It lunged for him and he, very Irishly, proceeded to kick it in the groin. (I know, not exactly Mrs. Radcliffe of him.) But, since that meeting, he's painted her into all of his stuff. He was known for doing landscapes and horses before but, since that point, it's all been her. To the point where he even went back to shoot a video.

I had kind of been just walking along, (or, as I'd say about a month later, ag spaisteoireacht), wanting to fill time because I'd arrived for the conference a day early and wanted to see as much of the Hunt Museum as I could before my time there was totally consumed by it (the thing with conferences is that I get to go on splashy trips all over the world, BUT I can only ever be there for a few days at a time.) And I was walking along, thinking "Oh, this is all very modern, I kind of want to go back to the medieval crozier, can we do that? I think I saw a Viking sword down the way, or can we go back into the Georgian room?"

And then I saw the video that he'd made about his experience. And I went through the gallery again, just to see it all through that lens. He's painted a number of copies of portraits of historical woman -- Elizabeth I, Lucrezia Panciatichi, Katherine Howard, Madame de Pompadour, but all of them have that distinctive lack of face, the darkness crowding in around them. The girl didn't have a face, it was taken away by a senseless tragedy, but he's let her embody all these women. She's them and they're her and it's all part of this vast, larger picture, and all of them are existing in this state between reality and dreaming. And as you walk past them, it almost feels like you're viewing something you saw in a dream, something tugging at the deepest parts of your memory, as you try to figure out where that image came from. I went away that day; I wasn't able to go back before the conference was over, but the next MONTH, when I was returning from my time in the Gaeltacht, I nabbed the book they were selling on his art because, after all that time, I'd still not forgotten it, or her. And that's why I'm putting him here among the greats.

#long post

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makeste · 3 years

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BnHA Chapter 318: On Your Left

Previously on BnHA: The Hawksquad+Lurkers were all “well this sucks” and sat around a bit talking about how maybe they should actually come up with a new plan that is actually good, but then in the end they were like “nah.” Deku was all, “THERE’S SOMETHING INSIDE ME THAT PULLS BENEATH THE SURFACE!! CONSUMING, CONFUSING!! THIS LACK OF SELF CONTROL I FEAR IS NEVERENDING. IT’S HAUNTING HOW I CANT SEEM TO FIND MYSELF AGAIN. MY WALLS ARE CLOSING IN.” Just, literally that whole entire song. All Might was all “Deku you should take care of yourself, try eating a thing,” and Deku was all “BYE, ALL MIGHT,” and just LEFT. He left!!! What the fuck!!!

Today on BnHA: Endeavor is all, “maybe if Deku didn’t listen to All Might he’ll listen to me instead.” Deku is all, “[doesn’t listen to Endeavor]” because, well, yeah. The Vestiges are all, “surprisingly, even we are a little concerned -- maybe you should get some rest, kid.” Deku is all, “((Ò ‸ Ó)).” The Vestiges are all, “holy shit.” Deku is all, “[wanders the ruined city streets terrifying the populace on account of him looking like Shelob had a baby with one of the Nazgul].” Some shriveled-up puppeteer villain asshole is all, “HORIKOSHI SAID IT’S MY TURN TO ATTACK DEKU TODAY SO I AM GOING TO SUMMON MY FRIGHTENED HELPLESS ATTACK MOB!!” Kacchan is all “WHADDYA MEAN THEY FOUND THE NERD!!! -- oh wait, that’s me, I found him. I found the nerd, you guys.” And just in time, too. I was about to owe a whole lot of people a whole lot of dollars.

so I have been super good about spoilers this week as always, but let me tell you guys, for the past 36 hours my dash filters have basically been nonstop “manga spoilers” this and “bnha 318” that, and so I’m coming in with a fair amount of hype here. your move, Horikoshi

oh, good! they got Endeavor to call Deku to try to talk him out of it. what a great and wonderful plan

“listen up kid, you haven’t slept since March and you are basically a walking biohazard right now, I’m just telling it like it is. didn’t you get shot like three times?? and there was a whole thing about how you urgently needed medical attention?? and supposedly we gave it to you, but I mean you haven’t even changed your clothes and don’t seem to have any fresh bandages or anything, so did we?? did we, really?? and also we all got blown up yesterday, so yeah.” hmm he’s making some reasonable points here you guys, but you sure do go on and on, Endeavor

oh he says foreign aid is finally on its way! I’m sure they’ll be very helpful. I mean in fairness they can hardly be worse than the home-grown heroes at this point

hey Enji, could you maybe try appealing to Deku the sixteen-year-old human boy, as opposed to Deku The World’s Last Hope? he does have value beyond his quirk. I know that’s always been an incredibly difficult concept for you to grasp, but could you maybe TRY, jesus

and also we’re worried about you as a person?? you’re just a kid and you’re pushing yourself way too hard?? you were going to say that part next, right. why the hell didn’t Hawks make this call instead

“don’t worry about me... I’m completely fine” Deku you do understand that saying it over and over again doesn’t actually make it true

and again with the rush!! all the rush rush rush!! we’re running out of time, we can’t let AFO and Tomura keep getting stronger, I have to end this now, there’s no time to rest, etc. etc. etc. just the constant pressure of this whole big countdown on top of everything else

holy shit, you KNOW it’s bad when even the Vestiges are telling him to chill

these guys are basically the walking talking embodiments of self-sacrifice; if even they’re telling him he needs to take five, then he must seriously be like half a step away from death’s door

OH SHIT LMAO

DIDN’T EVEN LET HIM FINISH HIS SENTENCE BEFORE HE SENT HIM INTO THE FUCKING SHADOW REALM WITH THAT FUCKING LOOK. HOLY FUCK. DIDN’T EVEN KNOW IT WAS POSSIBLE TO DIE TWICE. SHIT

(ETA: so I’m pretty sure this was just Danger Sense activating and so he cut them off to go do more hero stuff, but I’m gonna go ahead and stick to my original interpretation anyway lol.)

anyway so how’s everybody doing. we all good? En, you good? Banjou? Shino? I’m imagining you guys all curled up in a little ball on the floor right now lol. can’t say I blame you though, no shame

lmaoooooooooooo

“SHEESH.” sheesh indeed, lmao. “what in the FUCK was that”

see, this is why y’all need Kacchan. you need someone who’s not going to back down from him no matter what. if it’s a matter of out-stubborning Midoriya fucking Izuku, then there’s only one other person on the planet capable of that, and we all know it. don’t pretend like you don’t. I am not going to shut up about this! we’ve had our hurt so now what about SOME COMFORT, DAMMIT

“I’m afraid that he’s becoming influenced by my conscience” nah are you kidding Nana this is all 100% made-in-Japan pure original Deku right here

see, Banjou gets it. “that kid, he’s totally going on his own.” exactly. this was so inevitable it was basically scientific law

“well I for one don’t see the problem with Deku being so obsessed with saving everyone else that he pushes himself until his body and soul literally fall apart” okay, whose speech bubbles are these?? we’re about to have words

lol of course

well you always did prefer the direct route didn’t you. but even you can’t possibly think this is okay lol

dark AU!Kacchan please tell us more about your badass doomed timeline in which everything went to shit and you apparently had the same character arc that Deku is having right now except it somehow made you sexier instead of turning you into a rabid t-rex. I have so many questions

oh so now you want to help??? well -- good, actually. sorry if that sounded offended just now lol

(ETA: so at first when I got to the end of this chapter I was wondering if Katsuki B. had somehow summoned his alternate-universe counterpart through trippy OFA space telepathy lol. but in the original Japanese there’s no reference to “we”, so this appears to be a mistranslation. this line should probably read more like “if there’s something/someone out there that would be able to complement/complete the current Midoriya Izuku [it would be]…” which, oh hello, is that Horikoshi once again reaffirming that Deku and Bakugou complete each other lol. “guess what guys, the Vestiges ship it too" heck yeah. they know what’s up!)

look how admiring his boyfriends are. HORIKOSHI GIVE US THE REST OF THIS BACKSTORY ALREADY GODDAMMIT

“meanwhile somewhere in the depths of the ruined city, Deku was having a dance-off with the villains”

I like how the villains all have this “AHH WHAT THE FUCK” kind of body language to them lol. I mean if it were me, and an eldritch horror suddenly clawed its way from the shadows with its writhing glowy tentacles and pants-shitting nuclear death stare, I would probably just die on the spot. no need to stick around. only pain awaits

lol for a minute I thought this was Can’t Ya See-kun and I was like “WHAT A FASCINATING CROSSING OF PATHS” but it’s just some random girl

he seems genuinely confused lol

Deku it’s because you look like something that crawled out of a sewer drain, sweetheart

lol they just took his word for it?

so trusting. even though they’re immediately hauling ass anyway just to be safe lmao

“my appearance is frightening to others” no shit Deku it’s because you look like a fucking alien exorcism. you look like a Lich that got caught up in an oil spill my dude

NO NOT THE CHOSEN ONE ANGST AGAIN

I RAN OUT OF ESSAY JUICE FOR THIS ALREADY HORIKOSHI!! I’VE BEEN TALKING ABOUT IT FOR MONTHS NOW WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG!! BUT ANYWAYS, GOOD!! I MEAN, BAD, THOUGH, OBVIOUSLY. BUT YES

“ENJOY THIS MONTAGE OF DEKU BATTLING A RANDOM KAIJU AND WANDERING THE WOODS LIKE A DERANGED GREEN BABA YAGA” okay yes but sir, exactly how much longer is this going to go on. if it’s a matter of you wanting to make sure we get it, let me assure you that aside from a few stray chuunis who think that Deku embracing the Darkness is the coolest thing he’s ever done, all of us here in fandom fully comprehend that this is Not Good

-- OH SO IT’S LIKE THAT

really. with the flashbacks to his loved ones’ smiling faces and everything. not even gonna try to aim above the belt, huh

AND NO KACCHAN??! NO CLASSMATES?!?! IS HE PURPOSELY NOT THINKING OF THEM??? OR ARE THEY BEING SAVED FOR THE NEXT PAGE??? SO HELP ME, IF THE NEXT PART OF THIS SENTENCE IS “CAN PROTECT THEM”, OR EVEN WORSE, “CAN SEE THEIR SMILING FACES AGAIN”, I...

WHAT DID I JUST SAY

(ETA: my man did Sero and Kaminari fucking dirty lmao. I miss their smiling faces too omg.)

the sheer, unparalleled irony of him saying this while he stands there looking like the gargoyle demon from Fantasia got crossed with an umbrella that got struck by lightning. Deku :(

oi who the fuck is this clown

is he controlling this mob with his evil hair. “what if I made an exhausted, running-on-fumes Deku battle a brainwashed mob at Ground Zero.” Horikoshi do you just have like a checklist of horrible things you want to do to your protagonist

easy there Sasori

well joke’s on you buddy because he’s apparently “completely fine”, so

“here’s to hoping that you know more about AFO’s location than the others” jesus christ Deku you really have hung your mercy out to dry huh

now he’s forcing his mob of terrified prisoners to attack Deku ahhhh. sucks to be them. at least they’re not being controlled by bees

so Deku is saying that Sasori’s control can be broken with “physical trauma.” similar to Shinsou’s quirk I guess. but so does that mean he’s gonna have to hurt them? ( •﹏•)

NO NOT MORE SAD EYES

“DEATH BY EMPATHY!!!” HORIKOSHI NO

fuck. he looks like he’s on the verge of passing out

this is what happens when you nerf a character’s self-preservation stats in favor of spamming their bone-breaking stats instead. NOW ACCEPTING BRAIN CELL DONATIONS FOR A BOY IN NEED!! with your loving generosity we can hopefully help him live to the ripe old age of seventeen

OMGFGGG

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

[grabs your hands] ლ(*꒪ヮ꒪*)ლ [swings you in a circle] へ(ﾟ◇ﾟへ)

THASSSSSSSS WHATSSSSSSS UPPPPPPPPPP

HORIKOSHI REALLY SAID FUCK THAT MASK (ノ°ο°)ノ YOU FINALLY LEARNED!! IT’S CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT!!!!

JUST FOR YOU KACCHAN, HORIKOSHI LEFT THIS ONE BAD GUY WHO’S STILL WEAK TO FIRE. GOD BLESS

IT’S YOUR COUNTERPART, KATSUKI B!!!! HOW WE DOIN OVER THERE IN THE TRIPPY COSMIC OFA SPACE REALM LOL. DO WE BELIEVE YET, FANDOM???

LIGHTS!!!!

INSTANT RESULTS!!! IT’S SUPER EFFECTIVE!!!

(ETA: imagine what this must look like to Deku though. he’s been caught up in this dark cloud of despair and exhaustion that’s been building up over... I’m gonna go ahead and say “weeks”, because yeah. and now he finds himself here, in the place where All Might’s legacy ended and the torch was passed to him. and the world is in ruins, and he’s surrounded by frightened people who are all trying to hurt him -- because who isn’t trying to hurt him, these days -- and he’s scrambling to figure this all out, but meanwhile the weariness is finally starting to catch up to him, and so he’s basically just standing there in a fog of complete and utter misery.

and then all of a sudden through that haze, he hears the one voice that’s more familiar than any other that he knows. like, I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he thought he was just imagining it at first. Kacchan showing up to save him right when he’s at his most desperate and feeling the most alone. Kacchan, showing up to save him.

this is the person he always looked up to as a child (to be fair he was quite a strange child lmao). the person who was even closer to him than All Might. the person he always thought was amazing. and bam, here he is now. appearing in the sky out of nowhere to one-shot the bad guy with a single blast (which, btw, that was his armor-piercing attack too lmao dslkjlk take it easy there kiddo). like, that must have felt absolutely surreal to him, especially coming at a time when he’s already half-delirious and barely hanging on to reality. he must have really thought that he was losing it there for a second.

but he’s really there. it really is him. and for this brief moment -- before the rest of the situation catches up to him, and he remembers about all of the fucked-up AFO stuff, and remembers why he was so afraid and why he was pushing everyone away -- for just this one brief moment, he’s too exhausted and stunned to do anything except to just react. just stands there, looking up at him in awe.

and you know, it almost reminds me of...

just. you guys. the character development. the freaking character development. someone who brings reassurance. someone who shows up and makes you think, “oh, it’s all going to be okay now, because [person] is here.” the role reversals. the growth. the payoff!! because who is the one person who always had faith that Kacchan would one day grow up to become an amazing hero like that. WHO IS IT. YOU ALREADY KNOW.

omg. anyways, bless you Horikoshi, my feels which have been on backorder since fucking September have finally arrived lmao. yes, good, thank you. worth the wait. it is always, always worth the wait. fuck yeah.)

“LOWFRIES” SO YOU’RE TELLING ME THE WHOLE GANG IS HERE, AHHHHHHHH (º̩̩́⌣º̩̩̀ )

BEAUTIFUL. WONDERFUL. SENSATIONAL. I DON’T EVEN CARE THAT JUMP IS ON BREAK NEXT WEEK. THIS RIGHT HERE WILL SUSTAIN ME

#bnha 318 #midoriya izuku #BAKUGOU KATSUKI #!!!!#twowy mctwoface #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha meta #bakudeku #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha

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elizabeethan · 3 years

Text

Ripple

An Overboard addition

Emma gets Killian an anniversary gift, kind of

This is purely gratuitous fluff for @the-darkdragonfly because she deserves it

Rated T

~1500 words

Read on Ao3

Read the Rest

Read my Other Stuff

~~~~

There are few things that can make Killian Jones feel as alive as the sea does. The whipping wind that tousles his hair, the crashing waves that spray him with ocean mist and rock his boat from side to side, forcing him to counterbalance himself so as to not topple over. Very few things in this world make Killian feel as free as the sea does.

Among the few things that bring him to life are his boat. It’s something he spent years working towards, his title of captain a badge that he wears proudly each day. It’s a reminder that tragedy and hardship could not defeat him.

And then there’s the thrill that comes with catching monstrous Bluefin Tuna. It's a battle he’s won countless times, but he’s lost countless times as well, and each time he pulls one onto his deck, the pride that swells in his chest is almost painful.

Although there is a short list of things that bring him to life, nothing can compare to the way he feels when he’s with-- when he even thinks about-- his wife.

“There’s a special surprise waiting for you when you get home,” she tells him in a low, sultry voice when she calls him that day. It’s a strong reminder that it’s their first wedding anniversary, and the tone of her delivery sends impure thoughts through his mind and makes his cock do impure things while he’s at work.

“What is it?” he asks uselessly, knowing she won’t cooperate.

With the very giggle he expected, she answers, “I can’t tell you that.”

“Will I like the surprise?” he asks, voice matching hers.

“I think so.”

His wife is fire. She’s heat and passion and infallibility all rolled into one flawless, beautiful package. He maintains easily that he’s the luckiest man alive, the luckiest man to ever live again, because he has been given the privilege of marrying Emma Swan. There is nothing that will ever make him feel the way it feels to be with her-- not his boat, not catching a monster tuna, not the sea.

He’s almost tempted to call it a day, turn towards the docks and leave his mates high and dry and without much of a paycheck, but he knows he can’t do that. All he can do is think back to nearly a week ago, just before he’d left for this trip, when she reminded him very cleverly and very salaciously that their special day was up-and-coming by making him come in her mouth and smirking in satisfaction when she succeeded.

All he can do is consider what color his special surprise could be, how it will look contrasting against her creamy skin, how it will feel in his fingers when he peels it off of her.

~~~~

She’s not at the docks like she usually likes to be when he arrives home. She uses it as an excuse to visit with her father, and she also likes to tell Killian that her presence when his catch is weighed and appraised for quality is good luck. But today, she isn’t here.

He takes his check and helps his mates clean the boat, but they can tell that his mind is elsewhere. Will practically chastises him, claiming that he’s too horny for his own good and insisting that he go home to his fit bird of a wife, earning himself a slap upside his head.

The house is mysteriously quiet when he gets home, creeping through the front door and excitedly looking around every corner as he walks through. It becomes obvious that she isn’t inside when he gets to the kitchen in the back of the small cottage they share, and when he looks out the swinging porch door, he sees her.

She’s fully clothed, but she still looks beautifully irresistible, so he steps outside with a growing smirk. He isn’t sure what she could be doing in the backyard at nearly dusk, and he becomes even more confused when he watches her squat down on her knees and hold her arms out, excitedly cooing and cheering at something around the corner that he can’t see yet.

“Come on, baby!” she calls happily, grin bright and beaming in the setting sun. “Come on!”

“Emma?” he asks through his confusion, making her look up and greet him with stunning beauty. “What are you…?”

It becomes clear so quickly, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place suddenly when he hears the jingle. A small, clumsy creature flops its way across the yard that they share, nearly tripping over its too-large feet. She calls for it once more, shrieking and laughing when it bounds into her arms, knocking her onto her back.

A smile grows across Killian’s face almost instantly. He couldn’t even hope to fight it, Emma’s joy far too evident and far too impossible not to match.

“Happy anniversary,” she greets.

“Aye, happy anniversary, my love… What is this?” he asks, squatting beside her and delivering her a smile that she matches effortlessly.

“This is your surprise,” she explains.

“You got us… a dog?”

“A puppy! Isn’t she precious?” she asks, rubbing the pup’s belly and giggling as she rolls onto her back. “Her name is Ripple.”

He scrunches up his eyebrows in confusion, moving to sit all the way in order to save his old knees. “Ripple?”

“Don’t give me that look,” she chastises. “I think it suits her. One little doggy can impact our lives in many ways; like the ripple effect.”

“Aye,” he agrees, because he’ll agree with everything she says if only to see the look on her face when he does. “And how did Ripple find her way into our yard?”

The small, and admittedly adorable, puppy gives him a look that tugs at his heartstrings. Truthfully, if there was one breed of dog he could see Emma adopting, it would be a Rottweiler. Their Ripple is only a baby, small and soft, but he can tell that she’ll grow to be as fierce as Emma one day. Her big brown eyes stare into his and he knows with certainty that he’s made a companion.

“I adopted her, as a special surprise for you,” she tells him with a smirk, likely knowing that her explanation doesn’t exactly work in her favor. It’s not as if he ever had a desire to adopt a dog. Emma, on the other hand, has been wanting one for months. “She was wandering the streets, so I picked her up. I looked and looked for her owner, but she didn’t have a collar or a microchip, and no one came forward. I filled out some paperwork with the vet, and now she’s ours!”

He can’t help but to fall beside her, lying at her side and planting a brief yet deep kiss to her temple. Ripple wriggles between them, her bark small and high pitched but likely to become much more threatening in the next few weeks. “You’ve a very pure soul, Swan.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, making him bark out a laugh that’s met with one of Ripple’s. “She needs a home,” she says more seriously, rolling on her side to face him in the soft grass, her hand wandering from the neck of his t-shirt down to his waist.

“She does,” he agrees. He leans forward, awkwardly at this angle, to finally catch her lips with his. He can’t deny her of this. She grew up needing a home, and the least he can do now is support her in giving a home to another lost soul in need.

“So, can we keep her?”

“That’s funny,” he laughs, and she screws up her brows and cocks her head to the side. “It’s as if you’re under the impression that I could ever say no to you.”

He watches the smile grow across her face, reaching her eyes so easily as they catch the glimmering light of the fading sun. “Really?”

“Aye, of course, my love. Although, I will admit, this isn’t exactly the surprise I had in mind based on your phone call.”

Her giggle is contagious, and he thinks it must be in response both to what he had said, and the fact that Ripple has decided to clumsily sprint across the yard to chase her long tail. She pushes against his chest to stand-- he feels almost envious at her youthful ability to lift herself from the ground so easily-- and takes his hand in hers, hoisting him up as well. “I’ve been working on crate training her,” she explains once they’re standing side by side. She calls for the pup and she comes running, earning praise from her new, and apparently talented-at-behavioral-training, mother.

“Is that so?”

“Mhmm.” She guides them both inside, pulling his hand and holding her other one out to Ripple, offering a treat once they walk through the door. “And I plan on doing some crate training now, while I show you what other surprises I have for you under this dress. It’s good for her to practice.”

Their new companion is very well behaved, they’ve discovered. She listens to commands, snuggles with her parents at every opportunity afforded to her, and acts as a very talented deckhand on Killian’s ship, announcing the presence of a tuna on their line each time they hook up.

