#i have a tattoo of his goggles on my ribs | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zinzinina · 4 years ago

Text

Unforming

Pairing - Bodhi Rook x F!Reader Rating - Explicit 18+ Word Count - 2.8k A/N - Just an extremely short, super mopey and indulgent oneshot feat. Bodhi Rook who, honestly, is the most underappreciated man in Star Wars and that’s the hill I’m prepared to die on. Not tagging anybody because I am v. aware this one is... uh, kinda niche and probs not for everyone. x

CW: Smut, angst, descriptions of anxiety.

Smoke curls slowly over both your heads as you watch him sketch, fingers quick, black staining the creases at each joint and in a thin semicircle under his nails. Your uniforms are crumpled together in an undignified tangle on the floor, turned inside out, the underside of the embroidered Imperial sigils visible.

You draw in another deep pull, the marcan herb lightening your head and hazing the glowpanels above until the tiny cabin feels shrouded. Bodhi’s hair is messy, long pieces loosened from the knot at the back of his head and hanging into his face as he works. There’s still a faint line of indentation around his temples from his welding goggles; now looped over the edge of a shelf near the door. He distractedly flicks a black strand from his eyes, leaving a thin smudge of ink high on his cheekbone. He’d been so excited to show you the acquisition, demanding you feel the texture against your lips, adamant that fingertips alone would only miss the subtlety in the grain.

“It’s paper. Actual paper, not that reconstituted adesote shit.”

“It’s beautiful. Oh, Maker, it even smells good. Where did you…?”

“I had another big win. A tipoff from Celfos, he knows a guy.”

You’d had to bite your tongue. Betting on the odupiendo races has cost him more than it’s returned over the months you’ve known him, but he already knows how you feel about it. And tonight is precious. You don’t want to poison the time you have with an argument.

Now, watching him, you’re filled with melancholy. The sheet is draped low around his lean hips, revealing the fine dark lines of his tattoos marked out like shadows on his ribs. He leans back against the wall, head curved down. He has the loveliest eyelashes, you think. The kind any girl would kill for. His gaze darts up and he catches you watching him, a self-conscious smile lifting one side of his lips.

“Do you want to sit up here? I’ll show you what I’m working on.”

Moving carefully so you don’t jostle him, you shift until you're pressed against his side. He reaches two inky fingers to snag what’s left of the smoking herb from your lips, pinching it between his teeth as you look on. The sketch is only rough, but you can already see the curves and valleys and deeper dusked lines of a walled city overlooking rolling hills. Something in the shape of the hills looks soft, and as you watch him outline the strange wind-lifted drag of a rise, you realise they’re dunes of sand.

“Is that Jedha City?”

He nods absently, hand curled into a loose fist as he points out a particular building with his smallest finger, other hand returning your cigarro to your lips.

“That’s the square—there, the marketplace. They’d hold school here if it wasn’t too cold outside. This whole section was just temples. See the lines from the balcony? My mum would hang her washing there.”

His quarters are small and cluttered with sketches on every surface; most on yellow, crinkled archival plastic sheets or panels ripped out of insulation. You remember the day he’d suffered a crazed lapse of self control and pocketed several canisters of luxurious Quarren ink from an officer’s shipping chest. And like every one of his small acts of defiance, he’d spent the following week in a state of paranoid terror, waiting for a squad of troopers to kick his door down with an interrogator droid, edgy and defensive.

You turn your head to the side, resting your cheek against his chest and feeling the vibrations of his heart, so often quickened and alert, now slow and steady.

His hand stills, and he drags his gaze from the drawing to you, blinking several times as he emerges from the depths of memory.

“How much is left?” you murmur, tilting your chin toward the landscape in his hands.

He shakes his head, easing his arm from between your bodies to rest on the other side of your waist, tucking you close.

“Some. I don’t get to see much when I’m picking up the shipments. Don’t want to, to be honest.”

You consider this, stretching down to stub the butt in your hand out on the sleeve of your coveralls.

“Are you fucking kidding?” he startles, arm reached out to stop you.

“Are burns not regulation anymore?” you grin, teasing him. “It’s fine. They have thousands of these things in storage. I’ll just grab a new one. You’re too careful.”

“Ha. You’re not careful enough,” enunciating the second syllable, teeth cutting the “uff” into his lip.

You roll your eyes, carefully lifting the stylus and paper from his fingers, laying them beside the bed. “What are they going to do, send me back to reconditioning? Again? I’ll leave. I’ll go to Gorse, find a job with the mining guild. I get along just fine with Ugnaughts anyway.”

His answer is laced with sarcasm. “Oh, yeah. I forgot we had that option, just free to go whenever we feel like it.”

It’s just a little bit too tender to joke about, considering your current positions.

“There’s more than one type of freedom,” you remind him, and you watch the muscles in his temples flex as he clenches his narrow jaw, eyes dropping back down to his hands.

You slip out from under the sheets, sliding off the side of the bed and padding over to the scratched little plastoid table beside the fresher door. Taking a tepid sip of water from the carafe there, you can feel his gaze on your legs as you stand in your underwear. It’d become habitual when you came to Bodhi’s cabin after work to both strip out of your hot, oil-stained uniforms and crawl under the covers together, not necessarily doing anything right away. Just getting comfortable, shedding your filthy Imperial skins, breathing each other in. Wholly unobserved by anyone but each other, it feels like you cease to exist for the rest of the galaxy.

