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five-rivers · 4 years ago

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@lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks came up with this op!Danny/Marvel AU!

BTW I need help naming this newest proof that I can't keep anything to a short little one-shot.

Loki was not, and never had been, a good man. For that matter, whether or not he’d ever been a good boy was debatable. His mother would argue that he had, but she would very likely be the only one. Well, except for Thor, perhaps, but that was because he was an idiot who could drown in three inches of nostalgia. Like he didn’t remember every time Loki had humiliated him. Maybe he didn’t, for all that he kept falling for the same trick over and over again.

It made Loki’s late nights studying the arts of illusion, misdirection, and lying seem redundant. Almost. Not everyone was as dense as his big brother.

No. Loki had never been a good man. He had, however, been a free man.

Free to run or hide. Free to explore the nooks and crannies of Asgard, to uncover her secrets in ways few cared to do. Free to walk hidden paths between the Nine Realms and even farther flung territories, where his people did not and had never ruled, to play games, make deals, have adventures, take risks. To be. To exist as his own creature.

He had been free. He had.

But on one of those little secret excursions, he had discovered something that had made even his flippant, slippery heart clench with fear. A ravening plague, spreading across the stars. The death of half of everything on the horizon.

Loki was not a good man. What cause did he have to care for all the sundry others in the universe? There were too many. It was too much to ask.

But Asgard—His home, even though the had long ago realized the blood in his veins originated on very different soil. That was different.

Asgard, he could help. Asgard could survive.

But it had to be strong. It had to have strong allies. None of this barely-held peace, this enemy eternally at their gates. It needed strong leadership. Not his brother’s simplistic view and longing for the glory of war.

Loki was not a good man. But he was one who could get things done.

Before he knew it, he had burned all his bridges behind him. In one case, a literal bridge that was literally broken.

And he fell.

And he fell right into the hands of the one he had feared enough to do this. Broken enough for poison to drip into the cracks. No one knew where he was, no one could know where he was, except, perhaps, Heimdal, and Loki sincerely doubted Heimdal cared. No one was coming for him. No one was looking for him. No rescue was forthcoming.

He was alone.

Asgardians were considered gods for a reason. Their bodies and minds were much more resilient than the average mortal’s. But Thanos’s people had been titans, and there was a reason for that, too.

Thanos enjoyed breaking him.

And Loki turned his lies on himself. A skilled master of games always had one gifted opponent, even alone. Hadn’t he wanted to rule? To command? To see a world, any world, prostrate at his feet? To be given the recognition and praise of which he was so worth?

To pull something, anything, out of the fire?

(If he had spent less time learning how to spin lies and more on how to see the truth, he might not have believed it. A better, wiser, man would have. But Loki was not a good man. And he was very skilled in his craft.)

So, his new master put a weapon in his hands, and he went off to conquer a world.

Danny was used to rude awakenings. He was used to those rude awakenings being full body chills and ghosts, not someone knocking on his door.

Blearily, he pulled himself out from under the blankets. Quasi-military government facility or not, the beds were comfortable. Maybe Mom or Dad had gotten themselves locked out of their room? Or Jazz—No, not Jazz, she hadn’t come with them. She was at college, not being flown places by Mom and Dad’s suspiciously generous new consulting job.

At least it wasn’t the GIW.

He stood on tiptoe (curse his perpetually short body) to peer out the peephole. His parents’ buff, one-eyed, and incredibly imposing new boss stood in front of the door, hands on his hips, slightly sweeping back his long dark coat. If Danny listened carefully, he could hear two other people near the door, and… was that an alarm? Yes. Faint, but present, was a warning klaxon.

Okay. Danny would bet his right arm that something had gone horribly wrong with whatever his parents were consulting on. Didn’t explain why the boss was in front of his door.

Unless they’d gotten the rooms mixed up, somehow?

Ugh. Danny wasn’t paid enough to deal with this.

He opened the door. “What-?”

“Phantom,” intoned eyepatch guy with great solemnity.

Danny immediately tried to close the door. The guy stuck his foot in the jamb, and, sure, Danny could have crushed it, but that would be a jerk move. He didn’t think this guy was going for a pirate look, after all.

“We need your help.”

“I’m not sure what you think I can help you with,” yelled Danny over the beating of the helicopter blades. He’d remained stubbornly in human form. “My parents are the scientists. This sounds like a science thing. Not a punching-people thing.”

“We spoke to them earlier,” said Fury, “and we have plenty of scientists working on the theories they brought up. You’re the one with practical experience.”

“Practical experience in what?”

“Interdimensional portals,” said the woman, who had yet to introduce herself.

As if this whole thing wasn’t already giving him a bad feeling. “My parents built an interdimensional portal. Again, you should be talking to them. They’re the ones you’re paying.”

“We could pay you, too,” said Fury, “but we assumed you would want to avoid letting your parents know about this, as you’re still a minor and they have control of your bank accounts.”

Danny stared flatly. “This is blackmail.”

“We aren’t threatening you,” pointed out the woman.

“Emotional blackmail,” said Danny, glaring, daring her to challenge him on whether or not he actually knew what blackmail was.

In the meantime, the helicopter landed. Danny unbuckled and hopped out, trailing slightly awkwardly behind Fury and the woman. He didn’t want to stand out, but he suspected that, being the only kid here and being in the general vicinity of Fury, who radiated authority, that was a lost cause.

“This is Agent Coulson. Coulson, this is Phantom.”

Danny’s mouth went dry(er) at how casual the introduction was. His eyes went nervously to all the other people running around the field. With all the noise, it was unlikely anyone had heard, but still…

“Can you not? Secret identity and all? Unless you’ve told everyone herealready, which, rude.”

Fury sighed. “How bad is it?” he asked Coulson.

“We’re not sure,” said Coulson. “That’s the problem. Big fan of your work, by the way,” he added as an aside to Danny. He glanced at the woman. “Agent Hill.”

“Background?” asked Fury as he led the way into the building.

“The first energy surge was four hours ago. Dr. Selvig’s equipment picked it up – He’s the head scientist on this project.”

“Dr. Selvig isn’t authorized to test,” said Fury. “We wanted to run his plans by the Fentons.”

“He wasn’t testing. He wasn’t even in the room. He called it ‘spontaneous advancement.’”

“It turned itself on?”

“What are the energy levels?” asked Fury before Hill’s question could be answered.

“Climbing,” said Coulson.

“Mr. Fenton,” said Fury, “any comments?”

“Look, I don’t even know what this thing that you built looks like or what it’s a door to.” Danny frowned as a thought occurred to him. “You’re not expecting me to fight whatever comes out of it, are you? Because, unless you’ve got a ghost portal down there, I can’t make guarantees.”

“It’s called the Tesseract,” said Coulson. “It’s supposed to be a connection to the other side of space. A source of unlimited energy. At least,” there was a note of humor in his voice despite the evacuation taking place around them, “that’s what the scientists say.”

“A door to space?” asked Danny, firmly shoving down his excitement at the prospect. “Like, a Stargate?” It was no good, he could practically feel himself sparkling. He took a firm grip of his core and reminded himself he might need to fight before the end of the day.

“Well, no,” said Coulson. “It’s this little… cube… thing.” He made a shape with his hands.

“Oh,” said Danny, mind still whirring. “You know, if it’s really a tesseract, it isn’t a cube in just three dimensions, so bigger things could come out of it than you’d think.” He’d seen some weird portals in the Ghost Zone.

“Well, right now, we’re just getting energy.” They entered a large room with an extremely sci-fi setup. It looked like they were planning to shoot some kind of laser across the room onto a platform surrounded by strange-looking panels. There were men with guns scattered around in what was probably a well thought out formation Danny couldn’t see. There was also a dude with a bow sitting up in the rafters. He frowned down at Danny as he noticed Danny noticing him.

“Dr. Selvig!”

“Director!”

“What do we know?”

Danny allowed himself to be distracted by the centerpiece of the room, a piece of machinery built around what was indeed a little cube thing. He tilted his head and approached, trying to get a better view of it around the people in lab coats and protective gear currently swarming it. He caught mention of radiation a grimaced.

It was unlikely to kill him, but, really, everyone here should probably be wearing more PPE. You never knew what was going to come out of an interdimensional portal, after all. Except trouble. Trouble was a pretty safe bet.

It was pretty. Blue. Reminded him a little of a blue raspberry ice pop. Part of him wanted to lick it. Which was stupid. He didn’t want to wind up half what-ever-lived-on-the-other-side on top of his regular ghost nonsense.

“Mr. Fenton?”

Danny jumped and turned, refocusing on the adults, who had multiplied while he’d been daydreaming. The guy with the bow had joined them.

“Mr. Fenton? Like the Doctors Fenton I spoke to earlier?” asked Selvig.

“Yeah, it’s—”

This, of course, was when everything decided to explode. Sort of.

The blue cube shot out a beam of energy that had more than a little in common with the Fenton Bazooka’s portal setting. The beam terminated on the platform, a portal rapidly forming.

Danny slid into a fighting stance, and barely even noticed as blue energy washed over the room, throwing many less-prepared people back.

Something shaped like a man stepped through the portal.

Danny did not break his stance. Still. “An alien,” he whispered, eyes wide. If they were friendly, maybe they’d answer his questions about space. If they weren’t friendly, maybe they’d answer his questions about space after Danny beat them up.

(Danny did not go ghost. Did not even think about going ghost. There were too many people here, and the space was too open.)

Fury attempted to negotiate. Danny approved. Not everything that came through an interdimensional portal was necessarily evil.

Except this guy apparently was. Go figure. He could also deflect bullets and was very good with throwing knives, which led to Danny having to pull several of the gun guys out of their own line of fire as well as the alien’s line of knife. Who would have thought an alien’s weapon of choice would be throwing knives? The energy-blasting spear was much more in line with his expectations.

The bow guy proved to be more competent than the gun guys. This didn’t really surprise Danny. Bow guy sort of had to be competent. Otherwise, no way would they let him go around with a bow. Like, seriously. A bow.

Even so, bow guy was fighting an alien and—

“You have heart,” said the alien, raising the spear.

Danny pushed bow guy out of the way, and his mind fuzzed out.

(The human part of it, anyway.)

Loki didn’t know what a child was doing here, and he didn’t particularly care. The boy would do for a hostage, at least. He had a mission he had to fulfil, or else…

Or else.

“Please don’t,” he said turning with a shadow of his usual lazy affect, vaguely insulted that the human thought he could be sneaker that him, “I still need that.”

The human went on and on, apparently burdened with the delusion that he was on the same level as Loki.

Loki was burdened with other things. A glorious purpose. Glad tidings. Freedom. What could be better than freedom?

“A world free from what?” asked the human.

“From freedom,” said Loki, and wasn’t that what he believed, now? Wasn’t that what he’d been shown? “Freedom is life’s great lie.” He would know. He was an excellent liar. “Once you accept that, in your heart—” He batted away an arrow and tsked. “Shield me, boy,” he demanded. Had Thanos misrepresented the scepter’s powers? Or was the boy merely—

A dome of green surrounded him and the boy, thrumming with magic the likes of which he had only seen once, in a tome thrice forbidden.

“Oh,” said Loki, almost purring. “You are interesting. What are you?”

“Half human, half ghost,” replied the boy, tersely.

Loki had never heard of such a creature. No matter. He’d be sure to make good use of him.

“Grab the scientist,” he said, nodding at the balding man who had been with his brother when he’d fought the Destroyer in the desert.

Loki wanted the archer. He seemed interesting. Useful.

Fenton was under thrall. Phantom knew what that felt like. A hundred feet under red water, trying not to drown, whispers everywhere. Pulling. Pushing. Prodding.

This was different, but the principle was the same.

Neither half of him could truly ‘fight’ the other. Fenton and Phantom were a single entity. Not two in lockstep. Even so.

Fenton grabbed onto Dr. Selvig, as ordered. Phantom made sure that was all they did.

“What are you doing, boy?” snapped Loki. “Follow me! Bring the scientist.”

And so, they followed.

Loki breathed. Acquiring Barton had been the right choice. The boy was powerful, but, perhaps because of his unique biology, did not have Barton’s presence of mind, and couldn’t have led him to such wonderful allies.

Allies.

These weren’t truly his allies. Nor were they subjects. They were…

Loki forced himself to breathe. He just had to follow the mission. Follow the mission, let Thanos’s army through. He’d been promised this world. He would have this world.

And then he could be… His mind stuttered over the next word, and he shook his head, trying to drive out the painful buzz of Thanos’s herald and mouthpiece trying to contact him.

He looked up at the drones bustling around, all according to his will. Except the boy, who stared at him, somehow managing to be both utterly blank and challenging at the same time.

He was alone, here.

He was alone.

But what did it matter? Bad men always wound up alone, and Loki… Loki could never be a good man.

#danny phantom #marvel cinematic universe #avengers #dannymay 2021 #dannymay 2021 day 28: alone #dannymay #danny phantom x marvel cinematic universe crossover #op!Danny/Marvel #Not much op!Danny yet tho

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roanniom · 4 years ago

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The Night That Follows

Poe Dameron x Reader

Word Count: 8,000~

Summary: While celebrating a successful mission, you and Poe accidently ingest a mysterious beverage that makes it hard to resist one another, helping you forget the stress that weighs you down and the friendship that you’ve been holding between you two as a shield.

Note: This is my first ever non-ADCU fic and it is dedicated to the ever lovely and supportive @paper-n-ashes who urged me to get out of my comfort zone and cheered me on.

Warnings: NSFW, dirty talk, alcohol consumption, sex pollen, drugged drink (it’s drugged with the sex pollen by a 3rd party and not with malicious intent but it still might be triggering), masturbation (f/m), PIV sex, unprotected sex, war-related angst

When people talk about war, they often discuss the paralyzing fear, the numbing depression. Hopelessness that spreads through your veins like cold water as you face immeasurable odds and stare death in the face day after day. And you can attest to these feelings. You experience them with each dawn that breaks, muddy in the sky regardless of the atmosphere shrouding whatever planet you find yourself waking on each morning. Your life is transient, full of ships and bases and camps. The constants are the clothes on your back, the friends in your squadron (those who survive), and the x-wing you hop in each time danger calls.

The other constant is the part of war that people do not discuss. The rush of adrenaline every time you make it out of a tough scrape. Adrenaline that burns your veins, evaporating the icy hopelessness that had flooded you up until the minute your boots hit turf and your jellied knees catch up to the reality that you are still very much alive. The euphoria that crackles in your brain when you spy your best mate zooming down from above, finally landing and throwing themselves into your arms in the hug you never thought you’d experience again after their coms had gone down in a fire fight. The absolute debauchery of a night of celebration after such a fire fight. Because nobody needs to live quite as much as those who may die.

Which is how you find yourself here, on this non-descript jungle planet, the name of which you didn’t catch during your descent because honestly there have been so many jungle planets and they have all become little more than coordinates on a screen to you at this point. You and your squad have been set up with a mini-festival by the resistance-sympathizing locals as a thank you for your recent decimation of their First Order oppressors. The operation had been pretty seamless, thanks in no small part to the excellent teamwork between you and a one Poe Dameron.

Your flying today had rivaled some of his best, which is certainly saying something since Poe prides himself on being the best pilot in the resistance. You certainly gave him a run for his money, outflying TIE fighters and swiveling shuttle cannons in a perfectly choreographed tandem maneuver wherein the two of you manipulated your assailants to ultimately destroy themselves.

As you knock back a burning shot of the local alcoholic beverage, the liquid tingling and warming you all the way down, you search the triumphant crowd for the cocky pilot who had helped you set the stage for this celebration. You wouldn’t dwell on the earlier events of the day much more tonight. Wouldn’t think much of the comrades you’d lost in the struggle. That was an ache that would throb back to life tomorrow. Tonight, the priority is living.

It is then that you lock eyes with Poe Dameron through the throngs of semi-drunken revelers. His handsome face splits into a wide, cocky grin, so you adopt an exasperated smirk in response as he pushes his way towards you. Such is the game you play. A dance, if you will. Poe plays the role of the self-assured, overly confident golden boy while you, his long suffering partner, humble him with your good-natured criticism and ever rolling eyes.

“Alright there, Sweets?” Poe practically drawls as he reaches you, the nickname both a term of endearment and a teasing reference to the sweet tooth that keeps you hoarding candies of all kinds in your bunk, much to Poe’s own benefit. You beam up at him and upend your little glass to demonstrate its emptiness.

“On my way there, Fly Boy.”

“Looks like you’re falling behind, rookie. Like you did on that triple barrel twist today.”

You throw a punch that lands a little too lightly on his shoulder to produce the grunt and showy flail that he graces you with.

