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wandaslovey · 8 months ago

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𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐢𝐭

➺ natasha romanoff x inexperienced!fem!bi!reader

*not my gif*

wc ~ 1.5k

a/n: just wanted to warn/emphasize.. reader is bisexual and this is kind of written where natasha is like her “bi awakening.”

a/n: okay so i wrote this months ago to dip my toes back into writing again… it’s definitely not my best work, but i wanted to get a natasha fic out there on my blog since i only have wanda fics on my master list rn.

cw: really none except that reader is an extreme overthinker

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“natasha, be for real right now. you know i don’t like going out.”

“c’mon. you’re young and beautiful and full of light and energy. you should be going out there, breaking boys hearts and making new friends.”

god she was insufferable. she was calling me beautiful? does she not see herself?? and breaking guys hearts, what’s that about?

“‘tasha you should know better than anyone that i’ve been steering clear of men lately. i just don’t want to be in a relationship right now.”

really the idea of it was wholly overwhelming. the thought of having to open myself up to rejection, make myself so vulnerable in front of a man (especially).. god knows there is a increasingly small percentage of men worthy of my vulnerability.

“oh god (Y/N), you don’t need to be in a relationship to have some fun. just let loose a little, that’s all,” she encourages with that devious little twinkle in her eye. an amused smile was playing on her lips and i knew she found my “uptightness” entertaining at times.

“are you saying i should go around having sex with random men?” i raise my eyebrows in accusation, though i knew i was taking her implication a step too far.

she rolls her eyes, a smile touching her lips.

“you know what i mean… i think a little kissing will loosen you up in a good way.”

i give her a look, one that clearly shows the fact that i think she’s being absurd before i turn back around and go back to scrolling on my phone.

“what was that look?” she asks, turning her body towards me in the swively chair that sat in front of my desk. she was hugging one knee up to her chest, the other dangling from the seat.

“nothing,” i mumble dismissively, shaking my head as i truly didn’t want to broach this subject with her at present.

“no no no, that wasn’t nothing. that was something. . . what, do you have something against kissing?”

her tone implies an edge that she didn’t really believe i had anything against kissing.. which would make her partially incorrect. i didn’t have anything against kissing, i was just extremely inexperienced and that made it all the more daunting.

“can we not talk about this? you seem all too invested in my ‘suggestive conduct.’”

suddenly she’s out of the chair and padding across the hardwood floor to where i was sitting criss cross applesauce in the middle of my made bed.

“this i have to know..” she sits next to me, seemingly effortlessly turning my body towards her so i’m facing her and she plucks the phone out of my hands, setting it beside her.

“you always dodge me when i start talking about things like this.” her facial expression was sinfully amused and i could sense that she was not going to let this go this time. i find myself swallowing a lump in my throat as for the umpteenth time, i’m taken aback by her beauty.

her orange red hair slightly wavy from her shower earlier and parted down the middle. her face was bare of any makeup which i felt only made her green eyes jump out more against her skin.

“nat, c’mon..” i plea with her to drop it, hoping she would lose interest in the subject.

she smiles at me, tilting her head as she takes in my slightly abashed expression.

“you’ve never been kissed before, have you?”

“no, no i have. it’s just been awhile,” i shrug, still trying to dismiss the subject by being nonchalant about it.

“how long?” she presses.

“like 5 years almost,”

“five years??” her mouth gapes slightly through her smile, her eyes bright and eager as if she was thoroughly entertained by this information.

“and that was your first kiss?” she adds after i hadn’t said anything.

“well no, it was my second kiss technically.”

“okay so, let me get this straight, you’ve only ever kissed 2 guys in your life and the last time was 5 years ago?” she tries to clarify to which i just nod my head and then shrug.

“why?” she asks, sounding genuinely surprised at learning my lack of experience.

i sigh, peeling my eyes from my lap to look at her as i reply. “i just didn’t have good experiences either time and it turned me off from really wanting to try it again. that’s all.”

“they weren’t good at kissing?”

“well.. i mean they were both fine, i guess. i don’t have much to compare it to. i just didn’t really want to kiss either of them. i just did it because i was afraid to hurt their feelings. then afterwards i ended up regretting it because it wasn’t that good enough for it to justify doing it casually.”

she nods her head once at my words, taking in my explanation.

“and now? you’re afraid your next experiences will be the same?”

“um well.. yeah i think so. i’m also just embarrassed by my lack of experience. i’ve just gotten it in my head that i’m a terrible kisser.” i cast my eyes down again, feeling a little

embarrassed at having admitted this to her.

she smirks, the sound causing me to shrink further into myself even though i could tell she was trying to muffle her reaction.

“now why would you think something like that?”

her voice had a bit of a suggestive edge to it, causing my body to be on even more alert.

“i don’t know… i just do,” my eyes were still downcast, my fingers fidgeting with the hair tie around my wrist. it was quiet between us for several beats and i feel my face start to heat up in the silence.

just as i was about to say something, anything to break the silence, i feel her fingers under my chin, lifting my face up to look at her.

“you think you might want some practice?”

she asks me out of the blue. her eyes were intent on mine, a sinful, unabashed smile on her face. immediately, my heart rate picked up and i had to remind myself to breath normally as to not have an outward reaction to her question.

“wh..huh?” i ask confused, my mind already beginning to feel foggy at the thought of kissing the natasha romanoff.

“well now i’m curious to know if you are a bad kisser or not.” she was shameless. confidence in her suggestion practically radiating from her form. her eyes slowly travel down my face to my lips before she flicks them back up to my eyes.

“will you let me kiss you? i won’t bite,” she slowly leans in closer to me, her eyes naturally drifting to my lips again.

“i..i can’t.” i breath out, my lips parting as i breathe through my mouth. my eyes were scanning all over her face, frantic as i try to find an excuse to weasel out of this.

i want to kiss her.. i really do. but if i really was a bad kisser and she found out, i would be utterly mortified.

“nat…” i try, leaning back just slightly to put a couple more inches distance between us.

she follows my movement, leaning her body forward as i lean back, closing the gap i created as soon as it was there. i’m assaulted by her smell. it was like cinnamon, vanilla and sandalwood and completely intoxicating.

“don’t think about it too much. i can practically hear the overthinking in that head of yours,” she smiles.

“wh-what if i’m bad at it?” i try to reason with her, to save both her and myself from this experience. she shakes her head, that amused smile still playing on her lips.

“shh.. sweet girl. just relax your lips and follow my lead, okay?” one of her hands reaches up and tucks some hair behind my ear. her fingertips linger on my jaw as she leans in closer. i am utterly captivated, unable to even think properly as i find myself in the most surreal situation.

i close my eyes when her face was merely centimeters away. i can feel the warmth of her face and the tension, almost palpable now that we were so close. i tilt my head up ever so slightly, anticipating her lips against mine.

as i wait, it feels like the seconds drag on. i can hear my heart beating in my ears, smell vanilla and cinnamon and taste natasha’s breath on my tongue.

i was about to peek my eyes open when i finally feel her lips press against mine. it starts out as a close mouthed kiss, but after a mere couple of seconds, her lips part and i easily follow her lead through the kiss. she pulls away all too quickly, and i find myself immediately missing the loss of her lips.

“was that so scary detka?” she murmurs, her voice sounding even lower than normal.

i couldn’t be too sure how i looked to her, but my vision seemed hazy and i was almost positive i had a drunk expression on my face.

i shake my head from side to side.

“no.”

she hums and then brings a hand to my face, ever so gently brushing the back of her knuckles against my cheek. “ty tak milo nevinen. eto dragotsenno.” she leans in again, kissing me more firmly this time. i respond eagerly, meshing my lips around hers.

my insecurities and worries melted away the longer we kissed, the space between our where my body ended and hers began becoming lost.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanov #natasha romanoff #natasha x you

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kisses4reid · 1 year ago

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convenient pt. 2 | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,,

pt. 1 (you cannot read part 2 with no context).

summary - he totally just cares if you pass your exams, nothing else. there is no other reason he keeps coming back to your convenience store.

genre - fluff, fem!college!reader x early season!spencer

warnings - school work, incorrect science stuff bc i’m just a girl

a/n - thank you all for the love on the first part!!! it was so surprising, especially since it was the first fic i’ve uploaded on this blog, i love y’all so much 🫶 thank you to those who suggested to make this a series, i would’ve totally made this a oneshot if not for y’all.

“you got any plans tonight spencer?”, morgan asked, taking his jacket off the back of his chair, passing spencer’s clean desk.

“uh, yeah actually.”

“really?” morgan stopped beside him, looking over his shoulder, a smirk crawling up, “with who?”

“moby dick.” spencer lied, morgan rolled his eyes.

“you’re no fun man.”

the doorbell rang, but after not seeing a certain skinny man for two nights, you’re mind starting to reset into the ‘studying grind mode’ it had been on before meeting spencer. stop thinking about spencer, keep studying.

three ladies dressed in short skirts, a white man with dreads (yikes), and a boy around 8 years old checked out with various items before a 3 minute cannelloni, bag of coffee, and an apple landed in front of you. before you could look up he spoke,

“how did your assignment go?” you jumped in your seat, nearly punching the man in the face before you placed a hand over your heart and sighed,

“good lord, you need to learn how to walk louder.”

spencer grinned. you scanned the cannelloni, he glanced at your hand still over your heart.

“rubatosis.”

“bless you?”

“the unsettling awareness of your own heartbeat.” you glanced up and saw him looking at your hand with a thin lipped awkward smile. you quickly put your hand down and continued scanning, pushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“we all know words. like… vellichor.” you spoke, packing his things in the same plastic bag he brought just little of a week ago. he tilted his head,

“the love of used bookstores?”

“i saw old books in your car.”

“you were looking in my car?” he put his hands in his pockets, as he looked out the window to his parked vehicle, not planning to pick up his bag of ‘groceries’ anytime soon. only then did you notice his tie was askew, his hair a little disheveled, his eyes a little sunken. the doorbell rung, a middle-aged balding man walking in behind spencer.

“i’m observant. $12.98.” he whipped out a slim wallet from his back pocket, flicking through some notes to pull out a $20. you ruffled through the register for his change as he remarked,

“you didn’t even look at the register.”

“don’t need to, you’re predictable.” you reply with a sneaky smile, causing spencer to copy reluctantly.

there was an awkward cough from behind him, the middle-aged man. spencer turned back to you after realising that he was in fact in a convenience store, and you were in fact the only worker there. “sorry sir, um. bye.” he took his bag, the thin lipped smile becoming nearly as predictable as his late-night groceries.

“bye.”

the tall, awkward, superbly smart man who smelt like wood didn’t show up for 5 nights. you thought there were only three possibilities at his absence: sickness, death, or he’s learnt how to cook.

you thought the next time you saw him you would ask more about him. in between studying, classes, and working, there wasn’t much time for a social life in your day to day. or maybe you wouldn’t. maybe he wasn’t showing up because he wasn’t really a regular, just a guy who needed quick meals, coffee, and apples on those specific nights. that’s insane, you are insane, get back to studying.

you almost didn’t recognise him the next night. same clothes, same height, same cologne, different face. dark circles under his eyes, permanent lines between his eyebrows, and a purple bruise on his left cheek. it was silent, he was the only customer at 11:30pm. you both made eye contact while you scanned his items, (same things plus a travel first aid kit) silently observing his expectant expression before you broke the silence.

“i’m not going to ask.”

“i got hit with the butt of a gun.” he said matter of factly.

you halted, coffee bag in hand, and stared at him, squinting. “…okay. actually i am gonna ask. who would hit a librarian with the butt of a gun?”

he scrunched his eyebrows and tilted his head, blinking, “i’m not a librarian. why do you think i’m a librarian?”

you packed his things, “smart, dressed posh, just general mysterious good looking librarian vibe,” he handed you a $20, “you remind me of a pipe cleaner with eyes.”

he raised an eyebrow, breaking eye contact, “not the first time i’ve heard that.”

you laughed, thinking it was a joke. his shoulders relaxed, the lines between his eyebrows softening. he grabbed his things, “bye, y/n.”

“bye, spencer.”

you were so close to finding out more about him. how the hell does a man that looks like that get into so much trouble?

you finish your shift, packing your textbooks and now flat laptop, locking everything up and turning the lights off. it was 1am. and, spencer was asleep in his car.

you looked around and put your jacket around your shoulders before jogging up to his driver’s window. his head was lulled to one side, mouth closed, chest rising softly. you knocked, and suddenly he was wide-eyed and searching for something.

“spencer? what are you still doing here?” you speak just loud enough for him to hear behind the window, which he promptly put down. you had a split second realisation how crazy this was. checking in on a regular, watching a regular sleep, feeling safe enough to approach a man’s car just because he buys the same thing every night he comes to the convenience store.

“sorry, i didn’t mean to fall asleep. i- uh,” he wiped his face, “sorry.”

you look at him with concern, “it’s okay, just.. try not to look like you were waiting for me to finish my shift to kidnap me next time, okay?”

he sighed and nodded. waving goodbye, you started down the street, your apartment only being a block away. over the music now playing in your ears, you heard a car drive away, mixing with your confused thoughts about who this regular really is and what he does for a living. and how does he look that good.

he was back the next night, same black slacks, with a purple sweater a shade darker than your own.

“hey spencer, before i scan your 3 minute bolognese, coffee and bag of apples-“

“how did you get that perfectly-“

“i’m going to ask this and you’re going to answer, okay?”

you know nothing about this man, but talking to him like a good friend felt natural now. though, you still tried to avoid over stepping it.

“-though you don’t actually have to answer it. you are a customer and i can’t force customers to do anything but- seeing as though you know i’m a college student and that i work at this convenience store and that i sort of suck at biology- sorry i’m rambling,” you take a breath, “where do you work?” you finish, spencer smiling slightly. you were surprised he didn’t cut you off to stop you, like everyone else did. he didn’t answer at first, the squeak of your shoe against the floor displayed your anxious tell.

“i can’t tell you.”

you sighed, rolling your eyes and packing his stuff, he already had a $20 ready in his hand. you took it, fingers brushing slightly against his. “you suck, and your so suspicious. i should just call security.”

he looked around, fiddling his fingers together, “you don’t have security.”

you pointed to a dead cockroach outside underneath the warm street light. “yes we do. why do you think he’s twitching? he’s insane, he’ll hurt you.”

he chuckled, the sound bringing a shade of pink to your cheeks. “you don’t work on weekends.”

you squinted, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and maybe a bit of fear. “what.”

“i came in on a weekend and a man was here.” he explained as you nodded.

“yeah, no i don’t. why?”

spencer gulped, taking his bag, and smiling awkwardly, “nothing, bye!”

you waved, confused. also stressed, you hadn’t worked on your psychology assignment while waiting for him to show up.

pt. 3

taglist- @jeffswh0re @hypotheticallyspeakingwitch @wannabewolf @evysian @trashmonstersara

#criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x yn #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fluff

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tarnishedsilverjewelry · 4 months ago

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Hola! Me alegro de ver otro blog de M ^^

Can I request Bi-Han as a parent of a boy or girl around 4 or 5 years old who is very clingy? they don't leave his side and follow him wherever he goes. I love clingy kids, they're so adorable, and I definitely love reading domestic Bi-han.