He’s looking at you now with that face, the one that first made you unable to walk away from him, his eyes impossibly huge and soft, shadowed by the long, straight edge of his nose, and you just about melt. You take a steadying breath.

“I have to tell you something.”

Some line of tensity in your voice makes his curled hand twitch where it rests on his knee, and you’re already regretting what you have to do.

“They’re moving me. Tomorrow. They’re starting to shift the whole division in stages, junior engineers first. Half of us are getting send to Eadu, the others… They want us onsite for the start of the array testing. It’s getting close. Maybe another standard year at the most. Word is, the higher-ups are getting impatient. They’re already over budget.”

He’s looking at you like he’s waiting for the punchline, full brows slightly raised, lips parted as he blinks.

“But—but you were due for leave. They’d already approved it.”

You hate yourself for the lie, even as you work to form it. “I… I tried so hard to get out of it. But… you know. I’m just not important enough to get to make any decisions.”

The quiet chime of the facility’s cycle change is distantly audible as you fold your arms, a hand pressed to your own neck.

He finally manages to speak, still that protective edge of acerbic bitterness in his tone, the one you recognise from whenever he’s trying not to appear nervous.

“You’re more important than me. A droid could do my job.”

“No. You’re a better pilot than any fucking droid. The only reason you’re hauling cargo instead of dying out there in a TIE is because you can think for yourself. That’s not an attribute they look for in their coffin jockeys.”

He hasn’t moved a muscle, quick dark eyes still scanning your face. You creep closer, raised up on your knees tentatively, facing him on the bed. There’s a tight little twist to his lips, and his gaze darts away, considering his own hands, unfreezing and touching his blackened fingers one by one to his thumbs. The gesture is one you’ve seen before, when he’s had a bad shift; the time purrgils nearly wiped out his entire shipment outside of the Hydian jump point, or whenever his smart mouth got him into trouble, poorly-stifled comments attracting disciplinary visits from a site overseer. Whenever the anxious tics became too much, his restless hands needed to be busy. Drawing, working, smoking, anything. Now, you lay your own smaller fingers over his.

“Look at me.”

He does, and you nearly wish you hadn’t asked. You’re betraying him. You’re leaving him here, alone, surrounded by these people, when he was just starting to get it under control.

His eyes are brimming, wild as his gaze darts between your eyes. “What am I gonna do, if you’re not here…? If I can’t calm down, if I can’t get a hold of it.”

You hold his face hard between your hands, your fingers careful as you whisper to him.

“You can. You’re so fucking brave, Bo. A trillion times braver than me. I know you are. And… they probably won’t let any comms out of the construction zone. But you won’t be alone. Find Galen, he’s the head of my department. Talk to him when I’m gone. He’s… not like the rest of them. He’s a good person. He’ll help you. I promise.”

You draw yourself up, pressing your lips to his, feeling the scruff of his pointed chin against your skin. He squeezes his eyes shut, breathing slowly, matching your rhythm as you break your contact and hold still. You run your fingers up the back of his neck, feeling the velvet of the close-shorn underside of his hair. Trying to guide him with each of your own inhalations, your sadness settles low as a stone.

It takes a long time before his eyes open again, and in them, that resolve.

Bodhi always called himself a coward, resentful and ashamed of his body’s disobedience, when his own breathing would choke him with its intensity, chest seized with clawing wrongness in the most mundane of settings. He’d cover it with irritability, the kind that people misinterpreted, but which you'd recognised as self-preserving. Something he could never see, would never recognise about himself; his ability to somehow figure out what the right thing was, despite his fear, made him the toughest person you knew. It’s the only thing you can cling to now: the hope that one day he’ll work out why you needed to do this.

“Once it’s finished, you can transfer back out,” he tells you, and it pierces deep. You can’t tell him. He isn’t ready to know. Not yet.

“Sure,” you respond, all you can think to say, and his hands are on your lower back, drawing you closer.

He curls his fingers, stroking the clean back of his first knuckle gently along the line of your jaw, following the curve of your neck down to your shoulder. You shiver at the lightness of the touch, barely a breeze on the fine down of your cheek.

You let yourself settle down into a kneel, straddling his thighs as you sit on your own feet. Your hands are light on his prominent collarbones, tracing the dark lines underneath the skin. Watching you, he raises his chin, catching your lips with his own.

There’s an uncharacteristic intensity in his kiss, and as he drags your bottom lip into his mouth you hum, curving over him, pressing yourself down onto his lap.

You let your fingers drift over the lean, rangy expanse of his body, knowing even with your eyes shut where each river of ink lies to follow. Memorised already, the hair dusted below his navel, the flat planes of his abdomen. He exhales into your lips, the herby bitterness of lingering marcan passing between you as you roll yourself down, feeling him hardening as he arches his neck up, deepening his hold on your lips.

You thread the fingers of your right hand through his, clasping yourselves together as you flex your thigh muscles to raise and lower yourself, slow and intentional. Ink forgotten, he drags his calloused, elegant fingers up your side, searching, marking your skin.

You pull back, breaking the kiss only long enough to free your legs, your lips swollen. He helps you drag your underwear off in a graceless fumble, throwing aside the standard-issue base sheets, already amess with black smudges.

He drags his face from yours and, bending, presses his lips to the gap between your breasts, hands cupping your ribcage, thumbs rough on your nipples. You brace yourself on his shoulders, the fine dip of each muscle shadowed shallowly under your hands as you ease his cock from the waistband of his pants, trying not to be too rough with your dry, demanding fingers. He rolls up into your hold, unconcerned and encouraging as he leans up, trying to ease you backwards.