“First of all, you’re not allowed to call me rookie anymore. Your dumb ass might need to be constantly reassured that you’re ‘best pilot in the resistance,’ but by now I am, at worst, second best.” Your gut warms and you’re not sure if it’s the drink or Poe’s deep, full-bodied laugh in response. “And second of all, we don’t talk about the day if we make it to the night.”

Poe almost seems to sober at your words, a phrase of his tossed back at him. The smile remains, though, and he tosses an arm around you before dragging you over to the table that’s been set up with refreshments.

“Right you are, Sweets,” Poe agrees quietly. Louder now and injecting you two into the crowd surrounding the cluster of bottles, he continues, “as for you being second best pilot, I’d rather let the squad decide before you go getting a head too big to fit in your helmet.”

This receives a laugh from the crowd as well as another smattering of slaps thrown towards Poe’s chest.

“Dameron, we all know you already have your own helmet custom made so you can stuff that massive ego in there,” your friend Myrna.

“And those curls,” you add, reaching up and ruffling your hand through his hair in that way that always makes his nose scrunch up in mock anger.

“If you must know, there’s something else they also have to custom make me…” Poe says, grabbing your wrist and forcing your hand to slide down his chest towards the bottom of his flight suit zipper and wiggling his eyebrows. You shriek and yank your hand away.

“In your dreams, Dameron.” Poe leans down toward you so that his face is close enough for you to feel his breath fan across your cheeks.

“Or perhaps in yours?”

Suddenly a small, wrinkled face appears between you. It’s an elderly female member of the local alien race and she’s beaming up at you, holding two steaming mugs and smiling around a garbled statement in a language you don’t recognize.

“Oh I’m sorry, I’m not sure I…” you interrupt her, glancing awkwardly between her massive eyes and Poe’s confused ones.

“I might be able to translate!” Myrna cries out, stumbling forward with a newly refilled glass in her hand.

“You sure that’s not just the liquor talking?” Poe asks with a chuckle. Myrna waves him off and kneels unsteadily to listen to the old woman. More garbled speech issues forward as the woman gestures between you and Poe with her mugs. Myrna nods several times and gives little hums of agreement and affirmation. You and Poe trade glances of amusement during the interaction, but you have to look away when the upturned corner of Poe’s mouth begins to distract you.

“Alright alright,” Myrna pipes up. You turn back in time to see Myrna standing back up to her full height, now holding the two mugs, while the woman waddles back into the crowd.

“What’s the deal?” Poe asks, slinging his arm back around your shoulders. You resist the knee jerk actions that come to mind, both to slap his touch away and to lean into it, standing rigid instead.

“She said these are for you,” Myrna says, pushing the steaming mugs into your hands and Poe’s.

“Did she say why?” You peer at the milky, opalescent contents curiously. Myrna has already moved on, however, turning back to the pilot she’d been hanging on before you and Poe had approached. You look to Poe but he shrugs.

“I don’t know, something about you guys deserving it.” Myrna waves her hand dismissively, obviously ready to get back to her own evening. You look up at Poe, unsure, but he’s nodding and smiling.

“Hear that, Sweets? Seems like word travels fast that we’re the top two pilots,” Poe says cheekily, clinking his mug to yours before throwing back his head and downing its contents in one gulp. Your insides ignite at his acknowledgment, as well as the bob of his adam’s apple, but your eyes still flit warily to your beverage.

“We don’t even know what it is and you’re drinking it?”

“Honey, I’m pretty sure that liquor we were taking shots of earlier was actually jet fuel, I don’t think we need to be too worried about this.” Poe smacks his lips and runs his finger around the inside of the mug. “And besides, it’s really kriffing good.”

Watching the way his cheeks hollow out as he sucks the last dregs of his drink from his finger makes a heat boil in the pit of the stomach. You decide you actually are quite thirsty, and since your curiosity is stronger than your apprehension, you knock the liquid back yourself.

“Atta girl!” Poe cheers you on, nudging you. The drink is sweet and thick on your tongue like a melted version of the ice cream you’d tasted once, many years ago. You can still remember the creamy texture, very much worth the credits paid to the traveling vendor who’d brought it to your village during the hottest summer of your childhood. As you swallow this liquid down, however, its cold temperature changes into a burn, similar to alcohol, though smoother than any liquor you’d ever had.

“Good, right?” Poe asks, eyebrows raised. You nod and lick your lips, sure that you’re imagining things when Poe’s eyes flicker down to your darting tongue.

“That was actually pretty good,” you concede with a grin.

“So what have we learned tonight?” Poe prompts, grabbing your mug from your hands and placing it next to his on a nearby table. You shake your head.

“Your cockiness extends to believing locals on a miniscule planet find you special?”

“The correct answer was ‘always give things a chance,’ Sweets, but you can continue being closeminded if you want,” Poe responds with a chuckle. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and makes to walk away.

“Fine!” You reach out and grab his arm before he can leave. When he rounds back on you with a wide smile you roll your eyes and refuse eye contact. “And just so you know, I’m a lot more open minded than you think, Dameron.”

“Is that so, rookie?” You bristle but as the glee raises in his eyes at your reaction you do your best to tamp it down.

“I’m…flexible,” you say, your grin begrudging. A hubbub breaks out beyond you in the crowd as the makeshift band that had assembled to play party music transitions to a particularly festive song, causing both you and Poe to watch as people begin forming an impromptu dance floor. When Poe turns back at you and raises his eyebrows, expectant, you throw up your hands defensively.

“No. Don’t look at me like that, Fly Boy,” you’re quick to say, but Poe’s even quicker, having already grabbed you by the hand and pulled you to him. Your body collides with his and his other hand finds the dip of your waist.

“Oh I’m sorry, what was that I just heard someone say about being open minded?” Poe asks. In a sudden fluid motion he dips you, bending you over so that your back is parallel to the ground and his face hovers over yours. “Being flexible?”

You let him pull you back up and steady yourself with a hand on his chest to catch your balance, dizzy now, most likely from the suddenness of the motion. You’re about to toss back a witty retort, possibly something that will knock him down a few pegs, but then you catch the glint in his eye and a smile spreads across your lips unbidden.

“You get one dance, Dameron.”

~*~

One dance turned into many, as it turns out. The band, upon realizing their audience’s appetite for raucous music, had begun a steady rotation of upbeat tunes. The dance floor had expanded, spilling out of its original confines in the center of the town square and into the concession areas on the perimeter. Resistance members danced and drank, their bodies jumping and moving to the beat in one chaotic mass of excess energy and euphoria. Bodies writhe against one another in all directions as people seek out friction that can confirm to them that they did indeed survive the day’s trials.

You’re experiencing friction of your own in your little portion of the dance floor. Where things had started out innocently – energetic bouncing to the beat and moving in unison – the tone had long changed. At this point Poe is behind you, arms slung dangerously low on your hips to hold you against him, hands pressed right above your pelvis. The feeling of his chest pressing against your back, his hips bracketing your ass – you’ve lost yourself in the sensations. The rhythm of the music shakes through your muscles but instead of tense and tired, they’re loose and buzzing.

Though truth be told, they aren’t the only thing buzzing. The proximity of Poe’s hands to your lower body feels charged like a magnet. Without thinking you press your hands over the backs of his, encouraging pressure on your lower abdomen. You swear you hear Poe growl behind you has his hands pull you further to him, but it could also be the roar of the crowd. Your hips move in sync, your ass grinding against him in time with the music. Escapism in its purest form is what you’re experiencing in Poe’s arms, held against Poe’s body, matching Poe’s motions. It’s heady and distracting and everything you could ask for to make living feel like living, especially in the aftermath of a day centered on death. You’re content to let this moment last as long as the universe allows.

That is until you realize that the increasing beat you’d thought was a shift in the music is actually the rapid crescendo of your own heartbeat.

Swallowing you find your throat is thick, saliva pooling in your mouth inexplicably. You take a deep breath and allow your mind to reel. How long had you been feeling like this? Why hadn’t you noticed these feelings coming on?

One of the large hands at your hip begins sliding up along the plane of your side and you get your answer. The weight of his touch lights your skin on fire as it drags up and across your collar bone. Your breath feels ragged, rattling around in lungs that can’t seem to take in oxygen no matter how high your chest rises and falls. Poe’s hand lingers on your throat for a second so you swallow again, with even less luck than before. His hand reaches up to grip your jaw which he uses to turn your head back toward him.

Oh.

Poe continues to move behind you, his motions controlling you both on the floor, but his face is strained. Sweat dots his temples, gleaming in his curls, and his teeth seem gritted, making his jaw set at a striking angle. His eyes pin you down, however, and they keep your attention as you gaze back, wide-eyed.

“You okay, rookie?” Poe’s voice is deeper than normal, huskier. The way it reverberates through your body makes a rumbling bubble up deep inside your chest. The beginnings of a moan, perhaps? You’re quick to gasp a response before such a sound has a chance to make its way into the air between you.

“I’m…feeling quite strange.”

The hand still at your waist tightens its grip while the other rejoins on the opposite side. You have to gasp again to keep from moaning. Suddenly you’re being maneuvered forward, Poe’s guidance weaving you through the crowd with ease despite the congested revelry.

Neither of you see the way Myrna is watching you both with a knowing smirk from her place draped around her own handsome pilot beau. Or the way the little old woman who’d gifted you the beverage hovers on the outskirts of the dance floor, a proud look on her wrinkled face as she eyes your retreating figures.

~*~

You’re not really able to follow where Poe is directing you, mainly because of how the imprint of his hands on your body seems to be searing into your skin through your flight suit. While your accelerated heart rate was the thing you had been most worried about, now you are equally worried about the dull ache that has seated itself in the pit of your stomach. You bite down hard on your lip to keep the moan from spilling out, the one you’ve been suppressing since the moment you became conscious to your current discomfort.

When Poe’s stride finally slows to a stop only then are you able to take in your surroundings. Blinking, you’re surprised to find that you’re now outside of the town, far from the lights and bustle of the party, walking into the silent clearing that contains the squadron’s parked aircrafts.

“Why are we all the way out here?” you ask, unsettled by how deep your voice sounds in the darkness.

“Needed to get away from the crowd.” You’re even more unsettled by how breathless Poe’s voice is as he says his first words since the dance floor. So unsettled that you turn in his arms so you can finally take in his disheveled appearance fully.

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t know, it’s the weirdest thing. One minute everything was fine and the next…”

“You can’t catch your breath,” you finish for him and he nods gravely. Both of your chests are practically heaving, pressing into each other with each exhale. When you become aware of this, it also brings awareness of the way his chest pressed up against yours is also adding pressure to your nipples. Since when were your nipples hard? The night is balmy, a cool breeze barely able to disturb the moist warmth that settles in the jungle terrain. You feel sweat begin to collect on the back of your neck and your hairline, much like the sweat causing Poe to shine a bit in the moonlight. And yet your nipples are hard and a shudder runs through your body, nerve endings clearly ten steps ahead of you, taking in some experience to which you’d yet to catch up.

“Wait a minute, look at me,” Poe suddenly orders, his fingers wrapping around your chin to lift your face toward his. You freeze as he stares down at you, eyes widening at whatever he sees.

“What is it?” you ask, voice urgent, almost frightened.

“Your pupils are wide as planets,” he mutters, distracted fingers drawing up the side of your jaw to press to the pulse point at your throat. “Your heartbeat is out of control.”

“I haven’t been able to calm down,” you say, nodding but getting more worried by the second. “Why can’t I calm down? Are you feeling the same way?”

Poe’s mouth presses into a hard line and he turns away abruptly, head tilting down.

“Oh fuck.”

“What?” You try to pull him back toward you but he doesn’t budge.

“I think…we’ve been drugged.”

Your blood runs cold and a hand flies to cover your mouth. You’d known tonight was too good to be true. Your mind races, making connections out of thin air, trying to place when and where you could have possibly come in close enough proximity to First Order agents to be compromised.

“But what – how – what can we do? What is it? Is it deadly?” You’re cut off by a sound issuing from Poe’s now curved body. You wonder at first if it’s a sob, which makes sense because you’re about ready to cry yourself. But then you realize it’s a chuckle.

“I wouldn’t say deadly. Just exceedingly inconvenient.”

“So you know what it is then?” you prompt, tugging at his shoulder some more to try and see his face. “Tell me!”

“Well for starters I’m pretty sure it was that drink the old woman gave us.”

Fuck.

Of course. What was the one suspicious thing you’d ingested all day? The fact that you hadn’t thought about it sooner makes you want to kick yourself, but you press on instead, anxious to have the matter dealt with.

“What does it do?” You hate the tremor that colors your voice. At that Poe finally turns around and you take him in all at once, trying to assess what he could have been hiding. His tall, wide-legged stance makes it easy to notice after a few seconds. As your gaze moves lower on his body you finally see the massive tent forming below the zipper line of his flight suit.

Without even being able to mentally process what you’re looking at your body responds immediately. A rush of warmth and wetness floods the apex of your thighs and the moan that you’d so far been able to hold in finally makes it way out of your throat. Poe’s eyes, which had recently gone hooded, widen in response to the lewd sound. You clap a hand over your mouth and snap your eyes back up to his face, away from the rigid shape that had made the muscles inside you contract wantonly around nothing.

“It’s made from a plant that’s meant to accelerate sex drive,” Poe says matter-of-factly.

You almost don’t hear him because your eyes have already slid back down his body, feasting on the sight of his impressive bulge. You’d heard stories of Poe’s sexual prowess, many from the man’s own loud mouth. You knew he’d satisfied many members of the Resistance, male and female alike. But you had never truly let yourself consider what he’d be like. What he’d look like. What he’d feel like…

“Why would she possibly give that to us of all people?” You feel like you’re going to cry. The feelings coursing through your body are overwhelming.

“Maybe she went around spiking many people at the party. Maybe she just thought you and I would look hot together? You can’t blame her for that one.” Poe winks at you and it diffuses some of your angst. You let out a tense laugh and shake your head.

“How do we make it stop?” you force yourself to ask, just as you force yourself yet again to look back up in his eyes. Poe averts his own, a sheepish look overtaking his face. When he doesn’t answer you step forward and grab his arm in alarm, trying not to consider the way his bicep bulges under his sleeve. “Poe?!”

“We have to…take care of it.”

You’re launching yourself away from him before he can finish the sentence. You probably knew the answer before you’d even asked the question, but his words still sent electricity through your spine.

“We can’t. That’s…that’s crazy – you’re crazy, Dameron!”

“Hey, you think I like this? Standing here like an idiot with my dick so hard I can barely see straight?”

The sexual nature of his words, spoken so plainly and without euphemism for the first time, makes a new wave of wetness pool between your legs against your will.

“Don’t….talk about it,” you say through gritted teeth, closing your eyes in an attempt to center yourself.

“What? Don’t talk about my aching cock?” he asks, almost as a challenge. He’s frustrated now, egged on by your attitude.

“Stop it.”

“Are you about to tell me you aren’t wet right now?”

You turn your back on him in a childish and fruitless attempt at blocking out his words. When you don’t reply you hear his footsteps as he approaches from behind.

“If we’re both having the same reaction, and I’m certain we are, then I’d imagine you’re practically dripping right now.”

His words would have made your eyes cross if you didn’t have them shut so tightly. A hand molds around your hip while the other grasps at the side of your neck, both working in tandem to pull your back flush against his front. The impact, though gentle, knocks the wind out of you. Or whatever wind had been in you in the first place. His lips are at your ear then and you melt into his touch.

“If we take care of this together we’ll go back to normal.”

“…back to normal?” you ask, simply repeating and not really aware of your words.

“Exactly.”

“I…I don’t know.” Poe’s hardened length is pressing into your ass now, insistent and firm behind you. The hand on your hip migrates lower to pull you against him. A swivel of his hips causes your own to follow the momentum, gyrating in their own right.

“We can be quick,” Poe coos, his voice vibrating over your earlobe where his lips are making contact with your skin. Another low chuckle sounds. “Or I can take my time if you want. Either way, I can promise you’ll enjoy it.”

There’s your cocky Fly Boy.

You wrench yourself from his grasp and take a few steadying steps away before gaining the wherewithal to turn back and face him once more. He looks supremely disappointed, arms still outstretched in the place where you had just been.

“Does this really have to be a…team effort?” you ask, face screwed up with discomfort. Poe runs a hand through his hair and casts a distracted glance about your surroundings.

“I mean I guess theoretically one could take care of themselves – ”

“Great!” you cut him off and stalk around to the other side of his x-wing. Of course he’d brought you to his ship. You look around for your own but when you can’t find it you plop yourself down on the ground.