If one thing is for certain, it’s that Killian Jones’ wife knows exactly how to make him happy.

~~~~

There’s a dog in Wicked Tuna named Ripple, and I’m addicted to The Ripple Effect, so Emma and Killian got a dog named Ripple. Hehehe

@courtorderedcake @kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story @captain-emmajones @gingerpolyglot @ebcaver @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling @jrob64 @onceratheart18 @xhookswenchx @winterbaby89 @swampmedusa @ultraluckycatnd @dancingnancyy @love-with-you-i-have-everything @shireness-says @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @ouatpost @daxx04 @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @therooksshiningknight @eeteeaytay @xsajx @itsfridaysomewhere @alexa-fangirl-forever @jonesfandomfanatic @wefoundloveunderthelight @qualitycoffeethings @rapunzelsghosts @spaceconveyor @badcats-andmice @batana54 @sailtoafarawayland @deckerstarblanche @zaharadessert @xarandomdreamx @pirateprincessofpizza

#Ripple #Overboard #overboard 2.5 #I guess?#captain swan fanfic #captain swan #cs ff #overboard ff #cs fluff

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porkcutletheadcanons · 2 years

Text

More Detroit: Become Human Headcanons!!

Hope ya enjoy

Ships:

•Markus x Simon. • Kara x Luther

•Gavin x Nines.

TWs: Mentions of child loss

Feel free to put some of your headcanons in the comments :D

((No Hankcon :D))

• Connor LOVES birds.. much to Hanks despair.

• Alice and Kara go shopping together every once in a while, every time without fail they get matching clothes.

• Connor always pays close attention to all the small things that make others happy.

•When Hank picks up toys for Sumo at the pet shop, Connor always runs off to look at the fish.

•Since mothers day was yesterday, i’m gonna throw this one in here:

Alice wanted to make cookies for Kara for mothers day, Luther ofc had to help her and they had a flour fight, making a HUGE mess in the kitchen.

• Connor remembers every joke he’s told so he can go and tell Hank.

• Connor LOVESSS slushies.

• Kara, Luther and Alice adopted a dog which they later called Doug.

•Connor hacks the computers at the station to say funny messages when hes bored, sometimes maybe lil cute messages like reminders to stay hydrated.

• The Pirates Cove theme park was rebuilt so its now open to the public again, all main characters go every summer

•Before Cole’s death, Gavin, whether he’d like to admit it or not, looked up to Hank.

•Apparently, if you look close enough at Hanks bed, theres a really out of place pillow which is believed to be Cole’s.. Hank sleeps with Coles old pillow to feel somewhat closer to his son.

• Hank had Cole’s name tattooed above his heart so he’d always be close to his heart, however since his passing, theres now a halo over his name.

• Connor absolutely loves Taylor Swift.

•Kara is in a constant state of having crazy baby fever.

• Every Christmas, Hank has to dress up as Santa for all the kids.

• Connor went along with Hank to visit Coles grave one time.. pure heartbreak..

• As painful as it may be, Hank often shares memories of Cole to Connor.

• Connor has tried putting Hank’s hair in french braids and pigtails so many times. He loves it and they always get a good laugh out of it.

• Hank actually has a huge fear of birds

•HANK. HAD. AN. EMO. PHASE.

• Hank has a really great singing voice and is also amazing at playing the guitar.. Connor really enjoys listening to him

•LUTHER. HAS. CONCERTS. IN. THE. SHOWER. ((Kara records these)).

• Gavin is actually a pretty insecure guy who needs a lot of reassurance a lot if the time, which Nines is thankfully there to give.

• Gavin is a really affectionate guy when him and Nines are alone but gets flustered when shown affection in public

• Simon loves gift giving but hates receiving them. Markus’s birthday is his favourite day of the year. He spoils himmmm

• Markus and Simon take the opportunity to cuddle whenever they possibly can

• Connor has at least 5 pet fish

(OH MY GOD SOMEONE NAME THE FISH IN THE COMMENTS PLEASE!!!)

• Kara enjoys dyeing her hair different funky colours.

• Connor needed a lot of support after deviating, he was terrified of messing up because of only just learning boundaries

• Kara has frequent phone calls/conversations with everyone every couple of weeks to check up on them and make sure they’re okay.

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inknopewetrust · 3 years

Text

In Another Universe Part 4 (Marcus Moreno x Reader)

Summary: The reunion you've both been waiting forever for.

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x Fem!Reader (We Can Be Heroes/MCU Crossover)

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: None.

A/N: This is it! Thank you all for showing interest in this series and being so enthusiastic about it. @jupitersmooneuropa, this is for you! You're idea was so wonderful, I just couldn't resist making it into a mini-series and I hope I did you proud. Requests are currently CLOSED but will be open again soon. Check out my MASTERLIST for all other works!

Being a hero meant a lot of different things to a lot of different people. Some loved the fame, the recognition, the money that sometimes came with, while some just wanted to be helpful and loved for their work. But one quality heroes had in common was that they were able to calm their nerves in the most crucial moments.

For Marcus Moreno, that crucial moment was now, and he could barely contain his nerves.

Clint could feel the anxiety radiating off the man. Marcus tried to play it cool because he had everything that made him seem cool: the swords, the tactical gear, his stoic face, but it wasn't enough to mask emotions from a world-class spy. Though Clint was able to sense it, he wasn't sure what exactly to say. He had only heard about Marcus through you, he only knew what little you told him, and that was how he determined Marcus wasn't some alien but the man you've been waiting for.

It was an awkward silence. One filled with the quiet roaring of the engines and every now and again, the sound of alerts from the computers around them. Clint kept his eyes on the sky while Marcus took peaks at the landscape below. The world looked so much like his own... just not as technically advanced as his own. The clouds swallowed the sip and his eyes drifted forward again as he took in a deep breath and exhaled.

"Nervous?" Clint managed to crack Marcus a smile and glanced at the man sitting to his right. Marcus chuckled, nodding his head with a nonchalance.

"You could say that."

"There's no reason for you to be."

"There's always a chance for something to go wrong."

Clint shrugged and flipped some switches as the quinjet began to descend.

"Are we there already?"

"Almost. About 5 minutes out."

Another uneasy silence fell over them but Clint wasn't contributing to it. Marcus just wanted everything to be like it was before. You, Missy, and himself in a home that felt like home. He couldn't have asked for a better partner in life and work, and it was taken away from him just like your life was taken away from you, but he wasn't going to say his life was better without you because it wasn't. Marcus just feared that maybe this life here was better than the one you had built with him. No one's reassurance except your own could tell him otherwise.

"Can I ask you a question?" Marcus glanced at Clint before returning to look forward again, a little embarrassed to be talking about you with someone he didn't know. But he knew you loved Clint like a brother, just as Natasha had been a sister, so he understood there was a level of trust there. Clint mumbled a 'go ahead' but his attention wasn't entirely on Marcus.

"Is she happy here?"

'Loaded question, but alright Mr. other world.' Clint thought before answering with the only truthful answer that could be given. He has watched the progression of a quiet depression become one of reclusiveness and a bitter happiness. You weren't happy here, in this world, with him or any of the Avengers. Natasha was gone, Steve was gone, Wanda was MIA, Bucky and Sam were on their own adventures. No one was here except him and that wasn't nearly enough to support someone who lost everything and then some because of a greedy man with glowing stones. This wasn't your home anymore.

"Was. She was at one time. I don't think this is where her heart is anymore."

Clint gave him a flat smile but Marcus did not return it. The thought alone of you avoiding social contact because happiness was ripped away from you in every direction was heart-wrenching. He never wanted to bring you any pain and a part of him couldn't help but believe that if he tried harder, if he hadn't wasted time being upset with your arrival years ago, things may have been different.

"We're here."

The announcement sent shockwaves through him. A thunderbolt of pure, unexplainable fear and anticipation of seeing you again struck his core. This was it; this was his endgame and the farm that slowly made itself clear out the window was the destination.

"Let me go in and see them first, make sure they're home, and then I'll come back. Is that alright?"

Marcus could only nod and watch the man grab his bags and bow and leave the jet. Marcus unbuckled himself because there was no point in staying in the seat. The back was left open and while Clint had told him to stay, he couldn't help but walk down the ramp and stand just to the side of the jet. He ran his hand over the side of the matte gray finish, slightly impressed by the time it took to get there. It was faster than he thought even if it felt like an eternity.

The house was a nice weathered white. It had seen better days and as Clint approached the door, he noted all the fixes needed. The rusted door handle, the broken pot in the corner, an abundance of yard toys and broken bicycle parts laid around him. He managed to open the door with limited squeaking, but Laura heard it and so did Lila. The boys weren't home because if they were, they would have tackled him to the ground the moment they heard the ship land in the yard.

"Clint!? What are you doing here? I thought you weren't supposed to be back for two weeks." Laura said as soon as she came around the corner from the kitchen. Lila was right behind her with a smile and hug for him–which he gladly accepted.

"Emergency. Where is Y/n? I have something I think she'd want to see."

Laura furrowed her eyebrows and moved to the window. Outside, beside the jet, stood a man who could have been a new Avenger for all she knew. She turned back to Clint, moving away from the window so Lila could sneak a glance too.

"What is it? Who is that man out there?"

"That man is Marcus. That Marcus. He just appeared at the compound looking for her. They apparently have been trying to find a way to bring her back and whatever he did, it worked."

Laura let out an audible gasp, returning to the window and looking at the man. Slowly, just as Clint had hours before, she began to piece together the man before her eyes from the stories you had told her about.

"Oh my God! OH MY GOD!" She almost yelled so loudly the neighbors two blocks away could hear her. Clint shushed her but she couldn't keep the smile off her face. Laura ran to the staircase and yelled up it.

"Y/n! Get down here!"

"Oh my God, Clint! She had a great day today and wow-I just can't believe it."

You had heard Laura's loud enthusiasm from the room you had been staying in. You thought you'd leave her be until her voice trailed up the stairs again and she called out to you. It wasn't like you had any idea of what was going on. You heard the quinjet, figured Clint was back, and it was around dinner time so maybe it was time to eat? It was the first time in a long time that your thoughts hadn't been cluttered with death or sadness, but those feelings lingered. You exited the room, walked down the stairs and smiling at Clint when you saw his face.

"How's the girl?" Kate Bishop.

"She's a real hero." Clint replied and you nodded your head in reply. Doing so, you managed to turn toward the window from your place on the second to last step. Outside sat the quinjet that had taken so many of you and your friends on missions that could have well been your last. But it wasn't the vehicle that caught your undivided attention, but the body beside it. Standing tall in black.

Your eyes had to have been deceiving you.

"What is going on?" Your voice was barely a whisper, but Laura caught it, smiling and grabbing your hand. Your attention never left the window. The man was pacing slightly, a nervous tick you were sure you knew.

"Laura-"

"Go and see for yourself, Y/n." Her voice was quiet too but reassuring and warm, like a mothers should be. The man outside didn't know what was going on, but he left your sight because you descended the rest of the steps and ran out the door.

The door squeaked loudly this time and with a bang, fell shut. You barely made it to the steps before you stopped on the gravel. about 20 yards away, the man heard the door and turned.

Even if the entire world was watching the scene unfold on Clint's lawn, many could not recall who moved first. Laura would say Marcus because that's who she could see, but you were slightly convinced it was your own feet. Nevertheless, after the door had slammed and the two of you met again, the universe drew you together like magnets. You ran, he ran, and with the collision, you both wrapped your arms around each other and soon your feet were off the ground.

You could barely say a word with your blubbering tears, and he wasn't about to make his obvious either so instead of talking, he just pulled away enough to look you in the face. Your eyes the same, your nose the same, your lips still perfect to him. Your hands moved from around his neck to his face. You gently held his face in your hands as you tried to control yourself.

"You're really here?" It was a broken ask but he managed a smile and moved a piece of hair out of your face.

"Yeah, I'm here."

"I missed you s-so much." Marcus couldn't help but grin at the admission. It was everything and more than he wanted to hear.

"I love you. I love you so damn much." His hand rested on the back of your neck and he pulled you to him. His lips were just as you remembered.

Perfectly him and as if they were made for your own.

Reunions were sentimental and good. But they were followed with a series of questions that were often difficult to hear. Marcus had held you for a long time. You weren't sure how long and you weren't exactly complaining either, but there was a linger question: how did he get here and how in the world are you getting back?

You had been adamant in telling him 'yes' the moment Marcus asked you the question about returning to his world. That was the plan for you. There were no other options because life with Marcus and Missy was your life now and whoever was left that loved you like family had to accept that. Marcus had explained the machine built to travel through worlds over dinner with Clint because perhaps he could be the one to help. He had travelled through time before so what is traveling through universes, right?

But later that night, when the reunion had settled and everyone had gone to bed, Marcus sat on the edge of an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room with a woman he loves. Clint could help you, but he needed time. So, he left with the jet while you stayed with the family and Marcus. He went to go see Stephen Strange because he managed to pick up the phone late that night.

"Do you think they'll be able to get us back? I don't want to leave Missy there all alone." Marcus voiced his worry with a sad reflection. You sat up from your reclined position and waddled over to him, running your hands up his back and then around his shoulders before he gently took them and tugged them around him. He missed your touch so much.

"You've never seen Dr. Stephen Strange do his 'magic' so I think there's a chance."

"Are you sure this is what you want?" He turned his head just enough so he could look at your face. You may have been a spy, but your eyes never lied to him. He knew you better than any interrogator could ever wish to have known you.

"Yes, I want to be with you and Missy and all those heroes with weird names." You laughed for the first time in a long time and it was music to his ears. He smiled to where his eyes crinkled in the corners as your fingers played with the nape of his neck where his loose hair sat.

"I just want you to be happy, Y/n. Your happiness means everything to me."

"I am happy with you. I am happy in our home. This makes me happy."

That was enough for him. The next day you both waited... and waited... and waited for even one word from Clint, but nothing came. Sometime in the afternoon, the heavy engine of the quinjet could be heard in the yard so you dropped the puzzle pieces on the table beside Lila, grabbed Marcus' hand and ran out the door. Clint had a small smile on his face, but it was the sharply dressed Doctor that you focused your attention on.

"Doctor."

"Agent."

"I trust there is a way home if you're here. You wouldn't come all this way to bare bad news."

"Your skills on reading people alarm me, though I would expect nothing less from an Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D."

Stephen nodded and then extended his hand to Marcus who shook it in return. They introduced themselves to one another and Stephen put a gold bar on his fingers before extending his hand to the wide landscape of the farm.

"What are you doing?" You asked with a furrowed brow. This wasn't the way Marcus had come, they were supposed to fix the control pad he had on his arm.

"Do you really think the Sorcerer Supreme can't open portals to other universes? There are so many worlds you don't know, but you found the one you were meant to be in, so let me get you both home."

With a circular movement of his fingers, Stephen opened a yellow portal that slowly became an image of a world you had known before. A house, perfectly structured in the suburbs was on the other side. The grass perfectly mowed and the bushes trimmed, the mail box accidentally left open which you knew was Missy's fault. The curtains were open and the sun shone brightly into the home. Marcus grabbed you hand, squeezing it tightly as you took in the sight. Months had gone by where you dreamed of this moment, of that house and all its residents. Your dream was here now with the man holding your hand to support you.

"Y/n." Clint called out to you, breaking your stare. You turned around and he approached with his family in tow. He held out a small envelope which contained a note from them and a series of pictures that you would later cry over, but it was a final goodbye from your life here on this Earth.

You hugged them all with tears in your eyes but when Marcus re-took your hand, it felt like it meant something more than just running off into the sunset together. It felt normal and needed and necessary to move forward in your life.

"Are you ready?" Marcus asked you to which you could only reply with one word:

"Yes."

Tag list for series: (thanks for the support!!)

@pasckles @jupitersmooneuropa @agingerindenial @karnita-mexicana @mcueveryday @shadowolf993 @computeringturtle @roxypeanut

#we can be heroes #we can be heroes netflix #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno #marcus moreno x fem reader #marcus moreno x you #marcus moreno x y/n #pedro pascal #x reader #x you #x y/n #final part #fanfiction #self insert #fanfic #requested #pedro pascal x reader

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ka-writes · 3 years

Text

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Notes: READ WARNINGS!!

Please I really want you to be safe.. anyways, this is mainly a set up for the next chapter.. it has a shit ton of angst prepare yourself.

Also am very sorry it is late!! ‘‘Twas very hard for me to start writing it, btw I started another AU please go check it out, thank you <3

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Warning: Torture I go into detail, gore, cussing manipulation, characters lose sense of reality.

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In case you missed:

Chapter 1:

Chapter 6:

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Inspired by:

Humans are Space Velociraptors

By:FreshRoses_InMyGarden_NeedTheRain

Some kids come from storks, others come from crashed spaceships

By: mmmajora

Home Again, Home Again

By: teeth_eater

All works can be found on Ao3

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Ao3 link for this work:

And my other AU:

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Change 7: This is a dream… right?

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He was back where he started this whole thing.

In a cage.

One cage over from the door and now in the middle of the room. It felt empty and bare, yet full of an uncomfortable sense of dread and fear, though he would never admit that aloud.

This time there was only one other cage in sight. The room had changed as well. It was no longer covered in grime, or smelled of blood. Instead it was a sickly white and smelled of rubbing alcohol. Which caused his nose to burn with the overwhelming scent of the cleaning supplies, making the entirety of the room feel more and more like one of those horror stories in hospitals, the only difference being that this one was real.

The thing that replaced the other cages and humans was an operating table with vials and tools that Tommy couldn’t identify.

There were no lights currently, except for the same small door window, which was the only thing that really stayed the same.

It was cold, it felt empty. There was no description fit for the amount of dread Tommy felt. It was built up after laying in the dark for so long. It burned his gut and made his head swirl with thoughts of what would happen next.

He wouldn’t ever admit he was scared, but the situation kinda explained itself.

Without warning the door swung open. No squeaks like last time, just a smooth motion allowing the room to be basked in yellow light from the hall.

Then the lights turned on, immediately causing Tommy to shut his eyes. His head started throbbing and every fiber in his body screamed at him to run. The lights turned into blurry blinding blobs that lit everything in a white fire, making it apparent that the room was indeed scrubbed of any stains or blood. Once his eyes finally adjusted, his migraine caught up to him, making the entire thing unbearable.

“Hello there!” An alien stepped in the room. Their features were outlined in white and their skin wasn’t even recognized, simply because it looked like a shadow. They had claw-like hands and wore glasses over their white to red eyes. They had a black doctor’s coat and wore black pants with white knee high boots. They had a devilish tail along with devil horns and a floating white halo. Their fangs poked out from a blinding white mouth, which was curved into a practiced smile.

“My name is BadBoyHalo, but you will refer to me as Dr. Halo.” They finished with a sickly sweet tone and a side smile, “My pronouns are he/him, and I will be taking care of what happens while you’re here.. not that you will ever leave of course.”

His mind was racing. Everything told him this was real, but he couldn’t help but pray that it was all a sick dream.

“Now we will start off easy and move onto the harder stuff later! Please refrain from trying to run, we have a shock function attached to your translators.” This caught him off guard. Why was he using plural tenses?

He looked towards the other cage, that’s when he noticed the strange bee alien also wearing a petrified expression. His eyes didn’t wander to the other cage, only watching Dr. Halo.

“Now who do we start with?” The doctor asked, even though he clearly already knew. A twisted smile shone on his face letting the light catch the awfully amused glint in his eyes, “Let’s start with the droneling!”

——————

There was no explanation for where the two went.

They simply vanished. No traces to follow or reasons to run.

The only logical explanation was Dream catching them. Which meant Techno would have to ask around for where the ship was harboring. The only problem being, he was awful at talking to people.

“So what do you wanna know?” A tall Wollylock person asked, she was the only known person to know anything about Dream, being his mother and all.

“Er- information on the Dream Team Ship.” Techno stated rather awkwardly.

“Why?” The captain asked, impatience clearly visible with her expression.

“They took two starlings from my crew.” At that the captain practically fumed with furry.

“I will help. After all, that boy needs to learn some manners.” The captain stated, her determination was infectious. “What is your craft’s name?”

“The SBI Craft, piloted by captain Philza.” He said robotically.

“Course it has to be Phil. That man has what, four kids he claimed to his crew..”

“Technically, I am not a kid, neither is Wil- Er our scientist, so really he’s only harboring three kids, now one since two were taken..” Techno decided that was the best explanation he could come up with, though there was really no point.

The captain chuckled and brushed off the other’s attempts at defending the crew. “Just send me the ship’s cords and your captain’s contact and I will be in touch.” With that the captain slid a communicator over the table and walked out of the sketchy bar.

Techno made his way back to the ship and delivered his captain the news. He tried to ignore the gut feeling that everything was wrong…

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(The next section has graphics depictions of torture and gore, please skip this section if it could or will trigger you in any way, there is a summary at the end. Thank you <3)

The world moved unbearably slow. The cage opened ever so smoothly, making him want to throw up. It was the sign that everything was going to go to hell.

That’s what this has to be right? A hellish nightmare that wasn’t real..

No that wasn’t right..

Did it matter?

A hand yanked his wrist out of the cage and into the blinding white room, that felt like fire surrounding him as he stepped to the operating table.

Needles and scalpels were set neatly on a silver tray. The restraints were heavy and felt like they burned his wrists and ankles. He was pushed onto the table as the ‘doctor’ slapped on gloves. More restraints were clipped over his waist and thighs.

Then something pinched his leg. He felt the blood rushing it’s way down to the cut, as a scalpel carved out a rectangle. He could hear scissors cutting something, and distant screams… were they from him?

He didn’t know at this point. More agonizing cuts on his legs along with a couple of needle pin marks.. a couple snaps of an illusion disk and a bit of writing, on both his skin and paper..

He couldn’t really feel anything after the first one, only simply knowing that his body was reacting to the pain yet his brain hadn’t quite caught up with reality.

It was like he wasn’t exactly controlling his body, just simply existing in the dream-like state. Time didn’t exist there, neither did recognition of the pain. Emotions ran wild. Turning all of his thoughts sour as he attempted to remember what happened.

It wasn’t until the doctor un-clipped him and put him back into the cage that he noticed the other.

That’s who did this to him. That’s the person that pushed him through pain.

The human wore a terrified expression as the doctor took him out for his turn.

He couldn’t help but smile at the other’s pain. The other deserved it..

Right?

(If you skipped this, Tubbo got tortured and blamed Tommy for the situation.)

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“IT’S BEEN A FUCKING MONTH! And you still haven’t found your son’s damn ship?!” The man on the other line was furious, and rightfully so.

Puffy undoubtedly understood the anger the man had. I mean she had been in the situation before when her youngest was kidnapped by another crew of pirates. The only difference in this situation was she was fighting against her son, her duckling… when did her duckling turn sour?

“You’re right about that, Phil. I can assure you Niki is doing everything in her power to track them down, along with Jack.” Jack joined the team after Puffy met Niki.

She must admit that having someone working in the ISF had its perks. Though no one could fully trust him. For good reason of course.

“Ponk is ‘talking’ to Sam, he sure as hell ain’t cracking yet.” She finished bitterly, “Like I said Quakity is waiting for his monthly letter from his fiancé, which would hopefully give us a clue at where to look.”

“I am still trying to wrap my head around the fact that it’s been a month.. Wilbur said the humans barely last a full week if they aren’t treated..” The worry was lining his face and causing the bags under his eyes to look more like nasty black eyes. His face was sullen making it apparent the man hadn’t been eating properly. His wings ruffled at every noise and he seemed to be running purely on coffee. Puffy wanted nothing more than to return the man’s unofficial sons back to him.

——————

Everything was great!

The plan worked perfectly, and Sam hadn’t cracked yet.

Meaning he could easily start on the next faze. The only issue would be he’d have to gain both of the starling’s trust.

Even if the present was a bitter reality lined with things that would annoy him, the end result would be worth it.

Having a human and a nuke expert by his side would allow him to have everything he ever wanted.

Power.

Not just power, but all the things that came with it. He wouldn’t be questioned again, and everything and anything he said would be the final word.

It would be hell for those who crossed him, and even worse for those who abandoned him.