Too restless to wait, you stretch up and dip a finger inside yourself, spreading your arousal over the head of his cock before you position yourself over him.

A knee on either side of his waist, you take him inside slowly, your lack of preparation necessitating a pause, and your thighs tauten from the effort of your control. Breaths hitching in tandem, you let your head roll down, savouring the ache in your rending.

You bottom out and shudder, clutching at every part of him you can reach, scratching accidentally at his cheek, a line across the gold of his skin reddening. You try and fail to control your own pace as lift and sink back onto him heavily, the sharpness of your movement making his grip on your waist tighten.

A twitch in your thighs betrays how messily conflicted you are; vacillating between wanting to sanctify every moment of this and needing to move. He recognises your frustration and brushes his ink-blackened thumb from the edge of your lip to your cheek, holding you still, shifting his other hand under your thigh and encouraging your movements to slow. He catches your gaze and holds it, soft eyes creasing at the edges, the faintest sheen on his brow as he traces the edge of your jaw. Lips quirked sadly, he breathes against you, shaking his head.

“We’ve got time.”

It’s enough to make you weaken. Knowing, as he doesn’t, that it just isn’t true. Seated with him inside you, you pause, peppering kisses on the dark arches under each eye. His exhaustion is made sharp by the fine structure of his face, the ash beneath the warmth of his skin. It’s been far too long that you’ve both been away from any source of natural light.

Trying to fall into some semblance of coordination, he meets each arch of your hips, liquid-bright eyes fluttering closed as he tips his head against the wall, the tied knot of his hair pressed back. And there it is, pieces slotting together as you let your body take over from your scattered, grief-spiked thoughts.

Rolling against him in perfect rhythm, waves meeting and withdrawing from the shore of each breath.

Your fingers hold tight to the back of his neck as you kiss him hard, clumsy as your teeth hit his, trying to imprint a copy of yourself here so you can stay with him long after tonight. His tongue slides messy against yours as he lifts your thighs, dragging his fingerprints into the flesh and angling up into you.

Your eyes fly open, your gasp stuttered into his mouth as he meets each of your urgent thrusts, his brow creased, circling higher together.

A hard warm twinge claws up the insides of your thighs and it feels so good, but you don’t want to let go. You aren’t ready yet, despite the desperation to grind down deeper. You want this to stretch on, and on, like you could delay everything else just by denying yourself this release. But as you shudder around him you realise it’s already too late, your body rebelling as he encourages you. Helpless, your fingers find your clit, wrenching yourself higher as you ride his cock.

I’m sorry, you think with all your might, watching the fine veins of his closed eyelids as he gasps, both your bodies beginning to seize. Forgive me, chests pressed so close it’s impossible to tell whose heartbeat is being led by whose.

Your climax ropes down his own, and as your cunt pulses around him, gathering him deep, you feel his answering release rip through him. Your kiss devolves into an artless, parted-mouthed press of wet breaths.

Muffled, there’s the sound of an announcement from the command deck, the voice tinny through the layers of wall and pinned art. It’s still and close in the dim space. You stay in the same position long after he softens inside you, slowly pressing your lips to his neck, his eyebrow, his ears; anywhere you can reach.

Two dark shapes fitted together, edges bleeding away until you’re indistinguishable from the rest of the shadows in the little room.

#bodhi rook #sw smut #sw fanfic #bodhi rook x reader #softboi bodhi #absolutely nobody asked for this #i just have a lot of feelings

92 notes · View notes

ahsokasshoto · 3 years ago

Text

Names and Faces

Star Wars: The Bad Batch fanfiction

No romantic relationships; Omega, Hunter, Wrecker, Tech, Echo, 99, Nala Se

1999 words (I really couldn’t have just added one more, could I?)

Ao3

Summary: Imagine growing up on Kamino, dysphoric for a face that you see reflected back at you not only in the mirror but in everyone around you. Imagine what it would mean to be finally be seen as different, knowing that people were finally seeing you as you saw yourself.

Omega deals with growing up trans on Kamino, and how to later tell her newfound family this important piece of her identity and history.

TW: non-graphic violence between the first and second breaks, and mentions of/hinting toward dysphoria throughout

It was an okay face, she supposed. If she looked at it from a certain angle. And squinted a bit. The jaw was too set and square; nose too wide and flat; hair too rigid. But the eyes….the eyes were good. She had to learn to like this face. She was stuck with it.

“The hell are you looking at, Question Mark?”

The jeering voice shook her out of her thoughts and she winced. She’d been daydreaming in the middle of the cafeteria while staring directly at another clone. Again. He stepped towards her, brows knit together in a familiar fury. A group of clones stood behind him, backing him up. “I asked you a question, Question Mark,” he hissed, using the snide nickname some of the clones had branded her with. She was always disappearing for tests or riding the heels of Nala Se. No one quite knew what to make of her. To them, she was a big question mark.

She stood and looked into that face, her face, reflected back at her. She tried to keep hers neutral as she said sternly, “That’s not my name.”

The other clone smirked. “Well, what is it then, Question Mark?” He took another step toward her, those copper-colored eyes still menacingly afire. “Or is that just another question mark for us, too?”

Fortunately for Omega, those questions would have to wait as the cafeteria was suddenly abuzz with excitement. One of the clone troupes was back from a mission. “It’s the weird ones,” Omega heard another clone whisper. “Aren’t they called the Bad Batch?” another clone responded. “Don’t you mean the sad batch?” the clone who had jeered at Omega scoffed. But at least he was distracted for now, and Omega hurriedly made for the exit when she saw him.