“Are you kriffing serious?” comes Poe’s angry voice behind you as he stomps over. “We could bang this out and feel better but you’re just going to – ”

“Oh ‘bang’ this out? Real nice, Dameron.”

“You know what I mean.” You can practically hear his eye roll.

“The other side,” you say simply, lowering the zipper on your flight suit. When you don’t hear the sound of his retreating footsteps, however, you pause. “Stay on the other side of the ship, Dameron.”

He grumbles but does as you say. When you finally hear the sound of him throwing himself to the ground, you lift the tab of your zipper again. However, the loud and sudden ziiiip indicating that he’s yanked open his own garment seems ring out then in the clearing and you’re inundated with mental images of what that must look like. Poe sprawled on the ground with his flight suit open and askew. You imagine the expanse of his chest, the way the muscle would ripple in the shadows of the jungle. You’d seen him without a shirt before, the arms of his flight suit tied at his waist as he reclined beneath his x-wing making repairs. Covered in sweat and grease. The memory and the subsequent lurid thoughts have you dipping your hand down into the small opening you’ve made in your clothes, not fully comfortable enough to expose yourself entirely to the elements. When you reach the place between your thighs you have to swallow the gasp that bursts forth at the realization that Poe had been right. You’re not just wet. You’re dripping.

“Fuck.”

You think you say it quietly but a chuckle from the other side of the ship proves otherwise.

“Need any help over there?”

You ignore him and try to focus in on your own body, closing your eyes. You allow a hand to ghost over your breast as you ease a finger through your folds. You feel the insistent thrumming of your pulse even down below and your breath is shallow in your chest. The images dancing behind your eyelids show you flashes, glimpses of things you try to banish from your mind. The angle of Poe’s jaw. His faint, ever present stubble. The arch of his eyebrow. The curve of his smirk. His ass in those pants.

“Sweets…”

Poe’s voice interrupts a whimper you hadn’t even realized you were releasing.

“Poe.” Your voice is small and it cracks around his name. Your muscles are contracting but nothing you do eases the sensation. It just continues building within you. “It hurts.”

“Just come over here. I don’t even have to touch you. Just let me help you through it.”

You ponder the darkness before you, the way it envelops the other aircrafts in this makeshift parking zone. You hear a shick shick shick behind you and your cunt aches. Completely in response to the siren call of Poe Dameron’s building pleasure. You’re immediately intensely jealous. Jealous of the way that, you assumed, he was having more luck getting himself off than you were, despite the fingers inside you right now. Jealous of the way his voice didn’t crack when he beckoned you over.

But most of all jealous of the fact that he’s the one currently touching his hard cock. Not you.

You will yourself to stand up, pulling your hand out of your flight suit but not bothering to zip it back up. On jelly legs you make your way to the other side of the ship. The far side, facing away from the town square and the distant glow of the party you’ve now forgotten.

As you round the edge of the x-wing you bite your lip at the sight before you. Poe is indeed sprawled out with his suit zipped all the way down. His thick member protrudes from the bottom of the opening, a fist moving up and down rapidly, pulling from root to flushed tip in skilled motions. However the eyes that gaze up at you from under his unruly mop of curly hair are not doused with pleasure and satisfaction as you’d imagined. Instead he looks pained, almost agonized. At the sight of you he sits up a bit and does his best to give you a reassuring smile though it comes out as more of a grimace.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful, rookie.”

“That’s the drink talking,” you dismiss, despite the way your stomach swoops as you move to settle yourself down next to him, careful not to make contact. “And you know I hate you calling me rookie.”

“I’ll call you anything you want, baby, as long as you start touching yourself.”

Your cunt pulses at his words so suddenly that you almost double over. Your breathing, already ragged, speeds up as you feel the overwhelming urge to have something deep inside you. Dropping your hand into the opening in your suit you halt, however, watching Poe warily in your peripheral vision. He catches you looking and reluctantly stills the hand moving on member.

“Would sitting back to back help?” he sighs. You nod, scrambling over so that your back is to his.

This is better. This is much better, you think as you dip your hand back between your legs and into the waiting slick. You drag a finger in tight circles over your clit and do your best to calm the racing thoughts that flit back to images of Poe’s body.

The body that is currently pressed to yours, though not at all in the manner you would prefer.

Poe grunts then, making you lose your rhythm.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve wanted you, you know.”

You cut your answering gasp off at the source, not daring to make a sound lest it interrupt this information that you desperately needed to here. He interprets your silence correctly and continues.

“I’ve thought about you. When I’m in the cockpit on my way to some distant planet. When not even hyper speed can get me there quick enough before thoughts of you creep in.” He almost sounds mad, but you get it. The emotions coursing through your body along with the hormones are driving you wild and you don’t know how to feel.

“What…what are the thoughts about?” you can’t help but ask.

“I’d love to say it’s your smile or your brains or something sweet like that. And I do think about those things too, don’t get me wrong,” he says on a hoarse chuckle. “But it’s mainly your body.”

You slip a third finger inside your cunt as he says this, his words and the feeling mixing to cause you to let out an unchecked moan. You feel Poe’s body shudder against you.

“Shit Sweets you’re killing me.” You feel him tense as his hand begins moving faster. “I think about how you look poured into that flight suit. The way your tits and ass jiggle when you hop into your x-wing – fuck.” Another shudder wracks through his body and you can’t take it anymore. The way you’re touching yourself isn’t the way you usually do it. Not in those rare moments where you’ve got the sleeping quarters to yourself and you’re able to get yourself off in your bunk to images of a chiseled jawline, a clothed bulge, rippling muscles, soft, curly hair…

You abruptly pitch yourself forward to balance yourself on your knees and one hand while the remaining hand redoubles its efforts between your legs. The shift in position ends your physical contact with Poe and he swivels to see.

“What are you – ”

“Don’t turn around,” you gasp out. Your new angle works in your favor as your swollen clit becomes more sensitive, pulled down by gravity so that every swipe of your finger becomes more potent. “But for the love of gods, don’t stop talking.”

Poe is taken aback by your sudden forwardness, but he doesn’t let it faze him for long. Instead you hear his renewed efforts at jerking off as the sound of skin swiping across skin, made smoother by spit and precum, gets louder behind you.

“What do you want me to talk about? How much I wish it was your tight little pussy I was fucking instead of my fist?”

The whimper you release at that statement is unlike any sound you’ve ever made and it only spurs Poe on.

“And I just know you’re tight. I know it. And wet too, just like I guessed you were. I can hear it, baby,” he practically growls and you become intensely away of the slick, creamy sounds coming from the rapid in and out, in and out rhythm of your fingers delving into your cunt. “You’re dripping, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” You close your eyes and hear his words and wish the fingers inside you were harder, thicker, him.

“You wish it was my cock inside you, I know you do. You don’t want to admit it but you wish I was pounding into you, making you feel good. Making the ache go away.”

Your answering whine confirms his beliefs and he lets out a triumphant grunt.

“Fuck, baby. I want it, too. Bury myself deep inside of you and fuck you till that drink wears off and you’re still screaming for me, that’s how good it would be.”

“Oh gods.”

“Tell me who you’re wet for.”

“Y-you.” It comes out small. You’re shocked that you even say it, especially with how much you’ve been fighting all of this. You want it. You want it in your bones and in your blood and in your tight, spasming cunt. But you also want Poe’s friendship. Want him to tousle your hair on the way to the hanger. Want him to keep sending you funny messages over your data pad, constantly trying to outdo your own silly riddles and jokes. Want to tease him and eat dinner with him in the mess hall and slap him when he says something stupid and yell at him when he does something dangerous and cry when he doesn’t come back on time from a mission…

A sob finds its way out of your body, sandwiched between two moans. You’re not sure Poe even heard it until his voice reaches your ears again, this time gentler.

“Sweets? Is this working for you?”

You take a shuddering breath before answering.

“No.”

You practically hear Poe slump in defeat, the rhythm of his hand on his length slowing down. You bite your lip before continuing.

“Take me, Poe.”

“What?” Poe whirls around so fast you feel the air woosh over you as he disturbs it. You jump to your feet, still facing away from him and yank your flight suit over your shoulders and down your body, stepping out so it pools on the ground. He watches as you get back down on your hands and knees before him in your underwear, ass in the air, waiting for him to catch up.

“I need you, Poe. Just…just please get inside me,” you say, reaching back to pull the damp fabric of your panties aside, exposing your glistening, swollen folds for him to see.

You don’t have to ask him a third time. He’s on you so fast that you’re confused by his motions. It takes a few seconds before you realize that he’s taken your discarded flight suit and stretched it out on the ground, positioning you over it so that your hands and knees are protected from the dirt. The sweetness of this considerate action is offset by the way his fingers dig harshly into your hips, maneuvering your ass so that it lines up with his pelvis. You tilt forward, aided by pressure on your lower back which raises your click cunt to the level of his cock.

“I’m going to make you feel so good – ”

“No more words, Dameron. Just shut up and get your cock inside – FUCK.” He spears you mid-sentence and you immediately fall down onto your elbows. Your ass still in the air, held in place by his hard grip, receives a smack and you cry out, feeling no pain. Only pleasure as the sting ripples through you and into your clenching cunt. He feels it deep inside you and groans.

“Maybe you’re the one who needs to shut up, baby.” His words issue forth from gritted teeth. “Always fucking teasing me with that fucking mouth.” His hips rut into yours, taking up an unforgiving pace, while the rest of his body folds over yours so his chest pressed flush to your back. One hand closes tightly around your chin, wrenching up your head and dragging a finger over your bottom lip which has grown plump from biting. “This beautiful, bossy fucking mouth. Always telling me off, telling me what to do.”

Your tongue darts out to meet his skin and his other fingers caress your chin in response. It’s a stark contrast to the almost feral way he is still clutching your hip and driving into you over and over.

There’s almost no resistance. You’re tight, cunt clutching onto his throbbing cock in an effort to keep him buried inside, but you’re wetter than you’ve ever been and it’s making his thrusts effortless. You assume it’s a side effect of the drink. But in some part of your brain you can’t believe that a plant could possibly make a man’s cock feel as good as Poe’s does right now inside you. How a plant could cause you to feel pleasure that is not simply rooted in the way his hand drags down from your jaw to wrench your breasts out of the cups of your bra. How a plant could in any way magnify the surely already intoxicating feeling of Poe’s mouth working at the side of your neck, the curve of your shoulder.

“This working, baby? This doing it?” Poe checks in then, not relenting in his thrusts. Never relenting. “You’re squeezing me, so I know your little pussy likes it.”

A shuddering gasp kicks through you before you can answer his question and he laughs. The vibrations go straight from his cock to your clit and you whimper some more.

“Your sounds. I want to record these little sounds you’re making and play them back when I’m flying. Have you fill the space in my x-wing till I can’t take it any more.” Poe presses a kiss to the back of your shoulder, nipping and then laving the skin over with his tongue. “I’m going to hear these sounds in my dreams.”

“It’s…just…the drink,” you practically hiccup, barely able to form thoughts from the way your body has focused all energy, all recognitions of nerve endings to the space between your thighs. Poe slaps your ass again and you keen.

“Just listen to yourself, baby. No drink is making you sound this hot. That’s all you, Sweets.”

Before you can argue further you do take a second to listen. To the way your shallow breaths mix with whimpers and whines. The gurgle in the back of your throat when his cock bounces against your cervix. He’s right. It is hot. You are hot. You reach a hand down to your clit, desperate to increase the already mind-blowing stimulation, greedy for more.

“You feel so good. You’re sosososogood,” you barely manage to slur. Despite your inability to fully speak you make the attempt because you assume that if hearing your gasps is egging him on, your words will amplify it. And amplify it they do. Poe’s hips stutter for a second before he drops down heavier on you, thrusting deeper and from a more primal place. A hand savagely kneads at one of your breasts, playing with the nipple.

“I’ve never been this full. I can’t take it, I can’t…”

“Seems like you’re taking it pretty well, baby,” Poe coos, pressing more kisses to the side of your neck.

“I need m-more,” you gasp, realizing with urgency that the pressure in your core is finally building past the plateau of the last…hour? Half an hour? How long had this been going on? All night? It doesn’t matter because Poe’s inside you and he’s listening to you and suddenly you’re being slammed into with all the force he can muster. He expertly wrings pleasure from your body and you feel yourself careening toward a release that you can’t describe. Just out of reach and full of all the potential energy inherent in an object rocketing toward the moon only to soon plummet back to the depths.

“Poe! I…I…oh fuck…oh gods…I…”

“Go on, baby. Cum.”

“You ha- ahhhh. But you…y-you…” You’re babbling. You’re incoherent, not wanting to leave him behind in the blinding ache that comes before release. Your hands are fisting in the flight suit below you, desperate for something solid, something substantial to hold onto.

“Don’t wait for me, Sweets. Let go.”

And then his hands are closing over yours, fingers interlacing and squeezing down, pinning you to the ground with white knuckles that would hurt if you weren’t squeezing him right back, finally grounded in the way you needed.

And you’re cumming.

And cumming.

You feel every muscle in your body seize and spasm and bliss roils out through you in waves. You shake and stutter under him, feeling fresh wetness gush down around his cock as he fucks you through the feeling. You keep waiting for it to stop but it doesn’t, it only intensifies. It must be a side effect. Of the drink not the man. But when you feel yourself transcending the moment, the way your soul feels like it is literally floating above you, you use the out of body experience to take in the man who is causing this pleasure. The way he cages you in, bracing you through the storm of your orgasm, giving more and more to keep the flame burning as long as possible.

His muscles ultimately seize sometime around when your soul seems to sink back into your body and you’re one again enough with your senses that you can feel him paint your walls with sticky, hot cum. He doesn’t drop his weight on you like other men have after the completion of such exertions. Other men who had focused more on the destination than the journey, leaving you as wanting for release as you were wanting for air under the pressure of their body weight. Instead, Poe pulls you of you and flops to his back in the grass beside you. Without him holding you up you crumble down, face pressing into the fabric of your rumpled flight suit instead of the dirt, thanks to Poe.

A few minutes pass, silent except for the sound of your slowing gasps for air. When your breathing evens Poe sits up on his haunches to guide you back into your flight suit. You’re sticky from sweat and your combined cum, but you couldn’t care less with your bones liquified and your eyelids heavy. Gone is the buzzing ache, in its place a heavy sleepiness. When Poe lays you, now clothed, gingerly back down on the ground you automatically curl into him, allowing him to wrap his arms around your body.

Neither of you shares another word. You don’t have to.

Because shortly after you doze off. And for the first time in a long time your final thoughts before sleep overtakes you are not of the dread the morning will bring, but the solace you found in the night.

~*~

When you wake it’s to a dawn as grey as all the ones before it. Hazy with receding fog and with the promise of all the danger that looms ahead in the hours soon to follow. One of the planet’s suns has already breached the horizon, and you raise a hand to cover your eyes as you peer out from under the x-wing’s protective wing. Looking down you take stock.

Your flight suit is on but fully unzipped, leaving your chest and stomach entirely exposed, all the way down to your lower belly. A large hand covers one of your breasts, fingers twitching against your flesh as the man attached to it continues to dream. You follow the length of his arm to take in his body, tucked close into your own, equally unzipped, his broad torso showing through the gaping fabric. You watch Poe’s abdominal muscles contract with his inhales and exhales for a moment while you check in with your body.

The humming from last night is gone, that much is for certain. This makes you believe that the effects of the drink have worn off. You’re quick to question this hypothesis, however, when Poe stirs in his sleep and his hand squeezes down a bit on your breast. Your breath catches in your throat and fire shoots through your veins. A lingering symptom, you wonder. Or perhaps just a normal, biological reaction to sexual stimuli. You kick yourself mentally because of course it has to be the latter. It couldn’t be the third option which you won’t even allow yourself to fully consider.

You require a shower urgently, it occurs to you suddenly. And food, a realization that coincides with a rumbling in your empty stomach. Knowing you’ll never have a good enough excuse to extricate yourself from this gorgeous man’s arms you steel your nerves and pull away. When you stand, Poe groans and allows an eye to crack open, his hand flying up to shield his eyes from the rising sun. You’re silhouetted against the dawn and he takes in your outline. The curves of you.

“Morning, Sweets,” he says, voice hoarse with sleep this time instead of sex.

“Morning, Fly Boy,” you reply simply with a small smile. You feel a buzzing in the pocket of your suit then and pull out your mini com unit, even more portable than your usual data pad. The message that blares across the screen and you relay it before Poe can reach his own device which had similarly vibrated.