Wilbur, Sam, Ant, Quackity, Foolish, and even mother dearest, Puffy. They would all pay for their disloyalty. Once this is all over, they would never cross him again.

I mean he did give up everything to gain this life.

There was nothing to lose and everything to win, and he’d be damned if he didn’t win.

I mean he sold his soul for this!

It was all worth it.. right?

Of course it is. Stop doubting me child.

——————

28 days of torture, and now they were sitting with their captors playing house.

It was wrong. So utterly wrong.

“Eat your food Tommy.” The captain commanded.

Tommy complied not wanting to go back in the cage. Every day he woke up there, more things were shoved into him and more pain was given.

“You too Tubbo.” The command was given and the other complied, the same fear visibly shown.

“Reports.” Dream stated sternly, the rest of the crew compiled without hesitation.

It was a bunch of regular reports of how no one knew where they were, what supplies needed to be restocked, the current condition of the ship, and any developments with the news. A bunch of boring bullshit. He bit back any sarcastic remarks that threatened to spill, but refrained in fear of what they would do to him.

The crew was dismissed leaving Tubbo, Tommy, and Dream alone.

“I want both of you to listen.” Dream started his tone raising all hairs on the back of Tommy’s neck, “Phil and his crew led you to us. They didn’t comply the first time and poisoned your minds. We did the right thing, and fixed you. Now, there are some rules you have to follow. You may not wander the ship, only go anywhere with one of the crew members. You will both share a room and follow the same schedule. Anything you do that is not an order deserves a punishment, for it is proof of what the other crew poisoned you with. Now! Go to your room, it has a black door.” With that the man finished and the pair headed towards their room.

The speech sounded right, yet felt wrong. But everything was justified, therefore it was fine. Plus the worrying was just a problem for future Tommy, maybe that’s what Dream meant by the other crew poisoning him.

The other said nothing as they entered the room, only fixing Tommy with a bitter gaze which turned into something of confusion. Neither one slept, they couldn’t bring it in themselves to sleep, especially since Dream hadn’t told them to.

Instead both of them settled into a silence as they lay on their bed, only getting up when the man told them too. This was all they could really do as they faced their new reality. Slowly but surely their brains began to believe every word of the speech. Finally when the man asked to join him, a bubbly sickly joy gave them the grace to finally help their rescuer.

Six months after the initial capture, one month of torture and five months of vigorous training, consisting of fighting, weapon design, and hours of studying blueprints, they were finally able to go on their first mission with their rescuer, not questioning anything any of the crew said at this point. Sick months of training and they became living weapons ready for whatever the cruel world threw at them…

This is a dream.. right?

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Chapter 7- End

Words: 2221

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Notes:

Hahahaha I am in pain from writing this... please bare with me.. ;-;

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Dream is being a manipulative bastard... I mean the character. More specifically my take on Dream’s character in this situation... ahhhhh

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I hope you’re staying safe, don’t forget to take care of yourself!! <3 also likes are appreciated but reblogs are always better! <3

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torilovestowrite · 4 years

Text

Dabi x Reader; Try Again pt. 9

Synopsis: Years ago, (Y/n) was left by her villain boyfriend, Dabi after discovering an unexpected news. Ever since then, she never had a lover— focusing on her only son, Yuta. Later on, she meets Todoroki Touya— a new co-worker who seem to be persistent towards winning her heart and attention.

Ship: Dabi x Fem! Reader

❗❗❗Content Warning: Mentions of Abortion, Unplanned Pregnancy, Manga spoilers, Dabi is a Todoroki theory

🖤 chapter navigation 🖤

It's been... what, 3 weeks? 3 weeks since that incident wherein Y/n has blown Touya's cover. A huge fight between them happened after that night— the day she returned his belongings. The young woman didn't even waste her time confronting him. It wasn't the most delightful reunion; but a tragic and hurtful one for the both of them— especially to Y/n.

"Here's your stuff." Y/n spoke while she was trying to hand out Touya's black leather wallet. He grabbed it from her hands and stared at her face— meeting her emotionless eyes; still in-shock from what she discovered. It was something that's hard to swallow for her.

"Thanks." Touya attempted to leave, immediately going towards the door after she gave his things.

Y/n rolled her eyes as she began to become shady, sneering at him with her words. "You're so used to running away as if nothing happened, aren't you? Then tomorrow, you'd come back as if nothing happened again."

Touya closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh as he was stopped from his tracks. Yes, he knew that this moment would come— the day she discovers the truth behind his identity. But still, he never knew that it would come too soon— and that it would be this tragic. He felt his guts tightening from stress and pressure; until small flames began to appear on his skin. Ah, it's been a long time ever since his quirk was used; the sensation that the blue fire left on his skin was purely nostalgic to him.

He turned to Y/n and began to face her direction. The young woman's eyes slightly widened but a stoic expression was still displayed on her face. Isn't he used to running away? What is he doing?

"I'm sorry." Touya apologized, coming towards her and attempting to hold both of her hands. Y/n's eyebrows furrowed at his gestures as she began to look away. "I-I know I couldn't come back as someone who I used to be. That's why I did everything so—"

"And you think you can come back just like that?" Y/n's voice was shaking as hot tears began to dwell on her eyes— falling and staining both of her cheeks. "Dabi, you really have no idea how hard it was for me, don't you? You have no idea how difficult it is to find happiness after what you did to me, right?"

He couldn't cry— despite going through a massive surgery, his tear ducts were still burnt. And so, blood came out from his eyes; which caused a bit of panic to Y/n. But they were both crying now— and she didn't know what to do.

"P-Please." Y/n pleaded, removing his hands from her skin. "Stop seeing me and Yuta. Just leave, Dabi."

After that fight, Touya couldn't be seen anywhere. He stopped appearing from work and he also stopped visiting Y/n and Yuta from time to time. It was painful for the both of them— but Y/n knows that she needed time to think; to absorb everything that has unfolded right before her eyes. And as for Touya, he needs to reflect on what he did— and to ask for Y/n's forgiveness. It was bittersweet— but shouldn't it be like that?

Y/n could still remember the disappointment in Yuta's face when she said that he'll never come back. The young boy would always look at the windows to see if his beloved Uncle Touya was there— but of no avail, no one came. She felt bad for her son. Perhaps, it was too harsh for her to decide on her own without even asking her son? Y/n didn't know. But what she knows is what she did— would be the best for all of them right now.

It was a typical Sunday morning for the mother and son duo— Y/n was cooking lunch for the both of them while Yuta was in the backyard playing alone. While the young woman was cooking, loads of questions began to float in her mind.

How did Dabi survive? How did he change his name to Touya? Why did he decide to come back? Just... how did everything turn out to be as it is right now?

It wasn't too long until her thoughts were interrupted after hearing a child-like scream from the area where Yuta was playing. She immediately turned off the stove and rushed towards the scene with her mind filled with panic. Her eyes met her unconscious son who was laying on the ground with light blue flames appearing on his frail-looking body. His skin was bruised— and it was quite obvious that he was trying to catch his breath. Did Yuta perhaps... try to train himself?

Despite the high temperature surrounding his body, Y/n's maternal instincts didn't care. She carried the young child in her arms and rushed him towards the nearest hospital.

"I know I was the one who told you to never come back. But I really need your help this time, Dabi." Y/n guiltily looked at her toes as she spoke to the red-haired man right before her eyes; meeting his blue unreadable orbs.

It's been two days since Y/n and Yuta returned from the hospital. He was unconscious for at least 5 hours— but Y/n decided to confine him in order to assure that his body is in the right track before they could be released.

"Just call me by my real name, Touya." He spoke as he took a sip from the cup of tea that Y/n prepared for him when he visited. The young woman rolled her eyes in return and said, "Whatever, Touya."

"Anyway, I know we're not okay right now... but you have to stick around. At least not for me, but for Yuta." Y/n swallowed before speaking— just like how she'd swallow her pride just for her son to feel more better about his quirk.

"Apparently, Yuta's body was too frail for his quirk— which is why he was left unconscious while trying to train himself on how to control it." She explained, showing him papers in order to prove her point— which Touya immediately read once he received it.

A small smirk appeared on his face as he began to look at the records. "Guess the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree, huh?"

"Train him please." Y/n spoke in a soft tone as she pleaded. "Y-you're the only person I could ask about this. You have the same quirk as him."

A moment of silence wrapped around the room. It was uncomfortable for Y/n, considering that she can't really determine what Touya was thinking.

Meanwhile, the young man was drowning in his thoughts too. His hands were shaking— that old trauma once again came back. What if he becomes like the older man who raised him? What if he ends up hurting Yuta? What if Yuta ends up becoming a young man who claimed the innocent lives of 30 people? What if he ends up becoming like Dabi? But suddenly, these negative ideas began to disappear as he felt a pair of warm hands hold his'. It was Y/n— oh god, did he miss the feeling of those hands.

"Once everything becomes fine, I'll introduce you as his father." Y/n claimed as she squeezed his both hands tightly. "Compensate for your loss now, Touya."

And eventually, without even having any second thought, these words came out from his lips— almost like a slip.

"I will do it." He spoke in a deep tone, "I will not be like my father."

Taglist [OPEN]: @babayaga67 @marydragneell @xxtrash-kingxx @paranoiac-666 @velvet-kissesss @orenjineki @mermaid-starlet @ikita454 @yo-girl-lunar @pansexual-booknerd @daimiyu @marvelousbakugou @peculiarinsomniac @cutesnakemum @sam-i-am-1025 @lawlesshedgehog @sonderkook @miss-buttersworth @threbony @noonewouldlisten25 @missalicebaskerville

#boku no hero academia #boku no hero academia imagines #boku no hero fanfic #mha x reader #bnha x reader #my hero academia x reader #bnha dabi #boku no hero spoilers #dabi #dabi imagines #dabi x reader #bnha dabi x reader #dabi is a todoroki #todoroki touya #touya todoroki #touya x y/n #touya x reader

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smarchit · 3 years

Text

Look Around, Look Around pt 7

Summary: You escaped an abusive marriage, pregnant with your husband’s child. He sends a bounty hunter after you to bring you back. Everything changes. Din Djarin/pregnant!reader, no use of y/n

Word count: 4k (apparently)

Warnings: Pregnancy/related topics, implied/referenced rape, mentions of abuse, blood/gore, violence, labor, childbirth, ask to tag for anything else!

Notes: This is definitely the longest part of this story so far. When I first published this on Ao3, it was originally titled “The Mother.” Enjoy!

Your water had broken. It ran down your legs and created a dark spot on the floor below your feet. The wet mark bloomed across the floor and fear rose in your throat. Kriff.

Two weeks early. Two whole kriffing weeks early. Almost three! You remembered what the doctor on Nevarro had said about potential birth complications and tried not to think about it too much as you tried to prepare the little home as much as you could in the short amount of time you knew you had.

You had been walking around the largest room in the house for a few hours since then, trying to stop the unbearable pain in your back. In. Out. In. Out. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

You let out a sharp cry and clung to a support beam so you wouldn't drop to your knees in fucking agony as another contraction hit. They were still far enough apart that you still had a bit of time, but you knew that this baby was coming. Today. With or without the Mandalorian there to assist. He kriffing promised.

The sun finally came up and still no sign of the Mandalorian. You were beyond worried - both for him, and at the very real possibility that you had to do this by yourself. In the middle of a desert.

You had decided that sitting in the nest of soft blankets and bedding would be the best option for you right now. Gods, what you wouldn't give for Mando's strong hands to grip onto right now.

Between the contractions and over the beeping from the timer you had rigged, you heard voices outside. Your heart jumped, thinking the Mandalorian had finally returned, maybe with help. It didn't sound like Mando, though. Neighbors, perhaps? Though you hadn't seen any other houses when you arrived. Fear began to bubble in your throat.

"There's his ship," a voice growled from outside. It sounded vaguely familiar, though you couldn't place it.

"Think he's in here?" asked a second voice.

"Nah," replied the first. "He would be waiting for us if he were. His girl's here though."

"How do you know?"

"I heard her crying."

You gasped, both in fear and in pain and carefully got to your knees. If you moved quick enough, you could make it to the ship and lock the door, like Mando had told you to do.

No luck.

You had almost made it to the back door when it slammed open. There was a scrawny man with sandy hair standing there, a dagger in his hand. He smiled at you and as you tried to scramble away backwards, he reached down and grabbed you by the hair.

"Oh, he's gonna love to see you," he chuckled.

You screamed and brought your foot down onto the arch of his boot. Hard. He let out a scream of pain. As he dropped you, you ran to the table and grabbed the blaster Mando had left you.

One shot to his head and he crumbled to the ground. You had an uneasy feeling that his partner wouldn't be felled so quickly.

Adrenaline coursed through you as you staggered to the back door again. All you needed to do was get to the ship...

"There you are," the first voice hissed. It was deep and grating and chilled you to your core.

Your eyes went wide with sheer terror as you recognized the man that filled the doorway that you currently were trying to make your escape through. Dern. The Devaronian innkeeper.

"Where is the Mandalorian?" he shouted, crossing the room to you in two massive steps. You backed up, trying to keep as much distance between you and him as you could.

"I don't know!" you shouted, crying out as a contraction hit. As you gripped your stomach and doubled over, you took a few breaths and tried to stay calm.

"Oho, now what is this?" he roared with laughter. "What's the matter, little girl? Do you need some assistance?"

"Get away!" you cried as he came closer to him. "I'll -- I'll shoot! I'll -- Ah, kriff!"

He just kept laughing despite your gasps and huffs of pain. Dern gripped your arm as you tried to keep it steady to shoot. He crushed your wrist and yanked the blaster from your hand.

"Please, please no!" you shouted as he drew you closer.

"Tell me where Mando is and I won't shoot," he said, aiming the blaster at your head.

"I don't know!" you sobbed. He still had a grip on your wrist and you could feel the bones creak as they threatened to shatter in his grasp.

Dern scowled and then in an instant, he had the blaster pressed against your belly, one finger resting on the trigger. When you let out a scream of horror, he gave a cruel chuckle.

"Tell. Me. Where. He. Is." Each word was punctuated with a jab to your belly with the blaster barrel.

You groaned and screwed up your face as the wave of contractions continued. Closer. Not long now.

"Please," you begged. "Let me go. I don't know where he is! He left two days ago! Please, I'm telling you the truth."

Dern scoffed and let you drop to the ground. He shook his head as you scrambled backwards, trying to get yourself to the small nest of blankets you had left on the floor. The palms of your hands were cut up with dust and gravel.

Your thigh brushed something buried in between the pillows and blankets and when you glanced down, there was a little glint in the low light. The knife. There was a chance after all. But you had to think fast. You only got one chance to hit, otherwise you and your baby were both dead.

The Devaronian took a seat close by you and kept the gun trained on you. He leaned forward so he could get a better look as you braced yourself against the wall as a powerful contraction hit. My moon, I will not let him take you from me.

Dern kept the gun on you for the better part of the early morning, waiting for you to talk. He drank the last of your water from the skin, leaving you parched and sweating as the sun beat down on the house.

You couldn't take it anymore.

"Dern," you gasped, hand clutching your belly. You pulled your shirt from the waistband of your skirt, exposing stretched flesh to the dry air. "I... I need help. Please help me. This baby is coming."

Gods, you hoped that Devaronians weren't known for their obstetrical prowess. It was the worst lie you ever thought of.

He laughed as he stalked over to you, stuffing the blaster in his pocket. One giant fist tangled in your hair and yanked you to your knees. "You finally decided you need my help, huh?"

You gritted your teeth as he leaned down to get closer, pulling you up to meet his face. He smelled like blaster smoke and oil. And something beneath that. Something that caused a deep rage to boil inside you, something that caused your maternal instinct to go into hyperdrive as you gripped the hilt of the knife Mando had left for you. Sour Bantha milk.

"Think I'll keep you," he said with a chuckle, "Wonder how soon I can put another baby back in you? You look so good like this. Wonder how good you'd look with a Devaronian inside of you." Dern trailed his fingers down your neck and cupped his hand over one of your breasts, travelling lower until it reached your exposed belly. He dug his nails into your skin.

You screamed and drove the blade of the knife into the side of his neck as hard as you could. When you jerked it forward, he gave a roar of pain as his blood sprayed over you.

He tried to reach up to grab your arm to subdue you, to try and make you drop the knife. Dern swore and tried to snap your wrist as you brought the blade down again and again with your other hand.

When he fell, you gave another scream and shoved him away. As he landed in a heap on the floor, you drove the knife into his temple. His blood soaked through your clothes, the blankets, the dirt floor of the house turning the sand red and wet as he bled out. It was on your face. You could feel it. You tried to wipe all the blood off your hands on a nearby blanket. Shaking. Your vision blurred. You just killed someone. Two someones. There's so much blood.

"Maker," you gasped.

You had to get out of here as soon as you could. As quickly as possible, you staggered to your feet, biting your lip bloody through the pain. You had to get to the ship. Send an emergency signal to someone. Anyone. Maybe someone would pick up on it and rescue you. Maker, you would even take your chances with the remnants of the kriffing Empire right now.

Something must have happened to the Mandalorian to keep him away like this, especially when he promised you he would be back. You shuddered to think.

You took a deep breath and steeled yourself as you walked, no, waddled through the blood on the floor and out towards the ship. As you entered the hold, you realized you would have to go up to the cockpit to send a message. You tried to climb the ladder, but you didn't get past the first rung before you dropped to the floor. You hissed at the pain in your knees.

Blood pounded in your ears as you crawled back the hallway towards the bedroom you had slept in for the past few months. You were running on pure instinct and adrenaline right now.

Like a scared animal.

As you tried to pull yourself onto the bed, you heard loud footsteps clanging up the ramp. Someone called your name. They sounded frantic as they searched for you.

"Mando?" you called, your voice hoarse as you tried to get his attention.

He must've heard you. His footsteps grew louder and closer as he neared, and you turned your head as best you could to see him there in the doorway, shiny beskar armor catching the light and looking every single bit like a kriffing hero.

You tried to turn around to face him, but the worst of the contractions finally hit. In an attempt to alleviate some of the pain, you sat against the wall of the bedroom, unable to make it onto the cot.

Mando was already at your side on his knees. He yanked his gauntlets off and threw them off to the side. You heard them land somewhere with a clang. His gloves came next. Here in the low light of the ship's interior, you couldn't get a good look at hands, but they were warm and solid when they pulled you against him.

"Gonna need to take this off," he said quickly. He helped you lift your hips and gently pulled off your skirt and underclothes, ruined and soiled with fluid and blood.

"Where-- where were you?!" you cried as your body finally gave you the signal to start to push. Talk about close calls, Mando.

"Tell you later, okay?" he replied, looping your arm through his. "Focus on this - brace yourself on me. You need to push."

You pressed your whole weight against him as you focused all your strength into pushing downwards.

Mando gripped your hand and let you squeeze as hard as you needed to get through this. He held one of your thighs open with his elbow resting against your knee while you kept your free hand on your other knee. Blood streaked along your inner thighs and Mando set your balled-up skirt on the floor beneath you to try and catch some of the fluid.

You threw your head back and fucking howled. The sound was absolutely primal and it rang in your ears as you bore down. It echoed through the ship and reverberated back to you.

You really didn't even hear Mando's strong words of encouragement as he tried his best to talk you through it. You weren't sure, but you may have told him to shut the fuck up at one point.

It seemed like it was never going to end. The pain tore through you like fire.

A sharp cry that was not your own flooded your ears. A rush of endorphins came over you as your child finally made their entrance into the galaxy.

"You did it!" Mando cried. He sounded like he was laughing with relief. "Me'suum, you did it!"

Hands shaking from exertion, you let go of Mando to help the screaming baby out of you.

"Oh, my moon," you whispered as your eyes filled with tears. "My little moon."

You gently lifted them and held them against your chest, wanting nothing more than to have this baby now be as close to you as physically possible. You shushed the baby gently, your own cheeks now wet as well.

"You did it," he murmured. He pushed sweaty hair from your forehead and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, letting you lean against him. His cool helmet rested on your temple as he looked down at the still restless newborn baby in your arms. "It's a girl, me'suum."

"I did... Did it." you breathed, resting your hand on the baby's back. You were suddenly exhausted and you sagged against him heavily. Your words slurred together slightly. "'s a girl, Mando. A lil' girl?"

"Hey," he murmured, jostling you a bit in an attempt to rouse you. He sat up a bit straighter. "Hey. I need to get you cleaned up, okay? We gotta get you clean."

You nodded and let your eyes flutter shut. You were so tired...

"Maker. Me'suum," he said, trying to get your attention. His tone was urgent. "I will be right back. The medpak is in the fresher. Don't fall asleep. You lost -- Maker, there's a lot of blood."

Mando stood and exited the room, being sure to side-step the blood. He grabbed the medpak and an extra shot of bacta before he returned to you. He knelt back down in front of you, administered the shot and sighed in relief when the color returned to your cheeks after a moment.

You felt better instantly. No pain, no fatigue. Only slightly weak, but you had expected that from the beginning.

"Mando," you whispered as he took his place at your side once more. You looked up at him through heavy, sleepy eyes. When he responded with a grunt, you looked down at the baby, now finally calmed and gurgling slightly, and stroked your finger over her faint hairline. "I need you to cut her cord for me... Please?"

He sucked in a breath. The sound crackled through the modulator and he stood, frozen in place.

"Hey," you said, lifting your head. He looked so distant, even though you couldn't see his face. "Can you do that? Please?"

Mando shook whatever he was thinking about from his head and turned his attention back to you and the baby.

"Right, yeah," he murmured. He pulled out a pair of wound care scissors from the medpak and carefully cut your baby's cord. He tied it off with a strip of gauze from the kit.

While Mando did his best to clean you up, you used a clean edge of your shirt to gently clean your baby's face, noting that she blessedly had most of your features.

Mando disappeared for a moment, returning with an armful of blankets and cushions from the house. Many of the cleaner ones were from the festival that now seemed like a lifetime ago.

After sitting there with you for a while, he helped you into the bed and made sure you were as comfortable as possible.

He wrapped your daughter in one of his old scarves and returned her to your arms. You slid your arms out of your shirt and pressed her to you, hoping that the contact would soothe her.

"Gonna... Go check on the kid," he said softly. "You gonna be okay?"

"You gonna bring him down?"

"In a bit... Give him a little talking to," he murmured. "A heads up. I don't think he knows what's going on."

You gingerly moved your baby to the other arm and held your hand out to him. "He might be asleep."

Mando looked up at the ceiling as if listening for any sort of disturbance upstairs.

He stood by your side and laced his fingers through yours. His hands were still bared to you and you noted his skin was a beautiful golden copper.

"Why didn't you come?" you whispered, looking up at him. "You said you'd be back by morning."

"Remember how I said it looked like Jawas scavved the parts of the tanks?"

You nodded.

"So I headed towards a settlement I saw on the way in, hoping someone would have a bit of sympathy if I explained the situation," he murmured. He sighed deeply and shook his head. "It ended up as an ambush. Some people I used to work with."

You looked up at him and he gave your hand a squeeze.

"They wanted you," he continued. "Said they were gonna take you to your husband for the money. I had to fight them off - they wounded me and ran. Another moisture farmer took me in. Lent me her speeder so I could get back here."

"You almost didn't make it," you chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to the baby's forehead.

"When I saw those bodies in there... I didn't know what to think," he said softly, "I thought that you were... I thought the worst."

"I'm sorry about your friend," you said, though you were beginning to think that their relationship was purely one-sided at the beginning, foggy in the middle and hatred on both sides at the end.

He gave a half hearted shrug and ran a calloused thumb over your knuckles.

You wanted to say something so bad. But what words could you say? Thank you wasn't enough and I think I love you felt like it was both too much and not enough. Both were true. You had never felt so grateful for another person in your whole life.

A banging noise from upstairs startled you both. You jumped enough to wake your daughter who had fallen asleep, her little head nestled against your breast as she began to cry. You lightly rocked and shushed her as Mando went to investigate.

He returned not a minute later with his own child under his arm. The baby looked incredibly pleased with himself and the way Mando's shoulders sagged made it look like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders by holding his adopted child.

You couldn't help but laugh tiredly at the picture the four of you must make. It filled your heart with an emotion you hadn't felt in so long. Joy.

The child babbled excitedly in Mando's arms when he saw the bundle against your bare chest.

You nodded and gently lowered your arms down when Mando set him in your lap. When you pulled the makeshift swaddle down to expose her face, the child cooed and blinked at her. He peered over the edge of her blanket and cocked his head to one side.