It was that face, the one she’d seen countless times on countless people, but it wasn’t the same. His hair fell over it, and the dark ink of the skull pattern caught the bright Kaminoan light, making it look all the more shadowed. And with him were three other clones, each with equally unique faces: one with thin, hollowed cheeks and a crosshair tattooed over his eye; one which stood taller than the others, a twisting scar spread around one whitened eye; and one wearing high-tech goggles, face buried in a datapad. She’d never seen anything like these clones before.

The one with the skull tattoo turned on his way to a table and caught her eye. He gave her a small smile and nod before turning back to sit with his team. Omega could not stop her heart from fluttering.

"Who were those clones, Nala Se?"

Nala Se blinked slowly at her. "To which clones are you referring?"

"The ones who didn't look like clones. Big guy, one with goggles, one with grey hair and the one with the skull on his face."

"Those are the clones of experimental unit 99."

"Experiments?" Omega looked down at the cold machinery which poked and prodded her skin. "What kind of experiments?"

Nala Se moved some sensors, made some notes. "Nothing that concerns you."

Omega was not deterred. "Why do they look like that? Because of the experiments?"

Nala Se paused, all but sighing as she turned to look into Omega's wide, curious eyes.

"Yes. Aberrations in their DNA enhanced traits desirable in soldiers. We further enhanced those traits manually."

"Wow." Omega leaned back. "What can they do?"

"Enough questions for now, cadet. Just relax."

Usually, the sensations of the metal sensors on her skin brought on a dysphoric discomfort that would stay with her, sometimes for days after an examination like this. But today, her mind was far away, imagining the face she'd have if she could be different like Experimental Unit 99.Omega was still lost in thought as she made her way back to her bunk. It was late, and she hoped the other clone cadets would all be asleep. But her hopes fell when she heard heavy footfalls behind her.

"Well, well, well," sneered a familiar voice. It was the cadet from earlier, his crew still lurking behind him. "If it isn't the big old question mark. What are you doing out so late? Huh?"

Omega could feel his hot breath in her face. She glared at him. "None of your business."

But the other clone merely smirked. "I saw you looking at that sad batch clone earlier. You know what I think? I think you're defective," he said, jabbing a finger at her chest, "just like them. That's why they have to do so many tests on you." He tugged at her shirt. "Why don't you show us, Question Mark?" He lifted her shirt up and punched her in the gut. It knocked the wind out of her and she fell to her knees. She had barely time to throw her arms up over her face before a foot was coming at her head. The other cadets stood by and laughed. One may have even added some kicks of his own; there were so many, she couldn't tell, and she began to grow faint and dizzy. Finally, one of them said, "I hear footsteps. We'd better get out of here!"

They took off running in the opposite direction of the approaching footsteps. They were moving too quickly to be Kaminoan. She dared not look up as they grew closer.

"Are you alright?" said a soft-spoken voice, filled with genuine concern. She'd never heard that kind of voice on Kamino, not even from Nala Se. She risked a tiny peek, and found herself looking up at another clone unlike any she'd seen. His body was slightly hunched, his face wrinkled, but he looked at Omega with some of the kindest eyes she'd seen on Kamino.

"I...I think so," she winced, struggling to sit up. The clone reached out and offered a steadying hand, which she accepted. "Ow," she winced again, feeling a sharp pain in her ribs. She hoped they weren't broken; that would be difficult to hide from Nala Se.

“I’m 99,” the clone said kindly. Omega perked up. “Like Experimental Unit 99?” she asked brightly. 99 chuckled. “The Bad Batch,” he said fondly. “They had to go through this too, you know. At least, before Wrecker got too big to scare everybody off.”

She looked up at 99, wide-eyed. “Really?”

“Not all regs are like that, though. I’ve known some good ones. It’ll get better.” He smiled at her, but she still looked dismayed.

“I don’t know. I’m different, too. I don’t look like it, but I….I feel it.”

99 gently helped Omega to her feet. “Well, if you ever need someone to talk to about it, come and find me. I’d better get back to work, though. What’s your name, by the way?”

Omega smiled, and took a breath. The last letter. The last she’d ever be considered a question mark. Once the name passed her lips, there would be no going back. But she was ready.

“Omega,” she said proudly. “My name is Omega.”

99 had been right; things did get better once she told Nala Se she was transgender. “Most intriguing,” was all the Kaminoan woman had said, blinking those huge, taciturn eyes. She had begun production and administration of puberty blockers shortly after that.

Omega continued to meet with 99 through her transition, and the two became fast friends. She especially loved hearing his stories about the Bad Batch. The attack by the Separatists on Kamino was a devastating blow. She attended 99’s funeral ceremony, along with several regs. She looked over them all. Most did look pretty regular, but she noticed a couple, one with a hand painted on his armor and one with a tattoo of a five on his head. They must be more experienced troopers to have such marks. 99 had been right, Omega thought. Not all regs were bad if they could pay their respects to him.

People still treated Omega differently, but what no one realized was that every snide remark about her hair or her soft features or her clothing was a point of pride and power for her. They were finally seeing her as she saw herself.

And the next time the Bad Batch saw her, she could look back at them with a face as same but different as theirs.

"Tech, how's it going with that datapad?" Hunter said in a low voice. He, Tech, Wrecker, Echo, and Omega wandered the surface of Bracca, searching for a particular piece of machinery.