What fatherhood does to a man

A/n: It’s getting harder and harder to NOT name these ‘The father That stepped up’ guys😭 Also, ah yes the grumpy old man and adopted sunshine child trope my BELOVED!!!! Also I see everyone saying Bi Han is mean and I’ve seen some ppl make him abusive WHICH IS WRONG!!!!! He is raised on tradition!!! Tomas says a line that says “his father’s honor” insisted on taking him in!! HES GRUFF AND A GENTLEMAN!!! HES ONLY MEAN TO HIS BROTHERS🗣️🗣️🗣️….sorry I got a little heated there💔 also also this is based on something saw here (I can’t remember who posted it, sorry) which was like what if Bi Han was pretending and didn’t actually betray his brothers so…yeah

Warnings: Mentioned death, blood and gore. Also angst. Bi Han actually has a heart guys‼️‼️‼️ so maybe ooc and also also no use of Y/n. The child has a name:3

Bi Han stared at the small girl in front of him

She and her family had unfortunately been caught in Lin Kuei battles, which led to the death of her parents by the hands of the enemy clan.

Bi Han stared at her, clutching her fathers cold hand with both of hers begging him to wake up saying that mommy wasn’t waking up either with a blood covered blanket and two stuffed animals crammed under her arms. One bright pink winged-cat plushy and a pastel pink and pastel purple unicorn with holographic tinsel in its mane

Bi Han sighed, and walked towards her, going in his knees to seem less scary. “Child, your parents will not wake..I…I’m sorry.” She turned to him, tears pouring out of her eyes and in a shakey voice asked “Why not?” Bi Han sucked in a breath.

He was a man most acquainted with seeing gore and death. Seeing bodies and blood with nothing new to him, but she couldn’t be older than 4. She’d lived in a secluded house with her parents and farm animals, and he doubted they would slaughter the animals in front of her.

“They…were caught in the cross fire. And unfortunately they have ascended to the heavens, and cannot bring you with them.” How he wished his brothers were here. He was raised to see emotions has weak as the future Grandmaster. “But they will watch over you and guide you as best they can from where they are.” He added quickly, remembering the line from the day Tomas was brought home

The girl nodded, and looked back at her parents corpses. “Oh. So I’m all alone?” Bi Han shook his head. “No, if you allow me to..I will take care of you. I know I will never replace your parents, but I will try to raise you fairly.” The blue ninja awkward opened his arms for her, and she collapsed in them sobbing.

Bi Han would normally be annoyed with the child, but now seeing a girl so young lose her whole life in one night by the enemy…he couldn’t even imagine being upset with her. Not when she got snot and tears on his uniform (not the shoulder he didn’t want to accidentally hurt her with the pointed shoulders), or when she asked him to gather what little remained of her old life.

When Tomas bright with him a small box of memories from his old family—he’d scoffed at it. Tomas would be a Lin Kuei now, he had a new family now. What did he need with memories from before?

But now? Now he understood. Bi Han helped her find what remained from her old room—A few pink floral pillow, 3 hand made quilts, a set of slightly burnt ice skating gear, and more stuffed animals—before finding a box large enough to fit what little was salvageable. When something caught his eye. On the floor was a fallen bookcase, and strewn across the floor were pictures of her parents.

Bi Han asked her if she’d like them, and she nodded trying to wiggle out of his grip. “No, there is glass on the floor. You don’t have shoes on, you could be hurt.” She nodded, sulking only slightly. Bi Han set the box down and helped her pick out 5 pictures of her parents, and 3 of all three of them. He even managed to find two fairly large photo albums that were fairly good condition to take too.

“Bi Han?!” Finally, his brothers were here. The girl whimpered slightly and leaned back against him. “It’s alright. It is only my brothers.” He assured her quietly, repacking her things before walking out. “Brother wh—“ Kuai Liang stopped short seeing the girl tear streaked face and covered in soot and blood. “Oh dear..” he muttered, walking forward.

Tomas followed him, reaching out for the box Bi Han held. “Hello there,” He smiled slightly at her “my name is Kuai Liang. What is yours?” She peered up at Bi Han who nodded slightly at her “Chao-Xing.” She muttered, cuddling further into his elder brother. “How old are you, Chao-Xing?” Tomas asked softly. “I turned 4 yesterday.”

Bi Han silenced their bubbling questions, looking down at the uncomfortable girl who was growing more and more tired. “Enough questions, let’s head back. She is tired.” He said firmly, taking the lead of the group who nodded.

They arrived at camp in two hours, and would be back at the compound the next afternoon if they left before first light. “Grandmaster!” Sektor called loudly, drawing attention. Chao-Xing stirred slightly, and Bi Han silenced her with a glare. “Quiet, Sektor. We will talk soon.” He growled, breezing past her heading for the tent that had been set up for him.

Bi Han tucked her into his bed, leaving the box of her things at the foot of the bed and left guards with stern orders to find him if she startled awake. Then he left to find Sektor and his brothers.

That night, he slept in the chair in his large tent, and when he woke Chao-Xing was curled up in his lap. Bi Han picked her up and wrapped her up in the small throw blanket that was on his bed to keep her warm on the journey.

He oversaw the clan packing up tents as the sun rose, and when Chao-Xing woke up he plated her some breakfast and ate with her on his right knee. The journey to the compound was quick, Chao-Xing fell back asleep some time before arriving and awoke to him ordering someone to clean her things and take them to her new room.

“Chao-Xing, would you like a tour of the compound? I can show you the gardens?” Kuai Liang offered, and she nodded somewhat hesitantly. “Not yet, she needs lunch first. And then she’s getting her measurements taken for new clothes, and then a trip to the medics.” Bi Han told his brother. Hua frowned. “No shots?” She asked quietly. “If they aren’t needed, then no.” She seemed satisfied with that, and let Bi Han take her to wherever her lunch was

After her trip to the doctors, where she thankfully got not shots, Kuai Liang and Tomas took her around the compound and ended the tour in the flower gardens. Chao-Xing enjoyed the gardens, mainly for the koi pond in it.

“Careful Chao-Xing! Don’t fall in!” Tomas laughed, gently pulling her away from the edge of the pond “I like fishes. Pretty.” She replied, looking at the fish in awe. “Yes they’re quite pretty, aren’t they? Maybe in the morning you can come out here and help feed them.” Kuai Liang said, enjoying the way her smile widened

At dinner time, Bi Han found them laying in front of the koi pond with Chao-Xing between his brothers. “Chao-Xing, dinner.” He said, voice surprisingly gentle. She stood up and ran over to him, talking about how pretty the fish were. “Yes the fish are very pretty.” He agreed, eyes drifting to his brothers in silent thanks.

Kuai Liang talked about her possibly feeding the fish, which made her perk up. So of course he agreed, and said he’d do it with her. But only if she ate her veggies at dinner. She poured up at him, but he managed to keep strong against her puppy dog eyes

Tomas struggled to not point out how easily he took to fatherhood.

Weeks passed, and soon Chao-Xing had been here a full month. It became routine for Bi Han to wake up to her curled up in his bed, and before breakfast they would feed the koi fish together. Then he’d help her chose an outfit and get dressed, go eat breakfast and train while Chao-Xing did her lessons

Chao-Xing proved to be a very smart girl, and finished her lessons an hour early every day (unless it was cursive then she finished her lessons on time) and always watched him train with his brothers

Then it was time for lunch, after which Bi Han would take her to the sides of the training grounds and meditate with her before teaching her basic stances for kombat. After that, she really had free rein to do anything within reason. But she chose to follow him around quietly.

Her wide eyes never strayed far from him, she even would sit outside his office during meetings. He would exit to see her staring up at him, pink winged cat plush in hand. She was always hot on his heels, and he didn’t mind too much. She was 4, and lost her family in a very traumatic situation. He couldn’t understand fully, but he could be sympathetic.

One night when he was tucking her in, and checking for monster per her request he asked her. “Why do you not sleep in your bed? I don’t mind waking up to you in my bed, I’m only wondering.” Chao-Xing sniffled and admitted “I keep getting afraid you’ll go where mommy and daddy went. And I’ll be alone.” Bi Han swallowed thickly. “Even if I did go there, which I’m not, you would still have the Lin Kuei to look after you, and Kuai Laing and Tomas to care for you.” She smiled a little at him. Bi Han smiled back.

He didn’t mind when he’d wake up in the middle of the night to her gentle knocks, when her night terrors got bad, when she followed him around, watched him train even though she seemed to hold little interest in becoming a ninja like him.

He didn’t mind, but others did apparently

His brothers made no comment about it, mainly because they had seen Tomas in the same way for many years. But Sektor had made a small comment about it. “I never understood why parents allowed their child to cling to them in such a way.” Chao-Xing tilted her head at the words, eyes dampening with sadness. “Well I’m sure that the parents don’t mind. They are their children, after all.” He growled, eyes narrowing at her.

Chao-Xing may not have understood the message, but Sektor did.

‘Never talk like that about my daughter again’

BONUS! DIALOGUE BETWEEN KOMBATANTS

Bi Han: You were so easy to trick

Shang Tsung: You are weak to think of a child over greatness

Shang Tsung: My offer still stands, with your power our victory will be assured!

Bi Han: I would never betray my family for your petty lies

Liu Kang: I did not take you for the kind for fatherhood

Bi Han: neither did I

Bi Han: was there a chance I would betray my family in this timeline?

Liu Kang: Your daughter changed the timeline in more ways than one

Kuai Liang: I never thought I would be an uncle

Bi Han: I never though I would be a father

Bi Han: I apologize for making you think I would betray you, brother

Kuai Liang: Just tell me your plan next time, and I’ll be happy.

Tomas: What does Chao-Xing want for her birthday?

Bi Han: She keeps asking for a puppy, which she won’t be getting

Bi Han: I apologize for making you think I would betray you, brother

Tomas: I forgive you brother, just warn us next time.

#mk1 x reader #tarnishedsilverjewelry #mortal kombat 1 #kuai liang #kuai liang scorpion #tomas vrbada #smoke mortal kombat #kuai liang x reader #bi han x reader #child reader #tomas vrbada x reader #bi han sub zero #bi han mortal kombat #bi han mk #bi Han has a heart guys I promise

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wangxianficfinder · 3 months ago

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Fic Finder

March 4th

~*~

1. Hi! Thank you for all the work you do ��️ and please forgive the vagueness of my request: looking for a fic that is a modern AU with dad! Lwj and child a'yuan where Wwx is visiting and sleeping on the couch covered in a'yuans stuffed animal toys and when he wakes up they all fall over .... It had some sort of angst because it was a toy on his throat that startled him and woke him up... I cannot for the life of me find this again but the scene is so vivid to me 😭😅 @abijo2024-blog

FOUND! Come Around and Stay by trippednfell (M, 160k, WangXian, NieLan, Slow Burn, Kid Fic, Found Family, Modern AU, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, PTSD, Blood and Injury, Dissociation, Angst with a Happy Ending, Musicals, POV Alternating, Baking, Yunmeng reconciliation (eventually), Friend Zoning, Literal Sleeping Together, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks)

~*~

2. Omg I can’t believe I’ve lost this fic. I’ve searched everywhere!!

Young Lwj decides to rebel against his uncle and stay a (white) fox forever. His mother is alive. One day while admiring some newborn bunnies he meets another (he thinks wild) red fox. So annoying bc the fox keeps bothering him, wanting to play. At the same time there’s a visiting cultivator in cloud recesses who is always picking lwj up and petting him. Lwj is a white fox for 90% of this fic.

FOUND!🔒 A Mother’s Curse (A Mother’s Blessing) by Eudoxia (E, 33k, wangxian, A/B/O, Omega WWX, Alpha LWJ, Huli Jing LWJ, Huli Jing WWX, Everyone Lives, Curses, Case Fic, Animal Transformation, Arranged Marriage, Misunderstandings, No Sunshot Campaign, No Yīn Iron, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, LXC is a good brother!, He tries so hard!!, Mentions of Ace LXC, Mentions of Ace WN, Knotting, Rimming, Blow Jobs, Oral Sex, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mating Bites, Mating Bond, Size Kink, 69 (Sex Position), Mpreg, Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, wangxian Have a Breeding Kink, Intersex Male Omegas, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Cunnilingus, Squirting, wangxian Have a Non-Con/Rape Kink, but no actual CNC/rape play occurs in this fic. It’s only discussed. there is also discussions of monster fucking but no actual monster fucking)

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3. Hiii!! I'm looking for this specific fic where wei wuxian is still in mo xuanyu's body but after time has started to bulk up resulting in jingyi noticing and lan wangji being jealous. I've lost it to the vast forest of AO3.

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4. Hi! I’m trying to find a fix that takes place in the modern universe. Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian contented on an app and Wei Wuxian knew he wanted to match with Lan Wangji after seeing his picture and that their kinks align. They met at a bar and discussed term like getting tested routines if they decided they meet often and to expect each other for warts or guts. Wei Wuxian isn’t experienced and Lan Wangji is his first. They both enjoyed come play but Lan Wangji never comes in Wei Wuxian only on him until the end when they decided to become exclusive after Wei Wuxian accidentally tells Lan Wangji that he is his first. There Wei Wuxian says he would marry Lan Wangji if that’s what he wanted and Lan Wangji say yes and tell him to call out of work to go to the courthouse the next day.

FOUND? my thoughts (I confess) verge on dirty by whetherwoman (E, 2k, WangXian Snowballing, wangxian-typical breeding kink, wangxian-typical speedrun from hookup to marriage, Facials, PWP, Modern: No Powers, Comeplay, Safer sex (the r is doing a lot of work there))

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5. hey! ty for ur work! i vaguely remember a fic i read a few years ago where lsz began to remember more of his memories from burial mounds, including times when wwx was more unstable and angry, and had to process the duality of the ideas of re-finding a parental figure that he had lost years ago, but also remembering that that parental figure wasn't perfect and was in fact, incredibly unstable? tysm!

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6. Hello! Thank you for all your help! I’m looking for an arranged marriage omegaverse fic where LWJ and WWX are married and they don’t get along. There was up a scene where a Lan spouse had to plan a charity event and WWX did such a great job that Lan Qiren came to care for him a lot . At some point, WWX is hospitalized and it turns out he has scent deprivation or some form of pack deprivation because he never had a true family and that’s when LWJ starts to change a bit. There’s also a scene where WWX ends up leaving LWJ and moving in with the Wens.

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7. I'm looking for a fanfic from MDZS fandom, but ffs I can't find it. I remember it was about a woman who died and was transferred to the body of Wei Ying before he was found by Jiang Fengmian. She was actively avoiding the Jiang Sect at the beginning. She was also using the leveling (???) system, just like in SVSSS. I don't remember the title and I can't find it on ao3, but it was definitely on ao3 and I'm dying to read it again, even though I think it was not finished when I stopped reading it @snugglespook

FOUND! 🔒 A Game for the Fool by LadyCroft_Undead19 (T, 292k, WangXian, JYL/JZX, WIP, Canon Divergence, Gamer-fic, BAMF WWX, YilingWei, For Want of a Nail, Slow Burn, oc-self-insert kind of, Unreliable Narrator, Massive World Building, Fluff and Angst, but mostly angst right now, we start way before canon)

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8. There is one I can't find where Lan Wangji ends up in the Burial Mounds with the Wen. They end up taking the bunnies with them. There is something like a tree in the backhills that disrupts the wards and allows Wei Wuxian to sneak in and take the rabbits. Later Lan Xichen requests 3 breeding pairs as tribute or something to allow his brother to leave the sect. @unaffiliatedmagpie

FOUND?🔒Unpack Your Heart by Terri Botta (Isilwath) (T, 22k, wangxian, Romance, Everybody Lives, Canon Divergence, LWJ Has Feelings, Protective LWJ, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, LWJ Stays at the Burial Mounds, Burial Mounds Ensemble as Family, Wangxian in Love, YLLZ WWX, Lan Clan Elders are Assholes, Minor Transgender Character, Qiongqi Path Divergence, LWJ loves his bunnies) Some of the details are a bit off, but #8 is still recognizably

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9. Hiya.