"See?" you murmured, rubbing your fingers over one of his oversized ears. "Gentle." You pressed a kiss to your daughter's forehead and then leaned forward to kiss the child on his.

Mando made a soft noise and you looked up at him. He was leaning against the wall, watching the three of you. You wished you could see his face. To know what he was thinking right now would complete you.

***

The next day, Mando set a course for Sorgan. He sent a message to Greef Karga, advising him he was taking a short leave of absence from the Guild.

He let you sleep for as long as you needed to. He figured you had been through enough and deserved to rest.

You woke suddenly and immediately panicked when the small bundle beside you was empty.

"Mando?" you cried, jumping from the cot. You threw on a robe, ignoring the pain screaming between your legs as you tore open the bedroom door.

There was the sound of water running from the fresher and you gently knocked on the door.

"Mando?" you repeated, not caring that you sounded frantic.

The water shut off and the door slowly opened with a hiss.

The Mandalorian stood before you in just his thick canvas pants, a high-collar shirt, and his helmet. Your daughter was nestled in his arms in a clean blanket, clean, dry, and sleeping soundly.

The child cooed at you from the small sink in the fresher. He too, was clean, but had not yet been dried, though he didn't seem to mind.

"You should still be asleep," Mando said softly as he let you take your daughter in your arms. "You just did an amazing thing."

"I need to feed her," you murmured, pressing a kiss to her nose.

Before you turned to head to the cockpit, you looked up at him.

"You bathed her?" you asked, feeling the telltale sign of tears in your eyes.

"She still had blood on her," he murmured. "She slept the whole time."

You reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. He looked down where your hand fit against his. You stood on your tip toes and pressed your forehead to his.

Before he could respond, you pulled away and ascended to the cockpit to feed your baby.

***

As you approached the lush planet of Sorgan, you watched both children as they slept. The child was in his pod, your daughter in Mando's arms. He was so gentle with her. You had watched those hands snap necks without a second thought, and yet you trusted them completely to hold something so fragile and new.

"Did you name her?" he asked softly.

You shook your head. “Not yet.”

"You have to think of one," he said as he looked up from her face. "I mean, you can't really call her your moon for the rest of her life."

"What do you call the child, then?"

Mando was silent for a moment.

"Thought so," you teased. "Besides, what was it you called her earlier? When I was feeding her?"

He gave a huff of soft laughter. "Me'suum'ika?"

"And what does that mean?" you asked. "I assume it's Mandalorian, but what does it mean?"

"Moon," he said quietly as he touched her nose.

"Then that means..." You gasped as you came to the realization. "Mando! Have you been calling me a planet for the last three months?!"

Mando laughed loud enough to wake both babies as you felt the ship begin deceleration to Sorgan.

"What did you think it meant?" he wheezed as he turned his chair around to land on a patch of flat ground.

"I'm not sure," you said softly. "My darling? Maybe that?"

He was silent as the he pressed a button to power down. He patted your daughter on the bottom to lull her back to sleep as he stood to face you.

"Cyar'ika," he replied, his gloved hand cupping your cheek.

This time, it was he who left before you could respond.

You turned to look out the front window of the Razor Crest. Already, you could see the villagers coming towards the ship, led by Winta, who seemed much taller now than she had six months ago when you first met her.

As you joined Mando outside, you spotted Cara Dune, gun slung over her shoulder walking beside Omera at the rear of the crowd.

Mando put his arm around your shoulders and pulled you a bit closer as everyone came to get a look at the star system's newest moon.

***

TAGLIST (Let me know if you’d like to be added!):

@miscellaneous-mando @lestrange2703 @someplace-darker @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @poeticparker @blackbird337 @the-last-twin-of-krypton @divineangelix @c1996 @mell-bell @qhbr2013 @bookszazzy @marvelbros-oneshots @cuteboyking @boomtownboy @connor-challoner @fandom-lover-4 @itsmysticalmystery @love-struck-aries @lifeisapitch15 @cosmicwhisper @hybrid-huntress

#my writing #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fic #no use of y/n #look around fic

139 notes · View notes

wylanvnneck · 3 years

Note

Hi!! I was wondering if you could write the angst prompt number 1 with jurdan??🥰

Angst Prompt #1: “The worst part is you didn’t even notice.”

Fandom: TFOTA

Ship: Jurdan

Masterlist | Prompt List

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High pitched giggles peal through the air and the noise makes the 21 year old Cardan Greenbriar wince. He’d been away from his hometown of Elfhame for 2 years now, having happily left it and his controlling family behind after graduation to go live in his dorm room back at Insmire University with his crazy roommates. Yet here he was, back again for a week-long visit in honour of his old friend Locke’s engagement.

He and Locke had never been all that close to begin with, but he had been his oldest friend, and it did seem like a good idea to come back for a bit and see how much things had changed in the years since he’d be gone, which didn’t seem to be all that much.

Locke was still the same fox-faced wastrel that he had been, except that he was now engaged and the other member of their old gang, Valerian was still as snarky as usual, a perpetual sneer on his face whenever someone attempted to speak to him. Seated at a round outdoors table surrounded by his High School acquaintances, Cardan feels nothing but boredom.

He grips the neck of his wine glass even tighter when he sees the source of the giggling emerge from Locke’s house where his engagement party was being hosted. Taryn Duarte the Bride to Be and her posse of friends strut out into the garden from the inside of the house where they’d been gathered together doing goodness knows what for the past half hour. A glimpse of blue hair catches his eye and he recognises it as belonging to a girl named Nicasia that he used to be friends with back in High School, a million years ago.

Taryn’s six inch heels click against the asphalt of the garden path and the sight of her familiar icy brown eyes and dark hair brings up a volley of almost forgotten feelings within him. Not feelings for the rather cold female before him, but for who she reminded him of. Her twin.

Involuntarily he finds himself scanning the group of women for any sign of Taryn’s sister before coming up short and then chastising himself for looking in the first place. Jude belonged in the past where he had buried her. He takes another sip of the red wine in his hand before shifting his attention back to the conversations happening at his table, a politely unimpressed looking Garrett talked in low tones with his friend Van, both of them engrossed in whatever they were discussing, and a slightly inebriated Valerian was attempting to flirt with the disgusted woman seated next to him.

Resisting the urge to let out a growl he downs the contents of his glass in one go before standing up to re-enter the house and get a refill, needing some kind of distraction.

He’s just finished pouring some more Merlot into his glass from the otherwise empty bar table when a rustling sound travels from somewhere nearby. He glances up at the staircase by the other end of the room, catching sight of a silky white fabric and dark brown hair before whoever it was disappears from view. Stange, he’d thought all of the other guests were outside. Setting his glass down on the table he climbs up the stairs, curiosity getting the better of him.

Having reached the landing he searches for any sign of where the person might have gone, walking a little further down the hallway on the left before seeing the big French windows leading out to the balcony flung open, the cool night air drifting in.

Cautiously, he approaches, his body going on high alert when he notices who it is that’s standing out on the balcony, hands loosely clutching the metal rails and face turned up towards the starlit sky. Her chestnut hair is tied in an intricate braid hanging down her back and she’s wearing a slim fitting black top and flowy white pants which sway gently around her legs and she looks even more gorgeous than she had in their High School days. He takes a moment to catch his breath before slowly trudging forwards to join her.

She turns when she hears footsteps approaching, a slight frown marring her expression before she recognises him and it clears. Her gaze is as disarming as it used to be.

"Shit, man, don't just sneak up on people like that," a corner of her lip quirks.

He holds up his hands in mock surrender, "Oops, sorry."

“I didn’t know you were coming.” He catches the questioning lilt in her statement.

“It was a last minute kind of thing, I wasn’t sure if I’d be coming either, until yesterday.”

She nods and he positions himself next to her but at a safe distance, one hand coming to rest carelessly on the balcony rail next to hers.

He watches her let out a soft whoosh of breath, looking down at the garden where people were now dancing to the music that had started playing on the expensive speaker set under the bright fairy lights. There’s laughter and cigarette smoke wafting upwards, but from their little spot up above, everything seemed to be much farther away than it really was.

Eventually, he breaks the silence. “So, Taryn and Locke, huh?”

“Yep.” She replies. The look on her face is one he can’t quite decipher.

He clears his throat and speaks in a tight voice. “Are you...upset by that? I know you and Locke used to be close.”

He recalls the rumour that used to fly around during their senior year, people whispering about Jude and Locke having a thing. He also remembers the sharp pain that he’d felt when he’d heard that Locke had asked Jude to be his date to their Senior prom and that she’d accepted. Cardan vaguely remembers asking Nicasia to be his date to that very same prom, but the only thing that comes to mind when he thinks about that night is the haze of jealousy that had clouded his mind when he’d seen Locke twirling a grinning Jude around the dance floor.

“Me and Locke? God no. He was just a friend. Although, I think even that was only because he kept showing up and trying to talk to me in Senior Year for no apparent reason.”

Cardan feels a surprisingly strong sense of relief wash over him at the fact that Jude was never interested in Locke that way, before his eyebrows knit together a moment later. He’d drunkenly confessed his ginormous crush on Jude to Locke at the start of their senior year, and immediately regretted it the next day. It wouldn’t surprise him if Locke had been cozying up to Jude simply to get on his nerves. It definitely seemed like something the manipulative scoundrel would do.

Not that it mattered anymore. Years had passed and he’d probably lost his chance. If he’d ever had the chance in the first place.

“I heard you’ve been off at uni all this time. Insmire, huh?” Her words are light but he’s slightly astonished that she’d been keeping track of where he’d been for the past few years.

“Yeah, it was the break I needed.”

“What are you studying?”

“My dad wanted me to do Business for when I inherit his company, but I’m also doing a course on Classical and Ancient Languages, purely because I wanted to.”

“That’s great, Cardan.” Her sincerity is clear. “I remember how controlling your dad was. It’s great that you’re finally getting to be your own person.”

He’s sure that his astonishment at her words is blatantly obvious because a barely detectable flush travels up her neck and she averts her gaze. Not only had Jude Duarte been keeping track of where he’d been, she’d also noticed his strained relationship with his father all those years ago. A thrill rises up inside of him.

“Thank you.” He pauses. “So what have you been up to these days?” he asks, like he hasn’t been checking her social media pages at least once every few months, unwittingly grinning whenever he came across one of her rare posts with her and her few friends hanging out together outside of her own University in Nightfell.

“Oh, same as you actually, getting a taste of independence at Uni. Doing a course on Criminal Justice.”

“That sounds amazing. Tell me all about it.”

And she does, her eyes lighting up as she talks about a subject that she enjoys studying and half of his attention is taken up by what she’s saying and the other half is just focused on her, on the way the moon illuminates one half of her and how the breeze is playing with a few loose strands of her hair and the way her mouth is moving whilst she speaks. They chat for what feels like ages before the conversation eventually flows to a comfortable halt and they hear the clanging of plates and glasses below as the other guests start on dinner, and he knows they’ll have to leave this place of idyll at some point.

He hates that. That they’re on borrowed time and that they were separated by too many years and very separate lives for their situation to be anything different now. And yet, he needs to tell her, to let her know, even if it can’t change anything.

“You know, back in High School I used to daydream about this. You and I, just talking.” He knows that the tips of his ears are probably flaming red, just like the rest of his head, but he forces himself not to look down and to keep meeting her stare. Her eyes widen when she registers what he’d said.

“I-What?” Her shock is apparent.

He breaks eye contact with her, withdrawing his hand from the spot next to hers on the rail, the disappointment coursing through him undeniable. He’d known that she’d never noticed him, but it still hurt to see the bafflement in her reaction.

“I had a crush on you for ages, pathetic pining and all, and the worst part is you didn’t even notice.”

She flounders, mouth slightly agape, for once not having a response and the smile that curls his lips is one without mirth.

“Well, it’s been nice talking to you Jude,” he grits out, swiftly turning in an attempt to flee with what was left of his dignity.

He’d made it to the top of the staircase before hearing her voice calling after him.

“Cardan! Cardan wait, goddammit.”

Reluctantly, he stops, bracing himself for the awkwardness of the next few minutes. She’d look at him with pity, explain to him that she wasn’t interested, or maybe that she had someone else. That last thought lances through him like a punch to the gut. During his self-indulgent social media searches he had never seen any posts that indicated that there was someone special in her life, but that didn’t necessarily mean that there wasn’t anyone. After all, Jude Duarte was a special type of woman, the type of woman that you fought for.

Too bad that he’d figured that out too late.

The sound of her boots clacking on the floor gets closer and closer and he turns around just in time for her to throw her arms around his neck and drag his head down to connect their lips, their noses bumping together in the process. Time stops, and his every High School fantasy comes true when he feels her tangle her tongue with his and it’s a little sloppy at first, especially since she had caught him off guard, but they find their rhythm and flames lick through his entire being. Frantically, he grabs a hold of her waist and pushes her until she’s against the wall, her fingers coming up to tangle in his locks as he strokes her sides.

She pulls away to breathe and they’re both panting harshly as if they had run a marathon.

“I had a crush on you too. I hated it and I tried to fight it because you used to pick on me in middle school.”

Had he? It was so long ago that he really couldn’t remember, but he also knew that he was precisely the type of person who’d want to hurt the girl that got under his skin.

“Really?” He grins ruefully.

“Yes, really.” She reaches up and playfully smacks the back of his head before carding her fingers through his hair in the same spot to soothe it.

‘Well, my middle school self humbly begs for your forgiveness.” He leans forward and presses their foreheads together, locking his gaze with hers.

“Apology accepted.”

And then they’re kissing once more. He may not have been prepared for a moment like this, but he was sure as hell going to hold on to it and never let go.

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

Some soft boi Cardan for you lovely peeps. I hope you see this and that you enjoy, Anon. Thanks for the ask!

Tagging: @cupcakesandkittens , @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln, @thewickedkings , @kittkatandbooboo , @min-unicorn, @fangirlprincess09, @thefolkofthefic

Let me know if you’d like to be added to or taken off of the tag list🌻

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tessiete · 3 years

Note

If you still take prompts: Rumors of the Duchess of Mandalore (bc patriarchal bs and misogynistic beliefs about female leaders) potentially getting married reaches Coruscant and Obi-Wan copes as well as can be expected. Cue sad boi sadness with maybe fluff at the end? Or go full angst I’m ok with either

I AM! I am still taking prompts, and I know this took a while to get around to because I’m also sloooooow at filling them. But here we are, dear anon. I hope you enjoy this little snippet! <3

THE GRAVITATIONAL DEFLECTION OF LIGHT

There is some silly, selfish part of him that he never outgrew, and like a weed in his gut it twists and writhes when he hears that the Duchess Kryze is to marry.

And suddenly, he finds himself thinking of her more often, and more frequently during situations where his attention would best be put to use elsewhere. In council, he is forced to ask Master Windu to repeat a question he’d failed to hear, his mind being drawn by the gleam of light off the Senate dome on the horizon. During a sparring match, he takes a hit he’d never have missed except that Anakin threatens to deliver him a close shave at the end of his saber, and he’s struck dumb by the memory of her hand upon his cheek. There are peace lilies in a vase in the Archives, and pure beskar changes hands in a deal he’s meant to disrupt at a Separatist camp, but by far the most egregious lapse comes in the midst of relief efforts in a small village on Taskeed. He is caught, for a moment, by the sight of a woman with blonde hair and a young boy on her hip turning away from him. His focus slips. A blaze of light flashes more quickly than he can see, and by the time he hears the retort of a blaster rifle he is already on the ground.

The clones close ranks around him. Cody kneels, calling in a medevac even as Obi-Wan tries to rise.

“No, sir, stay down,” he says, laying one hand against his shoulder. Obi-Wan winces at the contact. His muscles strain at the effort, the nerves at the site of his injury ruptured and ragged.

“Cody,” he chokes out. “There’s a hostile.”

His second is a merciful man and makes no comment on the idiocy of that statement. Instead, he bites open a pain tab, and shoves it between Obi-Wan’s teeth. Then, so rapidly he has no time to protest, he removes his belt, and tears apart the fabric at Obi-Wan’s waist, sprinkling sulfa powder over the gory wound, and pressing a bacta patch down to cover it.

There is no more blaster fire to mark their passage back to the ship, but the wound is too serious to treat on board The Negotiator. He is sent back to Coruscant as a consequence of his foolishness.

There, he is dipped in bacta, where he doesn’t dream, and he spends the next week of his convalescence thinking of her.

It had never been this bad during their first separation. The months following her ascension to the duchy had been painful, that he cannot deny, and he spent hours in his room lonely, and self-pitying, but he had been a child then and he can forgive himself now of the folly of youthful indiscretions. There followed more than a decade between them and he had gone days, weeks - upon the outbreak of war even months - without thinking of her at all.

But with one touch of her hand, he’s fallen again, his resolve crumbling into dust as though his indifference to her were only a veneer grown thin and brittle with being stretched over so much time.

The Duchess of Mandalore is to marry.

Why should that matter to him? They are friends. Hardly that, and nothing more. And it was he who had defined those terms. So why should he be restless, and anxious, and fretted up like some craftsman’s handiwork at the thought of it? It is silly. It is demeaning - to her, and to him.

And yet...he wants to know.

Who is she to marry? And when? How did they meet? Is he a Mandalorian, like her? Or did she meet him here? Did they meet at the Senate while he walked in the Temple only a few klicks away? Have they much in common? Do his political aims match hers? Does he long for peace like she does? Will he stand by her side in upholding it? Would he die for it? Would he die for her? Does she love him?

She must, he thinks. She must love him. She would not choose him, otherwise.

And that, perhaps, is the cruelest thought of all.

He is confined to medbay with nothing to occupy his time but his holopad, his dispatch reports, and her when he sees a news story flash on his screen.

At Last! The Lily is Plucked

He cannot help himself as he reads about a chance meeting, a whirlwind romance, and plenty of private assignations held at various hotels and restaurants across Capital City. There are holos, too, and reels. He sees her leaving the Bal Silvestre on the arm of Corellian senator, Garm Bel Iblis.

Senator Bel Iblis is older than her, and seems a bit unkempt, his long hair pulled half back in a simple style. Obi-Wan knows of him by reputation, and heard him called a rake. His politics brand him a maverick, and a rogue, and he has been known, once or twice, to engage in backdoor negotiations in order to ensure a vote swings one way or another in his favour. Beside him, while he stands smug in his dark brocade, she shines. She is spotless. Luminous. They are not well matched.

He scours the net for more, and because he is looking, he finds it. There are many articles - hundreds. Some map out timelines of their courtship (they met years ago, apparently, at some gala held while Obi-Wan was still helping Anakin with Basic), some tell the history of their previous romantic entanglements (he was engaged to a woman now dead. She was once rumoured to be promised to a Vizsla. Obi-Wan’s name is not mentioned). Some merely provide pictures of their exploits, and comment on their mutual friends, making conjecture after conjecture about how their romance came to be, and what must happen next now that the flame has been rekindled. It is torturous. And tedious. And soon, Obi-Wan loses track of the details that appear in one article, and again in every other.

But one thing remains clear to him: Satine Kryze is going to be married. She has forever slipped his reach.

A reach, he pathetically reminds himself, he never intended to extend. All this self-flagellation is for naught. He is being ridiculous.

So he thumbs off his pad, turns out the lights, and tries to sleep with the image of Satine, smiling and resplendent flickering in his mind. The next morning, feeling no better for the little rest he managed to steal, he deletes the history of his pad, and determines to feel absolutely nothing at all about Satine Kryze.

Then Padme comes to the Council and requests a padawan be sent to Mandalore’s aid.

It is Ahsoka who goes. Of course it is. He takes small solace in the fact that it had not been he who suggested her, but since she was assigned, he feels well within his rights to enquire about the Duchess upon her return.

“She seemed fine,” Ahsoka tells him. He has invited her for tea following her report to the Council, hoping he might, in his hospitality, coax a few more personal details from his grand-padawan. “I mean, there was a moment where Almec - that’s the Prime Minister, or rather was - anyway, there was a moment where he had her in a shock collar, but like I said, the cadets and I managed to sort it out.”

“Right,” he concedes. “As you said.”

A moment passes between them. Obi-Wan sips his tea, struggling to swallow as the fist around his throat grows tighter and tighter. Ahsoka, blissful in the aftermath of a successful solo mission, grabs another biscuit and a strip of perami gammon.

“And tell me,” he ventures. “What of her - her consort? Any word of him? Where was he during this mess?”

“Her consort?”

“Her husband.”

Ahsoka scrunches her nose, and cocks a brow at Obi-Wan’s wild inquiry.

“She had a nephew,” she says. “But no one ever said anything about a consort.”

“Ah,” he says. “Perhaps he was occupied elsewhere.”

“Maybe,” she agrees, amicable and amenable to letting the whole thing slide. He only hopes she won’t think it significant enough to mention to Anakin later. His curiosity won’t be as easily sated with tea and deflection.

He is not a lucky man.

Anakin comes blazing into his room with an ambitious stride, and a grin that speaks of imminent mischief.

“Heard you were asking Ahsoka about the Duchess’ consort,” he says, throwing his cloak over the back of a chair and dropping to lounge across Obi-Wan’s low couch.

“I was asking about her mission,” he corrects. He turns his back to set some water to boil, knowing that such an entrance by his padawan indicates a visit of extended duration. “And the key players, therein. Purely professional.”

“Purely.” Anakin smirks.

The subject is dropped when Anakin is diverted by the service being laid before him, and the inclusion of several of his favourite confections.

“Noorian memba tarts!” he cries. “Where did you even find these?”

“An old recipe,” Obi-Wan says. “But I remember you enjoyed them when we dined on Belasco and thought I’d try my hand at it.”

It is not a bad effort either, judging by Anakin’s display of enthusiasm. He eats the first with some degree of etiquette, but the fourth, fifth, and sixth are gone with no display of decency or shame whatsoever.

Obi-Wan sips his tea. He is thinking of Tahl while Anakin is thinking of the sweetness on his tongue, and making excuses for his absence the previous night.

“I’m sorry, Obi-Wan, but I was unavoidably delayed after the Senate recessed for the evening. I had to - to assist a delegate with a personal matter.”

Obi-Wan says nothing, but remembers how Qui-Gon, too, used to invent reasons to disappear unchecked. He invents nothing. He only cleaves to his duty, while time and fate conspire to keep him absent anyway.

Anakin must hear something in his silence, because his expression loses the tension of equivocation, and he falls to studying Obi-Wan’s face.

“I was only teasing, master,” he says. “Before. I didn’t think to ask Ahsoka anything about the Duchess. She spent most of her time with the nephew, but he seemed a bright kid. Close to Satine. I can ask her to ask him if he knows anything -”

“Absolutely not,” says Obi-Wan. The words are soft, but definite. He rises swiftly to clear the detritus of their meal. “Thank you, Anakin, but Duchess Kryze is only a friend. I merely inquired out of a desire to assure myself that the report issued to the Council lacked nothing in the thoroughness of its presentation. I should hate to think that such a personal association might be overlooked as an avenue for effecting harm.”

“Oh.”

“But I thank you in any case. Ahsoka’s report was well done, and you should be very proud of your padawan,” he says. “As I am of you.”

He turns to Anakin then, smiling and benign. His padawan meets his look with a vaguely skeptical one of his own, before patting him on the shoulder, and shrugging back into his cloak.

“Alright, master,” he says. “I’ll let her know how thorough she was.”

“Goodbye, Anakin.”

“Goodbye,” his friend replies. Then, just as he crosses the threshold of the door and moves into the open hall, he looks back. “Oh,” he says. “There’s a quick supply run being made to Mandalore for relief in light of Ahsoka’s investigation. Scheduled for tomorrow, but unfortunately, I’m needed back at the Senate. I meant to ask - you wouldn’t mind making the trip for me, would you? You don’t even need to get off the ship.”

---

There is nothing he can say to Anakin, so of course, as contrived and embarrassing as the whole thing is, he goes. And he does get off the ship.

Satine is there to meet him.

“Master Kenobi,” she says, extending her hand. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

He drops a brief, and reverential kiss then lets her go.

“Cleaning up after my padawan and his padawan, it seems,” he says. “Apparently, a master’s work is never over. Congratulations on your recent engagement, Duchess. I hope you’ll both be very happy.”

The look which passes over Satine’s face is one he cannot decipher. He thinks she looks in equal parts shocked that he has heard, disgusted by his presumption in speaking of it, embarrassed by his boldness, and wearied by his presence. But she doesn’t deny it, so he makes his excuses to leave.

“Excuse me, Duchess,” he says. “But this was only meant to be a very brief visit, and I should prepare for departure.”

“Can you not stay for midmeal?” she asks, and he hesitates upon the precipice of her invitation. “Surely you don’t mean to tease me with a visit as brief as this? And surely your men would enjoy some rest and repast before you go?”