Something caught Omega's eye: a shock of color stuck out against the rusty brown all around them. She knelt down for a closer look. It was a small flower, delicate purple petals reaching through the junk for a chance at sunlight. It was beautiful.

"Nothing yet. The latent charges in the rest of the machinery here must be skewing my tech as much as your senses, Hunter." Tech shook his head. "My screen is like a big, blank question mark." The words jolted Omega out of her reverie. Her mind was suddenly thrust back to Kamino, when those words were slugged at her as much as fists were. Her chest grew tight and her heart began to pound.

“Omega?” Hunter heard her panting as much as he sensed her panic and was at her side in a moment. “Omega, what is it? What’s wrong?”

Her thoughts were racing; it was difficult to focus. “I....I just….” Big, splotchy tears began to spill. Everyone had stopped now to look at her, concern lining each of their faces. “Question mark. That’s what people used to call me, back on Kamino. Before….before I….” She couldn’t finish before choking out a sob. She turned away from them and ran back in the direction of the ship. Hunter made to follow, but Echo placed a hand on his shoulder. “Give her some space. If she wants to tell us, she will.”

The crew arrived back at the ship some time later to find Omega waiting for them. She looked at them solemnly, almost sheepishly. “I’m sorry I ran off back there,” she said quietly.

“That’s alright, Omega. Is everything okay?” Hunter asked gently.

Omega took a deep breath. “When I was first growing up on Kamino, I knew that I felt different, but I didn’t look any different from everyone else. I didn’t want to be a soldier. I didn’t want to be like them at all. I’d be taken away for tests a lot, and no one knew what to make of me. I was just a big question mark to them.”

She looked down at her hands. “Now when people see how different I look, it makes me happy. Because they’re seeing me as I am. A girl. I’m transgender,” she finished, and risked a glance up at the group. The members of the Bad Batch were all beaming at her with immeasurable pride.

"Wow," Wrecker whispered, his good eye wide and sparkling with admiration.

"Thank you for telling us, Omega," Hunter said earnestly, kneeling down to look her in the eye.

"We are so lucky to have you," Tech piped from behind Hunter.

"Absolutely. You may not have wanted to be a soldier, but you're brave and strong as one," Echo said.

"But way prettier!" Wrecker added, and they all laughed.

"Thank you guys," Omega said finally, wiping the tears from her eyes. "No one's ever understood me like you have. I couldn't ask for a better family."

"Me neither," Hunter replied.

"Here, here!" Tech agreed.

Wrecker couldn't take it anymore. "Oh, bring it in!" he cried and he wrapped his arms around Tech and Echo and sandwiched Hunter and Omega between them in a group hug. Omega’s heart swelled to know that she finally had a place and a family to which she belonged. Where she could be free to be exactly who she was meant to be.

#OMEGA IS TRANS HAPPY PRIDE #trans!omega #omega the bad batch #the bad batch #the bad batch fanfiction #tbb #clone trooper tech #clone trooper wrecker #clone trooper hunter #clone trooper echo #omega #tech the bad batch #hunter the bad batch #echo the bad batch

17 notes · View notes

goldenraeofsun · 4 years ago

Text

Rememer Me, Honeybee

Part II

Read Part I here!

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” Dean howls. “That’s what broke the curse?”

Cas, to his credit, looks just as confused as Dean wishes he were. “A kiss?” he asks, touching his lips distractedly.

Dean throws his hands in the air. “I thought it was some stupid angel magic. But no - Gabriel has a sick sense of humor.”

“Why?” Cas asks, adding before Dean can answer, “I know he does, in general. But why with this time?”

“Because,” Dean sneers, poking Cas, hard, in the chest, “he tied your soap opera amnesia to the oldest story in the goddamned book.”

According to Cas’s face, that doesn’t clear up anything at all. He protests, “But I looked at nearly all the curse books in Heaven’s-”

“Not in the angel books, numbnuts,” Dean cuts him off, “the human ones. If I ever meet Gabriel, I’m going to punch him in the goddamn fa-”

“You’d break your whole arm.”

“-saddling you with a human cure,” Dean continues heatedly, “You, the one angel who doesn’t know the difference between Tickle Me Elmo and St. Elmo’s Fire.”

Cas frowns. “I didn’t know humans had a history of solving magical curses.”

“Fairy tale humans only,” Dean says sourly as he strides away from Cas, towards the other end of the porch because he can’t stand in one place right now. “Wake up Sleeping Beauty with true love’s kiss.” He ticks up one finger. “Turn the frog into a prince with true love’s kiss. Bring Snow White back to life with true love’s kiss.”

“True love?” Cas’s voice echoes behind him.

Dean whirls around. “Wait-”

“You love me?”

Dean scowls fiercely. “Hold on there, cowboy,” he says, marching back and right into Cas’s space. “I never said that.”

“But...” Cas peters off, his blue eyes narrowing as they rake over Dean’s face, “to break the curse, you said it requires true love.”

Dean crosses his arms over his chest. “And all the signs tell me Gabriel’s a crafty son of a bitch. Did you kiss anyone else? Since you got whammied?”

Cas actually recoils in disgust. “Of course not.”

“There you go!” Dean says, gesturing emphatically. “It could’ve been any old kiss that did it for you.”

Cas frowns, and Dean knows what he’s about to say before he opens his mouth. Sure enough: “In these fairy tales, does it work if one party is love but the other isn’t?”