“We’ve got a new mission. Briefing is in an hour and then we take off.” The information feels stilted as it leaves your lips. How can you feel so entirely, earth-shatteringly changed and yet in many ways everything is still the same. The sun still came up. The war still rages on.

You look down at Poe and his intense expression as he watches you makes you think that he’s wondering the same thing.

Your heart thumps in your chest, this time unaided by any drugged drink or the eyes or hands of a man whose existence seemed both your making and undoing. Routine is the only thing that can calm these nerves. Routine is what is required to survive war. Routine and protocol and boundaries.

You zip up your flight suit with finality.

“See you at the briefing?” you ask, though its more statement than question.

“Of course.” Poe’s response is quiet as he continues to watch you from his reclining position. You’re still above him and at a distance, a position he often associates with you.

You smile and give him a good natured salute before turning and making you way back toward the town where you know the rest of the Resistance members are already bustling about and preparing for the day.

Another day you hope you, and Poe, will be lucky enough to outlive.

~*~

Doing a smaller taglist since it’s a Poe fic and I’m not sure if everyone on my usual taglist is into it (Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed for future work!): @paper-n-ashes @mariesackler @tlcwrites @foxilayde @mylifeisactuallyamess @sacklerscumrag @jynzandtonic @millenialcatlady @barbers-glimmerin-darlin @hopeamarsu @direnightshade @leather-flannel-liquor @fizzywoohoo @aliveandlonely @wayward-rose @safarigirlsp @emeraldsiren20 @finn-ray-nal-beads @maryforyou @maybe-your-left

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winwinnns · 4 years ago

Text

an act f a (kinda)

this was supposed to be enemies to lovers but i got carried away with yn in denial lol

a loud laugh ripped through the quiet mumble of the library. startled, you turned to see where the sound came from. you narrowed your eyes. na jaemin and his friends were sitting at a table behind you. you hated him with a burning passion. he was so loud all the time. one time you were paired with him for a project, and he didn’t do any of the work. he bothered you while you worked, and he still got credit.

you lock eyes. you stare him down, not wanting to be the one to break away. he says something to his friends and stands, maintaining eye contact. he walks to your table. you twist back around as he stops right next to you.

“what?”

he laughs at your harsh tone.

“no need to be rude princess,”

god you hated it when he called you that. you loved the pet name, but didn’t exactly like when it fell from his lips.

“you were the one looking at me after all”

he leans in closer to you.

“see anything you liked?”

you wanted to fight the part of you that melted at his voice. you’d never admit it, but you liked when he teased you. it made you squirmy, and he seemed to notice. you shifted in your seat.

“yeah right. i just looked in the direction of the noise.”

he leans in even closer. you wanted to pull away, you really did, you swore it. but you stayed in place, noses almost touching.

“mhm. right.”

you push him away.

“fuck off jaemin”

he laughs and distances from you.

“when are you gonna stop playing hard to get?”

playing hard to get? what was he talking about. you hated him. well, kind of. you didn’t hate how he laughed, you didn’t hate his voice at all, you kind of liked his face. no. you hate him, you decided.

he smirked at you before walking back to his table. it stirred something deep down inside you, and you hated that.

the next time you saw him, you were the class you had with him. he didn’t usually show up, but today he did. he sat right next to you. he smelled good, that pissed you off. you professor droned on. you were zoning out, focusing on the doodle you were drawing on your notebook.

“y/n” jaemin whispered

you ignored him.

“y/n”

he poked your arm. you rolled your eyes and looked at him.

“yes?”

he smiles mischievously.

“hi”

you punched him in the arm. not too hard, but not soft either.

“ow!”

“shut up and pay attention.”

“you’re one to talk.” he smirked.

“at least i know what’s going on.”

he sighs and rubs his arm.

“well that’s cause you’re smart, not because you’re paying attention.”

you dropped your pencil and tried to assess what just happened. he complimented you. your face flushed and you hid it, making sure he wouldn’t see you. you hated this. why did a compliment, that wasn’t even heartfelt, make you an embarrassed mess? you knew why. the answer lived in the back of your mind. you shook your head.

“thanks i guess.”

he smiled again, but turned forward towards the professor.

after that, you saw him another time. you were at a small party with your new friend, sowon. she was nice to have invited you, despite not knowing you very well. you were having a good time talking with new people.

suddenly, loud laughter entered the room. it sounded awfully familiar. you looked up and your stomach dropped. it was jaemin.

suddenly you regretted coming. sowon said she was inviting a few people. what you didn’t know was friends jaemin and his group.

“you’re friends with them?” you ask her.

you didn’t know much about her. but you didn’t think she’d be friends with the rowdiest group of guys on campus.

“yeah, me and haechan go way back!”

she smiles at you. you smiled back, but inside you were pissed. you didn’t want to see him. not in class, not out of class.

that wasn’t true, you were actually kind of excited to see him, but you’d never confront those feelings, you pushed them down like everything else you felt regarding jaemin.

you looked for him, just to make sure you weren’t near him, you convinced yourself.

you found his eyes and he smirked, then winked at you. you cursed the butterflies in your stomach. you tear your eyes away and go to the bathroom. you face felt hot.

you splashed your face with cold water. you looked at yourself in the mirror. you hate him. you’ve needed to remind yourself more often recently. his words stick in your mind for the whole day. his teasing tone bouncing around your brain.

when you opened he door to leave. he was leaning on the wall in across from it. his brought his eyes up from the floor to look at you.

“what are you doing” you ask him.

he smiles.

“waiting for you.”

you contorted your face.

“ew. why?”

he pouted.

“because i wanna talk to you princess.”

you melted just a little bit before regaining your composure. you wanted him to leave. you didn’t want to talk to him.

“what makes you think i want to talk to you?”

he smirks.

“because when i winked at you you got all embarrassed.”

he got up from the wall and stood close to you. you titled your head up to look at him. your body was screaming at him to touch it. you chose to ignore that.

“i know you like me y/n, stop fighting it”

your eyes widened. what? you don’t like him. you hate him. right? no. you hate him you were sure.

“yeah okay jaemin.”

you push him away walk out of the hallway. he follows you to the living room. you stop in your tracks. sowon was friends with everyone you hated apparently, because your ex was standing right next to her.

jaemin leans his head over your shoulder.

“why’d you stop?”

they were flirting. you scoffed. that’s how you found him at every party you went to while you were dating. he was always with another girl. you hated jaemin but man, he really takes the hate cake. (ALPH INTERRUPTION: HATE CAKE WHAT? IM KEEPING IT FUCK IT) suddenly, an idea formed in your head. you’d have to ask jaemin to do something.... interesting.

“jaemin.”

“yes princess.”

“pretend to be my boyfriend.”

you could feel his smirk. before he could say anything snarky you turned to face him.

“don’t get your hopes up. i need to get back at someone.”

he sighed and leaned into your neck, breath fanning over the skin. the closeness of his lips to your body lit your skin on fire.

“don’t worry princess, we’ll show them.”

“who are we avoiding?”

“the guy next to sowon. don’t stare too long.”

he chuckled.

“i know that.”

he pulled away from your neck to look at him. he cupped your cheek with his hand. you panicked, widening your eyes. he giggled.

“relax princess. i’m just playing my role.”

he kisses the corner of your mouth.

“it has to be convincing right?”

you were stunned. you couldn’t move at all. na jaemin just fucking kissed you. on your face. and you liked it???!!! you felt like you were losing your mind.

he brought you back into the hallway. he pushed your hips into the wall. your heart sped up.

“do you just want to leave? we can go somewhere.”

you thought about all the times you’ve pushed down your feelings for jaemin. all the times he made your stomach flutter. how his voice made you melt. how attracted you actually were to him. why did you start hating him anyways?

“yeah. let’s go.”

did you ever actually hate him? or was it just a front. you didn’t know. you couldn’t make any other decisions right now with his hands on your hips.

he pulled away from you and took your hand. you look down at your interlocked fingers.

“what? we’re gonna walk right past him.”

you look up at jaemin, a contagious smile on his face. you couldn’t help but crack a small smile. you led him to the door, trying not to look at your ex on the way out.

you don’t know if he saw you, you don’t really care. jaemin was holding your hand. you hated how safe it made you feel.

na jaemin, your self sworn enemy, was walking you to his car. you would’ve never seen yourself in this situation.

“where do you wanna go baby?”

the butterflies in your stomach went ballistic. you tried to keep your breaths even.

“baby? jaemin you don’t have to pretend anymore.”

he smiled. eyes glued to the road.

“let me enjoy it. i’ve gotten to see so many things today.”

“like what?”

“like how much you really like me.”

fuck he noticed. how? you were just coming to terms with it in your mind how did he pick up on it. you hid your face in your hands.

“i don’t like you. i actually hate your guts.”

“mhm... right.”

he put his hand on your thigh, rubbing softly.

“is this okay?”

you tensed up. his hand felt so warm. you liked it. you liked him. you gulped.

“mhm”

his hand was on the middle of your thigh. you thought about it going higher and higher until- no. you cut yourself off. no definitely not.

he glanced at you, furrowing his eyebrows.

“you’re tense.”

he started to pull his hand away but you grabbed his wrist and but it back on your thigh. jaemin giggled.

“okay princess.”

you pulled through the drive through of the fast food restaurant, jaemins hand glued to your thigh. when you got your food, he looked for a place to park.

you were halfway done with you sandwich before he speaks.

“why do you pretend to hate me princess?”

you nearly choke on your food.

“what?”

he takes a sip of his drink.

“you know, how you pretend i don’t effect you and how you ‘don’t like me’. why?”

“hm. i don’t really know. i don’t even know how it started.”

he smirks.

“so you don’t hate me”

you rolled your eyes, a sudden feeling of boldness washing over you.

“no. i actually have a crush on you.”

your entire body flushed as soon as the words came out of your mouth. you couldn’t believe yourself. you for sure thought you hated him, how could you have a crush on him.

“i know baby.”

your head spun. he knows?? baby?? you took a big bite of your food to distract yourself.

he chuckles. he brings his thumb up to the corner of your mouth. your eyes widened.

“so messy.” he teases.

you thought about other times he’d call you messy, all of them being far too inappropriate to you.

“shut up jaemin.”

he chuckles.

“don’t tell me what to do princess.” his voice was light, but his eyes weren’t. he looked at you challengingly. he wanted you to take the bait. to play with him.

“don’t call me princess then.”

you didn’t actually want him to stop. you’ve grown to like how it sounds coming from his mouth.

“what if i do?”

“then i’ll-“

you didn’t know what to say next, mind blanking

“you’ll what? kiss me?”

“yeah. i fucking will.”

you saw the mischievous glimmer in his eyes. he liked this. he liked fake fighting with you. it excited him.

“do it then.”

you flushed and looked away. you couldn’t kiss him. no way you’d kiss na jaemin.

“aw is princess scared?” he taunted.

that was it. you leaned over the arm of the seat and kissed him. it only lasted a couple seconds. when you pulled away he just stared at you.

“what?”

he grabs your jaw and pulls you in for a harder kiss. this one full of passion. you liked him. you accepted it. you were tired of pretending you didn’t. what was the point of that anyways? you weren’t fooling anybody.

you sighed and pulled away.

“what’s wrong princess?”

you rolled your eyes and sat back down in your seat.

“don’t kiss me like that i’ll get addicted.”

he laughed loudly. you didn’t hate it this time. he shifted in his seat so his torso was facing you.

“wanna come over?”

he wiggles his eyebrows. you laughed. he looked cute.

“hmmm what’s in it for me.”

“more kisses? plus you can wear my clothes.”

you sighed. “i guess i’ll come over.”

you looked at each other before busting out in laughter.

“of course i’ll come over jaemin.”

“hey.” he pouted.

“call me something else.”

“like what.” you teased.

“i don’t know, baby, honey, you could always call me daddy.”

you bursted in another fit of laughter.

“you? daddy?”

you catch your breath. looking at him again. he was pouting again.

“yeah” he frowned dramatically.

“okay sure ‘daddy’”

he slapped your thigh. you yelped.

“don’t make fun of me princess.”

you drove for 15 minutes before arriving at his house. you took off your shoes and we went to his bedroom to get clothes for you.

“bathrooms there, hurry up.”

you rolled your eyes playfully. when you came out you smelled like him. you loved it. you all but skipped to his couch, sitting next to him. he pulls you into his lap. you shared a sweet kiss that made you feel so warm inside.

“jaemin. what are we?”

he thought for a moment.

“anything you want us to be princess.”

you smiled at him before laying your head down on his shoulder.

you never hated na jaemin, you decided.

it was all an act.

#na jaemin #nct dream #nct jaemin #nct dream smut #nct dream fluff

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comfortwriting · 4 years ago

Text

Maniac - G.W

George Weasley x Reader one shot/imagine inspired by the song ‘Maniac’ by Michael Sembello

About: George admires his crush (the reader) flourish as she discovers who she is and what she wants as she recovers from the toxic, abusive relationship she’s broken free from, her life takes a very interesting turn.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of physical and emotional abuse, partying.

This time last year you thought you found the love of life, despite all the warnings you collected from other girls in the above years - you ignored them and followed your heart. At first, he was kind, romantic, very chivalrous, especially in front of said friends and family; but behind closed doors he became a monster.

George Weasley, your close friend fell for you the very moment he laid eyes on you. He too warned you about the guy you were seeing, but you didn’t want to believe it “he isn’t like that” you defended him.

Within months your relationship turned sour, you weren’t the same girl anymore, your lover - this monster - had complete control over you. He picked what you could and couldn’t wear, eat and study, he chose who you could and couldn’t be friends with and if you were to go against him you would turn up to class the next morning covered in bruises. The abuse got so bad you had to wear layers under your robes, you were never around for meal times and for lack of a better word,

George felt like he was losing you.

He tried confronting your partner but there was little to no proof that he was the one responsible - after all, the monster pulled the wool over your eyes with his lies, he could do the same with everyone else and use magic if he felt at risk of exposure.

You were failing all of your classes, losing friends, your hair dropping out, your weight plummeting but worst of all, George didn’t look at you the same anymore; his eyes usually flickered on like Christmas lights - but when he looked at you during the worst time of your life, his eyes didn’t light up, they screamed at you, begging to break free.

Exactly one year later you gathered all the courage you had stored inside of you and it burst out like a balloon filled with too much air, you weren’t afraid of him anymore, you weren’t afraid of anyone, you wouldn’t be controlled anymore not by him or anyone, you would be living YOUR life the way YOU want; no matter what other people have to say or think.

Returning to Hogwarts without the presence of the monster, everyone's jaws dropped but not as big as the boy who always longed for you; George.

The lights that went out of those beautiful eyes of his lit up for the first time in so long but now they were as bright as the moon on a dark and cold winters night, illuminating the sky.

Cat-walking through the great hall to join the first great feast everyone turned their heads following you.

Your hair now long, thick and silky reached your lower back swaying with every move. You weren’t withering away anymore, your cheeks now filled with colour and there wasn’t a bruise in sight on your body. You smirked at the lads gaping at your skirt length but you took the compliment - you finally realised your worth and you wanted to flaunt it. You were the dove in a room full of crows.

Just a steel town girl on a Saturday night Lookin' for the fight of her life In the real-time world no one sees her at all They all say she's crazy

“Where's y/n?” George asked a few familiar faces sat at the Gryffindor table.

“Don’t know” his friend Lee Jordan replied, smirking “she went out last night to Hogsmeade all dressed up, she’s probably still partying!”

“She’s mental that one” Ron chipped in, earning a glare from George.

Speaking of the devil you strolled up to the table sitting down next to George, he could smell the booze on your breath but didn’t say anything.

“What's up guys?” you smiled brightly fighting sleep, drinking Harry’s pumpkin juice.

Fred gave George an amusing look “Where have you been all night?” he asked.

You had got yourself dolled up for a house party in Hogsmeade someone was throwing, you didn’t know who but you wanted to go wild and have fun after being unable to mutter a word to your friends or even step foot in that area for a year, you wanted to take the bull by its horns.

George watched you, star struck by your presence. Your long hair tied up in a high but messy pony tail, your tight fitting velvet emerald dress (more than enough to impress the most uptight Slytherins) outlining the best your body before it’s length ended at your mid thigh. You put on crimson red lipstick and blushed, spotting George taking you in through his reflection the mirror.

Arriving to the small house in Hogsmeade you shared drinks with the strangers, dancing and having a laugh playing the most ridiculous drinking games they learnt from Muggles at a pub in London. You crashed out on the sofa and awoke just before breakfast, you took off your high heels and ran as fast as you could to freshen yourself up before class.

“I went out” you breathed out, wiping the pumpkin juice from your lips with your sleeve “thanks Harry!” you smiled at him, putting the glass down and running off to your first class.