The troopers at his back shift, and he can feel their eagerness undulate in the Force. It would be cruel to deny them for the preservation of his own fragmented dignity, so he relents.

“Of course, your grace,” he says. “We would be most honoured.”

“Captain,” she says to the Protector at her right. “Have these men fed and watered immediately. The kitchens and my staff are at their disposal.”

He clicks his heels, and disappears, while she steps forward, and wraps her arm around Obi-Wan’s as though completely uncaring of any beau or consort or husband who might see.

“You, my dear master,” she murmurs slyly by his ear. “Are to be attended elsewhere, at my discretion.”

He does nothing to resist as she pulls him along.

Soon, they are at the Palace. Soon, they are sat at a small table in her private quarters, drinking Mandalorian kava, and eating freshly baked land’shun. Soon, they are alone.

She sets her drink aside, and dusts her hands on a fine silk napkin before broaching the subject trapped between them.

“Now, what is this about my nuptials?” she asks. Her blue eyes are steady upon his own, and he feels his palms slick with sweat. She is radiant. She is regal. There is no holo or reel or word that could do justice to the beauty of this woman in the flesh, and he feels that insidious root of jealousy writhe with agony.

“Satine -” he begins.

“No, no,” she protests, seeming to anticipate his deflection before he has begun. “I should like to hear why you think I ought to accept your congratulations, and why you felt you ought to offer them personally, in particular. Mandalore seems a rather dull trip for a High General to make.”

“I came in Anakin’s stead, actually,” he replies pertly. Another sip of kava lends some sophistication to this claim.

“Of course,” she says, but she does not look away. He can feel her gaze upon him. He can feel her glittering in the Force. She is laughing.

And he cannot bear it.

“Forgive me, your grace,” he says, rising to his feet. He sets the cup upon a saucer where it clatters inelegantly against the pot of sucre next to it, overturning the dish and sending the crystals spilling across the table. “Forgive me,” he says again.

She lunges forward to right the pot, and still his hand beneath her own. For a moment, he doesn’t breathe. Then, he pulls away.

“I read about it on the net,” he says. “I saw the holos, and the reels. I only wanted to see you one last time, to see...I wanted to see that you were happy. That’s all.”

“Oh, Ben,” she says, his name like a sigh upon the breeze.

“It is nothing,” he says. “A foolishness all my own. I am sorry if I have troubled you, and I offer you my sincerest congratulations.”

He bows, though when he raises his head, his eyes do not rise with it, so he does not see the look of sorrow upon her face. Still, he imagines it as pity, and moves to make his escape. She is faster than he is.

“No,” she says, standing between him and the door. “I will not accept your congratulations, and I will not accept your departure on such callous terms as these.”

“Duchess -”

“Ben,” she counters, leaning on the name. “I am not engaged. I am not married. And I do not intend to be, no matter how devoted to the idea of it you are.”

“I - devoted?” he asks, his voice rising to the height of his indignation. “I am devoted to no such thing. I have only - only been reconciled to it for weeks, thinking only of you and your happiness.”

“And your own misery, too, I’d wager.”

He chokes on his denial because he knows it is too big a lie to fit through his lips, and stares at her in dismay. She is smiling. Force, he thinks. She is incandescent. Like she has swallowed a star, and he can’t look away. He would that he could be consumed by her too, and finally, he gives in.

“Yes,” he says in an admission of guilt so great it brings relief. “I was miserable. I am, I think, an infinitely miserable person.”

“You are,” she agrees. “But I am not getting married, I am not engaged, and I am only as in love as I ever have been. And if you are foolish enough to forget that, then you are deserving of every misery you heap on yourself.”

“Have pity,” he begs.

“None,” she says.

“Have mercy,” he pleads.

“For you?” she says. “Always.”

They fall together like gravity and sunlight, and for a moment, whole galaxies bend to their will.

#my fic #prompt fill #obi-wan kenobi #satine kryze #obitine #garm's here #and anakin #and ahsoka #i mashed everyone in #star wars #fic #gffa

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wandaswigglywoes · 3 years

Note

Junksen - Aubrey takes care of lil werewolf Emily

Don't know if Aubrey is also a were

This took me some time to figure out what I was doing. Thank you for prompting me!!! :3 I hope you enjoy!! I’m going to try and let this be sort of ambiguous— let the reader decide if they wish to ship them romantically. (If my muse will let me. We’ll see where the girls decide to take it lmao) Haha, just kidding-- this has been sitting in my drafts for 84 years. basically ignore that above, i can't do ambiguous apparently. bye

“Why me?!” Emily winces at the shrill voice on the other side of the door, but only for the fact that it’s loud and causes the sharp pain behind her right eye to pulsate. “Why do I have to take care of her? I should be out in the trenches!” The voice continues, outraged. Emily thinks under normal circumstances, she would feel hurt, and guilty that this woman would rather be out fighting then to have to deal with her, but the only kind of emotion that Emily can muster is a sort of throbbing numbness.

“Aubrey!” A warning growl. “Her entire pack was brutally murdered before her eyes, and she was taken captive only to be tortured. Have a bit of sympathy!” Something sharp digs through the numbness and suddenly, as if she’s being submerged into an icy fjord, it all hits her at once. She has nothing— no one left.

There is silence on the other side of the door, but Emily’s exceptional hearing picks up heavy breathing. “I— I’m not saying that what happened isn’t terrible and despicable,” The shrill voice from before is much softer now, remorse evident in her tone. “I’m saying that perhaps I’m not cut out to be the one to take care of her. Someone like Chloe could—“

“Chloe is unavailable, and you know that, Aubrey. She is dealing with our spy that brought Emily in.”

“But daddy, I—“

There is a low growl and the hairs on the back of Emily’s neck stand on end. “Are you challenging me, Aubrey? I know I am your father, but I am also your alpha, so are you challenging my authority?”

“No. Of course not.” This time the voice is tight and controlled.

“Good, then you will do as I say.” The sound of someone retreating is followed, leaving no more room for argument.

Emily stares down at her bruised and raw wrists, waiting for the door to open, but it doesn’t. Not right away at least, but she knows that someone is still standing on the other side of the door.

Finally, the door creaks open, sounding so much louder in the quiet bedroom. Emily keeps her gaze downcast, wishing for all the world that she could disappear. There’s a sharp intake of breath that Emily knows has to be about her appearance. She hasn’t been able to bathe in— well, she isn’t really sure. Maybe a week? Her wrists and ankles are raw and bloody from where they had kept her shackled in pure silver, and there were fang marks at her neck where they had fed from her.

Werewolf blood was said to be warm and intoxicating to vampires, and not only that, but they lasted a lot longer than normal humans. "How are you feeling?" The voice sounds much softer now, though Emily can still hear the strain underneath.

Anger burns the back of her throat. "You don't have to be here if you don't want to," Emily says darkly, still unwilling to look up.

There is a sharp inhale through flared nostrils before it's exhaled shakily. "You heard that..." Emily chuckles derisively, but says nothing. "Right, of course. Look, I'm sorry. I'm just-- I'm not good with--" The voice trails off and Emily finally brings her gaze up to put a face to the voice.

It's a mistake. The woman is beautiful, blonde hair pulled into a tight bun with wisps of it framing her pretty, delicate features. Her eyes are a piercing green with flecks of gold, and behind them is remorse. Emily feels all the anger melt from her body in that moment. The woman's hands are clasped together tightly in front of her, as if to keep them from fidgeting. She's wearing a pair of form fitting jeans and a maroon colored Henley shirt, the whole outfit making her look effortlessly beautiful.

Emily clears her throat. "It's fine." She finally murmurs, eyes dropping back to her bloodied wrists, feeling as if she's been staring for too long.

"I'm Aubrey," The woman says gently, slowly approaching the edge of the bed where Emily sits rigidly.

"Emily," She mumbles, a shaking hand coming up to push a few greasy strands of hair out of her face.

She looks up to see Aubrey smile gently and Emily feels her insides clench. She has a nice smile. "Emily, is there--- is there anything I can help you with? We should probably clean up your wounds so that the healing process doesn't take more time than it's already going to."

Emily feels herself blush, realizing she's going to have to ask Aubrey to help her with bathing. "I--I'd really like to wash up, but-- I don't think I can stay standing long enough."

Aubrey nods. "Of course, and then we'll tend to those wounds." She approaches slowly and then holds out her arms for Emily.

Emily slowly reaches out, gripping both of Aubrey's forearms and allows herself to be pulled into a standing position. Her body screams in protest at the movement, but Emily manages to keep from crying out in pain.

Emily sits in the warm bath, knees pulled up to her chest and head tipped back slightly as Aubrey carefully pours water onto Emily's hair. Some of the tension leaves Emily's broken body as Aubrey's fingers massage shampoo into her scalp. The last time someone else washed her hair, Emily was a small child and it had been her mother.

This is-- it's different. The air feels charged, the action too intimate for two strangers.

Aubrey had respectfully kept her eyes averted while Emily struggled to undress, using Aubrey's outstretched hands to keep herself upright. They hadn't spoke since Aubrey had agreed to help her, the silence somehow louder than anything Emily had ever heard.

"Are you okay?" Aubrey finally asks, voice quiet, as if afraid to break the previous silence.

Emily swallows the dryness from her throat. "Yes, thank you."

"Close your eyes, I'm going to rinse your hair." So Emily does, barely suppressing a shiver as Aubrey's fingers comb through her hair.

After Aubrey had helped Emily get dressed (Some borrowed sleep clothes of Aubrey's), she lead Emily back into the bedroom at had her sit at the edge of the bed once more.

Aubrey is very gentle as she wraps her ankles and wrists, before looking her over for any other wounds. They still hadn't said very much to each other, which is fine with Emily. She doesn't have the energy to try and make conversation, too emotionally numb to think.

It isn't until Aubrey's fingers gently trace the fang marks on her neck that Emily's mind buzzes to life quite suddenly, pain shooting down her neck. Emily jumps and in turn, so does Aubrey. "S-sorry, is it painful?"

Emily blinks, suddenly realizing how close Aubrey's face is to her own. "I--a little," She squeaks, a soft blush coloring her cheeks.

Aubrey's fingers are still on her neck as she stares into Emily's eyes. "I'm sorry, the ointment should numb it." She finally says, and Emily realizes that Aubrey's fingers are coated in something thick and that the pain is slowly receding.

"T-thanks," Emily says, eyes quickly finding somewhere else to look other than Aubrey's probing gaze. "For everything, for doing this even though you didn't want to."

"I'm sorry you heard that," Aubrey looks ashamed as she finally pulls her hand back, wiping it on a towel. "It had nothing to do with you, I hope you know. I'm just-- not very good at any of this."

Emily smiles for what seems like the first time in a while. It doesn't quite reach her eyes, but it's gentle and earnest. She reaches out and takes one of Aubrey's hands in her own, ignoring the way her heart picks up speed as she does. "You've done a pretty good job so far."

She isn't sure if it's a trick of the light or not, but Emily thinks Aubrey blushes at the compliment, eyes falling to their joined hands. "Thank you, Emily."

Emily wakes up screaming, her neck burning and her ankles and wrists aching painfully, and the haunting screams of her family echoing in her mind. For a moment, Emily isn't sure where she is, chest heaving as she chokes on her own tears.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Hands are on her shoulders, stilling her thrashing, and when that doesn't work, arms wrap around her. "It's just a dream, Emily, you're safe."

"A-Aubrey?" Emily sobs, her world slowly coming into focus, nose picking up Aubrey's scent.

"Yes, it's me. I have you." Fingers comb through her sweaty hair.

Emily's body sags into Aubrey, nose burying into a slender neck and allowing the now familiar scent to push away the image of her family being murdered in front of her. "They're all dead," Emily hiccups, her arms wrapping around herself. "I'm-- I'm alone."

Aubrey pulls Emily practically into her lap, fingers trailing up and down her spine. "I'm so sorry they're gone, Emily," Aubrey murmurs, her voice thick with emotion. "But you aren't alone, I promise."

"Y-You don't even kn--know me," Even as she says it, her fingers grip the edge of Aubrey's sleep shirt as if she might disappear.

Aubrey sighs softly. "It doesn't matter. I have good instincts, and I can tell you're a good person. So, I mean it when I tell you that you aren't alone."

"Will you-- will you stay with me?" Emily doesn't think she can be alone again. True, Aubrey had made it into Emily's room in record time, but the thought of laying in this big bed alone with her thoughts scares her.

Aubrey doesn't hesitate. "Of course I will."

Emily sits with her back against a large tree, basking in the sun. It had been months since she was rescued and the war was getting closer to ending, and though Emily's heart still ached for her family, she had adjusted relatively well in this new pack.

A shadow crosses over her face and Emily frowns, opening her eyes to find Beca staring down at her-- the one who had rescued her. "Hey." She offers Emily a crooked grin before settling beside her.

"Hey, what's up?"

Beca lulls her head to the side to look at Emily. "Just checking in on my favorite little wolf."

Emily chuckles, nudging Beca with her shoulder. "Are you sure that title doesn't belong to someone else?"

Beca flushes slightly. "Shut up."

Emily's grin grows wider. "Pretty blue eyes, red hair--" Beca shoves her playfully and Emily laughs.

"If you're going to tease me about Chloe, then I can tease you about Aubrey."

Emily's smile drops. "Aubrey and I are friends." She says mechanically.

"Why don't you just tell her?" Beca asks gently.

"Why don't you tell Chloe?" Emily counters, annoyance evident in her voice.

Beca sighs resignedly. "I plan to... Later today. So you've got no reason not to to tell Aubrey."

Emily whips around to stare at Beca in shock, before something dawns on her. "You're going on another mission, aren't you?"

Beca inhales slowly, seeming to hold the air in her chest for a moment before exhaling. "Yeah, and life's too short to keep this shit bottled up."

Emily swallows the sudden burn of tears in her throat and nods jerkily before dropping her head to Beca's shoulder. "You better be careful, or else." She murmurs.

"I always am." Beca lets her own head drop onto Emily's.

Emily smells her before she sees her, the scent of lavender and earth growing stronger the closer she gets.

Aubrey stands outside her room on her balcony, leaning against the railing and staring up at the moon. "Hello, Emily." She says without turning around, probably having both scented and heard Emily.

Emily steps up beside her, heart in her throat. "Hi," She replies quietly, leaning against the railing next to her. Their arms brush against each others, and Emily allows it to calm her racing heart. "I uhm-- I wanted to talk to you."

Aubrey turns slightly to look at Emily. "Oh? Is everything okay?"

Emily visibly swallows as she brings her own gaze to meet Aubrey's. "Yes-- I mean, I think so." She can feel her cheeks heating up beneath Aubrey's concerned eyes and hopes it's just dark enough that Aubrey doesn't notice. "It's just-- I was talking to Beca earlier, and she said-- well, she said something to me that made me realize that I should tell you how-- how I really feel about you."

Aubrey's eyebrows draw together in confusion. She turns fully to face Emily. "How you--"

"Life's too short to keep these feelings bottled up, and I should know that better than anyone. So even if you don't feel the same, I wanted to tell you that I-- that I have feelings for you."

"You have feelings for me?" Aubrey stares at Emily in shock.

"Yes. Well, technically, I'm like-- a little bit in love with you. Which--- I don't want you to feel pressured to love me back, or feel guilty if you don't. I'm perfectly content to be your friend, I just-- I felt like you should know. So don't--"

"Emily," Aubrey's fingers press against Emily's lips.

"Hmm?"

Aubrey grins, eyes watery. "I'm a little bit in love with you, too." And before Emily can try to say anything else, Aubrey kisses her.

#junksen #junksen fanfiction #fanfic: mine #pitch perfect fanfiction

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missorgana · 3 years

Text

would everything be different today?

characters/pairings: thor and loki, loki/mobius

fandom: marvel cinematic universe

rating: general

word count: 3913

warning: canon character death

summary: Prior to Loki's arrest, Thor attempts to save them and is arrested by the TVA himself. And sure, he doesn't understand much of this institution, but he's pretty sure this Mobius has taken a liking to his younger sibling. (pre-canon, thor pov)

(still obsessing over loki, who’s surprised? no one! half of this fic was written at 2am when i was Not sober, my beloved Cat / @howgodforgives read it for me tho because they’re perfect!! 💖 this is an au... supposed to happen pre-canon... inspired by this post and this post, i love them too much and simply mashed the 2 concepts together so ya. enjoy ??)

read on ao3

Thor thought he could just do one thing. And when Steve revealed his plan about utilizing their time traveling device, just one last time, the offer his friend came with for him to go back was something he had to.

He had a chance to save Loki.

Now, he knows this is far from thought out, far from logical, and Thor never told Steve when he himself was traveling to. They trusted each other, Avengers and all.

Thor knows he could save their mother, too, if he wanted, but perhaps grief was clouding his vision because he’s simply lost too many, and he’ll be damned if he’d let Loki slip away from him after everything they’ve been through.

They were making progress… weren’t they?

It surely couldn’t be another one of his tricks, and although Thor has been naive in the past, he simply can’t lose her. Not now. Not yet.

And so he goes back for them, and he gets there, he’s on the ship, Heimdall and Loki and Valkyrie and Korg and Thanos , and Thor’s never been prone to irrational anger, he tries , but everything happening all over again in such an overwhelming way nearly has sparks jumping from eyes and fingertips.

Thor is so close. And then he isn’t.

He can’t comprehend what happens, but he’s out of time, out of place, and he’s in what resembles most those office buildings he’s seen so many of Midgard. Being crammed in an elevator with these strange people gave him eerie flashbacks to Sakaar, until he’s finally greeted by a significantly short human, brown suit, silver hair and moustache and a lop-sided grin.

Naturally, Thor smiles back in the midst of his confusion, it’s only good manners, you hear.

“Ah!” the man exclaims, patting his elbow with the other hand guiding him forward, “The god of thunder himself! Mighty pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

He nods, following, unsure still what’s going on. But Thor’s made too many enemies of a human lifetime, a long time ago, and he wouldn’t want to get on these humans’ bad side, even though they technically kidnapped him… peculiar.

If Loki was here, they’d probably have their knife ready at lightning speed. Classic Loki.

“Well, thank you! I wish I could say the same, but I’m not sure… where I am,” Thor answers. This really does look like an office, one the Midgardians had a decade or so, probably, before they updated themselves. Modernization, that’s what it’s called, silly humans.

“Fair is fair,” the grey haired human turns to him, “Welcome to the Time Variance Authority, TVA for short! I think I speak for everyone here when I say we’re excited to have you here.”

The man chuckles, and Thor doesn’t know if it’s to himself or directed towards him, until the human shrugs. There’s still two of those persons with weaponry and strange glowing devices on either side of them, and it seems his new acquaintance realises the need for explanation.

“Well, technically, you’re not staying as much as… you’re under arrest,” he then says, smile turning hesitant and scratching his cheek.

Arrest?!

That’s certainly a surprise, given human laws don’t really apply to his own kind. Of course, Avenging has different rules and such… but alas.

It seems his new friend notices his eyes widen, significantly, “But don’t worry, buddy! You’re a special case, of course.”

Thor stammers, he always feels a certain embarrassment over himself when this happens, “May I- may I ask for what offense? I don’t mean to offend, these quarters are quite splendid, but Midgard and Asgard operate different-”

“Oh no,” the man interrupts, keeping a quick pace, “I’m afraid this isn’t Midgard, big guy. The TVA, we, well, control all of time!”

The guards escorting them, they must be guards, stop at the same time Thor stops in pure shock. His father never mentioned anything like this. Is this part of the nine realms? He wonders who these people are, if not human. They surely cannot be gods?

“You control… time?”

“Exactamundo! The sacred timeline, to be precise. Let me show you,” his new acquaintance guides him further with that, until they reach a strangely void room, a single table, pair of chairs and some sort of machine the only things in sight. One of those Midgardian ‘computers’?

And when he’s seated (the chair isn’t quite built for a god of his stature, but he shouldn’t complain, politeness is key, of course), this strange man shows him what appears to be a video. A video of… his life. Thor’s life, that is.

This is absurd. “How do you know this? What-”

“We know everything, buddy,” the man tells him, shuts down the device, grin sheepish, “It’s in the job description, you see?”

Thor doesn’t know what to think, rather, his mind feels somehow numb.

He was just with Loki, she was there, within his grasp, then… this. Thor also doesn’t know how long he sits staring at his acquaintance in confusion until another thought dawns upon him, “Do you have Steve Rogers, too?”

The grin lessens, mouth forming a small o, but the man nods once, “Ah, yes, another department. You two sure know how to cause trouble, huh?”

So he gets an answer, but it leaves him none the wiser, or clearer headed, or understanding. It rather feels like those sort of outlandish dreams children have, like he had when he was younger.

But what can he do? Just face this head-on?

Thor wonders if Heimdall can see him right now. Not… his Heimdall, another Heimdall, who might be alive. A Loki who might be alive, if he can save them.

“May I ask one more question of you, uh…”

“Mobius M. Mobius, at your service.”

“Ah,” he replies, and hesitantly smiles back at the grin he receives, “Then why am I here? This department , I mean?”

The stranger, Mobius, chuckles. It’s short handed and with the professionalism of those Midgardian businessmen with replicated suits and briefcases and phones chiming them down. Is this Mobius even human? More Asgardian?

“We’re in need of assistance, you might say,” he finally answers, and turns to power up the machinery once more, “And I, for one, have a feeling you might be invaluable for the cause.”

Although Thor is not sure he yet understands everything in this strange world he’s now come into, this new friend, Mobius, is very educational, and while the thought of being arrested wasn’t all too pleasing, apparently, they wished for him to work for them, instead.

His offence, that’s yet another thing he still doesn’t understand. Thor wasn’t aware of this, uh, this Sacred Timeline , as they call it. Surely a god of his status should’ve been told, shouldn’t he?

He comes to wonder if their father ever knew about this.

Thor is fairly sure about one thing, that Odin wouldn’t possibly have told them, had he had that knowledge. And what about Hela?

But he quickly learns not to think about this too much, and he counts about three Asgardian weeks in the TVA, although he has no idea how time works here , at all. Mobius always says it’s too complicated to explain, maybe he thinks Thor wouldn’t understand.

Loki always said he was as dumb as a doornail. But she never meant it out of spite, he reasons, surely, they’ve always had that sense of humor between the two of them. He loves Loki very much, even when she lets him down. He only hopes his younger sibling feels the same.

Speaking of Loki, that is another thing Thor learns in this weird world- uh, city? Country? Timeline? The TVA is its own thing entirely.

But what he learns, much like his whole life, is that his destiny will forever and always be tied to Loki, and Loki’s to his. Because his new friends at the TVA hired him to find, and catch, his younger sibling and bring them in for a similar crime to his own.

Although he’s also killing people in the process, Mobius explains much to Thor’s horror, and he’ll have to make sure Loki’s not hurt when he finds him, and ask him why this bloodshed is necessary. Again.

Of course, there must be a good reason as to why she’s doing it, he had a good reason to mess with the timeline himself, he must say, and Loki is incredibly clever, his younger sibling’s grand scheme must be extraordinary. He just wishes she wouldn’t hurt other people in the process, they’ve been over this, but she was getting better!

As Mobius put it, “You know them better than anyone, pal, I’ve got a hunch you’re the only one who can find out where they’re hiding. Well, besides themselves.”

Yes, Thor was not certain this was a good idea.

He traveled back in time to save his younger sibling, not cause him even more pain. But Mobius seems somewhat trustworthy, and very polite. He assured him justice would be served fairly, and even a lesser punishment considering the help he himself provides!

Sometimes, Thor has to follow his gut. Loki always hated this trait of his.

This work proves tricky, and tedious, and of course, his sibling is sneaky and manages to escape the TVA time and time again, and if they would just bring Thor with them, surely, he could talk to her. Not apprehend her, but communicate . Not everyone here trusts him as much as Mobius, though, regrettably.

What is curious about his new friend, and Thor’s spent a few nights now racking his brain about this, is that some of the questions he’s posed about Loki are quite specific.

They must be important for the case, he figures.

Just a week ago, hunched over files and files of timeline lingo and alternate futures that Thor has several conflicting emotions about reading, the grey haired man looked up from his scribbles and met his eye.

“Say, Thor,” he started, scratching his chin and twirling the pen in his hand, “Loki ever tell ya what they fancy for dinner?”

And the god had to blink, shuffling the papers. Did he hear it correctly?

“Dinner?”

“I mean, humans, they have favorite foods, you know? Like, preferences,” he chuckled, “I only assume Asgardians are similar?”

Thor smiles as he does when in situations where he doesn’t understand what’s going on, but simple curiousity never hurt anyone. This person’s strange, stranger than the Avengers, but he loved them all the same. “Of course. Loki’s very fond of goat. Herring, too, and our mother’s apple pie.”

Mobius nodded with a grin, and spoke no more of the subject, until two days later (Thor thinks it was two days, as mentioned before, time here confuses him profusely), where his friend inquired him about his younger sibling’s eye color.

They’re blue, clearly.

More muted than Thor’s own, but never grey, although some of these files have wrongly informed otherwise.

Really, this interest Mobius reveals in his younger sibling doesn’t faze him at first, but he’s thinking about it more and more often, as it turns out. And today, when the suited man asks him if Loki might be interested in water sports, it only sends Thor further into the obyss of confusion.

Firstly, he’s not sure what these water sports entail. Second, although he doesn’t doubt Mobius is a reasonable man, what does this have to do with arresting Loki?

“Forgive me,” Thor replies, “What are, uh… water sports?”

“Oh, yes! Sorry, big guy. Ya know, jetskis are quite fun for humans and otherwise. Diving, too. You think Loki would like that sort of thing?”

The god finds himself worrying his lip with little answer to the peculiar question. “Perhaps. They love adventures, you see, that’s a thing we have in common. You think Loki’s hiding somewhere, with, uh… jetskis?”

The grey haired man shrugs. Quite strange.