Dean grits his teeth. If he ever runs into this Gabriel, he’s a dead man - angel - dead angelman. “No, but there’s a first time for everything.” He stomps past Cas. “I’m gonna get a drink.”

Cas is quick to follow on his heels, and Dean can practically feel the frown Cas is directing at the back of his head. But, since he is Dean’s best friend, he waits until Dean’s fetched a beer out of the fridge (Dean’s favorite brand because Cas doesn’t drink, so he only keeps one kind). Dean, as usual, offers one to Cas in a silent offer, and Cas shakes his head. Dean shuts the fridge door, waiting with bated breath and a stomach twisting in knots.

Finally, Cas says, “If that’s the case, I’m sorry for kissing you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean grunts as he twists off the cap and takes a long pull.

Cas bites his lip. “I didn’t know our history. If I had, I obviously wouldn’t have-”

“Forget it.”

Cas runs a weary hand down his face. “I’m afraid I can’t.”

Dean’s mouth goes dry. He tips more beer back, and it does nothing to help.

Behind him, Cas’s wings flare ever so slightly, drawing Dean’s gaze. “I don’t want this to be a point of contention between us,” he says, a hint of steel in his words.

“That’s what the whole forgetting it is for.”

Cas leans against the doorframe of the kitchen, his arms folding across his chest. “This can’t be something you bring up when you’re drinking,” his face darkens, “or joking.”

Dean mimes crossing his heart.

Cas’s scowl deepens. “Like that.”

“Hey!”

Feathers ruffling, Cas says stiffly, “That’s why I want to talk about it.”

Dean scowls down at the rim of his bottle. “What’s there to talk about?” He blanches. “It wasn’t your first kiss, was it?”

Cas rolls his eyes. “Of course not.”

“Then what’s got your panties in a twist?” Dean demands, eyebrows rising. “It’s not like I popped your cherry.”

Cas pinches the bridge of his nose. “Regardless, whether it was my first kiss or not, it meant something to me. And having you… belittle it because it makes you uncomfortable is not something I’d like to witness.”

Dean carefully sets his half-empty bottle down on the counter. “It meant something to you?”

Cas’s face darkens. “I kissed you, Dean,” he says shortly, “Not the other way around.”

“Yeah, but you were all,” Dean mimes a bright flash of light, “neuralyzed.”

“You were kind to me,” Cas says, his voice incredulous. “You visited me, fed me, tried to help me.”

“’Cause you had goddamn amnesia.”

“And how is any of that any different than how you treat me normally?” Cas asks, exasperated.

Dean goggles at him. “But-”

“I understand,” Cas says in a horribly patient voice, “that Gabriel might have bent the rules for this particular curse. We aren’t in love, so he picked the next best thing.”

“Best friends?” Dean tries weakly.

Cas’s wings shift, agitated, behind his back, his face turning stony. “The last time Gabriel was here, I suspect I mentioned you one too many times.” He walks over to the kitchen table and starts stacking the semi-organized chaos of beekeeping books.

“So?” Dean shrugs, “I’m adorable.”

“He said I was getting unbearable and I needed a divine intervention to get a ‘fucking move on,’” Cas says flatly to the cover of The How-To-Do-It Book of Beekeeping. He sets it on top of the pile. “I assume he thought a kiss would put an end to my feelings for you, but I don’t think he was right.”

Dean’s mouth falls open.

Cas hefts the largest stack of books in his arms and turns to go.

Dean hurries after him. “Hey!” he huffs, more out of breath from shock than anything else. First, Cas didn’t remember him. Then, Cas kissed him. Then, Cas got his memory back. And Cas apparently loves him?

“Not now, Dean,” Cas says as he marches out of the kitchen, Dean hot on his heels. “You said you didn’t want to talk about it. I said my piece, so now we can start not talking about it.”

Dean growls, “Put down the damn books, Cas.”

“No,” Cas says without looking at him. Standing before the giant bookshelf in the living room, he mutters, “this is such a mess. I don’t know what I was think-”

“Put down the damn books so I can kiss you for real,” Dean says loudly.

Cas’s head whips around to stare at him, his blue eyes wide and full of disbelief. “Excuse me?”

Dean takes the books from Cas, grunting as he sets them down on the floor. “Why did you tell a goddamn archangel before me?”

“I didn’t tell Gabriel anything,” Cas protests. “He inferred. Based on…” he gestures to himself hopelessly, “everything about me.”

Dean presses his lips together. “I didn’t see it.”

Cas face turns wary. “Yes, that was the goal.”

“You can be such a dumbass,” Dean whispers, stepping closer.

“So it’s been said before,” Cas says, his breath coming a little quicker as Dean gets right up into his personal space. “So you’ve told me before.”

“You were trying to sell a three-hundred dollar, four-foot-tall bee sculpture to a bunch of stupid hicks who couldn’t see something beautiful when it was literally sitting in front of them,” Dean says, rolling his eyes.

“And yet, you bought it anyway,” Cas hums.

“I never said I wasn’t a dumbass.”

Cas laughs lightly, and Dean grins in return.

“This is like a whole new level of dumbass, though, even for you,” Dean says as he lays a tentative hand on Cas’s waist.

“I think you mean even for us,” Cas corrects.

Dean makes a face. Cas is right, but there’s no fucking way in hell Dean’s going to give him the satisfaction.

He kisses him instead.

As their mouths meet again, Cas makes the noise of a starving man at a banquet. Hungry, greedy fingers grip Dean with angel strength, bringing their bodies flush together.