George sat there speechless, amazed at your transformation and happiness.

Locking rhythms to the beat of her heart Changing movement into light She has danced into the danger zone When the dancer becomes the dance

You took your new found freedom with you everywhere, you felt on top of the world and capable of anything. You were over achieving in all the classes you previously failed, causing Snape for the first time in his teaching career to award Gryffindor House points.

When you weren’t in class or studying in the library being followed by a swarm of fan boys and girls, you were always in Hogsmeade; attending house parties or going to the pub with a group of eager college boys.

George felt jealous of the attention you were giving these boys but he didn’t utter a word, no matter who you were with or what you were doing, as long as you were happy and safe that’s all that mattered to him.

You were upbeat and incredibly impulsive, professors often joking that if they poked you hard enough you would burst out into confetti stars.

Fred and George took advantage of your new found energy when it came to pulling pranks and inventing items for their business, you had managed to upstage them and somehow even outdo them on a handful of pranks, George felt amazed that after all this time someone was so close to stealing his and Fred’s thunder.

However, with all of this madness and adrenalin chasing you, strapped under your belt you started being followed by consequences. You were spinning out of control but you were happy, you were starting to get incredibly intoxicated on your freedom.

It can cut you like a knife, if the gift becomes the fire On a wire between will and what will be

Minding your business on the Quidditch pitch watching George practice, sporting your blackeye from the night before you heard a familiar screech yell out from below. “There's that bitch who snogged your lad last night!”

You went to yet another house party, stupid on your part as it was a Sunday and you were itching towards your exams. You noticed that these so called ‘fan girls’ you gained had turned nasty, since your flourishing they weren’t able to get dates.

You accidentally had everyone, both men and women wanting a piece of you; but a group of girls from Slytherin and Ravenclaw surprisingly fused together, vowing to bring you down.

You drank way too much with a college guy who had ginger hair, you thought it was George and you made a move on him - you believed he was single because that's what he told you; he lied.

His girlfriend, a Ravenclaw paid a girl in Slytherin to follow you, to see how you were able to gain such a following, she became furious when she realised no magic spell or potion had been used - people liked you for you.

Catching you kissing him gave her just what she needed to cause your fall from grace, storming into the pub she pulled you off him and punched you, you were too drunk and embarrassed to stand your ground then but now you were waiting.

“Oh fuck off will you!” You yelled down at them, you stood up from the stands and walked down, pushing past them.

The group of girls followed you, the Ravenclaw getting closer grabbed you by your hood, smacking you around the head repeatedly. “Don’t you ever go near him again!”

George could see the commotion and flew beside you and dismounting his broom “what the fuck is going on? Bore off!” he yelled at the girls, pulling you away from them.

“He told me he was single!” you screamed at her “and I thought he was someone else!”

“You dirty liar!” she screamed back, turning to George staring him down “she’s turned into what wrecked her in the first place, stay away from her!”

She's a maniac, maniac on the floor And she's dancing like she's never danced before She's a maniac, maniac on the floor And she's dancing like she's never danced before

“I’m telling the truth George, I promise.” You sighed laying back on his bed, waving your wand in the air.

George stared at you, your face now bruised more than the previous night. “I believe you but...” he sighed trying to find the best way to word what he wanted to say “you need to be careful, I don’t want you to keep getting hurt”

You closed your eyes trying to hide your tear filled eyes, the dorm rooms door swung open and Fred burst in excitedly “Y/N I need your help, wait until you see this!”

Your mood instantly lifting you bolted up and jumped out of bed, following Fred. George stayed still and rubbed his face with his hands, having no choice but to follow the two of you.

On the ice-blue line of insanity is a place most never see It's a hard-won place of mystery touch it, but can't hold it You work all your life for that Moment in time, it could come or pass you by It's a push-shove world, but there's always a chance If the hunger stays the night

“What do you mean I’m not right for the job?” you questioned the interviewer, his eyes focused on the paper in front of him “I want to see what that says!”

The academic part of your life came to a close, finishing with perfect grades you were job hunting - each and every time you were able to make an outstanding first impression and you were even hired on the spot. Within days and weeks before you started your new job you received letters of regret informing you that after second thoughts you weren't suitable for the job.

“It’s confidential information, I cannot do that.” The man replied firmly.

You shook your head at him “Not if it involves me” quickly snatching the paper from his desk, before he could retrieve it you read the recorded information about you that had been documented, breaking your heart.

You burst through the shop door and stormed upstairs to find your boyfriend George, your face red and hot, tears spilling down your tender cheeks.

“What's the matter sweetheart?” he asked upon your arrival, his face dropping at the sight of your distress.

“Those bitches lied!” you cried out “They’ve lied to everyone, they’ve ruined every possible chance I have at succeeding in life!”

George dropped his pen, putting a hold on his tax filing he got up out of his chair and brought you into his arms, he looked confused at your statement.

“I can’t get hired anywhere because those girls from Slytherin and Ravenclaw lied, they managed to get Rita Skeeter to write about me, contacting everywhere in the area I applied to, telling the owners that it would be irresponsible and a irreversible mistake if they were to hire me!” you were hyperventilating beyond control, choking on your tears “they’ve painted a picture of me that doesn’t exist, George! That I’m a threat, a danger to myself and others, making it out like my past defines me for who I am now!”

There's a cold kinetic heat, struggling, stretching for the beat Never stopping with her head against the wind

You stared at your paintings hanging on the wall at your local art show, ones of George on his broom, others of all the creatures Hagrid raised. After failing at being hireable, George encouraged you to find something you were passionate about, to run with it and earn money from it. So you took up painting and added a bit of magic to impress the muggles more than those with talent you believed you couldn’t compete against.

George smiled at you through the window and nodded as a rich muggle lady walked past, stopping in her tracks as she eyed up the painting of the Cornish pixies mid air showing off their mischievous grins.

“How extraordinary” she beamed up at your art, the pixies beady eyes twinkling at her. “How much?” she asked “my son will love this!”

You scratched the back of your head, forgetting that muggles didn’t have the same currency and you weren’t exactly the best with pounds and pennies.

“Uh-” you stuttered, until the lady cut you off, noticing your other paintings.

The one of George made her laugh and Buckbeak took her breath away, shaking her head in disbelief “I’ve never seen such magnificent works of art in my life... forget how much, I’ll buy them all!”

She's a maniac, maniac, I sure know And she's dancing like she's never danced before She's a maniac, maniac, I sure know And she's dancing like she's never danced before

Walking out of the art show you felt your heart skip beats, running towards George you jumped into his arms. “She bought the whole lot!” You squealed.

George spun you around in his arms, cheering for you with all his pride. “You’ve bloody done it, darling!”

The two of you celebrated with the rest of the Weasleys over family dinner at the burrow, Arthur fascinated by the rich muggles and what they spend their money on and Fred begging you to paint him for your next piece.

After finishing the celebrations George took you out for a night stroll under the stars, the two of you swinging your laced hands with every step. He stopped under the moon, it’s bright light beaming down on the two of you as if you were in the spotlight on a large stage.

Getting down on one knee George pulled out a small wooden box branded with Weasleys Wizard Wheezes on the front, you chuckled thinking he was going to pull out a magic ring to trap his and your fingers so you couldn’t part.

Upon opening the box George pulled out an incredibly sparkly and flawless amber ring which matched his beautiful hair, you realised that this wasn’t a new wacky invention or a perfectly plotted prank.

“Y/N, from the moment I first saw you on the Hogwarts Express I fell for you and over the years my love for you has only bloomed all the more... will you marry me?”

It can cut you like a knife, if the gift becomes the fire On a wire between will and what will be

You scowled down at the negative pregnancy test in your hands and threw it into the bin adding to the collection of negative tests you had accumulated over the years since your wedding night.

You fell to the floor and shook your head feeling frustrated and cheated, your husband George walked into the bathroom and frowned at you with sympathy knowing what the outcome was.

“I’m so sorry” you cried.

George sat down next to you and held you hand, kissing it softly. “We’re in this together Y/N, okay?”

You nodded and wiped your tears, letting out a shaky breath “yeah, we are.”

She's a maniac, maniac, I sure know (I sure know) And she's dancing like she's never danced before She's a maniac, maniac, I sure know And she's dancing like she's never danced before

You heard a massive thud above you, followed by a scream next door. Feeling annoyed you snapped your fingers, your paint brush and palette hovering in the air.

“Georgina, get down here right now!” You yelled at the top of your lungs, your husband George laughing behind you “don’t encourage her!” you scolded him.

Your daughter with curly ginger hair and a cheeky grin just like her fathers thundered down the stairs, pulling out an earphone.

“What?” she asked sheepishly, sending a look to her father causing him to laugh.

“All because your brother has moved out it doesn’t mean his room is your magic practice room!” you told her off “this is the third time this week you’ve frightened next door, you’ll get expelled from Hogwarts before you’ve even started!”

Your youngest of four put her hands up in defence “okay, okay, I’m sorry” she smirked, giving her dad a thumbs up before running back upstairs.

You shook your head but laughed, walking over to your husband who stood against the kitchen worktops with a brew in his hand. You hugged him and kissed his cheek. “I can’t believe this is my life” you muttered, pulling away and going back to painting your brother in law, Fred.

Maniac, maniac, I sure know And she's dancing like she's never danced before She's a maniac, maniac, I sure know (I sure know) And she's dancing like she's never danced before

#george weasley #george wealsey x reader #george wealsey imagine #fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #HP #harry potter #hogwarts #Weasley #fred weasley #imagines #one shots #weasley x reader #weasley x you

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poodlejoonas · 4 years ago

Text

[TW] Joonas - One More

For @bcfanweek Day 3: Joonas Porko

Words: 1,353

Description: Joonas never imagined that he’d be the first in the band to become a dad, but he was ready to take the dive.

Notes: Joonas Porko/Reader

Trigger warning: tokophobia. If this topic is upsetting, skip and proceed to the next Joonas short.

Joonas anxiously paced the hospital waiting area. He’d been temporarily kicked out of your room so you could get an hour or so of rest alone before it was time for the baby to arrive. He felt helpless but assured that you were in great hands. He was on call and ready to return at any time.

Neither one of you was prepared for the moment when you learned that you would become parents. It was the beginning of April, and with your calculations you figured that it must have happened Valentine’s Day weekend. You remembered it fondly: a weekend trip up to a cabin in rural Lapland with enough food and wine to eat like kings. Joonas and the cabin owners surprised you with candles and rose petals around the bed and bathtub. It was his idea, seeing that you hadn’t been on vacation together in a while, and he wanted it to be perfect.

Joonas still thought of himself as too immature to be responsible for himself, let alone another human being. There was total silence in your home for a full hour until he returned to your bedroom and shared his thoughts. He was terrified, but he was ready to take the plunge. If there was any right person to start his family with, it had to be you.

It took him a month to open up to others around the two of you. Of course, both of you told your parents first, as soon as it was safe enough to do so. Within the next month, he’d gone to perform at Eurovision and called as often as he could to know that you were comfortable at home. He eventually told the rest of his band when Olli walked in on him asking you how you were feeling. They were shocked at first, for obvious reasons, but supportive of their bandmate’s next big step in life.

He was most terrified of the reaction of the fans and media. He was afraid of the scandal - on the verge of achieving international success and getting ready to have a baby with his girlfriend. They knew that he’d gotten into a relationship but no one expected it to be more than just another temporary fling. There were the inevitable upset people, mostly the ones who thought that he would be leaving the band, but the response was overwhelmingly positive. From then on, with your permission, he was more than happy to field any question about his feelings on the matter. He was often asked if he was going to start sanitizing his image, but he offered a constant and resounding no. He joked that he was determined to have the coolest kid in Finland.

Now the big day has finally come, in the middle of November. He laughed once he realized that the band’s first baby would be yet another Scorpio to add onto the two who were already here. He cracked a joke on how he’d be able to manage another one and earned a well-deserved shoulder punch from Aleksi.

Speaking of the rest of the band, they hadn’t come to the hospital yet but were on call to arrive whenever they could. Tommi and Aleksi were on their way to Helsinki together and Olli was hanging out at Niko’s place. The only one who was already there, on request for emotional support, was Joel.

The pair were having a smoke break in the hospital’s designated spot. Well, Joel was having a smoke and Joonas was resisting the urge. He committed to staying totally sober around this time, but it was a difficult task. Recently, he’d debated on quitting smoking altogether, but the alcohol was staying for the time being.

Joel took a deep breath and blew it away from his direction. “Heard anything yet?”

Joonas disappointingly shook his head no. “Nothing. The nurse said they plan to start at 6 PM and now it’s… 5:43. Dammit.”

Joel chuckled. “Look at you, being impatient.” It was a joke, but Joonas wasn’t laughing. He was too focused on his phone screen with nothing but the time on it. He had totally zoned out. “Hey, Porko. What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing really.” Joonas answered but he wasn’t entirely secure in his response.

The two of them had been friends long enough for Joel to know when his friend was lying. Something was weighing heavily on the guitarist’s mind. “Tell me what you’re thinking, Joonas. Please. Are you worried about them right now? Or just nervous?”

“Yes,” Joonas responded, laughing to try to ease the awkwardness. “Can I be totally honest with you?”

Joel put out the cigarette under his foot. “Go for it.”

Joonas leaned back and sighed. “I’m so anxious about this whole thing. I can barely take care of myself and now I’m gonna have someone else to raise. And now it’s too late for me to even decide if I’m ready because if I’m not, then tough shit.”

Joel nodded as he listened. “That’s fair. But is anyone ever ready for this kind of thing? You know kids can be unpredictable little shits.”

The comment made Joonas laugh. “Guess you’re not getting babysitting duty.”

“But you know what I mean, right? If people only had kids when they were ready, then there wouldn’t even be any. You’re not alone in this.”

“That’s fair. I just want to be a good father for her.”

“And you will, trust me. You do a great job keeping us on schedule, so I think you’ll be fine.”

Joonas felt touched by his friend’s words of encouragement. He was going to be a young father, and his anxieties lied in wondering whether his daughter would have a good life with him. Although the fear still lingered, he believed that if he tried his best, it would work itself out.

He then received the call that it was time to go back into your hospital room. Joel gave him a pat on the back and offered to give the other members a call to let them know. He rejoined you, masked up and fully dressed, ready to offer emotional support. He sat down beside you and whispered, “you’re gonna be okay, baby.”

Your daughter Sohvi Laina Porko arrived within the next hour, and all either of you could do is breathe a sigh of relief. She was healthy and safe in your arms. Joonas looked on with awe, too afraid to touch the tiny being in case he accidentally hurt her. You laughed ever so slightly. “It’s okay, Joonie, you can hold her if you want.”

Sohvi began to cry as she left your arms but Joonas held her tighter. “Shh, it’s okay, kulta. I got you.” He hoped that she would be as beautiful and kind as you are, but he could already see a bit of himself in her face. “Can the guys see her next?”

You sleepily nodded your head. Sleep in a hospital was hardly restful, but it was worth making an effort. Joonas offered a small kiss on his way out to the waiting room. He held her tight, afraid that something would happen if he let her go.

He strolled into the waiting room where the rest of the band was sitting. “She’s here,” he announced proudly. “Say hello to Sohvi.”

The waiting room was filled with a chorus of cheers as each member took turns getting a glance at the baby. She’d fallen asleep and was none the wiser to the commotion of her new uncles around her.

“She’s amazing, Joonas,” Olli commented quietly. Niko captured a photo of the split second when Joonas was observing her with admiration. He showed it to Joonas, who agreed that it was perfect for the band’s Instagram account, but that it needed to wait until both of your parents could see her first. More photos were taken, with masks to protect her from COVID.

Now, Joonas wondered what he even had to be afraid of. Sohvi may have been a surprise, but she was by no means unloved. Far, far from it.

Endnotes:

Pssst, if you’ve made it this far, I’m always open and willing to accept headcanons for this idea because this was my favorite to write. Fire away :)

And if you’d like, feel free to check out the prequel on AO3: [x].

#bcfanweek #blind channel #joonas porko #blurbs #tokophobia #me: i don't want kids any time soon (or at all)#also me: i need to give joonas a family. he deserves it.

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stellar-imagines · 4 years ago

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SCENARIO REQUEST: ❝boyfriend supporter.❞

[ Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia ] [ Characters: Todoroki Shouto ]

「Scenario of Todoroki with an S/O who goes to another school and studying to become a doctor. She comes to visit UA during the Sports Festival to cheer for him.」

TODOROKI SHOUTO

"You got the tickets to UA's Sports Festival!?" your friend exclaimed. You motioned her to keep her voice down and sipped your miso soup before gently placing it back down onto your tray.