I’ve been trying to find a Nielan fic and have tried all the search terms under the sun. It’s a modern AU, and Lan Xichen is Lan Jingyi’s adopted father. They’re in a supermarket and Lan Jingyi specifically asks for oranges. And while Lan Xichen says he doesn’t know what they can make with oranges, Nie Mingjue overhears and suggests some recipes. It takes a while but they start dating.

It’s not “You Made a Rebel of a Careful Man”, though that’s still great. Thank you so much in advance!

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10. I want help finding this story. Wei ying saves eight or more baby dragons while living in yiling and keeps it a secret from Everyone other than his siblings and the dragons disappears one day leaving wei ying heart broken But they comes Black to burial mounds to help their mother. @youngkryptonitewonderland

FOUND?🔒By The Dozen by trulywicked (M, 25k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Dragons, Dragon LWJ, Dragon LXC, WWX Adopts Dragons, Yiling Street Days, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, LXC & WWX Friendship, Good Sibling JC LWJ Chugging Vinegar, nonbinary characters, JC Gets To Keep His Puppies, LXC Ships LWJ/WWX)

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11. hello and thanks for all you do! i had a vivid scene pop into my head and it's driving me nuts trying to find the fic to reread it... modern au, the scene i think is actually the start of the story. lwj arrives at an abandoned field/site and basically punches the ground, i think busting through concrete? and wwx is there under it, curled up and no-longer-dead because lwj has just resurrected him. case fic most likely... help?? thanks again! - starsie :) @starsgoblue

FOUND! Little Light by MimiSpearmint (E, 25k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Curses, Getting Together, Horror Elements, Imma call it Road Trip-adjacent, Time Loop-adjacent, Haunted Houses-adjacent, Canada, Case Fic, air magician!lwj, oracle!wwx, off-screen beloved character death but I won't tell you who, Single Parent LWJ, Memories, Under-negotiated Kink, Top LWJ/Bottom WWX, Breathplay, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Canadian Gothic, Halloween, Tarot, Light BDSM)

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12. Hello! For the next Fic Finder: I am looking for a fic that takes place in the Cloud Recesses where WWX is non-consensually drugged by a Lan disciple who is obsessed with him/obsessed with painting him? I think it takes place during the CR Study Arc, but it could also be a No War AU. Most of the fic was focused on solving the mystery and helping WWX recover, with like some pre-relationship WangXian, if I'm remembering correctly. Thank you in advance!!

FOUND! obscura: ink stain by AvoOwO (M, 20k, wangxian, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Canon Divergence, Emotions, Heavy Angst, Painting, Temporary Amnesia, Drugs, Drug Use, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Drink Spiking, Victim Blaming, LWJ Has Feelings, LWJ Has a Crush, Soft wangxian, Holding Hands, Blood and Violence, Good Sibling JC, Protective JC, WWX is a Mess, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Politics, Protective LXC, Good Sibling LXC, Good Uncle LQR, LQR Tries, OCs, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, WWX Needs a Hug, someone gets punched a lot, LWJ contemplates murder for a moment, JC almost gets it done, not quite about romance, as much as romance elements there, more so about the small things, LWJ loves how WWX smells, some nasty things are said, WWX def needs a nap, he gets one dw, LQR Gets Shit Done, NHS Is A Little Shit, Scheming NHS)

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13. Hello! Please help me I'm going ballistic searching for it so the story goes that Wei Ying was an immortal? God? Or whatever but he lives for a long time but he was trapped there for centuries but when he woke up (it's a time travel fic but he is not aware) he saw himself in the street as a child, just as when he touched the child, it just merged between himself.

I remember him killing Jin guangshan and meng yao resents him for it because he didn't have a chance to kill his father and every time Wei Ying goes to unclean realm he attempts to kill him and every time it fails because it's either Wei Ying knows it or he was immune to any poison

Also lan wangji thought they were fiance because when he was a child his father sent him to the yiling Patriarch because his wife died and he wants to revive her (?) and when lan wangji goes to the burial mounds he was rejected and taken care of by Wei Ying himself and Wei Ying promised him to marry him when he got older because lan wangji won't let go of him and amaze him (also what happened to his father qingheng-jun he died joining his wife) about the engagement only Wei Ying didn't know of it because lan wangji let it slipped that he was going to marry Wei Ying.

That's all! @lanwuxian0725

FOUND? Practical Mythology by metisket (T, 17k, WangXian, Time Travel, YLLZ WWX, myths and legends, apparently the burial mounds has to fix everything itself, zombie farm collective, accidental deities, Families of Choice)

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14. Can you help me find a fic pls :,0 I’m pretty sure it was on ao3 but I can’t find it.

Most memorable details: nie huaisang thinks lan wangji could be the most spoiled lan if he took advantage of his pout. Something about even the elders excusing his misbehavior at times because of this?

Paraphrased quotes I remember “Even nie mingjue can’t say no to him when he pouts” “lan wangji grew up a stickler to the rules just like his uncle, so he never takes advantage of this”

I saw screenshots of it on X so it might have been an unpublished work but I want to check just in case. No worries if you can’t find anything, I don’t have much to work with. @maxbunniii

FOUND? The Perfect Gift by BurningTea (G, 5k, WangXian, Drunk LWJ, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, From a threadfic, Omega LWJ, Alpha WWX)

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15. Hiii! This one for the next fic finder,

I'm looking for a fic where at some point wwx stayed at cloud recesses,,,, I forgot the details how but probably got married to lz, maybe both a time-travel and fix-it fic, anyway what I remember is that he trained the juniors through creating an illusion (in which he recreated the yi city arc?) that was so good that even lan Quran was impressed and later asked him to teach him, also wen Qing was there and she even supervised the training.

FOUND! ❤️ And Time Is But a Paper Moon by sami (M, 138k, WangXian, XiChengQing, Time Travel, Fix-It, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Healing, Mental Health Issues, PTSD, Hurt/Comfort, Depression, BAMF WWX, BAMF JC, BAMF LWJ, BAMF JYL, Getting Together, And Time is But a Paper Moon [PODFIC] by sami, Winterstar1412, [Podfic] Cold read of And Time Is But A Paper Moon by kisahawklin, multiple translations available) multiple podfics and translations into multiple languages available

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16. Hello! For the next ficfinder, could you please search for a WangXian fic, in which WWX saved a child from water ghouls and the child's mother was a seer of some sort, reading WWX's fate, given him a magic stone or something. It resulted in him having an early crush to LWJ and ended up confessing after almost getting drowned in the abyss and sees an image of him and LWJ in the future kissing (that phoenix mountain kiss). But LWJ thought of it as a prank, WWX was hurt, but few days later, LWJ realized that WWX isn't joking and also confessed and they kissed. It's in two chapters and still ongoing. I was sure I bookmarked it but it's gone! Please help me. Thank you! @dragoniangoddess

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17. Hi! I am currently looking for a fic wherein post canon wwx time travels back to mo village when he was summoned by mxy. He told lwj about the future and they solved the mystery very quickly which left nhs confused why not everything is happening according to his plan idk if this is chaptered or one-shot. I hope you know this one thankssss @akosichellejoanne

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18. Hi!

I think I've lost a fic, since I can't find it even after changing the tags a million times, and I'm afraid it was deleted.

It was an amnesia fic (modern AU), where WWX got into an accident and forgets that he was married to LWJ and had a son (teenager LSZ).

He went no contact with the Jiangs, but doesn't remember that, so he went home with JYL.

I remember vividly that there was a sex tape situation, where he found one of him and LWJ in his phone and that helped him (re)discover his sexuality.

Also, after this scene, he went on a date with his husband, where LWJ played the guqin for him and took him to the spot where he proposed (and he remembered that).

Can you find it? Or if it was deleted, does someone have it saved somewhere? @blueghost13

FOUND? When I Was Older by jadztone (E, 60k, WangXian, Amnesia, Modern AU, Angst with a Happy Ending, low key pre-slash zhuiling)

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19. Hi! Hello! I hope all of you beautiful people are doing great. I am looking for a fic where WWX and LWJ get married in secret in the Qishan archery tournament bc of the forehead ribbon I think, but end up planning on telling their families later, but canon happens. WWX got pregnant on their first time and was pregnant throughout the cave and Wen Ning is the one to tell him in the indoctrination. I don't remember much, but he ends up having his son in Yiling along with A-Yuan's mother and both kids are taken to the camps, but he manages to find them and claims they are twins and expose the Jin. Thank you in advance!

FOUND? Take Responsibility by draechaeli (E, 187k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Mainly Novel with a few CQL and Donghua bits, Everybody Lives, Original Children Characters, Adoption, Adoption but WWX birthed them all, Mpreg, Teen Pregnancy, Pregnancy Kink, Male Lactation, Lactation Kink, Consensual Non-Consent, Light Bondage, Pregnant Sex, easy to skip nsfw chapters, Fix-It, Happy Ending)

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20. hi i’m looking for a fic. it’s time travel, wwx and lwj are both sent back in time to when they first met in the cloud recesses after the first siege. they tell jc and lxc about how wwx uses demonic cultivation in the future, jc and lxc are upset but the four of them work it out later. jc and lxc are both aro/ace. i think madam yu also leaves the jiang sect later. the sunshot campaign still happens, meng yao marries wen qing and nie mingjue marries another female character, but the ships are actually meng yao/nie mingjue and wen qing/that female character, they just get married to have heirs. jc also adopts mo xuanyu. i think the fic was 50 chapters long.

FOUND? We Can See a New Start by preciousbunnynoiz (M, 127k, WangXian, XiCheng, XuanLi, MingYao, Soulmates, Time Travel Fix-It, Biting, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, but mentally they are adults, Making Out, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Happy Ending, PTSD, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Supportive LWJ, Communication, Soul Bond, Blood, Found Family, Parent-Child Relationship, aromantic JC, Lesbian WQ, Queerplatonic Relationships, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Verbal Abuse, Disassociate episodes, disassociating, Suicidal Thoughts, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Depression, Delusions, Mental Health Issues, Mental Breakdown, Attempted Sexual Assault, Therapy, Supportive JC, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Family Feels, Implied/Referenced Torture, Revenge, Self-Sacrifice, Accidental Bonding, Brotherly Bonding)

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#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic finder #wangxian fic search #the untamed #wangxianficfinder #long post

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my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 1 year ago

Note

omg i really really love your blog<3 you are such a sweet person and so kind to all your followers and others on here and your writing is absolutely amazing!

i saw ur requests were open and i was wondering if you could write something for poe dameron? a hurt comfort because in your rules you said you wouldn't accept full angst which honestly is so real of you and i completely agree :D its just, ive read so many fics where poe's best friend or squadron member is either in love with him or fwb with him and he starts dating someone and they look rlly in love but then he leaves the person for the best friend and i cant help but always wonder how the person he left is feeling! and i was wondering if you could write something along the lines of this but he doesnt leave the reader and hes not really in love with his best friend or anything im so sorry this became really long but you can totally ignore this or say you cant do it its absolutely alright!<33

thank you sm though and i hope you have a good day!

Anon, thank you so much for such lovely and kind words! You are AMAZING! (Seriously, they have absolutely made my day/week/year!)

This ask has killed me (positive), my subconsciousness had a lot to say, it seems.

Tangerine, Tangerine

Poe Dameron x GN!Reader Rating: M Masterlist | ao3 | want to be tagged?

Warnings: angst (but with a happy ending), thoughts that a partner is cheating, blood, x-wing fight, swearing (not star wars swearing, because even though Kriff is great, I need to say fuck), Moonbeam as a nickname, typos, rail road sentences, please let me know if I’ve missed a warning!

Word Count: 4494

_______________________________________

It was just a kiss. It was just a kiss. It was just a kiss.

You’d misunderstood, you’d read the situation wrong, you’d seen incorrectly. It was just a kiss. It was just a kiss. It was just a kiss.

Your radio crackled, “Green Leader, checking in. We’re manoeuvring in 5. Call out.”

“Green Two check.”

“Green Three check.”

It was just a kiss.

“Green Four check.”

It was just a-

“Green Five check.”

Just a-

“Green Six check.”

Just-

“Green Seven,” you swallow. “Check.”

It wasn’t just a kiss.

You patted your helmet twice and rolled your neck, breathing deeply as you settled in. On your left, you could see some of Blue Squadron.

This mission was straightforward - on a holopad.

Two teams to escort The Harbringer, the resistance supply ship. It had been damaged by a rogue blast from a tie fighter just as it jumped to hyperspace and had had to make an emergency landing on one of Tre’Ral’s desert moons.

The crew on board had managed to fix all they could. But without proper materials, there was little chance of the ship making it out of the moon’s thick atmosphere and entering hyperspace. So Blue and Green Squadrons had been dispatched. Blue 1-4 had already made contact, jump-starting The Harbringer enough to get it airborne.

Due to Tre’Ral’s sun and planet density, the gravity on the moons was a little stronger than most world’s atmospheric pressure.

Green Leader, Sena, had repeated through briefing at how this would affect flying. How to be ready for it. And she hadn’t been wrong, it was different flying here. Tougher. And you loved it.

You’d grown up on Para, a planet with a high gravity density. You’d learnt to fly there well before you’d flown in space. Being here on this desolate moon almost felt like home. Your movements seemed smoother, precise. No longer needing to overcorrect for your naturally ingrained harsh movements. No longer spinning out and fighting low gravity, finally working with the tide.

The manoeuvre would see the ships escort The Harbringer out of the moon’s atmosphere and then the rest of Blue squadron would form a sort of 3D star formation around the cargo ship. All jumping to hyperspace at the same time to carry it along with them.

Simple.

In theory.

Everyone had spoken about how practically textbook it was, how easy.

But then, of course, why was Green Squadron going?

No one at the briefing had asked, why would they when the answer was so obvious. This part of the quadrant was teething with First Order. With a slow, busted supply ship you were all practically screaming for them to come and play target practice.

You swallow.

You should be focusing on that, on the mission. Instead of the utter nonsense that was ricocheting around your head and piercing your heart.

I hadn’t just been a kiss.

You and Poe had gotten together clumsily, three months ago, your normal awkwardness drowned out by so much Polanis Red that you almost couldn’t see straight. It had been after the battle of Hurthwen, a nasty dogfight that had everyone hyped up on adrenaline.

He had been drunk when he kissed you, you remembered that.

Maybe he had thought… maybe he had believed he was kissing her instead.

It made a lot more sense.

Sena was the Green Leader, she was a great pilot. One to be reckoned with. She was kind, she was fun, she was beautiful. She and Poe had joined the resistance together, risen the ranks together. Basically inseparable. Always laughing and joking. She had been in the same squad as Poe, under his command before she was promoted to leading one of her own.

They had always been close. Always. Best friends.

Sickness bubbled in your throat.