Then his friend continues as they walk along the hall, past several hunters and seemingly high security offices, “She must like jokes, right?”

“Oh, of course.”

Mobius laughs, “I figured,” and his smile isn’t aimed at Thor, but somewhere into the open air, distant and unexplainably fond, “God of Mischief, pranks in his blood. I’m not too bad myself.”

“Huh?”

When the shorter man opens the door for him, he shrugs again, “Sorry, buddy, this way. I mean, they’re incredibly witty. Don’t need to tell you that, I get it. I heard this joke from a Variant, I think they might like that one. You know it? So once there was-”

And so Mobius continues on, the joke must be brilliant, he’s already wheezing to himself, but now, the god’s pretty sure he understands.

Oh.

Thor’s not as stupid as Loki claims, you see. And he has to say, he knows courtship when he sees it.

Does Thor understand why his younger sibling- or, a version of her, regardless, is hiding out in historic apocalypses ? No, there’s not much logic in this, but it’s certainly in no way surprising.

Loki’s got a knack for adventures and danger simultaneously, after all.

But when he realises what Loki’s doing, he simply has to go, even if his moustached friend isn’t sure how to clear it with the TVA, or if it’s breaking the rules, but isn’t this what they assigned the god to do in the first place?

This is his younger sibling. Loki’s alive. And Thor, well, like he’s done all his life, and like Loki’s done all their life, one must always follow the other, at one point or the other. It’s fate, he decides.

And he finds him, finally , after what feels as hundreds of millions of human years and even longer of their own, in the human city of Pompeii.

Loki isn’t exactly pleased to hear the TVA coming, that much is obvious from his face, but Thor is alone, and it’s only a matter of time before Mobius arrives, so Thor must find a chance to talk to his sibling alone.

And his sibling’s face changes from the expectant grin of a plan to kill the minutemen when they arrive to a gaping mouth in shock. Then realisation. Then frustration.

“Loki!”

And the god of mischief groans, exasperated and loud, the screams of the civilians barely fazing them, “Thor.”

It’s a matter of time, then, because they don’t have much time before they’ll be sunken into the ground they’re standing on, and like Thor first started out his adventure in the Sacred Timeline, his first thought is to get Loki out of there.

It’s his first priority, to keep her safe. There’ll be no death. Not today. Not again.

His younger sibling has their eyes on the volcano as well, their many differences being so in sync at the strangest of times, and before Thor can even think about it, Loki reaches for his arm and they’re teleported somewhere- and some… when? else entirely.

It’s eerily quiet here, a distant rumble from the sky. Rocks as far as he can see. Darkness, besides bolts of lightning striking into the ocean before them, and blinking lights distantly behind them.

And here Loki is; a Variant like himself, as Mobius called it. Breathing.

“Why is it,” she nearly yells, clutching the strange device in her hand and giving Thor that familiar glare of destruction, “You always find a way, somehow, anywhere, to ruin my perfect plan, brother? How? How are you here, you damn fool!?”

The insult is as it always is, and Loki looks like his blood might nearly boil over, but Thor just can’t help it.

He feels the tears in his eyes before they even fall. “Loki.”

“What-”

It’s only a small handful of times in all the centuries they’ve lived that he’s managed to stun his sibling into silence, a loss of words. This is another incident to add to the list.

Thor grips on so tight, he never wants to let go.

He can’t remember the last time they hugged, actually. It might’ve been when they were children.

Loki pats on his back, after a minute or two, and a breath of annoyance and… something else sounds at the same time as his own staggering breathing. His sibling’s never returned his hugs, you see, but she’s doing it now. At least, Thor surely wouldn’t mistake her holding onto him, albeit not as tightly as himself.

They sigh, “What has gotten into you now, you idiot?”

Thor laughs. It’s strained, but it feels good. That one, that’s a thing he’s missed. Loki will surely think he’s lost his mind, but there’s nothing he’d rather do right now than listen to him call him the crudest things they could think of.

It feels like coming back home.

“You’re alive,” Thor whispers.

Loki huffs. “You’ve fallen for my fake death, huh? You fall for it every time.”

He shakes his head in response, knowing his sibling won’t be able to see it, but ultimately lets go, and just looks at them. He smiles. Weirdly, hesitantly, confusedly, Loki smiles back.

“You’re an idiot,” she tells him again, but it’s softer this time.

“Where have you taken us?” Thor asks instead, and the answer is for once a place he knows of, “This is Midgard, brother, but way after the humans. In about an hour, it’ll be nothing but dust.”

That’s a frightening thought, he decides. He’s already seen Asgard in ruins.

And Thor has to take him somewhere safer, before Mobius arrives. They can’t go back to the TVA without some explanation, Loki deserves that.

His sibling seems severely surprised when he uses his own device, and a protest begins, of course, but Thor finds the right time, in Asgard, and jumps them both to it. Before their mother’s death. They’ll have to steer clear of the past versions of themselves, and their parents, and anyone else, considering Loki was imprisoned, but they’ll be safe.

And easy to spot.

“Now is not a time for a homecoming, Thor,” she tells him, already pulling up the device.

“Loki, no,” he reaches out, and Loki reaches for their knife, classic Loki, “Give me time to explain, before they come.”

He rolls his eyes but doesn’t raise the knife, “You’re not taking me to the TVA, brother.”

Thor blinks. He almost wants to rewind time on that little screen in his hand, to make sure he heard them right, but stranger things have happened. “You know about the TVA?”

“Of course I do, you buffoon. Who do you think I’m running from?”

He bites his tongue. Oh.

Thor has to shrug. Loki sighs again.

“I know, I know, they’ll arrest me for crimes against the Sacred Timeline ,” they say, in an overly dramatic voice and throwing around their hands in flourish, “I can’t believe they got you to help them. I can’t believe you found me.”

It feels quite like the good, old days, as Stark used to say. “I know you, Loki, even if you don’t think I do.”

They both settle into silence, and this is also strange, but the smile he gets in return, less confused and more nostalgic and… safe, it makes it worth it.

Then, the device in Thor’s hand beeps, and he lets his sibling look at it, and he looks all the more annoyed again.

“Guess I’ll have to surrender now, because of you,” she grumbles, for once, not searching for an escape route, “Who’s leading, anyway? B-15?”

Thor pats his shoulder, in what he hopes conveys comfort. “I’m not familiar, unfortunately. This leader is named Mobius.”

His sibling frowns, but shrugs non committedly, “A new face, then.”

It’s not very often Thor sees Loki in this state, confusion, if ever. His younger sibling’s always been one step ahead of them, two, even, himself struggling to keep up. That’s why he’s always had to watch out for them, before… before the Avengers.

“He seems very interested in you,” he chuckles, and when Loki only frowns deeper, he has to explain his ongoing suspicion, “He’s asked me a great many questions about you. I believe he admires you very much. Even more than myself.”

“So he’s a fan,” Loki says - ignoring the last statement of his, of course, but Thor knows she heard it.

“I’d say more than a fan,” he decides to be honest, and Loki’s brows furrow. Thor pats his sibling’s shoulder once more, “He holds, it seems, similar feelings to when I was courting Lady Jane.”

Loki looks like a giant question mark. “I beg your pardon?”

But they’re interrupted, as per usual. The answer Thor wants out doesn’t get out before Mobius steps out of the time portal, and grins at them both. He seems to hold his gaze at his sibling a little bit longer. His demeanor’s calm, as if… recognition. Coming back home.

And Loki stares back at their brother, eyes wide and brows raised, tilting her head, “This is the Mobius who wants to… court me?”

Thor nods. Loki’s mouth turns upwards to a grin, mischief absent from his face. And even if they’ll deny it if Thor mentions it, his younger sibling’s eyes hold a certain warmth when they look back at the stranger. “I see.”

Many great strange things have happened in what seems a short amount of time, but Thor’s put out of work at the TVA, and his sibling’s put to work instead, and Mobius tells him they’ll reset him.

“Don’t worry, big guy, it doesn’t hurt,” he chuckles, adjusting his tie, “Your friend Steve had the same deal. Wouldn’t call it punishment, but it’s subjective. You did good work, ya know.”

Loki’s sat at Mobius’ now abandoned desk, one hand on a stack of case files, her eyes meeting with Thor’s own. They’re used to goodbyes, as you can tell. And emotions aren’t exactly their strongest suit.

But his sibling nods to him. The smile has no hints of sarcasm, so he counts it as a win. As progress.

Thor doesn’t know if he can stop worrying, after all. He’ll always do it, and what if he, another version of himself, tries to go back in time again?

Loki’s the only family he has left. But at the same time, his younger sibling is right.

The sun will shine on us again. In another timeline, another universe, he figures. For now, Thor will have to let go, but they’ll always be connected after all. Thor and Loki couldn't be more different, but somehow the same.

“She’ll be safe here?” he asks, because he has to, “You’re certain?”

Mobius smiles, like he’s heard it a million times before, “I promised you. I keep my promises, Thor.”

Of course. Of course. It’ll be fine. He’ll be fine.

“You ready?” his suited friend then asks, and he hesitantly nods.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

The man nods back, and the device in his hand lights up. The seconds seem excruciatingly long, but he’s got to get back, get moving, even without his younger sibling beside him. It’s a comforting thought, knowing there’s many more of them out there, in other timelines, following each other over and over again, as they’re meant to.

“Thank you, by the way,” Mobius then says, strangely enough, as the beams become stronger and the seconds count down. He winks before holding it out to Thor, a gesture for the reset to be complete, “For bringing them back to me.”

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vorish-musing · 3 years

Text

Please Don’t Go (I’ll Eat You Whole)

U//nbrella A//cademy Vore Fic!

Hey guys! its been for FUCKING ever since I’ve created a story, its a bit shorter,, but if you guys want i do have a bit of a follow up fic I can post later on!

but this is the Klaus Hargreeves fic i promised y’all!

Spoiler Warning for Umbrella Academy S1 and S2.

Trigger Warnings: this story contains soft, safe, G/t vore. if you do not like this, I suggest not reading. this story also mentioned digestion and death--neither of which happens! there is also substantial alcohol mention-- klaus is literally drunk the entire time.

It was chance that Dave came by to the house, wanting to apologize to Klaus for the argument and the fight in the diner-- and even though Klaus was happy to see him, the fact that he was piss drunk made it a whole lot harder to keep his mouth shut about what he knew about Dave. the alcohol in his blood wanting to word vomit his way into telling Dave everything.

From his favourite food, favourite book-- and to some details Dave didn’t even want to know about himself. Walking through the garden, it was very apparent that Dave could not believe one word out of Klaus’s mouth.

Klaus didn’t blame him, all he really did was lie and con-- exactly what he was doing with the cult. If Dave was talking about anything else, he would’ve been right.

But he wasn’t. And Klaus had to make him believe, had to try and save the kid, even if that meant Dave would never be with him.

It had all come to a head as Klaus stumbled, trying to get him to not enlist, and he let it slip. Dave's death date--and where he had died.

As Klaus spoke, he could see Dave's hand shaking as it balled into a fist, “Even if I believed you. It wouldn’t matter, it's an honour to die for your country”

Klaus laugh at the naïve patriotism, “that's Bull--”

“I’ve already enlisted.”

Dave's words sliced through Klaus’s hope like a sword, his breath hitching as the words escaped daves mouth, the kid looking at Klaus with anger and confusion.

“you...What?! That's not supposed to happen yet.”

“The other day after i saw you, my uncle took me down to the recruitment office” He looked Klaus down, clearly trying to make it seem like he was disgusted by the man before him, but no matter what Dave did or said, Klaus knew him, knew his secrets, almost like he knew his thoughts.

‘It's all some kind of parlor trick, he’s a con artist’

“He made me sign up, I ship out next week”

Though Dave couldn’t shake the strange feeling that crept up his spine, like he knew who Klaus was, he could feel his face go red

‘Don’t let him get in your head’

Klaus almost fell to his knees at the reveal, he couldn't save him, he was going to that war and he was going to die, and there's nothing Klaus could do to stop him.

He couldn’t stop thinking back to the nightclub, when they were dancing together, holding each other-- even if he could never have that again, he was willing to do everything in his power to make sure Dave wouldn’t have to suffer a death to a stupid war that ended in the same way it had started.

“I have to go, save this story for the next time you want to recruit someone” Dave blinked a few tears away, looking away to quickly wipe them, as if he wasn’t phased by this at all.

As the man tried to walk away, Klaus took his chance-- he had no idea what chance that was, but he was going to do whatever his mind came up with.

“W-wait!” he blurted out, erratic and desperate, making Dave turn around, shocked at how loud the outburst was, not hearing him speak louder than a regular speaking voice before now.

‘Shit...he's staring at me’

“Y-you….” Klaus took a deep breath, calming his voice, trying to sound more rational “you got me.” he shrugged.

Dave blinked, “...what?”

His curiosity peaked, Dave turned around fully, Klaus let a smile slip out

“You’re got me, I’m a fraud” he spoke these words almost gleefully, his own pain being masked by the pure glee of someone he could finally tell the truth to “I didn’t mean to start all of this, but I’m so fucked up, I can’t stop”

Dave straightened his back, looking Klaus up and down “I thought so...glad you could admit it?”

Klaus smiled a big, toothy grin “can I get you a drink? What you’re….23 correct? I can get you the best drinks that’ll knock your socks off-- think of it as a going away present--O-or better yet, a congratulations to finding out my con”

Klaus stumbled over to Dave, who stepped back slightly.

“This...isn’t another attempt to...convert me, Right?” Klaus laughed, shaking his head--like Dave was crazy to even think that-- “fine. One drink, then i'm gone.”

“Of course” Klaus lied through his teeth. Taking a deep breath as he walked towards Dave, right passed him. “One drink.”

The two of them walk to the house, Klaus leading Dave, who was apprehensive, but putting on a brave face.

Ideas swarmed into Klaus’s head on what he could do, he could try get Ben to lift him up again and show he’s not actually lying, and he could also just keep him here for a few days, convince him the war was idiotic.

With every thought pulsating through his head, an even more ridiculous one came to light, it was like his brain was trying to one-up itself.

Suddenly, it was like a lightbulb flashed into his head, it was the perfect plan--

Klaus jumped back a few steps as Ben appeared beside him, almost making him fall--he looked at the drunk man with annoyance before speaking, “Klaus, show him to the door and leave, I know what you’re thinking”

Dave jumped back as well “what the hell are you doing?”

Klaus looked to Ben, who almost had a pleading look on his face, then to Dave--it was clear he was on thin ice with the kid.

“Sorry sorry!” Klaus brushed himself off “thought i saw a bee, disgusting things” he turned to Ben-- he turned to nothing in Dave’s eyes--”Such pests, I think they need to stay in their own business”

As ben rolled his eyes, Dave's face twisted into more concern for Klaus, rather than anger, “...Right”

“Anyways” Klaus cringed at the look Dave gave him as he turned to the house again, and quietly, as Ben walked back up to him, he spoke to his dead brother.”

“I won’t if I can convince him.”

“You’re plastered, you won’t convince anyone”

Klaus waved his hand in the air “wow! These bees are crazy tonight! Don’t you think, Dave?” he turned to the man, who just stared back, following him sheepishly as they got to the door.

“I don’t see any bees.” he spoke matter-of-factly.

As Klaus opened it, gesturing for Dave to come inside-- he almost felt like the Witch in Hansel and Gretel, luring the man inside. “I guess you’re not looking hard enough.”

Dave could feel a pit in his stomach as he walked into the giant manor, paintings of Klaus plastering the walls with plants up to the ceiling.

With every step Dave could feel something sinking deeper and deeper in the already established pit in his stomach-- he couldn’t put his finger on it, it just felt so...off.

Surly he wasn't the only person who had found out his Con, and why was he being so nice about it all of a sudden? He was denying and Denying all he could a little bit ago, what was going on?

Klaus looked over his shoulder to look at Dave from time to time-- almost to make sure he was actually following-- Through the corner of his eye he could see Ben following, giving Klaus a death glare--- which technically every glare would be a death one since he was….dead.

Klaus finally stumbled into his personal room “This is my sanctuary away from the mob”

It was a small room, only a small bed, and the floor was covered in pillows, it actually looked quite comfortable.

“Feel free to sit wherever you want. I’ll get you a drink.”

Once Dave had taken a step into the room, Klaus closed the door quickly, making the kid jump ever so slightly.

Finally, Klaus had hit all of Dave's red flags, “Actually I need to be back to my Uncle, I should get going before he finds out where--”

“Sh sh shh.” Klaus shushed him, “Sure you don’t need a drink, but just stay a bit longer? We still have so much to talk about” with those words, Klaus popped open a random half full bottle of alcohol, and without another moment to lose, drinking almost all of it, cringing as it burned going down his throat.

Dave stared, just shocked that one person could drink so much alcohol, since he was already drunk.

“Talk about?”

Klaus, now losing any more of his sobriety that was left, finally spoke, his words slurring ever so slightly, “I know you’re all ‘patriotic’ and shit, but joining a hopeless war and--”

He was cut off

“Are you kidding?” Dave scoffed at Klaus, “I fucking knew it. I knew you wouldn’t just admit to me that you’re a fucking con.”

Klaus shook his head, “you have to listen to me, Dave. I may not be an actual prophet but i do know when you’re gonna die, you have to believe me”

“Shut the hell up! You’re just… a wannabe commie with a shit for brains group backing you.” Dave turned around, preparing to leave without another word.

That was before Klaus bolted up, practically sliding into the door-- a loud bang following as he used himself to barricade the door.

“You are going to die on February 21st, 1968--”

“Get out of my way--”

“Its on A Shau Valley, Hill 68--”

“Shut UP!” Dave pulled away from the drunken man, “I don’t care--Whatever you’re pulling out of your ass, you need to stop. This is ridiculous.” Dave backed up until his back hit the closet, startling him slightly, making him flinch.

‘Why am I so scared?’

Klaus turned to ben, as he sat on the bed, watching-- as if he was witnessing a car crash and couldn’t look away.

“Let it go, Klaus. Let Him go.”

“I fucking CAN”T” Klaus yelled at Ben, “He’s going to DIE.” tears threatened the older mans eyes as he wobbled back and forth.

Dave took the chance he got as Klaus was (or what he thought he was) hallucinating, He bolted for the door, pushing Klaus to the side, who fell to the floor with a yelp.

“Just stay away from me!” Dave grabbed the door handle, about to twist it-- until he felt Klaus grab onto his ankle, making him look down.

He was sprawled on the ground, hanging onto His pant leg tightly.

Pain, anger, and sadness, mixed with a shit ton of alcohol finally took control, bubbling up into him as he allowed his emotions to take control.

Dave couldn’t help but laugh at the sight. “You have to know that's not going to stop me.”

“I’m not stopping you.” Dave's stomach dropped as Klaus chuckled back at him, a deep, almost menacing chuckle.

“Wha--” Dave couldn’t finish the word as a deep, dizzying feeling washed over him like a tsunami.

“Be careful, I don't want you hurt you”

Dave fell to his knees, which seemed like a much farther drop than he would’ve thought, he could feel Klaus’s hand slip off of him.

Klaus watched, sitting up into a crouched position, elbows resting on his knees, hands on his face, almost like a child, a smile wide as he watched in fascination as Dave fell to the floor and began shrinking.

He was always interested in this part, how each person he would shrink, reacted once they really understood what was going on, he called it his own guilty pleasure-- he would never admit it-- people would think he was nuts.

Not that shrinking people isn’t nuts.

“Wh-Whats happening?”

The same thing everyone said-- Dave held his head tightly as the dizzying feeling got worse and worse--though he opened his eyes as wide as possible, though his vision was extremely blurry--he could see one thing.

Klaus standing over him.

‘What the….fuck?’

Klaus looked down at the shrinking man, getting smaller and smaller by the moments passing by “What's happening? Exactly what you think.”

Ben rolled his eyes “Give him a chance to change his mind, please”

“I will!” I will! Now go haunt someone else”

Finally, as if by some miracle, Dave’s vision came back-- though once he saw what was in front of him, it seemed like regaining his vision was more of a curse.

Seeing a drunk, probably psychotic Giant in front of him staring him down, and he was talking to himself.

“I-I” Dave finally found his voice in the turmoil his head was put through, “w-what the fuck did you...you do?!” his voice started out small, but it was like it grew with every word he spoke.

Klaus couldn’t help but giggle softly, “Sorry, I know this is probably really bad for you but, you just look so goddamned cute~” Klaus reached his hand out slowly, and to that, Dave backed up right into the doorframe.

Klaus was wrong, this wasn’t just ‘really bad’ for Dave, it was Terrifying for the young lad, he felt the wood hit his back, his eyes darting around to find another way to get away from the looming man.

‘I could run under the door’ he paused for a moment ‘He’d get me before then’

“But…” Klaus pulled his hand back and shifted, so he was sitting with his legs crossed, hands still resting on his face. “To answer your obvious question; I shrunk you”

“I--How--you…” Dave sputtered, his mind scrambled in between what was really happening and how to stop it “Make me normal again!” Was all he could come up with, having to deal with the fact that this was actually happening.

Klaus then frowned, “Well that's entirely up to you, pal” The normal-sized man shrugged at Dave, who just blinked in surprise “You just have to do one thing for me.”

Dave could feel his heart sink at his words--‘what the fuck did he want?’

“s-Sure man, Anything, what is it?” Dave spoke, not even trying to mask the desperateness in his voice.

“Two words.” Klaus held up two fingers, “Draft” one finger down “Dodge” the other finger went down.

‘It’s still about this?’--Dave was almost surprised at what lengths this guy went to so he could just simply not go to war--”I-I can’t, I wasn’t even drafted--”

Klaus just waved a hand “Oh sure you can, millions of men did the same, some for multiple wars, its not too much of a big deal, just lay low for a bit. They’ll stop eventually”

‘Multiple wars?’

He was fucking crazy.

“I-I can’t”

“Why not?”

Dave couldn’t understand why he couldn’t just agree with this man, his uncle would probably say his pride to honesty or some shit like that----“My uncle will kill me! I’d rather die for my country instead at the hands of my shitty family!” Dave paused, realizing what he had just said-- he wasn’t lying, which is really what surprised him.

There was a pause from Klaus as well. Seeing the shock climb onto Dave's face made his fall into a frown, shaking his head.

“You could live here. No Cult shit needed.” Klaus tried once again to get him to agree, just a simple ‘ok’ would work for him, anything that could make this man stop his own death sentence… though one look from Dave made him realize that it was a dumb idea, letting out a slight sigh that turned into a chuckle “Scratch that, they never leave you alone--Fuck they never leave me Alone.”

Dave Stared up into Klaus’s enormous eyes, though Dave's eyes wandered seeing Klaus smile--his Mouth, it was huge-- Don’t think about that, you’ll give him ideas, Dave.

Though unbeknownst to the shrunken man, Klaus was already thinking it.

And his brain was close to considering it.

Klaus stared down Dave.

Dave stared up at Klaus.

It was a standoff.

Klaus could hear ben-- right beside his ear, in a hushed whisper “Let him go.”

He shook his head

“If i let him go, he dies”

“w-What?!” Dave called out, his heart sinking lower and lower as he watched this man seemingly talking to air. “w-what are you doing?!”

“He won’t forgive you for this if you do it.”

“---I don’t care! You're not the fucking angel on my shoulder--fuck off!” Klaus slurred throughout his tirade, turning to Ben with a glare “dead people don't get an opinion on what I do with the Living”

When Klaus turned, Dave took his chance.

The boy turned--stumbling into a run towards the door, he could barely feel the steps he was taking, it almost felt like he was floating--his heart pounded right outside his chest, if he was just fast enough maybe he could get away before Klaus even noticed.

Maybe.

Possibly.

No.

“h-HEy!”

Dave spun around at Klaus’s outburst, being caught red handed, right by the door, ready to crawl under it--- his stomach sank in, forming a large pit in the bottom of it.

Though before Dave could register what he was looking at, a pair of extremely large hands scooped him into their clutches, and he could only think of one thing---

getoutgetoutGETOUT

Klaus held the man tightly as he pushed against his fingers, kicking, screaming, punching--you name it, he was doing it--- all in an attempt to get out of the giants grasp.

“Come on, you didn't have to do that! I wanted to let you go.”

Dave paused, hearing the soft, almost disappointed tone Klaus’s voice produced, the tone hiring with each word, it was eerie how hurt the man was by this.

Klaus was even more upset on the inside, his gut twisting and his chest tightening. He didn’t look up to Ben, but the ghost could tell who he was speaking to.

“I have to do this”

Dave was about to yell out the obligatory “do what?!”

That was until he was brought closer to Klaus’s face, he cringed at the lingering pungent smell of alcohol on the mans breath.

“h-Hey...Klaus-- Listen I--”

“Don’t talk, It’ll make it worse”

“W-what?!”

Klaus didn't need to use words, as his lips parted, it was all too clear what his intentions were.

Dave's mouth hung open for a moment, waiting for a yell to claw its way out of him, something that would at least make sure that he was fighting back.

But nothing arose, he was just frozen in time, as the man before him simply pushed him into his mouth.

Dave's eyes watered as the smell of alcohol burned through the air, making him slightly gag. Fucking gross.

Somehow, this was what brought him back out of his shock.

Klaus laid back, smiling softly he rolled his eyes back in pleasure, it had been so long since he had eaten someone...at least someone that he actually wanted to eat.

For the first few years, having the cult members beg for him to eat him was exhilarating, he had never gotten to eat people before, and having these people basically put themselves on a silver platter was fantastic.

Until it wasn’t

He didn’t realize that he could actually get sick of this feeling.

The feeling of being actually full, having something alive inside of him, moving, breathing.

When its said like that I sound like a psychopath.

Dave let out a yell as Klaus began rolling him around, pushing him against his tongue, tasting the poor lad. The thick drool clung onto him, he couldn’t fight back, his limbs sliding against anything he tried to push against, the tongue, the teeth, he couldn’t grip onto anything.

This was really happening, he was in another human beings mouth.

He couldn’t stop himself, he had to yell out “HELP ME! ANYBODY PLEASE!” every second he yelled, the more hoarse his voice was.

Klaus couldn't help but smile, maybe the arrogance and narcissism in him was bursting at the seams, it was strange how some of the people in that very house would be on their knees--begging Klaus to do this to them.

Klaus rolled his head backwards slightly, head hitting the wood of the bookshelf as he did so.

“You can still let him out”