"Aren't those like really hard to get, [First Name]-chan?" one of your other friends asked.

You find yourself laughing lightly at that. Like your friend mentioned, its something that's very difficult to obtain. Before there were quirks, sports fans would obsess over the Olympic Games. When Quirks became apart of the world, the UA Sports Festival became the most-watched sporting event and surpassed the Olympic Games. You had managed to miraculously score a ticket to the UA Sports Festival. This was a popular event where billions of people would stop whatever they're doing to watch or even watch while doing their work. Well, it's one of the biggest events in Japan so its no surprise.

It was really hard to obtain and at this very moment, you were really glad that you decided to buy it the moment it was being sold online. What's more, you promised Todoroki that you'd be there to watch him. You have been dating him for a year or so, being classmates in middle school. It was really surprising to know that aloof and quiet Todoroki actually liked you. The two of you happened to be paired up for countless group projects, were in the same class for 3 years straight and often sat nearby each other. Your relationship with him was quite slow but you really love it.

"I guess having a boyfriend who studies in UA makes it easier." your friend teased you, giving you a nudge. Your face turned a bit pink as you lightly punched her shoulder.

"That doesn't have to do anything with me getting the tickets!" you exclaimed, keeping your tone in a reasonable volume to not disturb the people around you.

When the day actually came, you sent a text to your boyfriend to inform him that you'll be watching at the stands. Your parents told you to be careful when you left the house and you understood why you should be. There were a lot of people, like a huge sea of people! It feels like you're inside the commute during rush hour. As much as you hated cramped spaces, you had to grow used to this because you paid for it and you weren't going to miss your boyfriend's big day. The moment you got to your seat, you let out a sigh of relief and placed your bag on your lap. You never really had the passion to become a hero like your boyfriend and were content admiring them from a distance.

You weren't blessed with a quirk like Todoroki's which was hero-material. Though, you still want to help people like heroes do and you chose to study to be a doctor. You looked at your phone before the event started and saw that Todoroki replied to your message with a simple, 'I'll see you after the match.' Watching the upcoming generation of heroes battle their hearts out and showcasing their quirks had you sitting at the edge of your seat. That was so like him. Most of the students from the Heroes Department had made it to the fighting tournament. You knew that your boyfriend has issues with his quirk and his father. And you can't help but pray that he will be just fine.

Honestly, you almost felt your heart stop at Todoroki and Midoriya's match.

The stage was far too damaged from the battle and it was delayed until they fixed the stage. Poor Midoriya had hurt himself so badly in that frightening battle. As a doctor in training, you were able to tell that he has broke his arm and that definitely needs surgery. You hoped that boy will be just fine. On the other hand, Todoroki looked a bit sad and you wished you can go comfort him. He's not only fighting with these people but also himself.

The finals were probably the second most terrifying this you've witnessed today. The boy your boyfriend was against, Bakugou -- looked like a strong person, you had been watching closely on the other matches and can tell. You watched as Bakugou clawed out of the mass of ice by using his explosions. They were both strong but you could tell that Bakugou has the slight edge over Todoroki. If he had used his fire, he could've turned the situation around. But, you could see it in his eyes, he was unsure and he looked ready to give up.

You finally found your voice at that moment.

"Don't lose, Shouto!" you were the only person in the stands screaming. Your throat burned and you could feel everyone's gaze on you but you didn't care. Todoroki's eyes met yours for the first time throughout the entire festival. His eyes widened a fraction and he seemed to start igniting his flames. You couldn't see him as you were too busy catching your breath.

By the end of the battle, Bakugou had emerged as the victor. You were sad or disappointed, you were glad that he heard you and hoped that he was okay. When the award ceremony ended, everyone began to leave but you stayed by the entrance, clutching onto your backpack. You looked at your phone again and saw that Todoroki had told you that he will pick you up by the entrance. You put on your backpack and waited patiently. The moment you saw his red-white hair, you jumped onto him which earned a grunt from the male. You held his hands in your own.

"Are you okay? The last fight was amazing! I'm super proud of you, did you get your wounds treated?" you asked, examining his handsome face. You cupped his cheeks and squished them together. Todoroki knows that you're worried about him, you always had been the one patching up his Todoroki gave you a nod.

"Yeah. I'm okay."

"Oh?"

"You're the girl who was cheering Todoroki at the stands when he was fighting Bakugou!"

"You're so lucky, man! You already have fans! Guess this is what being handsome and strong is like."

Todoroki had turned around to see his classmates slowly leaving the stadium too. You quickly hid behind your boyfriend, suddenly embarrassed that you had people watching you. A few seconds passed by and before you knew it, you were surrounded by the students of Class 1-A. You had never been this close with such amazing people before -- of course, let's not talk about your lovely boyfriend. It was quite embarrassing how they remembered you from that one little incident during the sports festival. You were about to protest and introduce yourself properly as his girlfriend.

"Hey, Todoroki, who's this girl?" a girl, you recalled her name was Ashido was next to you. Her closeness made you squeak in surprise and cling onto Todoroki even more.

"Hey, Ashido, you're scaring her. You should learn not to step into people's comfort zone so casually." It was Kirishima who told the pink-haired girl to back off and you were grateful that he did.

"Is she your friend, Todoroki?"

"Introduce us!"

"Hey, nice to meet you! What's your name?"

You were overwhelmed. They all seemed to be very nice and friendly but having a number of people around you and asking you questions at the same time made your head spin. At this point, you couldn't even remember what was the question.Todoroki slipped his hand into yours, gently squeezing as if to calm you down.

"This is my girlfriend."

There was a moment of silence before a collective gasp was heard.

"Girlfriend!?" they all had screamed in unison.

"N-Nice to meet you! I'm [Last Name] [First Name] from Sakurazaka Medical Academy." you bowed and stood next to Todoroki. The atmosphere was silent and you were feeling a bit nervous because everyone still had their eyes on you ― something you weren't really used to. You expected them to be a bit quieter this time but they weren't. Everyone seemed to be pretty amazed that you were going to such a prestigious school and aiming to become a doctor.

"Please give me some time with [First Name]. I promised that I will be walking her home." Todoroki intervened. You felt his tug your hand and pull you along with him. His classmates said goodbye, giving the two of you a small wave. Some of them seem to be jealous of how smooth Todoroki was, especially the short student who was muttering to himself.

"Thanks for coming all the way here." Todoroki said, as you both walked hand in hand.

"It's not a big deal. I just thought you needed some encouragement." you smiled gently at him.

There were a lot of things he wanted to tell you. The reason why held back in the finals, why he decided not to use his flames to win the festival. These were the things that he has never told you before. What if you think that he was being ridiculous? It was a sensitive topic to Todoroki. You had accepted him without knowing his past, what happened with his family, and the main reason he has never actually talked about his own family. You glanced over at him only to see that he seemed to be struggling to say something.

"Shouto." your voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

"You don't have to force yourself."

You always knew what to say. You always knew what's going on with him without him having to voice it out loud. You were such an understanding, kind and loving person. He wonders if he actually deserves you or not. For a moment, his eyes soften and you could see the love in his eyes.

"Thank you." he smiled gently.

When you returned the smile and told him you loved him, he knew. He knew that he was worthy of your love.

Total: 1668 words Published: 14.09.2020

Thank you for requesting! ｡٩(ˊᗜˋ)و*｡ Kinda want to finish all requests before break ends.... Hope you liked it! ― author Lou

Thank you for requesting it! We hope you enjoyed this! ― author Natsuki

Requests areopen! Matchups are closed!

Please do not mind the grammar mistakes and typos.

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hello-nichya-here · 4 years ago

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Zucest - Is It Really Flirting?

(Originally posted on AO3 as chapter 43 of Defending and Analysing Zucest)

@azdaema-does-art asked: So I think a big stumbling block for me with this ship is that I very much adhere to the reading of the show that holds:

Quasi-Seducer!Azula (as seen virtually anytime) and Quasi-Seducer!Zuko (as seen in "The Waterbending Scroll") are not actually expressions of desire from them. Rather, this is Zuko and Azula trying to be intimidating by modeling their behavior off their father (circling, personal-space-invading, low seductive tones, etc)

When actually trying to flirt neither Zuko nor Azula acts anything like that. When Zuko goes on that date with a girl in the Earth Kingdom, or Azula flirting with that guy on Ember Island, they're both awkward disasters.

I'd be curious to hear you address this. (Or point me to some awkward disaster!zucest fanfic.)

***

That is a really good point and I'm glad you brought it up. While I understand that reading of the show, I disagree with it slightly for a few reasons (beyond my own bias).

Need to be in control: No one can argue against the fact that neither Zuko nor Azula know how to have "normal", healthy relationships with others, mainly due to how unequal 99% of the relationships in the Fire Nation are since imposing your own will over someone else's has become part of their culture. Both Zuko and Azula accepted being treated like mere tools/punching bags by their father, Zuko was constantly insulting Iroh over the smallest things and Azula full on threatened Ty Lee's life to make her join her on her chase after her brother and the Avatar - both were scenarios where desire wasn't a factor at all (thought I know many fans that would like to think otherwise XD)

However, during The Beach, we saw how both of them try (and fail) to deal with romance. Zuko was extremelly paranoid that Mai was interested in another guy, for no real reason, and was constantly trying to intimidate her into either admiting to it or into saying she disliked the guy, even though she had clearly said she was completely indifferent to him. And Azula, after her kiss with Chan, decided, on her own and not giving a damn about his feelings on the matter, that not only would they be officially a couple, but that they'd dominate the earth together. Control is, more often than not, a major factor in all of their actions and relationships, so Azula wanting to intimidate Zuko in the bedroom scene (which she very much tried to do and succeeded at) doesn't automatically rule out the possibility of atraction.

Mixed feelings: While "I wanna fight/kill my sibling" is sort of these two default state, there are moments that show that they do have at least some positive feelings for each other. Zuko doesn't give a shit that Aang is going to kill Ozai, but seeing Azula falling "to her death" and then chained up and defeated after their Agni Kai quite clearly made him emotional, even if he tried to control himself. Azula's positive feelings for Zuko are so obvious I had to do an in length discussion of it in chapter 12 "Is Zucest just about sex?" Combine all of the conflicting emotions they have for each other with their need to control the other, and some scenes end up getting some connotations the writers weren't planning them to have... supposedly (I'll get into that in a bit)

Awareness and familiarity: Don't get me wrong, Zuko and Azula are two extremelly traumatized, socially awkward teenagers who have no idea how to flirt (or how to fit in with people their age) but we also need to take context into consideration, especiall when it comes to Zuko's date with Jin and Azula's interactions with Chan.

In Ba Sing Se, Zuko was outside of his comfort zone, away from home, in enemy territory, and so paranoid that he assumed Jin came into the tea shop so often because she knew they were Fire Nation, not because she had a crush on him or simply enjoyed their tea. And while he liked her and the date was nice, Zuko was very "stiff" and even looked a bit uncomfortable (not to say very uncomfortable) at some points - which is oddly simmilar to how he was acting during the bedroom scene (hell, Azula was quite clearly looking at him just like Jin did, as I pointed out in "The most important parallel in Avatar"). Finally, we cannot forget that, even though he was awkward as fuck during 90% of the night, Zuko did manage to do something kinda romantic by lighting up the place, meaning he isn't completely oblivious to the concept of flirting (which is proved by his relationship with Mai).

Now, when it comes to Azula, the poor girl has almost no idea how to flirt. Almost. Talking about Chan's sharp outfit shows she's got some of the basis down, like "say something nice" - the problem is that her concept of "nice" is very different than that of most people. She did sort of know what to do once Ty Lee gave her some tips... but she quickly reversed back to her regular ways - which once again shows that flirting/seduction has an element of control and intimidation for her. She probably doesn't always mean to act in ways that could be considered flirty, but that doesn't mean she is completely oblivious to the implications of, let's say, invading her brother's personal space and talking to him in a low tone while wearing nothing but a robe.

And since I mentioned Azula going back to what she knows, that leads us to another thing to take into account: the fact that Zuko and Azula quite literally knew each other their whole lives - meaning if they were to ever flirt with each other, it would probably look at least somewhat different than when they were out of their element. Azula was the one in control, so she was far more comfortable and confident than she had been with Chan, and Zuko was the one being intimidated, which explains why he kept his guard up. Once again, that "theory" is sort of confirmed if we compare how Zuko acted while flirting with Mai on The Headband versus how he tried to interact with her in The Beach - when he used a non-traditional, but very Mai-esque "You're so beautiful when you hate the world" he got her equivalent of an "I love you" when she told him she didn't hate him, but he tried to do more "normal" things like getting her a pretty shell it blew up on his face. He knows Mai since they were both kids, meaning he usually knows how to deal with her, just like Azula usually knows how to deal with him.

Intensity: While a lot of Azula's behavior can be explained by her copying Ozai, we need to remember that there's only so much he could affect, especially since her way of "intimidating" Zuko was far more touchy and incestuous than his, and lasted a lot longer. Azula gets close to people when she's intimidating them (see how she toyed with Aang in The Drill), but not as close as she did with her brother. The sole exception to that being Sokka on The Day Of Black Sun - but that is on somewhat shaky ground despite the accidental sexual tension since the first time she got close to him she was being launched by the Dai Li and he just happened to be standing a little bellow the direction she was launched at, and the second time had him pinning her to the wall (which is in character since Sokka usually goes straight at his foes to intimidate them while fighting), and as soon as she had her firebending back she pushed him away. On top of that, she was trying to distract him, Aang and Toph, meaning he wasn't her focus at all, and she ignored him on all the other times their groups were facing each other.

With Zuko on the other hand, she was going full force, like I said on my analysis of the bedroom scene. She played coy, stared at him in a very intense, weird way, circled the pillar on her bed, stretched in front of him, got on his personal space touching his shoulder and chest, and bit her lip while talking basically purring her words. That is all a bit too much for me to believe it was just about intimidation. And the touching gets even more suspicious when you notice Azula does enjoy and is willing to give physical affection - she hugged both Mai and Ty Lee after seeing them again, pulled Ty Lee close while conforting her and apologizing for her harsh words at The Beach... and put her hand on Zuko's shoulder while saying he restored his own honor to reassure him after he was feeling bad for betraying his uncle.

Intention of the actors/writers/animators: Avatar is no stranger to parallels. It also isn't a stranger to adult themes/jokes, fanservice, and ship teasing. For instance, even thought they didn't end up together and were never canonically interested in each other, there was A LOT of hints/teases of Zutara - dude fucking took lightining to the heart for her.

Just like the writers and producers were aware of Zutara, Tokka and many, many other ships, they were also aware of Zucest and even jokingly shipped Azula and The Blue Spirit at a panel. The animators habit of sexualizing the characters speaks for itself, so I won't even go into that. Finally, Grey Delisle, Azula's voice actress is a Zucest shiper, has brought it up many times, asked people to send her fanart and fanfic of it, created the phrase "Zucest is best cest", and has full on said she voiced the scene as if Azula was trying to seduce Zuko, - which regardless of whether or not the writers intended for the character to be doing, means that there is a very strong incest subtext to the scene and that, in a weird way, "Azula" herself confirmed her motives to act the way she did.

#zucest #azuko #shipcest #meta #azula #zuko #fire siblings #atla #avatar

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bellasweetwriting · 4 years ago

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Fist Date

rory gilmore x m.reader

(not my gif)

masterlist

plot: you always flirt with the Chilton perfect student Rory Gilmore, and one time, she actually gives in

requested by: @grouchycritic7794

warnings: my writing, too much popular cultural references, FLUFF

a/n: this was actually so fun to write, I hope you like it

word count: 1,8k

You watched her as she got out of school. Chilton was on your way to work, and you didn't mind walking a little bit slower at three o'clock and crash with some private school students on their way home.

She was always there at three o'clock.

"Hey, Gilmore!" You yelled, making her raise his eyes from her book and look at you. You noticed how identifying you wasn't as pleasant as you hoped it was. "What are you reading on this fine evening?"

"How to punch an annoying guy in ten steps, and I'm a fast learner."

You sat down next to her, making Gilmore move a few inches away from you, not caring if you noticed.

"I'm kinda busy here, Y/N, why don't you go and talk to your fan club?" Asked Rory in a high pitched voice, pointing the groupie of girls watching you. You waved at them before focusing all your eyes on Rory Gilmore.

You first met her a few months ago when your boss made you make delivery in Stars Hollow, to a diner, and she was there. Rory was eating her book with her eyes as she drank her black coffee which had so much more coffee than water. And the fact that she didn't care for you at all made you like her so much.