You remembered Frizz and Hank talking offhandedly, well before you and Poe were a thing. Both of them sure that Sana and Poe were dating or ‘knocking boots’ as Frizz had so elegantly put it.

“Two people can just be friends, you know.” You’d said, trying to hide your little crush on the commander.

“Yeah,” Frizz laughed, “But not them. You seen them together?”

Hank chortled.

Nonsense. You’d brushed it off then. Allowed it to creep into your thoughts when it was dark and the base was quiet. When Poe’s breathing was soft and light behind you, his arm around your waist.

Him and Sana just made a lot more sense than him and you.

“Yeah, but not them. You seen them together?”

Yeah. Now you had.

The Harbringer came into view over the horizon. The seemingly endless stretch of desert was cut through in the distance by a fearsome outcrop of crocks, leading up into a field of formidable mountains.

Blue 1-4 were already hooked up to the cargo ship, all five hoovering moving together as they flew towards you to meet.

You wouldn’t have said things were difficult with you and Poe. Well, you wouldn’t have said that before. It was complicated for everyone on the base, most staff were on different call schedules, off-world or on a mission at all times. Having a relationship wasn’t straightforward. There were stretches where you wouldn’t even be on the same planet for days, but…

But you had thought it was…

It didn’t matter.

You’d gone back to the briefing room, just before take off. You’d wanted to tap the main holoscreen twice, for luck. A little ritual you’d adopted early on. Most pilots were a superstitious bunch.

That’s when you’d seen them. Sana and Poe. Locked in a tight embrace, their lips pressed together in a deep kiss.

Your heartbeat had thundered so loud you’d been surprised they hadn’t heard it. But they’d been too preoccupied to notice your presence.

It was cliche but time had almost slowed, calmed and stretched like the moment you take aim, the second before you fired your ship's canons.

A flash of the control panel had flickered into your mind when you saw them, your fingers twitching as if you had the trigger in your hands.

You’d turned and left without a sound. Without a word. Without letting them know you saw. Leaving them to… whatever they did next.

Was it their first kiss? One of many? Had this been going on well before Poe had taken your hand and led you outside so he could clumsily name all the constellations, making up new ones and backstories to make you smile?

“That one here, you see it?”

“Yeah?”

“That one’s the best one, best in the sky. It’s orange and it’s right next to that other orange one, like they’re holding hands.”

You’d laughed.

“That’s me and you Moonbeam.”

Moonbeam. That stupid nickname.

You’d gone to your room quickly, the one that you and Poe shared, and taken off the necklace he’d given you.

“I want you to wear it for luck, Moonbeam.”

That stupid smile he’d given you as he’d slipped it from his own neck and onto yours. That stupid kiss he’d given you after. You’d thought that expression was cute when you’d seen it, pure. Now it just seemed like he’d been laughing at you, playing some sick joke. ‘How long can I string someone along?’, ‘how far can I go before they realise it’s all pretend?’

You’d left the necklace with the ring slipped through on the small set of shelves in the corner, the one Poe normally kept his holopad on.

It was idiotic, but your neck felt… empty without it. Cold. Every now and then you touched at where the chain normally lay.A subconscious action only brought to the forefront of your mind by the sensation of your own skin instead of metal.

Something caught your eye in the distance, a flash of sunlight glinting off the horizon. Dread twisted in your stomach as realisation dawned a second earlier than your scanners. The extra gravitational pressure and high quantity of magnetic metals in the sand affected everyone’s ship computers, causing a brief information delay.

Your alarm sounded out inside your ship, the radar blinking into life as tie fighters approached from the rock outcrop. They’d used the high mineral concentration to hide their energy signatures.

“Fuck.”

The radio screamed into life, orders out pouring over orders. Blue squadron rushed into position while Green scrambled.

“Blue in place now!”

“It’s gonna be rushed, but we haven’t got a choice!”

“No time!” “Incoming!” “Green half split! Evens left, odds right, let’s keep those fighter’s off The Harbringer and Blue squadron! Gamma pattern!”

“How far away is the Delta?”

“Calling in attack pattern!”

You swing to the right, falling in with Hank and Petal and bank hard, it takes less than a second for you to notice that your squad's movements aren’t as precise and well-timed as usual. The stronger gravity throwing everyone, except you, off their game.

That didn’t bode well.

You climb for a second, punching hard on the acceleration to get some height and a clear view of the oncoming and flick on your targeting system. The image glitches, doesn’t hold steady even as you focus. Off by half a fraction.

Shots fire out from both sides, most missing.

“Targeting not working!”

“It’s out!”

“I can’t get a clear shot!” “The read is malfunctioning!”

“Half a click 4/8!” You shout, as you take your shot, hitting two tie fighters head-on.

“Good shot Green 7!” You can hear the joy and relief in Sana’s voice. “Half a click 4/8, you’ll all have to manually adjust!”

You dive, swirling around two fighters before skimming close to the ground, trying to draw their attention away from the cargo ship. You spin, slamming your control harder than you would need to in any other situation as you turn and spike past another fighter, taking out one in the process.

“Wooooo!” Hank yells over the intercom.

You laugh. “Bet you never thought you wished you grew up on Para right?”

“Every day new things surprise me.” He banks left, you right, Petal dives down.

It’s too much of a rush, everything all at once, patterns and shots flying, your ship’s systems screaming as you push the engines a little too hard.

The tie fighters aren’t moving as fast as they normally do, bogged down even more than the x wings by the gravity. They can’t make their normal quick turns and it’s affecting their strike patterns.

Good.

But there’s so, so many of them.

Explosions fly debris out, and you climb higher. Needing a clear view and unable to rely on your targeting systems.

More shots fly out, The Harbringer is taking a battering but so far its shielding is holding the hull together.

The radio keeps screaming, overlapping voices that blur into background noise. You’re trained to only hear your call signal, direct messages. You vear off, narrowingly missing a blast to your wing.

“-On my tail.” Frizz’s voice cuts through the noise, a sharp stab of dread slicing you open as you turn, automatically looking to the reader, it’s still not clear.

You climb, twist, fall, see a Green ship, followed tightly by two fighters. Accelsorate, bank. You fire. You’re aiming in a panic now, not adjusting right, not breathing through.

The shot hits one, before you have to swerve to avoid being struck head-on.

“Thanks 7!” Cril yells over the speaker, managing to shake the other fighter.

There’s a scream, a crackle of sound over the system. A sound you know too well. You see the ship crash into the desert, exploding before it even hits the ground as the a tie fighter’s shots hit home.

Frizz.

“No…”

“Check!” Sana yells, unable to tell who went down with the system glitching. “Green Leader!”

You swerve around another fighter, everything moving so fast, too fast.

“Green Two check!” Cril.

“Green Three check!” Petal.

Nothing.

“Green Four!” Sana yells. No call replies. Balna. Not Frizz.

The momentary rush of relief at Frizz being alive is cut horribly short by the image of Balna’s kind face that bursts behind your eyes.

You bank left, right, swerve, take aim, twist.

There’s a chance, a good chance that you’ll win. All of Blue is in place, The Harbringer is moving up with them. The tie fighters are taking more hits than the resistance, their less aerodynamic design hampering them more than usual with this gravity.

All you need is…

Another alarm.

“Oh… fuck.” You slam on your intercom. “Z-Fighter!”

A chorus of yells answer you.

A Z-fighter, a quick moving ship a fraction bigger than The Harbringer, with two powerful front guns. A few shots would take the cargo ship out completely.

And with how slow the supply ship was moving, that wouldn’t be hard.

The Z-fighter storms in, moving fast but not firing, they were obviously having problems with their targeting too, needing a close clear shot.

“Take out the main cannons!” Sana yells, the panic in her voice cutting through the chaos. You turn, aim, take out a tie fighter but have to veer up at the last second. Twist.

Someone comes in after you, aiming for the cannons, a fighter clips their side and they can’t correct quick enough. They spiral off, their ship crashing into the Z-fighter. Obliterated on impact. The Z-fighter seemingly unaffected.

You loop back, adrenaline blinding you to everything, anything that’s not the goal. Take out the canons. Take out the canons. People are counting on you. Take out the canons.

You fire, a clear shot before you bank to the side to avoid a direct hit to your hull.

It’s not enough.

You need to pass again, and again. Other x wings flying in, taking shots, the gravity making them slow, imprecise. Only one blast hits and it’s not full on.You’re the only one hitting directly and it’s not enough.

It’s not enough. It’s not enough. It’s not enough.

There’s shouting and screaming, the zipping of the fighters as they cut through the sky. Someone yells your name and you don’t hear it.

Another hit lands. One canon out. Only one left. You can do this. The Harbringer is nearly in the upper atmosphere, they can jump from there. Just a few more seconds. You can do this.

“Black Leader!” Poe’s call sign cuts over the dim, followed by the call signs of half of the Red Squadron.

They must have scrambled after first contact.

The canon’s powering up, a quick glance to your panel tells you that The Harbringer’s shield is barely functioning. They won’t survive a direct hit. With how close they are and the Blue Squadron ships that are attached there’s no way they wouldn’t be pulled down too if The Harbringer fell.

The canon needs more than one hit to take it down, more than five. No way you can shoot five times before they fire.

You twist, full force. Pumping the acceleration. Fire. Fire. Fire. Three hit. You don’t slow down. Fire. Fire. Fire. They hit. The canon is still operational.

Sana is screaming orders, so many shots fire at the canon, none of them hit right, hit full on.

Two chances left.

One to fire. If it takes out the canon you just have enough time to serve up, to avoid getting smashed to bits.

Poe shouts for you over the intercom.

You don’t answer.

One to fire. If it doesn’t take out the canon then… then you crashing into it head on will.

Poe yells again, this time cutting over everyone else, sending you a direct call.

You don’t answer.

You fire. Hit.

Poe screams for you, his voice painful and panicked. He’s already worked out your plan before you had even thought of it.

The canon doesn’t go down.

You cut the call to him. Blocking out his signal. You don’t want Poe to think you did this for him.

You don’t want him to think you did this because of him.

“Green Seven!” Sana yells, seemingly knowing what you’re going to do.

Hank screams your name over the radio. It hurts. You think it’s the worst sound you’ve ever heard.

“Moonbeam!” Poe’s voice is ripped raw from yells, Sana has patched him through over her signal. You were wrong. That was the worst sound you’ve ever heard.

You dip at the last second, not hitting the canon straight on but smashing your right wing into it. The force surprises you, even though you braced for it. The impact sending you spiralling. You try to regain control, try to turn into the spin. Training taking over even though you're a wing and half a ship down.

Shouts over the radio, you barely make out-

“-cannon’s down-”

“-Jump!-”

A spark hits, your console explodes into flame, shards hit your side and you yell. Sky and sand tumbling over each other over and over, and you manage to hit the eject button.

The force rips you upwards, free briefly from your burning ship. But you’re too close to the floor, not enough time to slow down your velocity. There’s-

The impact of the ground hurts. Pain explodes along every nerve despite the ejection seat dampening. You scream.

Agony is everywhere, everything. You can’t feel anything else, can’t comprehend anything except floods of pain.

You hit your belt, falling out and to the desert floor. Looking up just enough to gauge where you are, where your ship fell. It’s an exploded, fireball mess far off. At least it’s not an immediate threat. You crawl to the side and sob.

There’s blood falling into the sand from your head, the right side of your face. You can’t see properly out of your eye and your left leg is definitely broken. Shattered. Still, you drag yourself forward, digging your hands in and pulling as something ribs and tears in your side, warm liquid soaking into your fight suit.

The resistance will jump to hyperspace, they’ll get out. They’ll make it.

You just needed to get away from your ejection seat, when the First Order doubles back they’ll see it, they’ll see you. You just needed to get to an outcrop. Hide.

Make it look like you had a weapon.

Make them shoot you first instead of taking you for questioning.

Can’t let them take you alive.

There's the faint sound of a ship somewhere above, landing gear coming down.

For a second you freeze, panic gripping your heart, you dig into the sand hard, pull, pull, pull yourself closer towards the outcrop of rocks. The air seems to be leaving your lungs, your breathing ragged and hot.

You cough, red hitting the dirt, iron hitting your tongue.

You crawl, pull. The pain is making you light-headed. You gasp, trying to get in a full lung full of air. It's not enough. It's not enough. It's not enou…

When you open your eyes your first thoughts are simple. Clear.

I'm dead.

You were either shot in the head in the sand or simply succumbed to your wounds.

But then things begin to feel… fuzzy. Not painful, but not right either.

And that's when you smell the Bacta. And then the light starts to change to distorted shapes, and finally, you recognise Hank sitting next to you.

“You better not be dead too,” you whisper your voice dry from lack of use.

Hank jumps up, goes to grab your hand and then stops himself. There are tears in his eyes. He softly places his fingers on yours and you squeeze back.

“You're a fucking idiot you know that?” He grins and you laugh. Which hurts a little, but feels good.

“One sec,” he moves away just to speak to someone outside before he comes back. “I'm the one that picked you up, you know?”

“Now who's the fucking idiot?” You smile but your chest aches, heavy with the weight of his words. “You shouldn't have done that.” You whisper.

“What?”

“You were under fire, you should have just jumped-”

“I saw you eject. Saw you moving. You think I was just gonna leave you there?” He sits. “Besides, I was closest. The commander would have blown up the whole planet to get to you.”

You swallow, turning away slightly. Going cold at the mention of Poe.

Hank mistakes the look for guilt, and squeezes your hand again. “Hey, look,” he smiles, “you took out the canons, you're a fucking idiot but you know how to fly in heavy gravity.”

You snort.

He smiles.

“Who did we lose?”

Hank sighs, “three…”

You nod, closing your eyes for a moment.

“There-”

There was shouting from outside, a crash and then Poe stormed into the room, med staff close behind him.

You swallow, sickness building in your throat.

He looked awful, drawn out and worn thin like he hadn't slept or eaten in days. His eyes red.

He rushes forward, Hank moves out of the way, so Poe can take your hand in his. He leans forward and kisses you softly, carefully stroking your cheek, being gentle with your bandages.

“Moonbeam…” he mutters and you flinch back from him. He looks at you with sad, confused eyes.

“Look, I can only allow one visitor in here.” The med staff member says.

Hank stands, and speaks when you frown. “I'll see you later, Poe’s the one that hasn't left your side. The only reason he wasn't here when you woke was because I made him go take a shower.” Hank smiled, “you can thank me for that later.”

Both you and Poe are quiet as the others leave. Poe searching your face for something, while you look away.

“Moonbeam,” he says again softly, but there's an edge to his words that you're not used to. “What the fuck happened on that mission? What the fuck is this?” He holds up his hand, his necklace and ring wrapped around his palm. His eyes are shiny as he speaks. “Were you trying to kill yourself? What the fu-”

“Poe,” you breathe. Best to get it over quickly. “I saw.”

He frowns. “Saw? Saw what?”

“You and Sana, in the briefing room… before take off.”

The small frown on his forehead relaxes slightly for a moment as his eyebrows raise. “You… saw?”

You nod.

“You, but, I didn’t see you when I pushed her away?” His voice cracks at the end, a splinter running into the muscle of your heart.

“You pushed her away?”