Ben sat right in front of Klaus, staring at him with disgust.

This hadn’t been the first time he had watched this same scenario, though it usually involved drugs and alcohol.

“Mmmm!” Klaus shook his head, shushing the ghost, and rattling dave around, the man sliding from side to side across the tongue below him.

“Come on Klaus the kid learned his lesson--”

“Mmm!”

Ben should’ve known this wouldn’t work, Klaus being angry, drunk and overconfident--it was a bad concoction destined to go wrong.

“Just let him go!”

“Mmfine!” finally, a slurred out word ben could recognize emerged out of it.

Klaus’s lips parted as he opened his mouth wide for Ben to watch.

Dave wheezed as his eyes adjusted to the light before him. He was staring at the other side of the room, the mountain of pillows and blankets on the other side of the room.

Out….outside!

Through the slippery and slimy cave, Dave pushed himself forewards, which was less of a push, more of a slide foreward.

Ben couldn’t help but feel pity for the poor dude, and if he was alive, he’d probably just outright snatch him out of the drunkards mouth.

But alas, being dead sucked.

And simply out of spite, Klaus swallowed. Staring into Ben's eyes as he did so.

Dave let out a loud gasp as his legs were pulled into the darkness, forcing himself down his throat

“NO!”

The throat muscles began to drag Dave down, pulling his body deeper and deeper into the tube below him.

Klaus shut his mouth, his point made very clear to Ben, who just sat there---mouth agape and looking disgusted at the man.

Though Klaus paid no mind to this, letting his head roll back into the bookshelf, a small thud following.

He wished he could just enjoy what he could, without his brother bothering him about every little thing under the sun.

It’s not like he was hurting the kid!

Klaus brought his hand to his throat, prodding, feeling the lad kicking through his skin as he began his descent into the esophagus.

Dave couldn’t believe it.

But he had to.

He was being eaten alive. His body being shoved down an esophagus.

Actually no, ‘being’ shoved, would imply that it was force. No. he was being pulled gently down, just another piece of food for the stomach to enjoy.

As dave traveled down his throat, slowly but surely, klaus found himself grinning, a hand on his stomach prematurely, waiting for the moment his prey arrived.

Though a small pout on his face formed as his tongue dragged across his lips

“Dammit Ben!” Klaus lifted his head, “I didn’t even get a good taste of ‘im!”

Though as he looked to face the ghost, Ben was nowhere to be found.

The room was empty.

“Fine! Be like that!”

Dave cringed as his body spilled into Klaus’s stomach, the putrid smell of alcohol pungent in the air.

Dave could’ve gotten drunk right off the fumes.

“no….nononoNONONO!” Dave pushed against the organ, cringing at the squelching sound it made around his hands. “PLEASE---PLEASE STOP!”

Klaus dropped his hand down to his bare stomach, the organ slightly mishapen, he blamed it on the kid, not the massive amount of alcohol he consumed.

He pushed back at the skin below his hands as Dave struggled, “thats not gonna do much, its best to just relaaaax”

Klaus began softly massaging the organ, small circular motions, though it didn’t help much, feeling the man continue to kick and yell to him.

But damn, it felt good.

As he continued to ignore the yells-- the pleading from within the confines of him, he could feel himself growing more and more exhausted.

“Well then, davey” Klaus patted his stomach, covering his mouth as a small burp escaped his stomach. “this has been a great time, but I am exhausted.” he groaned, getting up from his sitting positon, bringing his hand back down to his stomach.

Daves heart sunk...that meant...that meant….”p-please klaus…” his voice choked out “please don't kill--”

Dave let out a loud gasp as his surroundings shifted with each step, feeling a sickness inside of himself as if he was on a ship at sea.

Klaus shushed the man, “I already said you're gonna be fine!” did he? He couldn’t remember “I’m not going to hurt you, and if i was, I wouldn’t be this elaborate, trust me.” he fell right back down to the mountain of pillows, the softness engulfing him all around.

It was hard to believe a man who had eaten him alive.

Klaus brought his head up, poking his stomach. “Hey dave?!”

The kid paused his struggling, feeling the finger specifically prodding at him, “w-what?!”

“If its any consolation, you tasted really good”

“...its really not.” the disgusted tone in his voice growing slightly.

“Welp, can’t blame me for trying. Try and get some rest now.”

“W-wait you can’t just leave me in here!” dave pushed at the slimy walls, his hands slipping and sliding around, it was hard to get a grip.

Klaus just shifted around, making Dave wobble even more-- Placing his hand overtop of the organ containing the young man.

It didn’t take long for klaus to pass out, his full stomach mixed with the comfortable position, it was almost instantaneous.

For dave, it took a few more hours.

He fought for quite some time as klaus slept, seeing if he could do anything that would annoy the man into spitting him up. though as the hours droned on, and the fact that he was still fully intact, not even a tingle or twinge of pain started to dawn on him. Sure, he was okay, and sure, he wasn’t going to die in there--

But how long was klaus going to keep him in there for?

It really didn’t take long for the adrenaline he once had to wear off, his body begging for sleep, and even as the kid protested, not wanting to lower his guard, he couldn’t help but feel his eyelids pulling shut, the warmth and darkness almost forcing him into sleep.

He hated to mention it, but the sounds around him were quite helpful too.

Sure, he had bouts of anxiety with every gurgle and groan klaus’s stomach created, but he ended up growing used to them, the low drum of his heartbeat calming and rhythmic, even as klaus breathed in for air, he could hear the ‘wind’ going back and forth from his lungs.

As he finally gave into his own body’s pleas for sleep, he hoped to god that Klaus would let him out in the morning.

And with that thought, he was out like a light.

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

and that’s it! please let me know what y’all think! I’m glad i’ve been able to share this with you guys and show off the fic i’ve been hyperfixating on for so long! and as i said above, if y’all want a part two i am so happy to do so for you guys!

-Q

#soft vore #safe vore #Quentin's writing #vore story #vore fanfic #non fatal vore #alcohol mention #digestion mention #g/t vore

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wiypt-writes · 3 years

Text

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch 13: On Your Left

Summary: Steve and Katie meet a new friend whilst out jogging, and Steve is sent on a mission to rescue a ship- the Lemurian Star…but it fast becomes apparent that not everyone on his team is pulling in the same direction.

Paring: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

Warnings: Language! Smut (NSFW, 18+)

A/N: We jump forward a couple of months here and slip straight into the Winter Soldier storyline. Credit to @angrybirdcr for another lovely edit, and this re-post contains additional materiel- I’ve written the mission out instead of merely skipping over it.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Chapter 12 Part 2

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

End of March/Beginning of April 2014

“Turn it off,” Katie’s voice was muffled from the pillow she had buried her face into as the alarm rang around the dark bedroom. Steve moved slightly to turn it off, but he wasn’t fast enough for his Girlfriend’s liking. “Steve!”

With a huff he leaned over and slapped the offending item with his palm, hitting the snooze button.

“Why is it even set?” She grumbled “It’s not like you don’t normally wake up at the crack of dawn anyway…and who uses an alarm clock when they have a phone?”

“You know, no one makes you stay here.” Steve teased, with a chuckle moving so that his front was pressed to her back.

“You’ve been away for five days, I never sleep as well when you’re not here.” She mimicked his line from the night before in a baby voice.

“And that’s why the alarm is set, because I do sleep better with you.” His arms circled her waist and he grinned to himself as despite the fact she was grumpy and tired she melted into his arms as he nuzzled at her neck, revelling in her smell, her warmth.

“Jerk.” She grumbled. “I mean what time is it anyway?” There was a pause as he continued to simply breathe her in and she glanced at her phone giving a scoff as she saw the ridiculous time on the screen “5:30? In the morning. Five. Thirty…”

“You said you wanted to go running.” He murmured, his eyes still closed.

“No, you said you were going running and I said I might tag along because I’ve eaten nothing but shit whilst I’ve been in New York, which, by the way is your fault…”

“My fault?” Steve laughed, cracking an eye open “I wasn’t even there.”

“Exactly” she muttered “No one to stop me.” “I wouldn’t stop you anyway. You’re a big girl, you make your own decisions…” “Big girl? You calling me fat?” she teased as she rolled onto her back and turned her head to face his, just about making out his features in the dark room. He rolled his eyes, God she was a pain in the ass at times.

“Yeah, you’re huge.” he deadpanned, his hand travelling over her flat stomach and coming to rest on her hip. “Enormous.”

“Ok, well now that we’ve established I need to run, you know on account of me being a hippo, that still doesn’t answer the question why we have to go so damned early anyway. It’s not like we have to be anywhere…” “It’s less crowded.” he shrugged.

“Yeah, that’s because it’s a ridiculous time.”

“Stop being a fucking brat!” Steve laughed and she huffed out breath again.

“I’m not being a brat, it’s just a stupid time to be getting up.”

“I love how full of sunshine and happiness you are in the morning.” Steve muttered as he dropped his head so his lips could gently trail a few lazy kisses down her neck before landing at her collarbone and giving a quick nip, his hand tightening on her hip.

She sighed, her body already starting to respond to his touch, the way it always did, betraying her.

Damned him and his fucking bastard sex appeal.

“Okay, if you want to actually get up now…” She muttered, as his mouth travelled back up and she rolled her head back to give him access to the spot on her neck that drove her wild every time he found it. “I suggest you stop.” “I hit the snooze button.” he muttered, lips brushing her ear as he spoke. “We got about eight minutes left.”

“Eight minutes? You have a very high opinion of yourself.” Katie replied, tilting her head so she was looking at him, smirking.

Steve said nothing, just cocked a single, mischievous brow at her before his lips met hers, his hand running down from hip to thigh then across, parting her legs slightly. They were still naked from the night before, clothes strewn all over the apartment after he’d been so desperate to get his hands on her.

She moaned gently into his mouth as he slowly sank two fingers into her and her hips instantly bucked upwards, drawing a grin from his mouth.

“Easy, Baby.” He whispered, his mouth returning to her neck.

Four minutes later she lay beneath him, a quivering wreck and he was right behind her, two shallow thrusts later as he tumbled over that edge with a low groan, eyes fluttering shut as he fell forward onto her. He smirked into her neck when she had finally regained her senses enough to quip that he’d beaten his best time by a full sixty seconds. And sixty seemed to be the flavour of the day as it was almost another sixty minutes before they got to his favoured running spot, the National Mal thanks to the fact it had taken Katie half an hour minutes to locate her running shoes which she’d eventually found in her car. Steve had seized the opportunity, as always to lament her for the fact she was messy.

“I’m not messy.” She scoffed indignantly as they walked the seven blocks. “I’m just not as OCD about everything being in its right place, all the time, like a neat-freak Soldier”

The good natured jibing had continued until they reached their destination and walked through the park to the reflecting pool

“How many laps did you do last time?” Katie asked, as Steve stretched his arms upwards, cracking his back.

“Six.” he said.

She looked at him, frowning. “That’s like what? Twenty miles?”

“Nearer twenty-two.” He grinned. “You want me to keep your pace?”

She laughed “No way, you’ll just bitch at me for being slow.”

“I do not bitch…” “You bitch like a 14 year old girl.” Katie lamented, gently shoving him in his back. “Now go, go on!”

He smiled again, jogging backwards for a second before he set off at a rate of knots. Exercise always made him feel good. Running, boxing, sparring…fucking. Pushing away the dirty thoughts that had arisen to the forefront of his mind, he was quick to find a comfortable pace, his trainer clad feet slapping the concrete.

It didn’t take Katie long to find her rhythm either. Despite not being with SHIELD anymore she had kept her fitness training up, sparring three times a week with either Natasha or Steve in the local gym. She was technically still an Avenger after all, Tony having now fashioned her another Supernova suit which was basically a version of his latest Iron Man suit but in Silver and Blue, the Nova shaped star sported in the chest where the mini arc reactor powered it. She’d given it a trial run whilst she had been back in New York and was just as impressed with it now as she had been with the prototype he had blown up.

Her feet gently slapped the ground as she ran, the sun was rising on the last day of March and it was promising to be a sunny, bright spring morning.

"Hi.” A voice greeted her as another jogger she hadn’t seen before caught up with her and fell into step with her.

“Nice day for it!” Katie smiled.

“You normally run this early?” He asked “Haven’t seen you around before.”

“That’s because I don’t normally run here!” She smiled “But I just spent 5 days in New York eating crap so…!”

He laughed and held out his hand. “Sam Wilson.”

She took it and gave it a shake. “Katie Stark.”

“Well I’ll be damned!” Sam grinned “I didn’t recognise you. Nice to meet you.”

“You too.”

As Steve was about to lap Katie for the first time he noticed she was running with another jogger, a black man wearing a grey sweater with short, cropped hair. At one time this would have sparked the green eyed monster in his chest, but not now. Not only did he know she wouldn’t stand for it, but he knew she was just sociable in general. She would talk to anyone given the chance and moreover, she was his girl, he knew that. As he approached them he breathed out an “On your left.” as a warning as he sped past into his second lap.

Sam frowned, looking round and Katie smirked, trying not to laugh at the look on his face as Steve’s frame whizzed off into the distance.

“I never tire of looking at these.” She commented a short while later as they rounded the monument.

Again the sound of heavy footsteps came. “On your left.”

“On your left.”

“Uh-huh. On my left. I got it.” Sam called after him as he entered his fifth lap.

Katie didn’t even try to stop herself this time and she laughed at the slight look of frustration on Sam’s face.

Not long after they were making a lap around the pool at the base of the memorial. Sam gritted his teeth at the wholly unwelcomed sound of footsteps behind him once again, he looked over his shoulder “Don’t say it. Don’t you say it!”

“On your left.”

“Come on!” Sam shouted and Steve allowed an amused smile to spread across his face.

Sam tried his hardest to pick up his speed to match that of Steve’s but failed miserably after only a few moments, now completely gassed out.

“Are you alright?” Katie asked laughing as she approached his hunched over figure, catching her own breath.

“Oh, here he comes…Superman himself…” Sam said gesturing to where Steve was now walking towards them, hands on his hips. He paused at his girl’s side and looked down at Sam.

“Need a medic?” he teased.

“I need a new set of lungs.” Sam chuckled breathlessly. “Dude, you just ran like thirteen miles in thirty minutes.”

“Guess I got a late start.” He shrugged, shooting Katie a pointed look. She responded with her best innocent stare, batting her eyelids at him. Rolling his eyes, he turned his attention back to the stranger who began to talk again.

“You should be ashamed of yourself. You should take another lap.” He scolded jokingly. “Did you just take it? I assume you just took it.”

Steve smiled, he couldn’t help but like this man. As he looked at him, he noticed the military symbol on his grey sweater.

“What unit were you with?” Steve asked changing the subject and motioning to the man’s shirt.

“Fifty-eighth, Para-rescue. But now I’m working down at the VA. Sam Wilson.” He said motioning for help up.

“Steve Rogers.” Steve held out his hand and pulled Sam to his feet.

“I kind of put that together.” Sam said as he tried to catch his balance. “Must have freaked you out, coming round after the whole defrosting thing.”

“It takes some getting used to. But I’ve had help.” He smiled, looking at Katie who grinned back. “Good to meet you Sam.”

“Yeah, bye Sam!” Katie smiled as Steve gently placed his hand on her lower back to steer her away.

"It’s your bed right?” Sam called out from behind him.

Steve paused and they both turned back around. “What’s that?”

“Your bed, it’s too soft.” Sam went on to explain. “When I was over there, I’d sleep on the ground and use rocks as pillows. Like cavemen. Now I’m back home, in my own bed, feels like-”

Steve cut him off. “Like lying on a marshmallow, feels like I’m gonna sink right to the floor.”

"How long?” He asked Sam

“Two tours.” Sam responded. “You must miss the good old days huh?”

“Well, things aren’t so bad.” He folded his arms, taking a quick glance at Katie who raised her eyebrow at him, teasingly. “Foods a lot better. We used to boil everything. No polio that’s good.” He paused before making a gesture with his hand. “Internet so helpful, I’ve been reading that a lot tryna’ catch up.”

Sam nodded and then moved his right hand from where it had been folder across his chest and held it, fingers extended. “Marvin Gaye, 1972, ‘Troubleman’ soundtrack.” He said, returning his arm to its resting position “Everything you’ve missed jammed into one album.”

“Ohhh man!” Katie groaned “I love that film.”

Steve nodded, smiling and pulled out the notebook she had bought him the previous year, “I’ll put it on the list.”

“We can download it later.” Katie offered. Steve smiled as he closed his book before he reached into his other pocket for his phone which was going off. It was Natasha.

'Mission Alert. Extraction imminent. Meet you at the curb :)’

He showed the message to Katie who read it whilst he looked over at Sam.

“Well Sam, duty calls. Thanks for the run. If that’s what you wanna call running.” He joked extending his hand.

“Oh that’s how it is?” Sam says amused shaking the offered hand.

“That’s how it is.” Steve responded, laughing slightly.

“Okay, anytime you two wanna stop by the VA. Make me look awesome in front of the girl at the front desk, just let me know.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Steve said as Natasha pulled up in her black chevvy sports car.

“Hey guys, anyone know where the Smithsonian is? I’m here to pick up a fossil.” She quipped.

“Hey Nat!” Katie waved at her and she nodded whilst Steve simply shook his head.

“That’s hilarious.” He commented dryly as he turned to Katie. “I’ll call you as soon as I can, okay?” She took a deep breath. “Be careful.” She instructed as she leaned up to give him a kiss. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Steve made his way to the car, opened the passenger side of the car and dropped into the seat.

“How you doing?” Sam called with a smile as he squat down to get a better view of both Natasha and the car.

“Hey.” She responded with a small smile.

“Can’t run everywhere.” Steve joked smugly, looking back at the man.

“No you can’t.” Sam chuckled and Steve shot one last look at Katie who waved as Natasha surged the car forward.

Katie watched them go before she turned to Sam.

“Military girlfriend huh?” He teased and she laughed.

“Something like that.” “Fancy a coffee?” Sam nodded to one of the stands parked over on the square and she smiled.

“Sure, why not?”

Sam insisted on paying, despite Katie’s protests and they took their coffees over to a bench, sitting down in the early morning sun. As they talked, Katie fast realised she really liked this man, and he was pretty damned interesting too. He told Katie about his time serving in Afghanistan and how he had chosen, post the loss of his partner, Riley, to leave active service and focus his attention on helping others through work at the VA.

Katie had never really dug into the VA much, but it seemed like it did some pretty good work, helping those Soldiers who needed help adjusting to life post discharges for medical or mental health reasons. Sam confided in her that the DC branch was under threat due to lack of funding, and she made a mental note to speak to Tony about it being something that maybe the Stark Relief fund could look into partnering.

When they both realised they had been sat on the bench chatting for almost an hour and a half the pair of them both, knowing they had other places to be, exchanged numbers and she promised to pass his onto Steve.

The rest of her day went pretty quick, in a flourish of telephone conferences and various other ad-hoc emails to deal with, talking to the editors and Business Development team about potential authors to target. By the time she logged off for the evening it was gone eight. She leaned back in her chair, glancing up at the photos that decorated her office, her eyes being drawn to the one on the shelf of herself and Steve which had been taken at the New Years Eve gala last year.

Picking up her phone she debated texting him, but she knew better than to bother him. From personal experience, STRIKE missions were heavy going. Instead she decided she was going to break with their usual routine whereby he would come to hers if it wasn’t too late post mission, and she was going to wait for him at his.

******

“The target is a mobile satellite launch platform: The Lemurian Star.” Rumlow spoke, moving images along a screen as they all stood watching as the jet flew over the Indian ocean. “They were sending up their last payload when pirates took them, ninety-three minutes ago.”

“Any demands?” Steve asked.

“A billion and a half.”

“Why so steep?” Steve asked, frowning. That wasn’t so much steep as fucking vertical.

“Because it SHIELD’s.” Rumlow replied and Steve took a deep breath.

“So it’s not off-course, its trespassing.” He said exasperatedly, turning to his left and looking at Natasha.

“I’m sure they have a good reason.” She met his eyes, her face not faltering for a second.

“You know, I’m getting a little tired of being Fury’s janitor.” Steve raised his eyebrows as she looked back at the screen.

“Relax.” She drawled. “It’s not that complicated”

“How many pirates?” Steve looked back at Rumlow.

“Twenty-five.” he replied, once more swiping at the screen. “Top mercs, led by this guy. Georges Batroc” he pulled up a photo of Batroc on the monitor. “Ex-DGSE, Action Division. He’s at the top of Interpol’s Red Notice. Before the French demobilized him, he had thirty-six kill missions. This guy’s got a rep for maximum casualties.”

“Hostages?” Steve pressed.

“Uh…mostly techs. One officer, Jasper Sitwell.” Rumlow flashed up Sitwell’s photo and Steve shifted slightly “They’re in the galley.”

“What’s Sitwell doing on a launch ship?” He queried, an air of frustration in his tone as he pulled on his gloves before he took a breath and issued his instructions without waiting for an answer. “Alright, I’m gonna sweep the deck and find Batroc. Nat, you’ll kill the engines and wait for instructions. Rumlow, you sweep up after, find the hostages, get them to the life-pods, get ‘em out. Let’s move.”

“STRIKE, you heard the Cap. Gear up.” Rumlow nodded to his team and they all began to bustle around the jet.

Steve moved towards the back, checking his ear piece, raising his wrist communicator to his mouth. “Secure channel seven.”

“Seven secure.” Nat picked up a few more bits of equipment from the shelves, passing a coms device to Evans as Steve walked behind her to the ramp. “Did you do anything fun Saturday night?”

“Well, seeing as all the guys from my barbershop quartet are dead, I had to settle for a movie and pizza with my girl.” He shrugged as he fit his ear piece, a smile tugging at his face. “Yeah, it was fun.”

Natasha grinned and Evans gave a chuckle as the pilot spoke into his ear. “Coming up by the drop zone, Cap.”

Steve punched the button to lower the ramp before he grabbed his helmet.

“You know, I think it’s cute. You’re like a regular, normal couple.” Evans said, and Steve turned to him as he fastened the straps on his helmet.

“That’s because we are normal.” He replied, a little louder as the noise of the air blowing through the ramp surrounded them. Steve grabbed his shield and swung it onto his back, the irony of his statement making him smile even more as he walked towards the end of the ramp.

“Yeah, because most people do this type of stuff for a living.” Natasha shot after him and he turned to face her, smirking.

“Well, at least it doesn’t get boring.” He grinned, before he threw himself off the jet.

“Was he wearing a parachute?” Rollins turned to Rumlow who gave a huff of a smile.

“No. No, he wasn’t.”

Steve held his arms and hands out to the side of himself as he was free falling through the air, before he shifted, straightening his legs out below him and crossing his arms over his chest. He speared straight into the ice cold water below and, after a moment to adjust, he started swimming toward the ship, using the anchor chain to climb up onto the deck. He dropped silently over the railings and grabbed the guard who had walked past seconds before in a choke hold, rendering him unconscious as noiselessly as he could. Then he set off at a sprint and it wasn’t long before he encountered two more of the pirates. Using his shield he hit the first one and took him down then sent the vibranium weapon flying once more where it ricocheted off the hull of the boat and took down the second. He caught it and continued running around the side of the deck where he encountered another three. The first one he dispatched with a harsh kick, taking the others down with a quick leg swipe and a harsh punch to the face. The next one he saw wasn’t looking so Steve sped up and used his momentum to shoulder barge him over the side of the ship, before he launched at the next one, taking him down with a swinging choke hold. The one after had a knife, which was slightly more inconvenient, but Steve managed to disarm him and used the dagger he now had possession of to pin one of the other guards hands to the wall as he was reaching up to hit the alarm button, before knocking him out with a kick to the head.

That was how it went for the most of it. Steve ran the entire deck, taking everyone down using his shield, arms, legs, body, any means he had before anyone could raise the alarm. And he was almost home and dry, until he dispatched of what he thought was the final merc, until as he caught his shield, he heard the click of a gun right behind his head.

“Bouge pas!” The man spoke and Steve tilted his head slightly to glance at the man in his peripheral, understanding the words to mean don’t move. So he didn’t, especially not as he had just spotted Rumlow drifting down towards the deck. The STRIKE leader shot at the pirate, taking him down and landed a few feet away.

“Thanks.” Steve nodded to him.

“Yeah. You seemed pretty helpless without me.” Rumlow joked and Steve turned to see Natasha and Evans parachute down onto the deck to join them.

“So you know you said before about things not getting boring?” Natasha asked as they strode across the deck, Steve slinging his shield onto his back. “If you ever need any tips on how to keep it from getting boring in the bedroom, just ask.”

Steve shook his head and let out a groan.

“When you gonna ask her to move in with you?” Nat continued.

“Secure the engine room, then we can talk about my sex life and living arrangements.” Steve deadpanned back

“I’m multitasking” Nat sing-songed as she effortlessly hopped over a set of railings, disappearing onto the lower part of the deck.

Steve set off at a run, vaulting up a few steps, using railings to swing himself onto the higher level of the ship before he stopped just below the bridge, shooting one of Lawson’s listening devices at the windows. He listened in as Batroc instructed his men to fire the engines and then Steve retreated to a spot where he could see Batroc clearly through the window of the control bridge. Crouching down he continued to listen into their conversation, easily able to understand the French they were speaking, one of his many skills picked up in the war. It had come easy post the serum, as with everything it had enhanced his ability to memorise and grasp things like that.

Batroc was being informed by one of his officers about the radio silence from SHIELD and Steve watched carefully before Evans’ voice cut across the jabbers of French.

“Targets acquired”

“STRIKE in position” Rumlow replied.

“Natasha, what’s your status?” Steve whispered into his wrist coms, but there was no reply. “Status, Natasha?”

“Hang on!” She said loudly, and Steve waited as he heard a bit of a struggle before she spoke again twenty or so seconds later. “Engine room secure.”