One day on your way to work, you saw her. She was in front of Chilton, sitting on the bus stop with a book on her hand. And now, seeing Rory every day was part of your routine.

"So, do you like PJ Harvey?"

"Who doesn't? She's great." You smiled at her answer. "why do you care what I like, Y/N?"

"My sister gave her tickets, and you wouldn't guess who came to my mind at that moment?"

"Phoebe Cates?" She assumed, referring to the attractive 80s actress.

"You," you corrected her, making Rory roll her eyes. "It's just a concert. Besides, it would be cool if we get to know each other in any other place that isn't this fancy and prestigious school, don't you think?"

"Sorry, I forgot I'm too fancy and elegant for you. Why would you go out with me? I'm on the top floor of the ship, Jack." A Titanic reference. She always spoke in pop culture references.

"I mean that this is your territory and for you to get to know me, you need to spend time in my comfort zone."

"You make it sound like your territory has cows and chickens and you wear a cowboy hat on weekdays."

You laughed.

"The cowboy hat is only for weekends, m'lady." You made her chuckle, just a bit. "Please, do I look like a farmer boy to you, Gilmore?"

You didn't. Your leather jacket and your neck tattoos weren't usual for a country boy. Nothing of you made you look like a farmer boy.

You are a city boy, a Hartford man with no money to spent blindness. You drove your old man's motorcycle without his permission, and it was a very cliche of you to be flirting with a correct and delicate girl like you though Rory Gilmore was.

But she wasn't like all the rich girls that attended Chilton. She was not a millionaire, not a delicate girl, didn't wear make up other than a sparkly pink lipgloss and some transparent mascara. That was it. Oh, but you see a girl like that, and your instinct is to protect her. Her innocent face, and those big dove eyes that made her look so beautiful for you, didn't they?

Rory Gilmore caught your attention the minute you looked at her.

Her beauty was different. Wasn't like a model of Vogue, or some concept of pretty that the media has published. Something in her expressions and details made her look like she was a princess, those delicate factions and the innocence that brightened her eyes.

"Fine, Noah Calhoun, let's go and see PJ Harvey."

"Great," you said softly, kissing her cheek quickly. "I'll pick you up on Friday night. Where do you live? What's your number?"

"Chill out, J Edgar Hoover. How do I know you aren't going to Lee Harvey Oswald me when I'm not looking?"

"Have you ever talked normally and not in pop culture references?"

"Why would I do that?" She asked, writing her address on a post-it. "Here. It's in Stars Hollow. Please, don't kill me one night."

"You aren't my type of victim. I'll pick you up at seven."

And with that, you left Rory sitting on the bus stop.

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

"What would you wear to a PJ Harvey concert in Hartford?" Asked Rory to Lorelai as she picked up her clothes and looked at them.

"A whistle, a pepper spray and a phone dialling to 911," answered her mom as she sat on the chair in Rory's room. "Do I know this guy?"

"I don't think you do, and if you did, I would have a lot of questions."

A bright moving line illuminated the curtains of the room from the outside. Lorelai looked over the window to see you getting out of your motorcycle.

"No!" She yelled. "A motorcycle?"

"He's here!?" Exclaimed Rory, looking over the window to you standing next to your bike. "I am not ready."

Rory was panicking. She didn't have a minimal idea of what to wear and you were already outside, waiting for her.

"Ok, uhm, wear that blue shirt because you look good in it, some black jeans and your tennis. I'll go distract James Dean over there.

"Go! Go!"

Lorelai ran towards the door, opening and giving you a sign to come in.

Boy, you didn't want to, but since she was the one letting Rory go out with you, you didn't have a chance.

"Well, hello, there. I'm Lorelai, I'm Rory's mom, come on in."

"I'm Y/N," you introduced yourself with a particular tone like you didn't care much about what she thought. "Is Rory ready?"

"She's finishing up. You know, putting on lipgloss and grabbing a Poptart, hopefully not her last supper," Lorelai whispered the last part, making you raise your eyebrows. "So, Y/N, where do you go to school?"

"In a public school at Hartford. I work too."

"What do you do? Tattoo shop?"

"Actually, food deliveries. I'm the provider of your diner, in fact."

Lorelai raised her eyebrows.

"So you know Luke?"

"I know how he looks and talks."

"I know him too! He's one of my best friends."

"He kinda hates me."

"Right."

Both of you wished that Rory would appear in any second now.

"I'm ready!" Exclaimed Rory innocently, appearing at the door with a smile. "What were you guy talking about?"

"... baseball caps," said Lorelai and you nodded. "You look great, honey, have fun. But not so much fun."

You opened the door for Rory, who smiled at you before stepping outside. You turned around to look at Lorelai.

"Have a nice night, Miss Gilmore."

"Take care. Drive safe!" You could hear her yell even though you closed the door. "Don't accept candy from strangers!"

You helped Rory get on the bike carefully, and she smiled at you while you put her helmet on.

"I feel like a little kid with this gigantic helmet." You laughed.

"You have a small head, Gilmore." She rolled her eyes.

"You are a total Casanova, aren't you?"

You grabbed her hands and placed them on your waist before turning on the bike.

"Just hold on, Bambi."

And with that, you left the driveway of the Gilmore house, driving away.

Lorelai was quick enough to run towards the phone and jump to grab it, falling to the floor as she dialled the diner's number.

"Luke's diner, this is Luke."

"My daughter just left to go to a concert in the city on a motorcycle with your provider!"

"What? Are you doing a Margot Kidder impression again?" He asked from the other side of the line, making Lorelai roll her eyes. "Who left on a motorcycle?"

"Rory! Rory left on a motorcycle with a tattooed rebel guy! They were going to a PJ Harvey concert in Hartford! Am I the only one who sees the problem here?"

"Wait, my provider... you mean Y/N Y/L/N?"

"So you know his name, perfect. That way we know what to tell the cops when Sylvester Stallone kidnaps my daughter!"

"Hey, chill out, he is a good kid."

"He has a black dragon tattoed on his neck. Do you know any good kid with a mythological creature that shoots fire from its mouth tattoed on their skin?"

She heard Luke sigh.

"Rory is a great kid. If she thinks he is a good guy, then he is. She wouldn't go out with a guy who she thinks is bad for her."

"Didn't she like Jess at some point?"

A silence reached the conversation until Luke spoke again.

"I'm on my way. Can't believe you let her go out with that thug, he has broken at least two eggs in his deliveries, he doesn't know how to take care of a girl. That girl has no judgement, that's why you are there!"

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

"I loved it when she sang The Mess We Are In, I really loved it," she said as you parked in front of her house.

You had a lot of fun at the concert, and you still couldn't believe she even accepted to go. You've known her for a while now, and she's always been ignorant to your flirting or propositions. Something must have changed beneath these days that made her change her mind.

"I had so much fun, Y/N," she told you as she started to take off your jacket, but you let her keep it.

"Looks better on you." She rolled her eyes.

"Could you be any more cliche?"

"I haven't quoted Jane Austen yet."

"Yet?"

You nodded before leaning in, kissing her lips softly as you felt her tremble to your touch.

You ran your hand through her hair, making slow movements with your head before breaking apart, giving her a last short kiss before stepping back.

"See you on Monday, Rory Gilmore." You put on your helmet, and she smiled.

"Bye, Y/N.”

You gave her a tiny smirk before turning on the engine and driving away. She looked at you go, remembering how much fun she had with you that night.

Quickly, she ran towards her house, opening the door and finding her mom and Luke sitting on the couch. Both stood up, looking at the smiley girl.

"How did it go?" Asked Lorelai, and Rory blushed.

"Perfect," she said softly, hugging her mom. "Thanks for letting me go, it was the best night ever."

After she said hi to Luke, she ran towards her bedroom and jump into the bed, staring at the dark night and stars with a big smile.

Lorelai looked at her friend with an emotionless expression on her face.

"I don't like that guy," she said, "at all."

#gilmore girls #fanfiction #rory gilmore x reader #gilmore girls x reader #male reader #fanfic #rory gilmore #rory gilmore imagine #reader #y/n #writing #writer #fiction

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ohsnapcracklepopfriends · 4 years ago

Text

Back at it again with another Carraville disaster fic. Very out of my comfort zone to write and I did like no research but here it is.

Jamie had always been a person who felt. He felt everything so much more intensely than the rest of his teammates: every emotion, every win, and, perhaps most importantly, every loss.

He just felt so empty when Ricardo saved that penalty. He felt the life, the hope, the fire leave his body all at once. He was on autopilot as he trudged back to the line of players on half field. Everything had gone to shit. Stevie had missed a penalty. Stevie. If that wasn’t a sign that they were cursed nothing was.

Fucking Ronaldo stepped up like he hadn’t crushed enough of Jamie’s dreams. He kissed the ball and set it on the pitch. Jamie didn’t even think about punching him, his heart just sank. It sank even further as he stuck it in the right corner.

As they screamed and tackled Ronaldo in jubilation, Stevie sunk to the ground. Jamie heard a sob from his left. He looked over and saw Rio was also on the ground. The sound could have also come from Lamps and John who were crying into each other’s shirts. The Portugal players swinging their shirts was a gut punch. The English fans seemed to be shell shocked.

Jamie looked around at the English bodies collapsed on the pitch. He looked over to Stevie. Neville sat on his heels on Stevie’s left. He grabbed Stevie’s arm and seemed to whisper something in his ear. He pulled Stevie up and pushed him into Jamie’s arms. Jamie held Stevie’s head against his shoulder and dragged them towards the tunnel.

Before they could disappear to the depressing safety of the dressing room, they heard a sudden uptake and noise behind them. It was Neville. Gary Bloody Neville shaking hands with the Portugal players. Unlike the Portuguese, not even trying to mask their giant, smug grins, Neville was the picture of neutrality, a steeled neutrality. His eyebrows were furrowed like they usually were. His lips were slightly protruding but nothing close to a pout. Jamie only looked away when he felt Stevie’s knee start to give out under them. He slung Stevie’s arm around his shoulder to support his weight and carefully brought them to their lockers.

There were already a few players in the dressing room when he and Stevie hobbled in. Heads were buried in hands. Jamie pretended not to hear the sniffling and sharp breaths of his teammates. Hell, if he were alone he’d be sniffling too.

A few minutes later Beckham herded the stragglers in. John was still a wreck--Rio too--though the rest of them had calmed down a bit. Lamps was no longer sobbing but Jamie could see the big wet stain on his shirt and his red-rimmed eyes. Neville led Walcott in, a hand around his shoulder. He brought him over to his locker and sat them down on the bench in front of it. Neville was shirtless, his muddied, white England kit draped across his left shoulder, the one not occupied by Walcott.

Sven came in a few minutes later. He was alone, not with Grip as he almost always was. He said a few words before leaving them alone. It was probably a good choice. None of them were best pleased with him. Jamie certainly blamed him, though not exclusively. He blamed Ronaldo. He blamed the ref. Most overwhelmingly, he blamed himself. If he had fucking scored that penalty they would’ve had a chance. If he just hadn’t hit the bar. He should’ve practised more, taking penalties. Not that there was even a thought in his mind before the game that he’d have to step up and take one. Jamie just wanted to punch something. A wall. Himself. Anything would do.

Jamie looked up from his feet when he heard some small giggles coming from the left side of the dressing room. The sound was coming from Walcott. Soft, little, reluctant giggles escaped from him as Neville quietly told him jokes with a slight upturn to his lips. Jamie decided he was a good target--not Walcott, Neville--and got up.

He approached Walcott. “Can I borrow him for a minute?” Jamie didn’t dare look at Neville in all this, just took Walcott’s nod as a sign to grab Neville by his arm and drag him into the hallway. Beckham stuck his head out after them, a look of concern on his face. Jamie sighed.

“I’m not gonna hurt him, Becks. Promise. Go back inside.” Beckham stuck out his pinkie finger for Jamie to curl his own around. This act seemingly satisfied him enough to close the door leaving them alone. Jamie took this opportunity to slam and pin Neville against the wall. The shirt balanced on his shoulder fell to the floor in a grass-stained heap.

“Thought you said you weren’t going to hurt me,” Neville joked once again.

“You don’t fucking care, do you?” Jamie snarled. Neville’s eyes widened under him. “You don’t care about this team. You don’t care about this country. You don’t care about those fans.” Jamie removed his hand from Neville’s bare chest and was using it gesture wildly as he talked. God, it felt good to feel something. Murderous rage wasn’t his first choice emotion but it would certainly do.

“I knew you were stupid,” Neville said, “but I didn’t know you were this bloody thick.” Jamie ignored the way his eyes narrowed, the way he sucked in his cheeks. Jamie grabbed at the badge on his shirt.

“To me, this means something. It means that I have a little more respect when we’ve just broken the hearts of every fucking person in this fucking country. It’s not a fucking joke to the rest of us in there.” Neville snaps. After a shocking display of strength, Jamie finds himself pressed against the wall.

“It’s not a fucking joke to me. I care about this country and I’ve played for this country a hell of a lot more than you ever have or ever will. Just because I can step my arse up and be mature about the whole fucking situation doesn’t mean I don’t have fucking feelings!” Jamie was stunned for a second. He wasn’t sure why Neville pushing him against the wall knocked him out of it so much, but he tried quickly to regain his composure and, most of all, his anger.

“Didn’t seem mature to be having a laugh with Walcott ten seconds after we get knocked out of the World fucking Cup!” He huffed, “I mean JT’s sobbing on the floor in there, mate, and you and Walcott are having a fucking giggle? Bollocks.”

“You just don’t get it, do you?” Neville asked, clearly not looking for a response, “I’m the fucking captain, Carragher. My job is to pull that group of lads together and made sure they don’t get so drunk tonight they get run over by a bus.”

“Last I checked, Beckham was the captain and you were just his little puppy dog sidekick.” There was a flash in Neville’s eyes. Almost like he’d gone too far. Almost like he’d struck a nerve. Good, he thought. Neville recovered quickly though.

“Wore the bloody armband tonight, didn’t I?” He was so smug about it. If he hadn’t promised Beckham he wouldn’t damage him, Jamie would’ve punched him square in his ugly nose. He told Neville as much and Neville, the bastard, laughed at him. Jamie was seriously reconsidering his promise. “It’s not my fucking fault that you missed a penalty. Seriously couldn’t wait for the ref to blow the whistle? You scousers always ruin everything.” He could tell at this point that Neville was trying to wind him up. What he hated the most was that it was working.

“It’s like you want me to punch you. Bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you? You that touch-starved? Not getting any from you precious Becks?” There it was. He struck that nerve again. He could see it in Neville’s eyes. In a moment, Neville was moving. Jamie expected him to storm off or to punch him. He can safely say that the exact last thing he expected was for the Manc to kiss him.

It wasn’t biting or rough like Jamie would’ve expected--again, not that he was expecting this in the slightest. It really was a kiss, all soft, romantic like. Gary’s shockingly smooth lips just pressed to his as his left hand held the back of Jamie’s head, right hand gripping the badge of his shirt. Gary’s eyes were squeezed shut in determination. After about thirty seconds, Jamie’s closed too despite his best efforts. Then, as quickly as it started, Gary pulled back. He stayed put though. He swayed on the balls of his feet in front of Jamie, waiting for him to respond. Jamie swore his brain was short-circuiting.

“Know why Beckham keeps you around, now. Bet those lips are good at other things as well.” He blurts it out without thinking. He immediately wishes he’d shut up when he sees the slight smirk to Gary’s lips disappear.

“You fucking bastard,” Gary mutters as he shoves Jamie back against the wall, hard, and walks away. Jamie slides down the wall to sit on his heels. His fingers brush against his lips reminding him of the smooth, firm pressure. Fuck.

#carraville #my fic

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whipped-cream-writings · 4 years ago

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In which you and Oikawa run into a particularly touchy fan. You step in to defend him.

Word count: 1.2k

TW: None

This was requested by a very sweet and patient anon! I’m so sorry for the wait, but hopefully you like it! If you don’t, please let me know so I can try again and make it better!

A/N: Jealousy is always really hard for me to write, so this was good practice! I’m not sure if it’s any good, but hopefully it’s still fun to read!

Oikawa was popular. Some would say for his looks, others would say for his talent. To many, he was the Great King of the court, someone who could never be touched. Someone to be admired from afar.

To you, Oikawa was a dumbass.

Well, that’s not right either. He was a smartass. A (sometimes) annoying smartass that you had to deal with every single day.

And ever since middle school, Oikawa had been swarmed by fangirls and fanboys. Some were actually really nice and you ended up becoming good friends with them.

Others left death threats in your locker, so it really was a mixed bag.