“You didn’t see that?” He frowns again, blinking hard, “you just, just saw and walked away and what? Took this off?” He holds up the necklace again. A tear falls from his eye and he rubs it away furiously as if it had scorched his skin. “Just, just left it and… and…”

“I didn’t know you didn’t want it…” You say quietly, emotion is making your chest tight and constricted. “I didn’t know you didn’t want her…”

“What?” He breathes, moving closer and squeezing your hand. There’s disbelief in his voice, confusion. Anger, it’s deep down and controlled but it’s there. “No, look, she kissed me. I pushed her away, I, I even logged a report, I’ll pull up the god damned camera feed to show you.”

He’s not lying. His gaze is unwavering and he’s got that painfully earnest look in his eyes.

“You thought…” he shakes his head slightly, his voice pained, “you thought I’d-”

“You both make sense together.” You blurt out. “She’s… and you’re…” you shrug and sigh, on the verge of tears yourself. “You’re both the best of us.”

“No,” he shakes his head fiercely, “Moonbeam, no.” He wipes roughly at his eyes again, glancing down for a moment and you lightly touch his head.

He looks up instantly as you stroke his curls, still lightly damp.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper.

Poe shakes his head again, grabbing your hand and kissing your wrist. “I’m sorry.” He kicks off his shoes and clambers into bed next to you a little awkwardly. He’s trying to be careful, trying not to hurt you but needing closeness so badly it’s suffocating.

You scooch to the side as quickly as you can in your current state and lean into him as he wraps his body around you softly and kisses you sweetly.

“Love you, love you, love you,” he repeats after every kiss, pressing his lips to every part of your skin that he can reach.

“Why are you sorry?” You mutter as he holds you, “I’m the one that messed up.”

He shakes his head, “I’m sorry that I don’t make you realise how special you are, how perfect.” He kisses your cheek, “you’re the best of us Moonbeam.”

You tut but his grip tightens and he holds you tight.

“And one hell of a pilot.” He grins.

You scoff.

“You are.” He kisses you again.

You nuzzle against him, settling into his touch. Knots have formed in your chest, pain that’s loosening. His warmth is comforting. Home.

“Sana said she didn’t know I was in a relationship,” he says softly, resting his chin on the top of your head. “I don’t know if that’s true, but… I do believe her.”

You nod. “She’s a good person.”

He moves so he can look you in the eyes. “Please, Moonbeam, I… don’t,” he bites his tongue, closing his eyes for a long second. “I want to tell you, I want to say, don’t ever do something like that again… don’t… don’t put yourself at risk.”

You touch his cheek lightly.

“But it’s not fair is it?” He smiles sadly. “We both do that every day… You know you were gonna be in my squadron at first?”

You shake your head in surprise and he nods.

“You were, but… well,” he blushes ever so slightly. “I was so embarrassingly head over heels in love with you,” he laughs lightly. “For months I could hardly talk to you, you know I had to down five Polanis Red’s in a row after Hurthwen just so I could ask you out? I knew I wouldn’t be able to function right if you were in my squad. I knew that I’d put everyone else at risk because if it came down to it… if there was a choice between everyone in the squad dying, everyone on the base, or you… I’d let the resistance burn instead of lose you. Every single time.”

You close your eyes, fighting the emotion that needs to break through and squeeze his hand like a lifeline. “I love you.” You whisper.

Your fingertips brush against the necklace, the ring hooking around the first knuckle of your index finger by chance.

Poe slowly moves his hand from yours and unwinds the necklace from his palm before carefully placing it over your head, giving you plenty of time to move away if you wanted.

“I love you Moonbeam,” he mutters, his voice low, reverent. Then leans in to kiss you. You kiss him back with all your heart.

____________________________________

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fligniuz · 1 day ago

Text

hot for teacher - boy meets girl

luigi mangione x reader

｡𖦹°‧ dr. mangione’s job at UH Mānoa doesn’t get interesting until he meets the cute german romanticism professor in the lunch line one chance afternoon. here’s how two awkward, clueless nerds get around a workplace romance.

word count: 5.1k • ch. 1 of hot for teacher (read here!) • sfw • read on ao3

tag list : @mangionebabymama , @mangobabygirl , @jenisaswift13 , @mangionesdaisy , @iinfinitelimits , @daydreamingwithluigi , @mrs-cactus69 , @mashkatzi , @straw8berry , @bean-is-reading , @theloverfiles , @luigis-wetdream , @difensore-del-popolo , @contrarianshitstan-blog , @lunacelia (comment to be added)

warnings : f! reader; some language; luigi being geeky

notes : prepare to get schooled

Dr. Mangione does not often find himself at the campus food court.

It’s not UH Mānoa’s fault. Really, he’s found it quite a charming place to be, and he’s thoroughly enjoyed the two years he’s spent teaching Computer Science at the IT Center—he’s made other professor friends, gets along nicely with his students (even if he’s still having trouble remembering their names), and overall has found an environment that both welcomes and challenges him at once. Returning to UPenn to secure this position for himself was by far one of the best choices he’s ever made. Even though the PhD in Computer and Information Science wasn’t the most necessary thing, it was the right thing, and he’s more than happy to have earned it.

It’s just that on-campus food isn’t the most appetizing, 99% of the time.

He lives in Hawaiʻi. There’s so many different things to eat in Hawaiʻi—so many cultures and traditions from all around the world to find on this island, and yet he can hardly get some good fucking food anywhere in this university (which is quite big, mind you). Best he’s had is a chicken sandwich, and even that couldn’t compare to the one place he tried in Wahiawā a few years back. Maui Mike’s? Whatever. He wishes Maui Mike was in charge of the chicken sandwiches here.

Someone joins him in line for bento. He notices the green badge hanging from their neck, first. A fellow educator.

Admittedly, he notices the pretty face next.

“I truly hope you’re not here for the bento,” Luigi greets.

“Why?” You turn to him, eyes curious. “I’m always here for the bento.”

Oh, he feels sorry for you! Your poor soul has probably never experienced all the bento Hawaiʻi has to offer.

He shakes his head, smiling. “I love this school, but, man, the food…”

You seem to notice his own badge, then, tucked underneath the loose button of his linen shirt.

“Ah, don’t be ungrateful!” you joke. “The cooks work so hard. Have you met Koa? He’s the sweetest.”

Luigi has met Koa, about once or twice. Koa is the one who always shorts him on fries, he thinks. A sweet cook would never short faculty on fries—but maybe Koa was just having a bad day. He’ll take your word for it.

“At this point I should pack my own lunch,” Luigi says, “but I never have time for it in the mornings.”

“You like sleeping in?” you ask.

“Nah.” He shakes his head, then tilts it quizzically. “Well, maybe. I probably turn in for bed too late.”

“Let me guess: Biographical Research?”

He smiles. “Computer Science.”

“Wow!” you exclaim, moving forward in line with him. “See, I guessed bio because nobody in that department sleeps. I think they all live off of coffee and 5-Hour Energy shots.”

“I’m not huge on coffee,” Luigi reveals.

You make a quizzical face. Cute. “How can you be a professor and not love coffee?”

“I like tea better. Doesn’t mess with my stomach.”

“Now that I agree with,” you say pointedly. “Have you tried the teahouse on campus?”

He’s really gonna have to show you some better options sometime.

“I’ve never seen you around before,” Luigi says suddenly. He’s not sure why. He should’ve just stuck to the teahouse conversation.

You smile warmly at him. “We aren’t in the same department.”

“Well, what do you teach?”

“Languages and Literatures of Europe and the Americas,” you reply proudly. “Well, that’s my department. I teach German Romanticism and general Studies in Culture.”

That’s a mouthful. A very intriguing one, at that.

“Ah,” he nods. “So you’re in Humanities, then.”

“That’s right. Hawaiʻi Hall.”

He’s stopped by a few times before—mainly to catch up with Mrs. Ito, his Philosophy pal. It’s a nice place. Friendly people. He thinks you might be his favorite so far.

“You could pop in one Tuesday,” you suggest. “See me in action. 2:30 to 3:30. We’re translating some Eichendorff right now.”

He thinks he will, if it’s not too weird. A teacher among the students could be distracting. Maybe he’ll lose his badge for the day.

Luigi offers you a hand, which you shake firmly.

“I’d like that,” he says. “It was very nice to meet you.”

Dr. Mangione has got the hots for a Humanities professor.

It starts that next Tuesday, when he walks into your lecture—sans his badge—to sit and listen to you educate your students about Das Marmorbild, apparently one of Joseph von Eichendorff’s greatest works. It seems to be one of your favorites, anyway.

“Alright, kids. What does this statue of Venus mean to Florio?”

A brunette among the rows of seats raises her hand.

“It’s an idealization of feminine beauty,” she says, “and he feels drawn to her seductive nature, as opposed to that of Bianca the maiden.”

You nod. “We could get more specific.”

Another hand rises.

“Venus is a critique of Romanticism,” the student answers. “Florio is more attracted to art than to human connection, and it nearly destroys him in the end.”

“Good,” you praise. “Eichendorff is commenting on a familiar tale in the culture of Romanticism. Florio finds himself so attracted to this statue of Venus that it disrupts his relationships with other humans in his life, like Bianca and Donati.”

Halfway through, Luigi starts taking notes. An old habit, one he only uses nowadays when he’s reading materials for his own lectures—but he finds himself so entranced with the way you discuss Florio and his affections towards this living statue of Venus, the way you recall a story he’s never read before. He thinks then that he’d like to introduce you to some of his favorite books, just to listen to you recount your thoughts in your gentle, guiding voice.

“We see this clearly in the scene at the lady’s palace,” you continue. “Later on, when Florio leaves Lucca with his friends, the palace is nothing but ruins, and Donati seems to be a figment of his wild imagination. Eichendorff is showing us that Florio neglected the company of his friends for the mystical Venus, who may or may not exist. Pietro and Fortunato make this clear when they tell Florio of the legends surrounding the temple of Venus.”

Das Marmorbild appears to be a story of yearning and, mainly for Luigi, regret. He underlines the word for emphasis.

3:30 comes faster than he expected. By the time the rest of your students are filing out of the lecture hall, Luigi is fumbling with the zipper of his backpack. Hoping you’ll notice him.

“You showed up,” you greet once the room is empty, smiling shyly. “Did I see you taking notes?”

“Oh, yeah!” he nods. You’re making your way up to the back row of seats, where he’s stationed, playing with the spiral binding of his journal. “Um, I’ve never read any Eichendorff, so it’s a bit jumbled.”

“Could I look at them?”

He slides you his notebook, the page filled with chicken scratch of impressively well-synthesized ideas and takeaways from your lesson. It takes a few moments of silence for you to read through it all, and your eyes dance happily over the word regret underlined at the bottom.

“These are wonderful,” you compliment. “You have a good grasp of Eichendorff’s style, even if you’ve never studied him. You’d do well on my quizzes.”

Luigi smiles. “You’re an incredible teacher. I learned from the best, clearly.”

Are you…blushing?

No. Surely not. He doesn’t get the chance to see before you ruffle your hair and smile back, quick and dirty. “Well, I’m flattered.”

Mental note: Luigi has got to read more Eichendorff.

He shows up to Hawaiʻi Hall once more that evening—this time with a question of his own.

“Miss,” Luigi starts. “I hope I’m not too blunt, but I wanted to pick your brain about something.”

You’re packing up your things, stuffing your bag messily. Classic professor shit.

“Oh, sure,” you reply. “I like having my brain picked.”

“You teach Studies in Culture as well, right?”

You nod. “That's right. Latin America, specifically.”

“The cultures that you’ve researched—they used computers, correct?”

A blink from you. A lilt of the head.

“I mean, not computer computers,” he elaborates, “but systems of computing. Like…an abacus, or some kind of counting device?”

“Oh!” Now you’re nodding. “Yes, of course. Most cultures did.”

“Yeah,” he nods along. “So, I wanted to ask you: would you like to join one of my lectures sometime? You could discuss early computing in Latin America, or Germany, or whatever society you’d like.”

And…Now you’re silent. Fuck. He shouldn’t have bothered. He just met you!

“You want me…to join one of your classes?”

“Only if you’d like,” Luigi assures you. “It’s just that my students are having some trouble applying their knowledge outside of the classroom. I think they’d have a better understanding of what they’re learning if someone like you came in, explained how these civilizations created their own systems to adapt to their world. It would show them that computers aren’t a new thing, and that we’ve always needed them. You get what I’m saying?”

Man, he’s blabbing. Typical Dr. Mangione.

“And…you want me to do it?”

It’s not like he knows anyone better for the job.

“I know this sounds silly,” he starts, “but I was really impressed by your class today. Really. The way you articulate your perspective, your attitude towards your students, how you engage with them…”

It’s sexy, he wants to say. Better to leave that on the table.

“I just think you’re one of the most talented professors I’ve met in this school,” he reveals, sincerely. “Do you know the last time I took notes for a class I’m not even in? Never! I’ve never done that! And yet, I was so intrigued by you that I couldn’t stop myself from writing down everything you conveyed.”

You look down towards your nails, surveying the chipped polish and clear gel underneath. Remnants of a manicure. Who bought that for you?

“Well,” you breathe. “I think I’d need some time to prepare, read over some things first.”

“Sure,” Luigi nods.

“But, if you think it would help your students, then I’d be honored to.”

Jackpot.

“I’m so glad!” he exclaims, clapping his hands together. Maybe too much excitement? “I think this will be great. What time is best for you to come in? I’m at the IT Center Mondays and Wednesdays, from noon to 1:30.”

Noon to 1:30, on Mondays and Wednesdays. Good days for you. You teach on an opposite schedule: Tuesdays and Thursdays.

“Next Wednesday would be fine,” you say. “We’re almost finished with our discussion of Das Marmorbild, and I’d like to put my full attention towards that.”

“I understand,” he agrees. “Next Wednesday works fine for me, too. I’ll plan it out, get with you on the details.”

He’s probably way too eager about this. He just really wants you in his lab, showing off for all his students. They’ll be mesmerized—if they find him impressive, you’ll certainly be something.

As Luigi is walking out of your lecture hall once more, you stop him.

“Oh, Dr.?” you perk up. “You don’t have to call me ‘Miss’. Just my first name is alright.”

He’s not sure when you learned about the PhD. He likes the way “Dr.” sounds in your mouth, though.

The next Wednesday couldn’t come quicker.

You’ve planned an outline, essentially a dialogue between you and his students that covers all the bases he wanted to touch: earliest examples of computing across cultures, why these machines were developed, who made them, their importance to modern Comp Sci. Specifically, you pay attention to female engineers (or at least, the ones allowed to practice their passions at the time): Ada Lovelace makes quite the appearance in your notes, as well as classics in the field, like Alan Turing and Charles Babbage. It’s everything he wanted—a lesson in history and culture, emphasizing the importance of this kind of study, while still relevant to his subject. It couldn’t be more perfect.

Not to mention, you show up looking like a bombshell. Nice skirt and a flattering blouse and some mascara. Luigi tries not to imagine that it’s for him.

You only spend a minute on your introduction, and then you’re diving right in:

“Can anyone here tell me what one of the very first computers was?”

Steven from the front raises his hand.

“The abacus!” he answers.

Smiling, you nod. “That’s right. And where did the abacus come from?”

This time, the room is silent.

“A few cultures utilized the abacus for counting,” you explain. “Some scholars believe the Old Babylonians used it for addition and subtraction. Many Greeks used the abacus, too, largely up until the French Revolution.”

You click the remote of Luigi’s projector, and on screen, an aged photo of an abacus-like system is displayed.

“This is the Salamís Tablet, first discovered in 1846.”

“What’s Salamís?” Steven asks.