Dean reaches around, to finally tangle his fingers in the base of Cas’s wings. Cas startles, but he doesn’t break the kiss, so Dean keeps going. He buries his fingers deeper, revelling in the silken slip of feathers past his fingertips.

“Like that?” Dean murmurs as he dips his head to kiss at the smooth area of skin behind Cas’s ear. He scratches lightly, and Cas shudders, feathers rippling deliciously. “Whaddya say to gettin’ horizontal?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows and jerking his head in the direction of the couch in the far corner of the room.

“Dean, I won’t fit on the sofa,” Cas says frankly.

Dean pulls back slightly, grimacing. “Your dick can’t be that big.”

Cas unfolds his wings. Fully extended, his wingspan stretches nearly six feet on either side.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean breathes, his mouth going dry. “I - I see what you mean.”

Cas snorts. As Dean doesn’t do anything but stare, Cas adds pointedly, “My nest is big enough, however.”

“Huh?” Dean blinks. “Right, right!” He claps his hands. “Bedroom.”

Chuckling, Cas follows him out the living room and up the stairs. Dean would never call himself a patient man, so he barely has one foot in the door before the top two buttons of his flannel get undone. He makes quick work of the rest, watching out of the corner of his eye as Cas does the same and reaches behind himself to flick open the clasps keeping the back flaps of his shirt closed.

“Now we’re talking,” Dean murmurs as he lays both hands on Cas’s gloriously bare torso. Cas has an Enochian tattoo on his left side, just below his ribs, which Dean is definitely going to ask about later, but right now he has to lick every square inch of Cas’s skin.

When he finally lifts his eyes, all his blood rushes south at the look on Cas’s face. Blue irises swallowed by black pupils. Lips spit-slick from Dean’s kisses. Hair fucked six ways to Sunday.

Dean tugs him closer so he can unzip Cas’s fly himself. “You good?” he asks hoarsely as Cas pushes him gently into the nest of blankets and oddly shaped pillows to pull off Dean’s jeans.

“I’m better than I’ve been in a vast number of years,” Cas says, his eyes dark. He crawls over Dean, his wings flaring up to bracket them in a canopy of feathers.

Dean stares up at them. Swallowing, he reaches up to trace one long flight feather.

“Do you like my wings?” Cas asks, amused.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean stumbles, and Cas seems to read all the rest of what Dean can’t bring himself to say because he captures Dean’s mouth in a fierce kiss.

Dean’s hands gravitate like magnets to Cas’s back. He cards his fingers through the feathers, grinning against Cas’s mouth as Cas gives a full-body shiver. Cas goes lax on top of him, letting Dean take more of his weight.

“Like that?” Dean murmurs in his ear as he shimmies underneath Cas so his mouth is positioned right by his ear and his wandering hands can reach more of Cas’s wings.

“I do,” Cas rumbles above him, his breathing harsh as Dean tugs on a few feathers experimentally. He bucks his hips as Dean gives a particularly hard pull, pressing his hard cock against Dean’s pelvis.

“Christ,” Dean says in a strangled voice. “Okay, big guy, I get it.”

“Get wha - Dean!”

Dean chuckles as he pulls his hand back from the small bump hidden just inside the crack of Cas’s ass. He’s not dripping yet, but he is wet, and Dean has watched too many wing kink videos to fuck this up. He rubs his index finger against his thumb, testing the slide. Slippery. Nice.

“Dean,” Cas growls, “What are you doing?”

“Uh,” Dean falters as he catches sight of Cas’s guarded face, “Oil? For lube?”

So maybe porn didn’t exactly prepare Dean for sex with a real live angel.

Cas pushes himself off Dean. “You know about that?”

Luckily Dean’s too keyed up with panic to laugh. “Yeah,” he says, his words coming a little too quickly, “I know about the oil glands. Was I not supposed to? It’s not, like, a secret.”

Cas’ wings droop behind him. His expression serious, he asks, “Have you slept with another angel before?”

Dean does laugh. “Fuck no,” he says. Before Cas’s wings can sag any lower, he adds, “but I watch porn.”

Cas blinks. “Porn with angels?”

Reddening, Dean mutters, “Angel on angel, angel on human, I’m not picky.”

“Oh,” Cas says, and Dean has no idea what to make of that. But Cas isn’t done. “If you just wanted to sleep with an angel, I don’t know if I’m the best candidate. I’m not a virgin, but I don’t have a lot of-”

“Woah,” Dean says as his brain scrambles to make sense of the crap coming out of Cas’s mouth. “That’s not why I want to sleep with you.”

Cas’s brow furrows. “It’s not?”

“Come on,” Dean says impatiently, “I don’t hang out with any other angels but you.”

“Yes, because they’re ‘dicks,’” Cas says, trying and failing to mimic the way Dean says the word.

Dean’s eyebrows raise. “And you were such a standup, easygoing dude when we first met?”

“I complained that you weren’t complying with the rules of the Farmers Market,” Cas says cautiously, watching Dean’s reaction, “and got you banned for one weekend.”

“Yeah you did.” Dean chuckles. “But once I told you why, you listened. You didn’t complain again - unlike Malachi.”

“You tried to bribe me with pie.”

Dean smirks. “You say that like it’s a crime.”

“Just because it works on you,” Cas deadpans, “doesn’t mean it’s a valuable negotiation strategy.”

Dean laughs. “Sure it does. You let me in today ‘cause I brought pie.”