You and Iwaizumi had to learn to deal with them, but that was really the only bump in the road.

Sure, it was annoying when they interrupted you guys when you were out and about, since Oikawa had a bad tendency to egg them on, but Iwaizumi had gotten very good at punching things.

You ignored that burning feeling in your chest or that growing pit in your stomach. Those feelings were just irritation, you told yourself. Nothing more, nothing less.

If they were anything else, you weren’t sure how you would deal with it. So, instead, you shoved the strange feelings into an area where you wouldn’t have to acknowledge them ever again. That way, everything could stay the same. That was the way you wanted it.

Right?

It’s another early morning. You force yourself to roll out of bed and shuffle out the house. The morning air is hard to breathe. It’s like it’s making your lungs freeze even more with every breath you take. Your nose is numb, too. Regardless, you keep walking.

The air inside the building was a lot warmer. You pass by dozens of faces that you recognize, stepping into the corridor with your classroom.

Most of the time, the hall was packed from wall to wall with people that you had to weave between or be crushed by. Today, however, it was strangely empty, with pairs of people huddled by the walls, talking about something with hushed tones. Did you just walk faster than usual? You weren’t sure, but you didn’t really mind. It was nice to be able to hear your thoughts for once.

You pick up snippets of conversation every now and then. Names or places that sounded vaguely familiar.

You start to zone out when you hear your name being called. You turn around.

“You’re here early.” Oikawa points out. “Something happening today?” “Uh, no, not really. I guess I just walked fast.” You glance at him. His hair was messy and his clothes were still wrinkled. “You’re early too. Did you run here?”

“I was planning on grabbing the Japanese assignment early and doing some of it right now. I probably won’t have time after school, unfortunately.”

“Yeah. And don’t push yourself too far. No one wants you to injure your knee again.”

“Yeah, yeah, Iwa-chan already lectured me.” You laugh a little bit at that.

“Oh, Oikawa!” A voice calls out. “It’s you, right? I’m such a big fan.” A girl rushes up next to you, shoving you out of the way. “You are? That’s nice to hear!” Oikawa flashes a smile and the girl squeals.

“You’re even more handsome in person!” Wow. No one’s ever actually said that to his face.

“I’m flattered. You’re not too bad yourself.” He jokes, and she laughs too hard. You’re acutely aware of how her hand rests on his forearm.

“That’s quite the compliment, coming from you.” She winks, leaning closer to his face. Oikawa leans back, but keeps what you called his ‘fan smile’ on his face.

You weren’t sure what did it. Was it the way she batted her eyelashes? Or was it the way her hands wandered up his arms? Maybe it was both. Maybe it was something else. Regardless, that burning feeling rises in your chest. It clouds your thoughts, so much so that you don’t even realize that you’re moving.

You grasp his arm without a second of hesitation.

“We were talking.” You say, with as much ice in your voice as you can manage. The girl gives you a look that blends surprise and anger. Even Oikawa seems a little shocked.

Your words fly over her head. She only sees “If he was interested in you, then he would’ve made a move a while ago.” Ouch, but you’ll deal with how that affects your self esteem later.

You search for words and come up empty.

“Now, now,” Oikawa starts. “I don’t appreciate it when people lie.” He says, glancing at the girl. She sputters out something, her eyes big and angry, before she turns around and hurries away, staring at the floor.

Part of you feels bad for the girl. She seemed really upset about that. The other part of you feels bad for Oikawa and the fact that he has to deal with people like that all the time.

“Huh. That was… new.” You mumble, letting go of his arm and letting yours fall back to your sides.

“It’s more common than you’d think.” He sighs. “But I do have to say, you’ve never done that before.”

“Well, you looked uncomfortable…” Your lie hangs in the silence.

“That wasn’t the only reason, now was it?”

“Huh?” You look up at him with big eyes.

“You’re jealous, right?” He chuckles when you choke on nothing. “That’s alright. I don’t mind. In fact, I find it endearing.” He leans down to eye level. There’s about an inch between your noses.

You take a few steps back. It’s hard to breathe. Your heart is pounding fast. Too fast for it to be annoyance.

You’re stopped by the wall and Oikawa places his hand just by your head. There’s still an opening on your left side, but your entire body is frozen.

Yet, you find that your skin’s burning. It’s like your heart’s been set on fire and that fire rushes through your veins.

Your own heartbeat is the last thing you’re focused on. It’s the fact that Oikawa inches ever closer to your face as the seconds tick by. His breath fans your face.

“I’ve…” There’s a hint of pink dusted across his face. “I’ve liked you for a really long time. I’m surprised you haven’t noticed.” He laughs. Your mouth is dry.

His hand tilts your chin up, your eyes meeting. You’re intimidated, scared, even, but you find that you can’t look away. It’s impossible to tear your gaze away from his. There’s something in them that you can’t quite place. But his eyes are so warm, like he’s gazing at an angel on earth.

“So have I.” You manage to say. The corridor is empty, yet you feel the need to whisper.

He smiles. Not a rueful, bitter one, nor the flashy smirk he shows his fans. But a smile that reaches his eyes, a toothy grin that he’s saved just for you.

And he kisses you. Softly, sweetly, slowly. Feelings conveyed in a way that words couldn’t. You feel like you’re in your own little world, you and him.

But the bell rings and he pulls back sharply.

“Just when we were getting to the good part.” He whines. “Iwa-chan’s gonna kill me…”

“We’ll talk later, yeah?” You manage in between your heavy breaths.

“Of course. See you later, cutie.”

He flashes a wink, and your body is on fire again.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. Any and all constructive criticism is welcome. Requests are open, so feel free to send one in. Remember to drink some water and I hope you have a wonderful day! 💕

#oikawa toru x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #oikawa x reader #oikawa oneshot #haikyuu oneshot #whipped cream writings #oikawa #haikyuu!!#my fics

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thehollowprince · 4 years ago

Text

Civil War Fixit #4

Parts One, Two, and Three (updated for easier browsing)

Notes: sorry for the long wait, but, as many of you know... life happens. Plus, ever since Endgame, I've been less than enthused about this whole universe. My love for Steve has diminished, but I still remember what was and what should have been, so here we go.

I didn't really feel like doing all of the action sequences, because I feel like the most character growth happens in those "In Between" scenes, so this takes place after the Winter Soldier was activated by Zemo and the escape from the CIA facility. It picks up just before the airport battle.

Steve, Sam and Bucky sat silently in the old Beetle, waiting for their reinforcements to show up.

Bucky eventually broke the silence. "So who's the girl?"

"Buck." Steve sighed.

"What?" Bucky asked. "Its a fair question from your old best friend." The super soldier reasoned. "This girl violates a dozen laws, steals our equipment back and you lay one on her. And judging by both of your expressions, that was the first time you two did that."

"Did I ever tell you how creepy it is that you analyze everything now?" Steve rebuttaled.

"No." Bucky plowed forward. "She must be a pretty special girl."

"You've no idea." Sam muttered under his breath.

"Sam." Steve said with a warning in his tone.

"What?" Sam fired back. "She is a special girl. You two spent the last two years dancing around each other and now is when you decide to make a move? When we're wanted criminals?" Sam huffed. "You really do have horrible timing."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, first you kiss Peggy back in the day."

"You and Peggy kissed?" Bucky interrupted.

"Yeah, just before he flew a plane into the Arctic." Sam said.

"And now you finally make a move on Sharon, just before we're going to break a whole mess of international laws?" Bucky questioned. "Sam's right, you do have bad timing."

"Oh, and we didn't even get to the part where Sharon is Peggy's niece."

"Sam!" Steve was exasperated.

Bucky, for his part, just looked from Sam to Steve and back again, unsure if this was some kind of joke or not. Thankfully, Steve was saved from any more of this awkward conversation by the arrival of a big, white, serial-killer style van.

"Oh, look, backup's here." Steve said and immediately exited the vehicle to greet the driver, who was none other than Clint Barton.

Bucky stared after his old friend before turning to look at Sam with an incredulous look. “Her niece?”

“Yeah.” Sam sighed. “Though, to be fair, we didn’t know that until yesterday.” He then opened the car door and exited the vehicle.

Outside, Steve approached Clint and shook hands with his old teammate. “Thanks for coming.”

“Cap.”

“You know I wouldn’t have called if I had any other choice.”

“Hey man, you’re doing me a favor.” Clint waved off Steve’s Steveness. Behind him, Wanda climbed out of the passenger seat. “Besides, I owe a debt.”

“Thanks for having my back.” Steve nodded at her.

“It was time to get off my ass.” Wanda replied. Her attention was diverted to behind Steve’s broad shoulders to where Sam was struggling to hold in his laughter, phone in hand as Bucky attempted to navigate his way out of the back seat. This video would definitely go viral.

“What about our other recruit?”

“He’s rarin’ to go.” Clint answered, walking back to the van and slid the side open, revealing a passed out Scott Lang laying on the seat. The moment the door was all the way open, rocking the van, Scott jolted awake. “Had to put a little coffee in him, but...” He looked at Scott, who seemed confused as to where he was. “... he should be good to go.”

“What time zone are we in?” Scott asked as he yawned and stretched, sliding out of the van to place his feet on solid ground. He steps forward, ignoring the weird tingles in his legs indicating they were waking up, and immediately accepted the hand presented to him, without really realizing who it was attached to. That is, until he realized who’s hand he was shaking and just kind of gaped at the man. “Captain America.” He looked both amazed and dumbfounded at the same time.

“Mr. Lang.” Steve replied, his hand still in Scott’s grip, but too polite to pull back on his own.

“It’s an honor.” Scott was still shaking Steve’s hand, and only now seemed to realize it. “I’m shaking your hand way too long.” Despite saying that, he continued to shake the hand in his grasp. “Wow, this is awesome! Captain America.” He seemed to realize what he was doing and stopped shaking Steve’s hand, looking around him at the other people assembled in a parking garage, his eyes landing on Wanda. “I know you, too. You’re great. My daughter loves you.” Wanda smiled in return as Scott turned back to Steve again, feeling up the super soldier’s epic shoulders. “Jeez.”

Scott snapped out of his hero-worship and stepped back, hands to himself.

“Ah, look, I wanna say, I know you know a lot of super people, so... thanks for thinking of me.” He spotted Sam over Steve’s incredibly broad shoulders. “Hey, man!”

“What’s up, Tic Tac?”

“Uh, about what happened last time...”

“It was a nice audition, but it... it won’t happen again.” Sam said firmly.

“What happened last time?” Steve found himself asking.

“Well, you see, I, uh...” Scott started, only to be interrupted by Sam.

“It’s not important.”

Steve looked between the two, Sam staring firmly at Scott, who looked a bit sheepish. “... okay?” He turned back to Scott. “They tell you what we’re up against?”

“Something about... psycho-assassins?” Scott supplied, not sounding entirely sure.

“We're outside the law on this one. So, if you come with us, you're a wanted man.” Steve said, laying everything on the line from the beginning.

“Yeah, well, what else is new?” Scott said with a shrug.

“We should get going.” Bucky supplied, finally free from the metal death-trap.

“We’ve got a chopper all lined up.” Clint said.

A voice speaking in German sounded over the loud speakers in the garage, with Bucky looking up first, “They’re evacuating the airport.”

“Stark.” Sam said with a sigh.

“Stark?” Scott questioned.

“Suit up.” Steve commanded.

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

Steve, now all suited up in his Captain America uniform, jogged across an eerily vacant tarmac toward the chopper that Clint had pointed out. His eyes scanned back and forth, knowing that Tony and Rhodey and who knows who else was with them was lurking around here somewhere. Less than ten meters to the chopper and some sort of electro-doohickey that he didn’t understand landed on the machine, frying the engine and rendering it useless. Steve skidded to a stop and watched as Tony and Rhodey, Iron Man and War Machine descended from the sky.

“Wow, it's so weird how you run into people at the airport. Don't you think that's weird?” Tony joked, always with the quips, even in a serious situation, because he obviously didn’t know how to read the room... so to speak.

“Definitely weird.” Rhodey agreed, always following Tony’s lead.

“Hear me out, Tony.” Steve interjected, trying to talk sense into his former teammates. “That doctor, the psychiatrist, he's behind all of this.”

To his left, T’Challa jumped over a parked truck and landed in a crouch before standing up to his full height in his black vibranium suit. “Captain.”

“Your highness.”

“Anyway, Ross gave me 36 hours to bring you in. That was 24 hours ago. Can you help a brother out?” Tony announced, retracting the helmet of his suit so he could talk to Steve face to face.

“We’re not brothers.” Steve countered. “We’re not even friends.”

“Hmm.” Tony huffed.

“You’re after the wrong guy.” Steve tried to reason with him.

“Your judgment is askew. Your old war buddy killed innocent people yesterday.”

“And there are five more super soldiers just like him.” Steve tried to explain. “If you would just shut up and listen to me, I could explain.” Tony’s face darkened. “I can't let the doctor find them first, Tony. I can't.”

“Steve... you know what’s about to happen.” Rhodey said, retracting his own helmet. “Do you really want to try and punch your way out of this one?”

“Wait.” Natasha walked up, dolled out in her own tactical gear. “What do you mean there are five more?”

“Alright, I’ve run out of patience.” Tony said. “Underoos!” Steve was obviously confused for a moment, until he saw a shadow flip over him. His shield was wrenched from his hands, which were suddenly tied together with some kind of material he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know what it was. Looking up, he saw a man in a red and blue costume with a web-like pattern, his shield in this person’s hand. “Nice job, kid.”

“ Thanks. Well, I could've stuck the landing a little better. It's just the new suit… Well, it's nothing, Mr. Stark. It's--it's perfect. Thank you.” Steve’s eyes narrowed the more he listened to this man - this boy - talk. On Tony’s side, Natasha’s expression was similar.

“Yeah, we don't really need to start a conversation.”

“ Okay. Cap . . . Captain. Big fan, I'm Spider-Man.” He saluted Steve.

“Yeah, we'll talk about it later. Just...”

“Hey, everyone.” Spider-Man waved at the assembled heroes.

“... Good job.” Tony finished.

“You’ve been busy.” Steve said icily, his glare directed solely at Tony.

“And you've been a complete idiot.” Tony fired back. “Dragging in Clint. 'Rescuing' Wanda from a place she doesn't even want to leave, a safe place.” Steve snorted at that. “I'm trying to keep . . . I'm trying to keep you from tearing the Avengers apart.”

“You did that when you signed.” Cap retorted. “And when you dragged in this kid.” He nodded toward Spider-Man. “How old are you?”

“That’s not important - “ Tony started to say.

“No, that is a good question.” Natasha interrupted. “How old are you?” She directed her question at Spider-Man.

“I... uh...” Peter wasn’t sure what to do. The scary redhead was on Tony’s side, but Tony wanted him to stay a secret.

“If he’s over sixteen, you can keep my shield.” Steve interjected. Now everyone was looking at Tony, with mixed expressions of shock and even outright anger.

“Alright, We're done. You're gonna turn Barnes over, you're gonna come with us. NOW!” Tony was shouting by the end of the sentence. “Because it's us! Or a squad of J-SOC guys... with no compunction about being impolite.” Steve looks aside, as if he’s deep in thought. “Come on, man.”

Meanwhile, in Steve’s comms, Sam was talking to him.

“We found the Quinjet. Hanger five, north runway.” Steve nodded before holding up his hands, almost looking like he was surrendering. An arrow pierced the material that bound his hands, freeing them.

“Okay, Lang.” Steve said into his comms.

“Hey, guys, something’s happening.” Spider-Man said, usure of what was going on but sensing something. He spotted a really tiny man on Captain America’s shield, who quickly turned normal sized and knocked Spider-Man away, before flipping off the truck and handing the shied back to Steve with an exaggerated “I believe this is yours, Captain America.”

Rhodey’s and Tony’s helmets went back up.

“There’s two in the parking deck.” Tony said, using his suit’s enhanced features to spot them. “One of them’s Maximoff. I’m gonna grab her.” Tony started to take off. “Rhodey, you wanna deal with Cap?”

“Got two in the terminal.” Rhodey said as he also started to rise into the air. “Wilson and Barnes.”

“Barnes is mine!” T’Challa snarled, immediately racing off in that direction.

“Mr. Stark, what should I do?” Spider-Man asked, sounding more and more like a frightened teenager.

“What we discussed.” Tony snapped over his comms. “Keep your distance and web ‘em up.”

“Okay, copy that.” Spider-Man leapt off of the ground and produced another of those spider web lines and swung toward the terminal.

The fight was on.

#civil war fixit #how the movie should have gone #my writing #anti tony stark #still waiting for cap 3

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