You smile again. “Salamís is the largest Greek island on the Saronic Gulf, about one nautical mile from the coast of Athens. This tablet, made of marble, was originally created around 300 BC.”

Ah. You’ve got some geography up your sleeve, too.

“Around the same time, the Chinese were using their own abacus, called a suanpan.” You click the remote again, showing the students an illustration of the very Chinese abacus you’ve described. “The prototype of this device was first observed during the Han dynasty, around 200 BC. Some schools in China still use the suanpan for math instruction.”

Luigi prays, for the first time in a long while, that his students can’t see his eyes trailing over you as you speak.

“It might surprise you that some educators still use such ancient technology to teach arithmetic,” you explain, “but, really, these old things can show us a lot about computers back in the day, and particularly, how we used them.”

You click the remote to reveal something that looks like it might come out of Dora’s backpack.

The astrolabe.

“This is one of the world’s first analog computers, or, rather, calculators,” you explain. “The astrolabe was developed from the armillary sphere, invented during the Hellenistic period.”

A student in the far left corner—Clara, maybe—raises her hand.

“How did it work?” Maybe Clara asks. “It just looks like a faded compass to me.”

You nod in understanding. “It’s a strange looking thing. Essentially, astronomers used this tool to make specific predictions about space.”

But then you falter for a bit, looking toward Luigi.

He doesn’t blame you. Astronomy is fucking weird. It’s also not your department. Him, though? It remained a childhood dream for a reason.

“It’s like an inclinometer,” Luigi adds, facing the lab. “It can calculate altitude and local latitude of celestial bodies, and it can triangulate, too.”

“But it had some more practical applications across cultures,” you say, seemingly back on your feet. “Specifically, it was of great use to the Islamic religion. Many of you know that Muslims pray several times a day, correct?”

Some heads nod.

“Well, the timing of prayer was astronomically determined, so the astrolabe could define the specific schedule of worship. That, and Muslims must also face Mecca each time they pray, which requires precise direction. That’s where the astrolabe came in handy for them.”

“There is another Hellenistic tool, though, older than even the astrolabe,” you continue, turning to the next slide on the projector. A fragment of aged bronze is on display, with a thick X carved right into the center.

Luigi always forgets the name of this one.

“Behold the Antikythera mechanism.”

Right. Antikythera. Sounds like a spider, or a Mortal Kombat character. Classic Greek shit.

The students do not seem impressed.

“Looking at this thing, you probably can’t imagine any good use coming of it, right?” You gesture knowingly toward the seemingly broken thing, accentuating its jagged edges and rough details. “If I told you it’s meant to be a model of the Solar System, you’d be right to laugh in my face. But if I showed you this…”

Now, you display a much clearer image, one of a machine with refined golden parts and dashes of color and limbs branching from its dome-like center, almost like a clock with extra hands.

Steven guffaws. “That’s not the same thing.”

You smile. “Not exactly the same. But a recreation.”

Luigi can’t help but return your enthusiasm. You have a way of building up to things, revealing information in a way that’s fiercely fresh and yet not too overwhelming. You’re animated—your hands move with your lips, adding emphasis and motioning toward your slideshow. It’s entrancing.

“The Antikythera mechanism was split into more than eighty fragments when it was first discovered on the Greek island of Antikythera in 1901. The man who discovered it, Valerios Stais, suggested it was an astronomical clock, but his theory was rejected. Why do you think that is?”

A student in the front raises their hand cautiously. “Nobody knew what it was?”

Giggling, you concede, “that may have been part of it. But originally, most scholars believed the Antikythera mechanism was a prochronism, a device too complicated to have been made during its time. Lots of people just couldn’t believe that its inventors had such extensive knowledge about the universe.”

The recreated Antikythera mechanism on screen deconstructs into several parts, each accordingly labeled with annotations in the model you’ve chosen.

“It turns out, though, that this thing had a network of gears that, through the zodiac, allowed it to calculate the movement of the Sun and the Moon, eclipses, moon phases, and calendar cycles. Some even believe that it could determine the location of planets.”

It seems to make more sense to the students, now that they see a refined vision. What was once a wrecked lump of bronze becomes a magnificent symbol of ancient Greek invention—a marvel of pure, human curiosity, back when words alone could not formulate the breadth of knowledge possessed by man and machine alike.

“It’s believed that Hipparchus may have been involved in the construction of the Antikythera mechanism,” you say, “since its ability to track the irregular orbit of the Moon is consistent with his studies. His observations likely paved the way for its invention.”

Hipparchus, father of trigonometry, once walked the metropolis of Alexandria in search of the truth of the stars. His weather calendars in Bithynia led him to Rhodes, where only a minute fraction of his legacy survived among the windmills. He was a man starved for knowledge.

“Much like Hipparchus,” you begin, clicking the remote. A portrait of a sitting man with short-cropped hair and a sandy beard is shown to the students. “John Napier was a man of numbers. His study of logarithms and his invention led to significant development in the use of counting tools.”

Now, the students see an open box with several sticks inside of it, about finger length, marked with slashes and numbers.

“In 1617, he published a treatise that detailed three devices that could aid in making simple calculations,” you say. “Most importantly, he defined rabdology and his new tool, Napier’s bones.”

A student asks, “what’s rabdology?”

“That’s the term Napier picked to describe the use of the bones,” Luigi clarifies.

“Would you like to describe how they work?” you ask him, lashes fluttering.

His heart does a record scratch.

You noticed. You noticed that he likes math. And now you’re letting him step in for the parts that he particularly enjoys. Wow. Your intuition and natural guidance of the lecture stuns him, shocks him like lightning right where he stands in front of the desk.

“Uh,” he stammers, “they’re good for multiplication and division. These square notches in the bones represent a simple multiplication table, which you can use to reduce the operation into…addition.”

“That’s right,” you affirm. “You can perform division as well, much in the same manner.”

You click the remote to turn to the next slide, revealing a portrait of a man looking quite clownish—his egg-shaped cap and star-shaped collar aren’t helping the image.

“Can anyone tell me what this guy invented?”

Now this is his favorite part.

The students don’t respond, but Luigi knows the answer. This guy is one William Oughtred of Cambridge, inventor of the slide rule.

“Shortly after Napier published his work on logarithms, William Oughtred crafted a nifty mechanical calculator from two Gunter rules to make what we would call today the slide rule.” You click again, showing an aged illustration of Oughtred’s tool.

“His idea didn't catch on because of some personal drama,” you explain, “but in 1677, Henry Coggeshall took his own spin on the design, creating a two-foot folding rule for measuring timber.”

The projector displays Coggeshall’s slide rule, which doesn’t look much different, but its implications prove an impressive application to unrelated subjects.

“Several scholars of several subjects had their own takes on the slide rule, modifying it to their own needs,” you say. “In 1722 two- and three-decade scales were introduced. Mathematician Nathaniel Bowditch created a sliding rule that included both scaled trigonometric functions and aids for navigation problems. There was even a log log slide rule by Roget, which displayed the logarithm of a logarithm. We had slide rule inception.”

Luigi smiles to himself. Slide rule inception. You are so cute.

“These slide rules were used up until about 1642, when mathematician Blaise Pascal invented a mechanical calculator after fifty prototypes,” you say, clicking the remote. On the projector screen is a blueprint of a mechanism of gears, presumably Pascal’s calculator. “Pascal made three versions of his calculator: one for accounting, one for surveying, and one for science problems.”

“Pascal’s calculator was especially successful in its carry mechanism,” Luigi adds, to which you nod. “Building it required shrinking a lantern gear.”

“Nine of these calculators still exist today,” you state. “But Pascal’s calculator influenced the design of just about every mechanical calculator that came after it. And with the evolution of the calculator, everything changed.”

On the projector is another image, this time of what appears to be a wooden loom: a tall, intricate thing, with a roll of paper hanging from one side.

“This is the first programmable loom,” you say, pointing to the man demonstrating its use. “And this is the Frenchman who invented it, Joseph Marie Jacquard. In 1801, this weaver sought an automated way to create his fabrics. Manual weaving was difficult and time-consuming, and Jacquard wanted to make that process more practical and efficient.”

Your next picture focuses specifically on that roll of paper.

“In comes the punchcards.” You gesture towards the holes pressed into the paper, silently describing the function of Jacquard’s revolutionary loom. “Jacquard used these cards to create one row of his design. These holes punched into the pasteboard tell the loom which threads to raise or pass—and after hundreds of cycles, the final piece is ready. You can think of this mechanism as the code that made his machine function masterfully.”

A few students watch with parted lips.

Nikola—Luigi thinks—raises their hand.

“And…it worked?”

You giggle. “Oh, yes. It worked very well. Jacquard was paid nobly for his invention—Emperor Napoleon and his wife Josephine even visited Lyon to see Jacquard's loom in action. In fact…”

The next image is a simple, black-and-white portrait of a man with an unfortunately receding hairline.

“I’m sure Dr. Mangione has talked some about Charles Babbage, yes?”

Luigi catches some nods around the lab.

Oh, yes. Magnificent.

“Jacquard’s punchcard mechanism inspired Babbage in creating his own Analytical Engine, the machine that led to the birth of the very first general-use computer.”

“And what was the first general-use computer, folks?” Luigi asks.

Some voices erupt: the Z3. You grin at the mention.

A German invention, of course. He can’t convey how attractive it is that you know about the Z3.

“The Analytical Engine created the Z3, but do we know what created the Analytical Engine?” you introduce, clicking the remote again; this time, a more complex machine appears, a collection of numbered wheels and golden ridges.

“This is the Difference Engine.”

Luigi even turns around himself to view Babbage’s first invention; he recognizes the image you’ve chosen as the London Science Museum’s reincarnation. The Difference Engine was certainly a product of its time, despite its first full, successful build in the 1990s: he can recall that the design of Difference Engine No. 1 weighed a whopping four tons, had over 20,000 parts, and looked…like a monster, really. Efficient, but irredeemably expensive for the British government. Not Turing-complete. Still a beauty, in his eyes.

“Babbage first designed the Difference Engine in the 1820s. It works by cranking a handle, and it utilizes decimal notation to tabulate polynomial functions,” you continue. The way the words roll off your tongue has Luigi’s nerves jittering in his body, like strings reverberating on a violin. Cranking. Decimal notation. Tabulate. Polynomial functions. This truly couldn’t get any better. It’s like you’re teaching his class for him.

He points at the machine’s metal intricacies, highlighting its functions. “Notice the double-high teeth on these left sector gears, and the mirroring of the number wheels. They can count either up or down, from left-to-right. Babbage’s machine has three steps in its overall process: the first step activates the carry lever towards the back of the engine, which is what this little tab between six and seven is for. There’s also a printing compartment on the left side, which displays the values of the calculations made.”

You smile at his technical additions, nodding along. Fuck.

“Now,” you interject. “Let’s return to Babbage’s Analytical Engine for a moment. Babbage constructed the first mechanical computers, but can any of you tell me who wrote the very first computer program?”

Silence fills the lab.

Steven raises his hand. “Was it not Babbage?”

You shake your head, grinning as you click the remote to the projector.

“This is Ada Lovelace,” you say proudly, displaying her portrait on screen. “In the early 1840s, she translated a paper on Babbage’s Analytical Engine, including a set of annotations three times as long as the original transcript.”

The information you’ve presented to his students is clearly new for them—something he should loathe, but something that thrills him as he watches it play out before his own eyes, in his own classroom.

“These notes,” you continue, “are considered the very first written computer program by many historians. Lovelace was among the first to recognize that Babbage’s machines had a more practical application, a usage outside of making calculations; in her seventh annotation, she wrote out an algorithm meant to be carried out by an engine like Babbage’s, for use with Bernoulli numbers.”

And, one of Luigi’s favorite little factoids comes up:

“Babbage respected her intellect so much that he gave her a nickname: The Enchantress of Number.”

If Dr. Mangione had a nickname for you, he thinks it would be something along the lines of “The Enchantress of Hawaiʻi Hall”.

“But Lovelace was not the only one to revolutionize computing,” you say. “In comes Alan Turing.”

There’s a lot to say about Alan Turing. Perhaps underappreciated was his stint as a philosopher—but Luigi knows much of what you are about to divulge to his class.

“All of man’s computing inventions led to Alan Turing,” you explain, gesturing to a portrait of Turing from 1951. “Turing presented the first in-depth design of a stored-program computer in 1946, a project that experienced significant delays; it was during this period of developing other softwares that he designed the Turing test, which would define the standard of machine intelligence.”

“We’ll be talking a lot about the Turing test once we get to artificial intelligence,” Luigi tells the class, to no particular excitement. When you wink at him his heart skips a beat or two, and he thinks he might need to leave the room to catch some fresh air.

“It all comes down to Turing,” you reiterate. “His ideas about computers are the central foundation of modern computing. Turing-complete is the standard for all computers today.”

The final slide that displays on the projector is a timeline, starting with the abacus around 200 BC and continuing into now. You’ve marked several points on the line where significant developments in computing were made; ancient astronomical tools, Lovelace’s notes, mechanical calculators, the Z3. From start to a never ending finish.

“And…” you murmur, “that is all I have for you today.”

A few students clap, but Luigi’s enthusiasm burns the brightest in the room. He encourages them to thank you for stopping by, and then turns to you to deliver his own message of gratitude.

“Thank you, Dr. Mangione,” you say, shaking his hand. “It was a pleasure to join you.”

A pleasure. A pleasure.

The moment the clock strikes 1:30 his students are filing out of the room (some of them do take the time to smile at you, though, which boosts his hope in humanity)—but Luigi lingers by the door as you pack up your things, releasing a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“That was something special,” he says.

You glance up at him, smiling weakly. “I just hope I didn’t bore them.”

“No, no way,” he insists, shaking his head. “They were very engaged. You keep their attention better than I do.”

“You don’t have to flatter me,” you assure him.

He frowns at that. “It’s not flattery. I mean what I say. That was a wonderful lesson, exactly what I was looking for. I’m beyond impressed.”

You sigh and shuffle on your feet, opening your mouth as if you have something to say, but nothing ever comes.

“I’m glad you agreed to this,” he adds.

Slowly, you nod. “I think I am too.”

You turn to make your way towards the door, but Luigi stops you in your tracks:

“Hey, are you still eating the bento from the food court?”

You blink, then offer a crooked grin. Like you’re amused that he remembers. “I have nothing better to eat. Why?”

“You could have something better,” he proposes, “if you grabbed lunch with me instead.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” he affirms, nodding. “I know lots of good places. Could show you where to get some actual food.”

You get quiet for a moment, still fumbling on your feet and messing with your hair. You look a little flustered.

“I think I’d like that,” you say after a while.

Thank god.

“Good,” he says. “Next week?”

“Okay,” you nod. “Next week.”

He’ll have to make a list of ideas.

For the first time since he started this job, Dr. Mangione is excited for next week.

#luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione imagine #luigi mangione fic #luigi mangione fanfiction #flig’s work #📎dr. mangione

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whimsyfinny · 7 months ago

Text

He’s a Winchester

Chapter 5

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: It's been a long time since (Y/n) and Dean's paths have crossed. Last time they saw each other it was ‘98 and they were young and living in the moment. Nine years down the Line, their paths cross again, but (Y/n)s longest kept secret is about to become Deans reality.