That was it, they were clear to engage.

“On my mark” Steve whispered “Three. Two. One.”

With that he set off running towards the bridge, leaping up a small set off steps before he flung his shield through the window. He jumped in after it and Batroc caught him with a kick to the chest before sprinting off and kicking his way out of the door. Steve jumped up, wrenched his shield from where it had been wedged in the metal panels at the back of the control room and ran after him.

“Hostages on route to extraction.” Rumlow informed as Steve emerged onto the end of a set of steps. “Romanoff missed the rendezvous point, Cap.” The STRIKE leader continued as Steve jumped down onto the main area of the deck. “Hostiles are still in play.”

Steve looked around before he turned on his heels and started walking “Natasha, Batroc’s on the move.” He instructed quietly into his coms. “Circle back to Rumlow and protect the hostages.”

There was no reply, and Steve was starting to get pissed off at her radio silence.

“Natasha!”

But then, out of nowhere Batroc flew at him with another harsh kick which sent Steve flying, and no sooner had he righted himself, there came another. The two engaged, toe to toe, fists flying, legs kicking, arms blocking and Steve had to hand it to Batroc, even after he knocked him down with his shield, the man was quickly back on his feet. Steve aimed a knee to his gut and flipped him backwards only to see Batroc effortlessly fling himself into several back flips before landing on his feet a short distance away, smirking as he eyed Steve up.

“Je croyais que tu étais plus qu'un bouclier.” He chuckled slightly and Steve cocked his head to one side, chewing over the man’s words… I thought that you were more than just a shield.

The arrogance in Steve won out and he straightened up out of his attack stance. You wanna go, fucker? Fine. Let’s dance.

He took a breath, stashing his shield on the harness round his back, and undid his chin strap, pulling his helmet off. “On va voir.” He said simply, tossing it to the floor, his eyes not once leaving Batroc’s who gave a huge grin.

They dodged for a second or two before they began to fight once more, trading punches, kicks and a few more knees to the gut before Steve threw himself up into the air, twirling his body round into a huge over-head kick, connecting his boot straight with Batroc’s head. Batroc fell to the floor and soon staggered back to his feet, but Steve didn’t give him chance to recover properly. He ran at him, spearing them both through a door, and sitting up slighting, Steve knocked Batroc out with a huge punch to the head.

He took a moment to draw his breath when a voice rang out across the room.

“Well, this is awkward.”

He looked up to see Natasha smirking at him from where she was bent over a computer.

“What are you doing?” Steve demanded as he rose to his feet.

“Backing up the hard drive. It’s a good habit to get into.” She retorted.

Steve glanced over his shoulder, happy Batroc was still out cold, before he strode purposefully towards her.

“Rumlow needed your help. What the hell are you doing here?” He drew up behind her and glanced at the screens. As it registered what she was doing he shook his head in exasperation. “You’re saving SHIELD Intel.”

“Whatever I can get my hands on.” She drawled, still tapping at the computer as she looked at him, before turning back to the screen.

“Our mission is to rescue hostages.” Steve glared at her.

“No. That’s your mission.” Natasha corrected as she finished what she was doing and pulled the pen drive out of the slot. She turned towards him and smiled causing Steve’s anger to bubble even more. “And you’ve done it beautifully.” Her tone was almost patronising as she smirked, moving to pass him.

At that, Steve felt his temper snap and he grabbed her arm stopping her in her tracks. “You just jeopardized this whole operation.”

“I think that’s overstating things.” Natasha stated calmly but before Steve had time to reply a movement caught his attention. Batroc stood up and threw a grenade at the two of them as he ran off. Steve deflected the bomb with his shield before he grabbed Natasha round the waist and hopped up onto the desks. Jumping to another one, Natasha shot out one of the glass windows into an internal office and they dived in just as the bomb exploded.

Smoke, ash and debris rained down on them and Steve gave it a second before he looked over his shoulder and out before sitting back down to take a moment. He was beyond pissed off. Pissed at Natasha and pissed at Fury for not bothering to tell him the full story.

“Okay. That one’s on me.” Natasha breathed out.

“You’re damn right.” Steve grit his teeth and pushed himself up, storming out in anger. Of course, Batroc was nowhere to be found.

**** Steve was that angry about the cluster-fuck of a mission that he didn’t speak a word to Natasha all the way home and yes, he knew it was childish, but he was getting seriously pissed off at the secrets and lies that seemed to be part and parcel of any goddamned mission Fury sent him on. Once back at base he stormed off the jet, ignoring pretty much everyone and simply barking out that they would debrief in the morning.

It was just before midnight when he got home, and as he pulled his bike up into the designated space allotted for his apartment, he noticed Katie’s car was in one of the guest spaces that lined the street. He frowned slightly, she never normally waited at his for him. Not for any particular reason other than he normally spent the hours or so after a mission debriefing before heading home to decompress for a few hours and then if it wasn’t too late he would head to hers. But the more he thought about it now he realised that he had no idea why he did it that way. It wasn’t like she didn’t understand what it was like being a SHIELD operative, or that he didn’t want her at his.

Knowing that she was there made him smile for the first time since he’d left the Lemurian Star and, despite his various aches and bruises, he found himself taking the steps to his apartment three at a time, his eagerness to see her wiping all other thoughts from his mind.

She was on the couch, bare denim-short clad legs tucked underneath her, and she looked up from the TV as he walked into the living area and leaned in the doorway, smiling softly at the sight of her, hair tousled slightly from where she had been leaning her head against the arm of the couch.

“What are you doing here?” He asked gently as she sat up.

“Decided I’d wait for you.” She shrugged “You complaining?” “Not at all.” He smiled, turning away as he unzipped his jacket and hung it over the back of one of the stools by the breakfast bar before he crossed the room.

“You had a good day?” He asked.

“Yeah.” She replied as he walked back into the lounge. “Vanity Fair have written the article already, if I’m happy with it tomorrow then it’s going to be published this month.”

Steve couldn’t help but smile at her tone. She was proud, and she had every right to be. So was he. Stark Independent Publishing LTD had taken off like a rocket and the glossy magazines were queuing up to interview the youngest Stark prodigee. She had declined all of them until the board had suggested she do one interview for Vanity Fair, along with a photoshoot in her office. She’d reluctantly agreed, but had confided in Steve she’d actually kind of enjoyed it.

“That’s fast.” he said, heading back into the room.

“Yeah they’re really pushing for it.” She smiled as he dropped besides her with a groan, lifting her legs up so they crossed his lap. As he did so he jostled the bruised ribs and muscles he’d obtained on the Lemurian Star and let out a hiss, rubbing slightly at his torso. Katie spotted this, as always, and frowned, moving her legs so she was sat up, scooting over to where he was and gently tugged at his t-shirt. He didn’t stop her as she examined the large bruise over the side of his ribs and gently ran her fingers over it.

“Ouch.” She mumbled softly, looking up at him and then tilting his face round. He knew there was a small cut on his temple but other than that and the bruise to his side he was uninjured. “Is this it?”

He nodded.

“So how did you do it this time?”

“I got blown through a window.” Because that was a perfectly normal thing for Captain America to do, Katie merely rolled her eyes and dropped a kiss to his cheek as she stood up “I’ll get the arnica and fix you something to eat”

He loved this, the way she just wanted to take care of him, but he was aware of what time it was too, and he didn’t want her to feel like she had to play the dutiful housewife.

“Kitten, you should go to bed, its late.” He grabbed her hand. “Once I’ve patched you up and fed you I will.” She shrugged stubbornly, tugging gently on his hand and he allowed himself to be pulled up “Go take a shower, I’ll sort your dinner.”

This time he didn’t protest, simply smiled, dropped a kiss to her head and headed to the bathroom.

He stepped under the hot water cascading from the shower and let out a groan as it hit his body, allowing it temporarily to soothe his mind and his aches. He still couldn’t shake his annoyance at how the mission was gone. Suddenly, he was distracted by his stomach grumbling and he realised he was actually really hungry. He quickly washed off before cutting the water and stepping out, grabbing a towel. He could hear Katie in the kitchen as he walked down the hall towards his bedroom where he dried himself off and dressed in a pair of loose sweats and a grey T-shirt.

The smell of food hit his nostrils as he walked into the kitchen, making his mouth water. Her food was always good, he had no idea what he was in for tonight but he didn’t care. As he approached where she was stood, both his hands dropped to her hips and he placed a soft kiss on her neck, an easy sign of affection before he let out a heavy sigh and reached into the refrigerator.

“So, you wanna tell me what happened?” She asked, turning to look at him as he downed pretty much an entire bottle of water before he slumped down at the breakfast bar and explained everything to her. She listened, asked questions, shook her head, and when he reached the bit about the ransom she whistled slightly through her teeth, coming to the same conclusion he had when he heard the demand.

“That’s steep.” she frowned and Steve snorted.

“That’s what I said. Turns out its SHIELDS.“

The microwave finished and Katie moved to open the door, stirring whatever was in there before removing it and placing it down in front of him, along with a plate of his favourite bread. He was silent for a moment as he stirred the hot stew, Ghoulash, before taking a small mouthful to test the heat. Damned she could cook. He nodded appreciatively.

“It’s good.” “You sound surprised.”

“Behave.” He admonished, giving her a look. “You know what I think about your cooking.”

He continued to eat as she stood up and fished about in the cupboard he stored the bottle of Arnica gel she insisted he keep to hand. As he ate, she settled next to him and hitched his shirt up, gently and carefully applying the ointment to his side. The bruise extended from the middle of his rib cage to an inch or so beneath the band of his sweats.

It was relaxing, and he relished her touch and her gentle tone as she continued to talk.

“So did you get the hostages?”

“Yeah.” He nodded in between mouthfuls. “That bit was pretty easy all things considered.”

“So what’s wrong, love?”

She could tell there was more to his mood than what he had told her, and her instincts were proven right when he let out a soft sigh as she continued to rub at his side softly.

“I’m just annoyed Sweetheart.” He sighed eventually “At Fury, at Romanoff.”

“At Nat? Why?”

“She was running a separate mission, which meant the task I gave her to back Rumlow up with the hostages wasn’t done.”

“Fury?”

He nodded.

“More secrets” Katie sighed, feeling a flash of anger. “You know this is exactly why I got out…legacy or no legacy.”

“Tell me about it.” He dropped the spoon into the empty bowl. “We were lucky no one was hurt, or worse. I mean, Rumlow was great, got everyone out but, Doll, how can I lead a team when half of them are lying to me?”

“Nat was just doing as she was told.” Katie spoke softly, trying to deal with each issue one at a time.

“Since when is retrieving Intel more important than people’s lives?”

“I’m not saying it is. I’m just saying don’t be so hard on her.” She reasoned, her fingers still tracing shapes on his skin. “She has a job to do, same as you. Its Fury you should be talking to about it.”

“Oh I intend to.” Steve snorted. “I’m going to go see him tomorrow morning after de-brief…”

“Well, at least you’ll get an explanation. I mean it might not be what you wanna hear but…”

She was right, of course. Pushing it from his mind, Steve concentrated on her touch as she was still gently rubbing his side. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh of contentment, and was disappointed when she finally finished and let his t-shirt fall down before she stood up to put the ointment away.

“You want any more to eat?” She asked, once she’d washed the arnica off her hands.

“Is there any?” He looked at her hopefully.

She smiled, nodding, and then gave a small yawn which she tried to stifle, but Steve noticed it.

“Okay, I’ll warm some more up and you’re gonna go to bed.” He said, standing up “And that’s an order.”

“Bossy bastard” She retorted. He replied simply with a raised an eyebrow and stern glare as he crossed towards her. She held her hands up, “Okay, I’m going…” She leaned up to kiss to his cheek.

“Won’t be long.” He smiled.

Steve had another bowl of food before he slipped the dishes into the dishwasher and headed to the bathroom to clean his teeth. He turned off the lights, crossed into the dark bedroom and pulled off his T-shirt, sliding into bed behind Katie. His arm curled over her waist, surprise surprise she was in one of his shirts, which did nothing to ebb his growing desire and the twitching in his groin. Hoping she wasn’t asleep, his nose gently nuzzled at her neck, and he was pleased when she responded.

He needed this. Wanted this. Wanted her.

“When you told me to go to bed…” Katie sighed, as his lips gently started their assault on that spot, “I thought you meant to sleep.” “Want me to stop?” Steve practically purred into her neck.

“Didn’t say that.” She replied, rolling her head to catch his lips as his hand crept down her inner thigh. She let out a contented sigh and he smiled against the side of her neck as he traced his fingers over her hip, hand flattening as it crept down and round to the top of her panties, his fingers slipping inside, where he found her hot, wet, ready for him. It was enough to harden him completely as he started to gently tease her, causing her to groan at the pleasure, her back arching whilst his lips continued to kiss and caress her neck.

“Steve.” She moaned softly, her tone pleading. “I want you…”

Fuck, he would never get tired of hearing that. Ever.

“Yeah?” he whispered.

“Yeah. Please Stevie.” He didn’t think he’d ever be able to say no to her. His hand moved up and he gripped at her hip, gently rolling her so she was lay on her back, using his leg to part hers. He guided his shirt over her head, pulled down her panties, before he stripped off his boxers, fingers lacing in between hers, as he crawled over her, pinning both hands above her head as he worked his way into her. They both groaned as he stretched her, and she looked up at him, those eyes locking onto his as he leant down to kiss her, starting up a slow, gentle pace. He moved slowly, again and again, lips caressing hers, then her jaw, then her neck, all the time his hands wrapped around hers, causing her to surrender to him completely.

He kept up that soft, gentle pace, loving her completely. He could tell she was close, he knew the signs well enough now and as she groaned in delight, tightening around him he coaxed her, “That’s it baby girl…” lips soft on her ear.

And then she came, shuddering underneath him, her head tipping back, as she let out a gentle, low, broken moan of his name. It sent shivers down his spine and he continued to thrust through her orgasm, the tale heat spreading across his belly and then he tipped too, jerking and groaning slightly before he fell forward, burying his face in to her neck.

“Love you.” She whispered softly into his ear as her hand ran up his neck, into his hair and he gave a hum of contentment as he regained control of his senses.

“Love you too, so damned much, Sweetheart.” He rubbed his nose up against hers and she chuckled slightly as he rolled off of her. She scooted closer so she could lay her head on his chest and his arm curled round her, large hand tracing shapes on her skin at the bottom of her back as she tossed her leg over his.

“What time are you in tomorrow?” She asked gently, hand rubbing absentmindedly over his chest.

“Half nine.” He gave a sated yawn.

“We can have breakfast together, I made cinnamon rolls.” She muttered through a yawn of her own.

“That so?” “mmmhmmm”

“You know, you’d make a good little housewife.” He grinned, thinking back to his thought before. He knew her response before she had uttered it. “Fuck you.” He chuckled, dropping a kiss to her head and they both fell silent. And his last thought as he drifted off to sleep was just how her being here had made him almost forget his worries.

Katie lay still, listening to the sound of his breathing which grew even as he fell asleep, clearly exhausted. He always needed food and rest after missions, his metabolism drained him. She stole a glance up at him, long eyelashes lay against his cheek as his head lolled to the side slightly, facing her.

“Night soldier.” She whispered softly, placing a peck on his lips before settling down and succumbing to her own tiredness. ********* Katie woke the next morning, tangled in Steve’s arms, his face pressed into her neck as he’d done his usual koala impression. As gently as she could, she moved to check her phone for the time, and found it to be twenty-five past seven, five minutes before her alarm was due to go off. Cancelling it, she glanced back over at Steve who shifted onto his back, the arm that had been thrown around her gently resting on his chest. Smiling, she climbed out of bed deciding to leave him to sleep as long as she could.

Considering what a light sleeper he normally was, Steve didn’t stir when Katie returned following her shower and was still out of it when she finished dressing so she unset the alarm on his bedside clock and headed to the kitchen. She put on a fresh pot of coffee, threw the fresh rolls she had made the previous day into the oven and settled down on his couch, flipping on the TV whilst she quickly scanned through her phone, looking at her schedule for the day. She only had one meeting in the afternoon, and it wasn’t important so she fired an email through to her PA asking her to reschedule.

At about eight-fifteen, there was still no sign of Steve so Katie headed through to the bedroom to wake him up. Any longer and he would be late for his debrief. He was lay side on, facing her side of the bed so she dropped next to him…

Something was tickling his nose, right on the bridge. He gently sniffed, and then soft lips met his. Again, again…Steve made a completely involuntary noise that was halfway between a groan and a sigh as he realised his girl was kissing him awake, before her lips met his and this time he gently responded.

“Hey.” That soft voice greeted him and he smiled, gently cracking an eye open and meeting that emerald green.

“Morning” He said groggily and she smiled.

“It’s almost eight-fifteen.”

He frowned, that was late. “My alarm didn’t wake me?” “I turned it off, sorry-not-sorry” She said with a tone so blasé it made him chuckle “You needed the rest.” She gave him a soft kiss again “There’s coffee in the kitchen and breakfast is ready.” “You know I could get used to this” He rolled over so he was on his back as she rose from the bed. “Coming home to a ready-made dinner, waking up to ready-made breakfast before I go to work. And you.” “Nice to see which one of those is your priority.” She teased over her shoulder as she left him to it.

“Always you, Doll.” he murmured with a smile. But as he lay still for another few minutes, he thought about it more and more. Over the past four months, other than when they were away either on missions or business trips they had spent every night together, either at his or hers but last night, something had felt different to him, more intimate. She’d taken care of his mission injuries, cooked for him, made love to him, and now here she was making him breakfast before she would wave him off to work later on. It was almost normal, what people with mundane nine to five jobs did. And he realised he wanted that all the time, he wanted to come home, find her there, wake up with her, every single day.

“When you gonna ask her to move in?” Natasha’s voice popped back into his head.

If he was honest, he hadn’t given it a lot of thought, it wasn’t something people did back in his time before marriage. But times were different, hell he was different, and as he lay there contemplating it, he realised, it wasn’t such a bad idea.

When he headed through, Katie was sat at the kitchen table, laptop fired up, mobile glued to her ear.

“I know!” Her tone was one of utter excitement. “I mean I didn’t think they would turn out so good…or they’d be done so fast but they’re pushing for this month’s edition…”

He dropped a kiss to her neck and glanced at the screen, pausing when he saw the image. It must have been one of the photos done whilst she was in New York and as he looked at it, he felt his mouth drop open. His girl was stood against a wall in her office in the tower, one leg bent, high heeled foot raised back against the flat surface behind her, palms splayed either side of her thighs as she looked to the right. Her hair was pulled back in a slick, high pony tail, her make-up was heavier than normal and utterly flawless, and she was dressed in a grey charcoal pinstripe suit which cinched in at her waist, with a low cut white blouse underneath.

“Yeah, I know Tony.” She continued speaking into the phone as she glanced up and saw the expression on his face. She pressed a button on the keyboard and it flipped to another picture, this one of her sat in her chair, legs apart, elbows resting on her knees, as she looked beyond the camera, laughing at something. She looked absolutely fucking stunning. His eyes roved the image on the digital copy of the article and he began to read the writing that was next to it.

There are a lot of things you might absolutely hate about Katie Stark. Aged just twenty-nine she has more money than anyone could possibly wish to spend in a life-time, looks and a figure that you would kill for, and a Super Soldier Boyfriend with a jawline that seems to be carved from marble. However, after thirty seconds in her company despite wanting to hate her for all of the above, it was simply impossible not to like her.

Unassuming, accommodating, and with a smile that you simply can’t help but return, she welcomed us into her office and was remarkably humble about the entire thing, admitting that she still wasn’t quite so sure why we were so interested in her. We took the time to grill her on how the first three months of Stark Independent Publishing LTD has gone and what we can look forward to in the future.

Katie stood up and gestured for him to sit down and carry on reading the article. She headed off into the living room, continuing her call, so he read as he ate a hot cinnamon bun. The article ploughed through a load of questions about the book that had launched the business when they published, the fact the company had already registered over fifty-percent first quarter turnover, where she thought the business was going, future pipeline projects, her favourite authors, genre, books, previous role in Stark Industries before she had spent a few years working for a Government Agency following the Battle of New York (no mention of Supernova or SHIELD) and then the final paragraph took a personal turn.

When asked if she would indulge us with a personal question she sighed slightly before grinning and telling us to ask and see if she answered. So we did…

“We know that you’re a notoriously private person, in comparison to your brother anyway, but most of our readers are dying to know…what’s it like dating Captain America?”

“No idea, I’m dating Steve Rogers.” She replied immediately, a faint flush hitting her cheeks as she spoke, all the time fiddling with a delicate yet gorgeous antique looking emerald ring which sits on her right hand, a gift we suspect from the man in question. When asked to elaborate slightly, she bit her lip and simply smiled before explaining; “Steve isn’t just Captain America. There’s more to him than a shield. He’s the kindest, gentlest, most caring man I’ve ever met and he makes me unbelievably happy.” The blush spread from her cheeks to her ears “And that’s not down to the Serum or outfit, it’s just who he is. The fact he’s 6ft2, drop dead gorgeous with a smile I’d happily die for is a bonus.”

Steve felt himself grin as he read the words and glanced at the small photo they had framed the paragraph round. It was the shot of them together that had been taken at the Stark Industry’s New Year’s Gala as they danced. His eyes continued to the final part of the article, this one complete with a picture of Katie and Tony. Katie sat at her desk as Tony leaned over, looking at something on the computer screen.

When asked about the other man in her life, her brother Tony, she smiled again, another genuine smile, the love she has for her elder sibling evident on her face and in her voice.

“I owe everything I have to Tony. He brought me up from the age of seven, gave me absolute, unconditional love and opportunities I know I was extremely fortunate to have. People have a pre-conceived image of what he is like, and sometimes he can play into that, but to me he’s been nothing but loving and supportive, my father and brother rolled into one and I can’t thank him enough for everything he has done and given me. He backed my decision to open SIP from the off and believed in me and has always pushed me to be the best I can be.”

We couldn’t resist another personal question, so we asked her a little cheekily how Tony had reacted to news that she was dating one of his fellow Avengers, who had served alongside their Father Howard in WW2. Hesitating slightly, she flushed before smirking and answering, a grin on her face.

“How he found out wasn’t ideal, but once he realised we were serious, he was fine about it. I think deep down after my last car crash of a relationship, he’s just happy I’m with someone who puts me first.”

“Do they get on?” At that she laughed. “They have a love-hate relationship. In that they hate the fact they love one another. Tony has these ridiculous nicknames for Steve and he can be an absolute nightmare at times, but to be fair Steve’s quite sarcastic himself too but I know full well that they have each other’s six and, even though they would probably deny it, they are quite close and would miss one another if they weren’t around.”

Steve, grudgingly, had to admit she was right. Tony could be a pain in the ass at times, but he would miss the billionaire if he wasn’t there. Underneath all his bravado he knew that he thought the world of his sister and, despite their initial meeting whereby Steve frankly thought the guy was a dick, he’d fast learnt during the Chitauri Battle that underneath that persona he had a heart of gold and was more like his father than he would care to admit. A fact that Steve was even more convinced of having gotten to know him much better on a personal level over the last two years or so.

Whilst the siblings certainly share a lot of attributes, both good looking, tough, hard-working, Katie has a certain softness to her edges and we challenge anyone who spends time in her company not to warm to the youngest Stark. Stark Independent Publishing has, in our opinion, a very bright future ahead of it whilst it is spearheaded by such an astute and shrewd business woman and we wish her all the best.

“What do you think?” Katie watched as Steve read the article, leaning against the wall, nibbling at her thumb, nervous to see his reaction.

Steve jerked his head round and smiled at her. “I think it’s fantastic. The photos are stunning, the article is well written. Are you happy with it?” “Yeah.” she nodded as she walked over to his chair, standing behind it and slipping her arms round his shoulders from behind “They wouldn’t drop the whole So you’re dating Captain America angle though, so our PR department told me to answer a few personal questions to shut them up. Are you ok with it?” Steve smiled and turned side on in his seat, pulling her into his lap. “Seeing as I’m the kindest, gentlest, most caring man you’ve ever met how could I not be?” “I meant every word of that.” She smiled, rubbing her nose against his.

“I know baby.” He gave her a peck on the lips. “Now I need to go or I’m gonna be late.”

Sighing she stood up as he did the same, grabbing a final cinnamon bun from the plate.

“I’ll be back at mine” She informed him as she walked to the door with him, “I have a few calls to do this morning.” “I’ll come over when I’m done.” He smiled. “And maybe we can do something this afternoon?”

“Sounds perfect”

***** Chapter 14

**Original Posting**

#stark spangled banner #steve rogers #steve rogers x ofc #steve rogers x original female character #steve rogers smut #mcu #mcu fanfic #captain america #katie star #chris evans #chris evans characters

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