Slow burn (ish), mom!reader

Warnings: language, alcohol, lots of feelings, small angst, bullying, reader being a victim

Chapter Word Count: 6639

MDNI 18+

A/N: sorry this took so long! Life has been a lot aha. I kinda feel like I’ve rambled on with this one, so I’m sorry about that… I also feel like this was kinda a filler chapter? Idk, I’m sorry if this one isn’t as exciting… Either way, I hope you like it! As always, it's only proofread by moi, so let me know of any errors. Also feedback is greatly appreciated!

A/N2: GUYS IT GOES WITHOUT SAYING but PLEEEEASE provide your age if you want to be added to the taglist and it isn’t in your blog. This story is tame now but it’s gonna get spicy, and my blog is strictly 18+. So pleeeeease save be a very long job and help a gal out.

Photos from Pinterest

New Readers Start Here: Chapter 1

Previous Chapter: Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Sunday mornings were the only time we could get away with being lazy. I would crawl out of bed at around eight o’clock - compared to my normal six o’clock - and shuffle downstairs in my pyjamas in search of coffee whilst Levi was either still sleeping or playing Guitar Hero on the PS2, quietly by himself. On this particular Sunday morning, however, I did indeed venture downstairs at just gone eight, and instead of finding one young boy playing video games by himself, I was greeted with the sight of him battling it out with his uncle whilst his dad sat and watched, critiquing his techniques. I padded in quietly, pulling my long soft cardigan around me further as I tried my best to watch on unseen, enjoying this moment just as much as they were and unwilling to pop their happy bubble. I watched for a few minutes, seeing how Sam didn't go easy on Levi just because he was a kid, and how Dean couldn't seem to take his eyes off his son who was entirely immersed in the game, a soft smile taking up permanent residence on his lips. Dean turned his head slightly and caught sight of me in the archway, that soft smile evolving into a pulse quickening grin. He stood quickly, striding over to me with those plaid pyjama pants distractingly low on his hips.

“G’mornin’ sweetheart, you sleep ok?” He was now a few inches away and smelt like coffee and warm linen - it was the sort of scent that wrapped around me and drew me in with an almost dangerous nature.

“Like the dead,” I grinned, looking up at him, “though I'm not surprised after all those beers and our 1AM bedtime. You're a bad influence Winchester,” I poked his chest and had to fight back a groan when I felt how frustratingly firm his muscles were beneath his grey henley. Instead of vocalising my ‘annoyance’, I bit my lip, which in its own way I suppose was worse. Worse, because now those mossy green eyes were looking at my mouth, their gaze lingering before looking back up to my eyes.

“What can I say except I had a good time? It was nice catching up like that. It was like…”

“Like we’d gone back to a simpler time?”

“Like we'd never been apart.”

Those words held a sudden weight to them that thumped deep in my chest.

“Yeah,” I said quietly, my eyes not leaving him, “I know what you mean”.

We both seemed caught up for a moment, silent and unmoving - just watching each other. He seemed totally steady, save for the deep inhale he took when I held his gaze just a little too long. He cleared his throat, breaking the trance that seemed too quick to have ever even existed in the first place.

“Coffee?” He asked, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder towards the kitchen.

“Coffee sounds great,” I smiled, glancing over to Sam and Levi who'd still failed to notice my arrival.

Dean and I paced leisurely to the kitchen where I was pleasantly surprised to see a pot of coffee already brewed, just waiting to be poured. Dean reached into the overhead cupboard, already learning where things were and selected two mugs. Pouring the hot liquid into both of them before handing me one, we both leant against the counter as I relished the warmth seeping through the ceramic and into my fingertips.

“You know,” I took a sip, humming in satisfaction, “I could get used to this,” my words felt dangerous the moment they slipped from my lips, a part of me kicking myself for vocalising such internal thoughts. Deans eyes widened almost fast enough for me to miss before his gaze returned to normal, his lips parting slightly as his mug paused on the elevation to his mouth. But once that half a second was over, it was like the fleeting surprise never happened. He simply hummed in agreement, his eyes soft and warm.

“Did you sleep ok?” I said quickly, taking the attention away from my earlier slip of words. He grinned with a nod.

“You have no idea how nice it is to sleep somewhere that's not musty and dusty and a possible crime scene from back in the eighties.” I grinned much like he did, my mind suddenly filling with images of brown and orange decor, unwashed bedsheets and spiders who might as well pay rent because they’ve been there so long.

“Well I can assure you that you're safe from all of that here - though no promises on the eighties crime scene, I have no idea who lived in this house back then.”

Deans grin turned more self assured as he raised an eyebrow at me.

“You don't think the equipment I brought would've made a noise if there was something here that went bump in the night?”

“Equipment?” I almost snorted, “you mean the EMF thing that you made on ‘pimp my Walkman’?”

Dean practically clutched his pearls.

“How dare you - that thing is a work of art. Blood, sweat and tears went into that masterpiece,” by the end of his sentence he was grinning again, almost like he knew he was talking out of his ass.

“Uh huh. Sure thing baby.”

Shit.

Deans lips twitch upwards as the intensity of his gaze sparks up something hot before quickly dying out, his posture straightening as he lifts his mug to his mouth again. I kick myself a second time for letting the term of endearment roll off my tongue. I’d never had this issue before - accidentally calling people nicknames or anything of the sort. I’d dated guys who had perfectly reasonable names that I always remembered to call them. Yet Dean… he stood here, in my kitchen after almost a decade and somehow still managed to turn my brain to butter. It was hard to describe, as surely I couldn’t still feel that way for someone who I’d been parted from for so long with not a whisper of their name from anyone's lips but my own. I no longer knew him. Nine years of time and life and experiences will have sculpted Dean and everything that I knew him to be into a totally different person…wouldn’t it? Hell, maybe he’s even got a girlfriend somewhere out there who's waiting for him to return to her, but he’s just been too nice to mention it. That, or I’ve been too selfishly wrapped up in things that used to be us to even think of asking. Perhaps the mushy consistency of my brain was simply another symptom of some so-called ‘muscle memory’, as my current behaviour was always how I’d been around him. Flirty. Playful. Infatuated. Perhaps I simply didn’t know how else to act; how to be normal in his presence because I knew he’s seen every inch of me, both physically and philosophically. He’d seen my ugly days yet he’d still kissed away the turmoil without so much as a second thought. Maybe, just maybe, I needed to reel myself back in - take myself back to before we were star crossed lovers. Before the memories were made and our hearts beat to the same tune. Back when we were just two people who would laugh and joke and stay up late. Perhaps that would make this all easier.

“There’s that name again,” Deans low drawl snapped me from my internal debate, an unreadable expression dawning on his features.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I just- I don’t think my mouth and brain are working together anymore,” I sighed, fighting to keep some sliver of amusement in my voice.

“Oh yeah?” a smirk appeared on Deans face, that playful glint returning to his eye as he chewed his bottom lip as though having an internal debate of his own. Who knows what side won, but I’m sure some form of sleep depravity was involved with his next few words: “I remember a time when your mouth didn’t need your brain and it worked just fine on its own.” If his aim here was to make me flustered, he’d sure as hell succeeded as heat bloomed across my cheeks and my mouthful of coffee was spat back into my cup with a splutter.

“Dean!”

He released an almost wicked laugh, clearly pleased with himself for my reaction. If he was going to be making comments like that on a regular basis, it was going to prove extremely difficult for ‘operation: we’re just friends’ to be in full effect.

“I’m sorry sweetheart, I’ll stop,” his words were softer yet the edge of amusement was still present.

I scowled at him with as much venom as a fucking wetwipe, my own amused grin straining at my lips.

“You better,” I jabbed a finger into his chest before placing my half empty coffee mug on the counter, turning away from him to rummage through the kitchen cupboards. I turned back around a moment later and thrust four bowls in his hands along with four spoons and two large cereal boxes.

“Put these on the table before you say anything else that might cause me to choke on my coffee.”

I watched a choking innuendo pass right before his eyes yet he bit his tongue and pursed his lips, taking a moment before his eyebrows rose slightly.

“Were you always this bossy?”

“I’m not bossy, I just have a child who needs to be fed. Now, table,” I pointed to the items in his arms before pointing to their designated destination.

“You could at least say ‘please’,” his tone was growing taunting and it drew a sigh from my chest.

“Fine. Can you put those things on the table, please.”

“Hmm… I don’t feel like you meant that, it felt a little… I don't know… hostile?” The grin was now in full effect.

“DEAN.”

“Ok! I’m going!” he turned and did as I asked, finally setting the table for all four of us.

Breakfast passed by with so much ease it was as though we’d done it every day of our lives. Sam and Levi continued to talk about Guitar Hero whilst Dean listened, chipping in the classic rock trivia where he could. The whole time, I just sat, listened and watched, absorbing everything about this moment in time and doing whatever I could to make this a core memory. I breathed in, telling myself to remember the smell of sugar and coffee in the air, along with the new and unfamiliar masculine undertone of cologne and old leather. I looked around, watching how the golden morning light made their hair and skin glow in shades of amber and white, the small dust particles in the air illuminated like fireflies. The sound of their animated chatter was soft, creating a serene ambiance that was as pleasant on the ears as notes from a music box. Everything about this moment was all I’d dreamt of; from the fully occupied breakfast table to the relaxed atmosphere, and the cherry on the cake was knowing that these men were family. Levis family. He had a dad and an uncle who wanted to cherish him and spend time with him, to make him feel so important and loved that it made up for nearly nine years of absence. I know, deep, deep down that part of this was from them feeling guilty - Dean more so than Sam - yet that was only a small part. Their love and affection for him stemmed from something real and it was so easy to see, so fucking clear on their faces, that it made me want to cry. And that feeling was so fucking strong that I had to excuse myself from the table and freshen up in the bathroom, barely able to utter a word to them as I stepped away.

After taking five and splashing some water on my face I emerged from the bathroom and headed back downstairs. Sam and Levi were back in front of the playstation, this time playing Need for Speed, and Dean remained at the table, another coffee between his palms as he leant forwards, staring into the liquid. He must’ve heard me coming as he looked up with a slightly concerned expression.

“You ok?” he asked.

“Yeah,” my voice didn’t come out as level as I’d hoped, so I diverted the conversation. “I thought that’d be you over there playing Need for Speed. How come you’re over here glaring at your coffee?”

“Ahh, we’ve been up for a while and I spent about an hour on Guitar Hero with Levi before you came down. Plus…” the small smile on his lips that appeared when he looked over at his son was now directed towards me, “I wanted to talk to you.”

“Uh oh, I hate it when sentences start like that.”

“No, it’s nothing bad. I just…uhhh… well, last night when we were talking, you said something that I can’t stop thinking about,” despite his calm expression, his knuckles were starting to turn white around his cup.

“I said a lot of things last night, Dean, you’re going to ha-”

“Let me take you out.”

“What?”

“Let me take you out,” he repeated, but this time softer and slower, “you said last night that you never get to go out for drinks anymore and that you’ve had some pretty shit dates,” we both grimaced slightly at the thought of that. “ Well… I’m here. Let me take you out. Levi is at a sleepover tonight so you have nothing to worry about where he’s concerned,” he took a deep breath and reached across the table to place his hand, warm and large, over mine. “Let me do something nice for you, like you deserve.” There was a pause as silence settled between us for a moment. He wanted to take me out. Like, a date, or just as old friends, or as co-parents…? I had no idea what his angle was on this. Did he want to have sex? Was that it? Was he just trying to get his dick wet? Old Dean would occasionally pull those tricks with me, though they were usually few and far between, but would the new Dean do that? Was it even a low bar thing to do? Maybe it’s a pity date, and he’s only taking me out because I’ve been so incapable of being able to replace him with someone who is better - who probably doesn’t even exist - that he’s now just feeling sorry for me. Why, oh why the ever living fuck am I even over analysing this? Dean wanted to take me for drinks so why should I care what his motive is. This is a fucking opportunity for me to relax and let loose a little. To not be mom for a few hours. To be me. And why should I care if he wants to fuck me? I should be flattered, right? That he possibly still finds me attractive? And I can’t deny that it’s been a while since I’ve had half decent sex - or any sex at all for this matter.

“Yes,” I blurted, perhaps a little aggressively.

“Yes?” he smiles again, that easy, contagious smile, “you’ll let me take you on a date?”

“So it is a date?” I couldn’t help but mirror his grin, adding my own amused tone.

“Wasn’t that obvious?”

“Well, no, you said you’d ‘take me out’. That could mean anything. You could’ve meant with a fucking gun.”

Dean erupted into laughter, shaking his head. That laugh. I remember likening it to a favourite song that was so easy to put on repeat. It was addictive.

“Ok, so I’m not taking you out with a gun. I’m taking you out on a date. Have I dumbed it down enough for ya’ know?”

“If you were any clearer you’d be transparent,” I said, my tone bordering on mocking.

“Great, well, me and Sammy have a few loose ends to tie up from this case we’re on, so we need to head out soon. We’ll be back by the evening though, soooo…. Be ready for six?”

I nodded eagerly, watching as he stood from the table. The sight of him in the henley - plaid bottoms combo makes me want to have a cozy day indoors, watching nothing but scary movies and scarfing down popcorn and cookie dough. The sigh I heave from my lungs was totally involuntary.

“Yeah,” I smile, “six is perfect.”

Kat and Toby arrived at the house around noon. Whilst the boys race upstairs to get on with God-knows-what, Kat strides in with a knowing smirk when she clocks the duffle bags that are clearly not mine beside the couch, along with the lingering aroma that's distinctly masculine intertwining with the pumpkin spice from my scented candles. As I studied her face for all but a few seconds, I braced myself for the flurry of questions that I knew were buzzing around her mind.

“Sooooo…” her tone was already amused as she flopped down onto the couch. “Anything you need to tell me?”

“What? Who do you think I am?” I scoff at her words, yet my pulse quickens at the thought of telling her about my plans for tonight.

“I think you're a woman still in love with her childhood sweetheart and that he's already sweeping you off your feet.”

“I am not still in love with him. I can't possibly be in love with someone I've not seen for almost a decade.”

“Mmm hmm.”

“Bitch, don't ‘mmm hmm’ me. I'm not in love with Dean.”

“Would you fuck him?”

“God yes.”

“So you're keeping him around for the possibility of good dick?”

I threw myself down beside her on the couch, pulling a throw cushion into my lap.

“No, that is so not true. I can't believe you'd think me so shallow,” I held my hand to my chest in mock devastation. She hummed again.

“Didn't you do that to what's-his-face?”

“Who?”

“The guy you dated about a year ago, drove around in that Mustang?”

“Oh shit yeah! I think his name was Chad? Or maybe Brad…? Ok yeah, I did kinda keep him around for his dick… and his car. That car was awesome.”

“You shallow, shallow bitch.”

I threw the cushion which hit her square in the face, likely leaving a print of her lipstick behind on the soft fabric.

“But that was just some dude that was only with me so he could fucking tick ‘banged a milf’ off his bucket list. This is Dean I'm talking about. He's… well… he's Dean. And he's not here for me. He's here for Levi. Don't blame a man for wanting to stick around when he's just found out he's got a kid,” I gave her a look that said ‘I fucking love you but please can we drop this now’, and she did, one final hum moving past her lips. We stared at each other for a moment, her expression one of a studious nature and mine one of feigned innocence. This woman could read me like a book, and I both simultaneously loved and hated it. I loved it, because when something went wrong, and quite often in my life things did, she just knew. She knew to be at mine that same evening with a bottle of red and a bucket of popcorn, pyjamas on and the boys asleep upstairs. This woman had slept in my bed more times than any man as we continued to have sleepovers like teenagers well into our twenties. Alcoholic sleepovers. Yet I hated how she read me like a book, because like right now, if I was in denial about anything or for some absurd reason trying to keep a secret, she would just know. She was like a fucking mind reader. I chuckled inwardly at the thought of that being true. Maybe Dean should scan her with his Walkman and freak her out. Maybe then she'd get off my case about me still being in love with him. I'm not in love with him.

“You still aren't telling me something,” her voice was even, the amusement fading slightly as she stared at me, waiting for me to stop beating around the bush. Under the heat of her stare I caved, sighing and slumping even further into the soft cushions behind me.

“He's taking me out…on a date.”

“I FUCKING knew it!”

“What?! How would you know that?!” I almost jumped as she flew forward in her seat, the gleam back in her eyes as she grinned like the Cheshire Cat.

“I didn't know that exactly, but bitch I knew you were hiding something juicy!”

“It's not juicy! It's casual - just drinks. I’m gonna wear jeans.”

“Oh yeah, because flaunting the curvature of ones ass makes it casual…”

“Aren’t you here to collect my kid or something?” I launch into my last resort to end this hellish interrogation - which involved kicking her out.

“Babes you can kick me out of your house but you can’t ignore this,” she stood slowly, her ‘all-knowing’ expression un-faltering.

“Kat, it’s only day two of him being here! You are getting way ahead of yourself,” I stood with her, shaking my head.

“Two days plus the whole freakin’ year you were dating. That man is not a stranger to you. Hell, you’ve probably had that coc-”

“THANK YOU, Kat! I love you, you are the yin to my fucking yang but please for the love of CHRIST - shut up!”

Her expression finally cracked and she practically cackled at my discomfort, making her way to the stairs to get the boys.

“Bitch, if I don’t get details about tonight then -”

“Ok I’ll tell you! But seriously, don’t read into it too much, it’s just drinks.”

She strutted to the bottom of the stairs before ascending, calling over her shoulder; “Sure, whatever you say honey!”

It took longer than I'd have hoped, but Kat eventually left with the boys for the remainder of the day. As soon as they'd left the building, it was like I could breathe again - like the house could breathe again. It was a rare occasion for me to have the place to myself for five minutes, let alone a whole twenty four hours. It was like I could finally hear my own thoughts again after the busy breakfast and Kat's dire interrogation. The silence was bliss. It was pure bliss as I made myself a coffee and settled comfortably on the couch, taking a moment to myself. It was blissful right up until my own thoughts started banging at the door in the back of my mind. Thoughts about Dean, and his motives and my motives. Suddenly my relaxing afternoon to myself was quickly becoming a caged-in trap for my internal thoughts to run wild, the drums of possibilities sounding in the far reaches of my brain, beating faster and faster the closer they drew. Almost as quickly as I'd sat down, I jumped up and headed to the store cupboard under the stairs. One thing that could distract me was cleaning, so that's exactly what I was going to do.

I blitzed the house from top to bottom, hoovering, mopping, cleaning mirrors and windows, dusting and evening folding the pile of laundry that was starting to become part of the furniture. Much to my dismay, that only took up two hours of my time, so I was left with the only other task that I hate more than folding hundreds of small human sized pieces of fabric. Grocery shopping.

After a manic stock take of the fridge, cupboards and pantry, I made a list, grabbed my bag, threw on my jacket and headed out.

I'd been shopping around the small town convenience store for around twenty minutes, browsing the aisles and throwing everything - plus some extras - from my list into the aggravatingly wonky trolley. I hated grocery shopping with a passion - the constant beeping from the checkouts, the passive aggressive road rage between trolley users, and the dozens of obscenely slow browsers frustrated me beyond belief. I was normally able to push it to a big haul every two weeks, but with the prospect of Sam and Dean staying a while, it was a safe bet to fill the house to the brim with snacks and meals alike. With the lifestyle that those two lived, I can't imagine that they're overly fussy eaters, and I have a hunch that Dean still loves turkey dinosaurs.

The cereal aisle wasn't supposed to be an eventful place - deciding between Cookie Crisp and Cinnamon Squares should be the highlight of this venture. However as my luck would have it, it became eventful.

“Oh hi! (Y/n)!”

I looked up from my crumpled list and was greeted with three faces that I recognised but not to the point of acquaintanceship.

“Uhh, hi? Can I help you?”

“I just wanted to say that it's so great to finally see that Levi's father is around. It's just so important, isn't it? For a boy to have that male role model,” the first woman spoke; her peroxide blonde hair looked so overbleached it may as well have been straw on her head, and it almost distracted me from her painfully patronising voice.

“Excuse me? Do I know you?” My voice started to take on a defensive edge as my palms immediately grew sweaty, this situation already making me uncomfortable.

She laughed, looking over at her friend's like I'd asked some stupid fucking question.

“Our son's go to the same school - you should really know this.”

“Well, if our sons aren't friends, then why would I need to?”

She took a deep breath.

“I just think it's funny how someone like you managed to get someone like… what's his name… Dean? Isn't he a little out of your league?”

My pulse thrummed as my frustration grew with the sudden, unsolicited and blatant attack. How the fuck did they know Deans name? Someone must've overheard us at Jolenes'... or maybe at the track? And what the fuck did she mean by ‘out of my league’? If she was insinuating what I thought she was, then she's going to need to head over to the fucking freezer aisle real freaking soon.

“Excuse me?”

She smirked, knowing she was sinking her plastic fucking talons into my skin already.

“Oh I think you heard me. Does Dean know? That you trapped him? When you got pregnant on purpose at nineteen?”

My blood began to boil as I white knuckled the handle of the trolley to stop myself from punching her square between the eyes.

“Fuck you; I didn't ‘trap him’. Is that really what you cliquey bitches think?” I was equal parts furious and heartbroken. Furious, because how fucking dare they assume that just because Dean is a God tier DILf that I fooled him into getting me pregnant all those years ago. And heartbroken because, well, is that really what the people in this town thought of me? If these women thought that, then who's to say half the town don't think the same? Or maybe more - maybe it's the whole freaking town with Kat being the only exception, and I've been living so cocooned in my own bubble that it never even occurred to me. But Dean has barely even been here a day, so I can’t exactly blame myself for being so wrapped up in my own life with everything going on. How can people form such strong opinions so quickly when they don’t even know the whole story? My story with Dean. Not theirs. They’ve somehow managed to put two and two together to come up with negative fucking ten, and I’ll be damned if I let them drag our names through the mud.

“Oh honey, we know that you tricked him. A man like that, with that face and physique would never have chosen you willingly, right? I mean, you really don’t look his type.”

“Oh, and you do? Because you know Dean so well?”

“That’s enough!” We were caught off guard by the oldest of the three, a woman perhaps in her fifties, snapping in a clipped tone. “Michelle, that’s quite enough, you’re taking this too far now. And you,” she turned to me with a stern gaze, “that man looks like trouble. We don’t like those sorts around here; you tell him to behave himself.” My anger and frustration was quickly melting into straight up irritation.

“Look, lady-”

“Karen.”

“Sure, ok… look, Deans a grown ass man, he can do whatever the fuck he likes - he’s here on a job. I’m not telling him to do shit.”

“Language! Such a foul mouth-”

“Is he single?” our heads quickly snapped to the third woman of the group - younger than the other two but still a little older than myself. She was a near double of the blonde from the hair to the clothes to the claws, yet she seemed to lack the spite.

“What?” yet another question that caught me off guard. What the fuck is wrong with these women?

“Dean, is he single? I mean, I’ve not seen him, but from how you describe him, he seems hot,” she twirled a lock of hair around her finger like a school girl despite likely being in her thirties.

“Hannah you’re married,” Karen chimed in with obvious disgust.

That was it, the last fucking straw. I’d had enough of the ambush from three women that I barely even knew. I adjusted my grip on the trolley and quickly planned my escape route, spotting an opening in the crowd to the side. I gritted my teeth and steeled my gaze, the bitter taste of disgust, fury, and disappointment coating my tongue as I all but spat my words.

“This has been a riveting conversation, truely, but I’m leaving. Now,” and with that I hastily left them behind, finishing my shopping with the dark cloud of judgement looming over me.

The urge to cry hot, angry tears in the car on the ride home was a battle I didn't want to fight. The intensity of the emotions brewing in the pit of my stomach and bubbling into my chest was so strong, so consuming that I didn't even realise I was pulling into my own driveway, having completed the short journey on what I like to call ‘blackout autopilot’. One tear was shed over the shitshow, and in my opinion, that was one tear too many. I was annoyed at myself with having let it get to me so much, knowing I'd grown thicker skin than this. It wasn't the first time I'd been confronted, like a fucking black sheep in a blindingly white flock, yet for some reason, this got to me. At this point, I was drained from even thinking about it, so I grabbed the groceries, making several trips to get them all in the house, put away the fridge and freezer items and left the rest on the counter to deal with later. Right now, I needed a large glass of wine and something to distract myself with. So I decided on the only thing I had going for me at this point in time.

Time to pick an outfit for tonight.

My bedroom was a modest size and the king-size bed practically consumed the room. I had a large, sliding mirrored-door wardrobe that was built into the structure of the room which I flung open and started to rummage through as soon as I made it upstairs.

I'd told myself - and Kat - that it was casual. Dean had implied it, so this shouldn't be too hard to find something nice to wear.

Wrong.

I must've spent the best part of an hour trying on dozens of different tops with my only pair of ‘nice’ jeans - those ones that hugged my ass and thighs just right. I tried long sleeves, short sleeves, chiffon, cotton, satin, opaque, obscenely translucent, bright, monochrome and in all honesty, I felt inadequate in every single one. I'd never really been one to feel overly self conscious of how I looked, but for some absurd reason, this date with Dean was making me flustered. It had me worried that he wouldn’t like how I looked, especially since I’d had Levi and my body had changed in a way that he didn’t know just yet.

Just yet.

I cursed myself slightly, shaking that idea from my head. Yes, I’ve had plenty of time to try and get myself back to normal, but some things just weren't the same anymore, and probably never would be. I hated the fact that I was even stressed about this. The safest option was to just go for something comfortable, so I donned a stretchy, low-cut and long sleeved black top and slid on a pair of black closed-toe heels before sitting down at my dresser.

I’d just opened my makeup bag when I heard the door downstairs open and close, quickly followed by the oddly comforting sounds of Sam and Deans voices floating through the house and up the stairs. I turned to myself in the mirror, sighing at the tired looking woman staring back at me. Get your shit together, (Y/n), Dean is taking you on a date. I grasped my over-sharpened eyeliner pencil that was likely no longer than an inch in length and got to work. I suddenly flinched and nearly poked myself in the eye when Dean appeared in my bedroom doorway.

“Jesus, Dean! You scared the crap out of me - I didn’t even hear you come up the stairs.”

He grinned slightly as he leant against the wooden frame, large arms crossing over his chest.

“Sorry sweetheart, I didn’t mean to…” his voice trailed off and I could feel his eyes on me, as though he was searching for something. A few moments went by in silence, and right as I was about to turn to him, he spoke.

“Hey, are you ok?” His voice was dangerously soft, and concerned in a way that could easily have me weeping in his arms. Because of the shitty afternoon I’d had, I feel like it wouldn’t take much kindness from him to have me crumble - no matter how much I’d hate myself for it afterwards. Instead, I pushed everything down as best as I could and turned to him with a weak smile.

“Yeah, I’m ok. I’ve had a bit of a weird, shitty afternoon but I won’t ruin your evening with it.” At my words he pulled a face, his own words quickly following.

“It’s your evening. And if there’s something eating at you, you know you can talk to me. Just like you used to,” his smile was back, warm and comforting and like a balm over a burn. I looked back at myself in the mirror for a moment, debating if it was even worth talking about. If it was anyone but Dean, I wouldn’t hesitate to keep this to myself. But it was Dean, and I hated to say it, but he was always good at dealing with me when I was like this in the past. I turned to him and let his calming presence seep into my bones, desperately trying to take it on myself.

“Ok,” I said quietly, “I’ll tell you at the bar. But I don’t want to make a big deal out of it, and I don’t want to talk about it all evening,” He nodded.

“Whatever you need sweetheart,” he stood up straight and said something about getting ready himself before he left the room, leaving me to finish up before finally heading downstairs.

It was roughly another fifteen minutes before I made my way down; Dean already waiting for me in the archway to the kitchen. He looked up as he heard me coming, eyes brightening when he grinned at me.

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” his voice was smooth and deep, a flirtatious undertone rumbling in his chest.

“Not so bad yourself Winchester,” I walked up to stand in front of him, almost toe-to-toe. I looked him over, taking in the black shirt he wore, untucked and paired his jeans. The boots and brown leather jacket remained the same, yet I could see the damp patches on both from where he’d scrubbed either mud or blood from the fabric - perhaps both. It wouldn’t be the first time. I took a deep breath, my pulse quickening as his scent filled my senses.

“Have you eaten yet?” he asked, removing a hand from his pocket and let it hang awkwardly at his side. I shook my head.

“Not yet, I sometimes forget to eat when Levi isn’t around.” Dean shot me a look that could have been both concerned or protective.

“Ok, well I’m taking you for dinner too then.”

“What? No Dean, you really don’t have t-”

“Don’t argue with me sweetheart, I'm fucking feeding you,” his tone was final, leaving no room for negotiation so I sighed in defeat.

“Fine, but we’re not going anywhere expensive.”

His smirk widened across his face as he continued to look down at me, finally placing that awkwardly hanging hand on the small of my back, guiding me to the door. He shouted a ‘goodbye’ to Sam over his shoulder and, without really waiting for a reply, he ushered me out of the house and towards the car, locking up behind us. I walked up to the black vehicle, the excitement starting to bubble at the thought of going for a ride in her again after all this time. As Dean walked up to me, he opened the passenger side door, letting me hop in first. I took my seat, quickly dumping my bag and jacket in the footwell so I could softly run my fingertips over the perfectly maintained leather seats, noticing how not a thing had changed - not even the box of cassettes on the back seat. As Dean slid into the drivers seat, his expression something akin to pride, he couldn’t help but comment on my reaction to being back in the impala.

“I bet you missed Baby more than you missed me,” he joked, turning the key and letting the engine roar into life. I bit my lip, leaning back in my seat.

“I missed you both equally,” the humorous tone came easily, my earlier worries already started to feel insignificant as they slipped away with every tick of the engine.

“Equally?” he echoed, feigning hurt, “you don’t even prefer me just a little bit more?”

I pretended to ponder intently, holding a finger to my lips as I crossed my arms over my chest. An obnoxious string of ‘hmmms’ slipped through my lips before I saw him roll his eyes, still grinning.

“Yeah, I guess I do. Especially since you're taking me on a date,” my own words made my heart flutter and luckily he'd moved his gaze from me to the road as he pulled out of my drive. My face felt warm and I cursed at myself for being so easily affected by him already, entranced by the way those long fingers wrapped around the steering wheel and the muscles in his jaw flexed under the glow of the passing street lamps. I couldn't deny that he was still painfully attractive, even after all this time. If I was being honest with myself, he was making it incredibly difficult to concentrate on much else right now. If drinks were soon to be involved, there was a very high chance of me making a total ass of myself in front of him.

Tonight was likely going to be one to remember.

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