Cas tilts his head. “I let you in because you seemed to know me, and you’re very attractive.” Over Dean’s very attractive, open-mouthed gaping, Cas continues placidly, “When we spoke, I found you were a loving, caring soul - like I have always known.”

Face heating uncomfortably, Dean starts, “That’s what I’m talking about. You’re different, Cas.” He reaches out to touch the back of Cas’s hand. “No other angel would’ve given me the time of day.”

Cas frowns. “You’re welcome?”

Dean sighs, and, he has to fucking say it because Cas is a dumbass who needs everything spelled out for him. “Look,” he starts, “When you said the love thing only applied to one of us,” he waits for Cas to nod his understanding because Dean’s sure as shit not saying this again , “I thought you were talking about me.”

“I don’t understand,” Cas says, and he’s such a fucking liar, based on the way his eyes widen and wings puff up, all pleased and shit. Dean would kick him if it wouldn’t break his foot.

“Out of all the other angels out there,” Dean says through gritted teeth, “I’d rather have you. Cursed or not.”

“Oh.” A brilliant smile comes over Cas’s face.

“Yeah, oh,” Dean mocks as he reaches for Cas. “We good?”

“We’re good,” Cas says as he leans forward for a kiss.

“Hey,” Dean says, breaking apart, “What do you say to a little grooming foreplay?”

Cas swallows. “What does that mean?”

“It means you’d lie face down in the nest while I groom your wings - for real this time - and get myself all slicked up for you.”

In a flurry of limbs, Cas faceplants into the nest, nearly braining Dean with a stray wing.

Chuckling, Dean maneuvers over Cas so he’s straddling one thigh, giving him ample room to work with. At the first touch to Cas’s oil gland, his feathers rustle. “I’m going to start slow,” Dean says soothingly.

He bends down to press a kiss at the tender patch of skin between Cas’s wings. Cas’s wings fidget, and for the first time (and hopefully not the last) Dean gets to feel feathers brushing against his cheeks, smell Cas absolutely everywhere, and breathe him in deep. Dean’s so fucking gone on this angel, and they haven’t even gotten to the fucking yet. Jesus Christ.

Biting his lip, Dean rubs Cas’s oil gland, getting his fingers nice and slick. “Relax,” he murmurs as he repeats the process with his other hand. Gently, he cards his fingers through Cas’s feathers, starting at the base of his wings.

Cas lets out a little sigh and wiggles in place, burrowing further into his nest.

“That’s it,” Dean says in a low voice as he keeps preening.

“You’re very good at this,” Cas rumbles as Dean rubs more oil between his feathers.

“I’ve watched a lot of videos,” Dean says dismissively, working along the muscle where the feathers more or less lay flat, massaging a little as he goes.

Cas lets out a groan.

Dean shifts his weight so his cock doesn’t leak on Cas too much.

Evidently he doesn’t move fast enough, as Cas says knowingly, “So this really isn’t a boring chore for you.” Dean can hear the smile in his voice.

Dean snorts. “Not by a long shot.” With one hand stroking down Cas’s other wing, he gives himself a few quick tugs, his breath hissing out between his teeth. Christ, he’s hard enough to knock a man out cold (hopefully Cas).

Cas twists a little beneath him, rising on his elbows. “Is everything al-” he asks as he turns around. His face goes slack, his words dying off.

Dean smirks at him. “Like what you see?” To emphasize his point, he drags his fingers through Cas’s feathers in time with one more pull on his cock.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Cas snaps, twisting up and manhandling Dean, no longer smirking, onto his back. Wings flared wide above them, Cas looms over him, his face half shadowed.

“Cas?” Dean asks, stunned, turned on, and a little terrified all at once.

Cas licks his lips. Silently, he reaches behind himself, and Dean’s overloaded brain doesn’t catch on to what Cas is doing until well-oiled fingers slide between his thighs.

“Shit,” Dean mutters as he hastily spreads his legs. He stares up at Cas, his jaw going slack at the look of utter devotion and concentration on his face. “Uh,” he coughs, “Not to spoil the mood or anything, but do you want to get a condom or something?”

Cas circles Dean’s hole a few times, spreading his oil around every nook and cranny without actually dipping inside. He lets Dean squirm on his finger before saying, “I don’t think we need one. I’m clean. And you don’t have any sexually transmitted infections.”

Dean wrinkles his nose. “How the hell do you know that?”

“You smell healthy.”

“Gross, man.”

Cas chuckles under his breath. “You made fun of me for weeks after I told that customer I smelled his untreated bladder infection. You said I should, I quote, ‘keep that shit to myself.’”

“Are you seriously telling me I told you so, now?” Dean demands.

Cas pushes the tip of his finger past Dean’s rim, and Dean’s surprised gasp cuts off his own retort. “You petty fucker.”

“I try,” Cas says, his voice dry as stale toast. He pushes in deeper, up to the first knuckle. “How does that feel?”

“Good,” Dean says hoarsely. The stretch burns a little, but the good kind of burn, not the painful kind. “Keep going.”

Cas adds another finger as Dean eagerly bears down, meeting him thrust for thrust. With his other hand, Cas reaches behind himself for more oil.

“Hey,” Dean pants, grabbing at Cas’s wrist. “Can I?”

Cas lets his confusion show all over his face, but lets Dean guide his free hand towards Dean’s mouth rather than his ass. His eyes widen in understanding as Dean slips two fingers into his mouth. The taste of Cas explodes over his tongue: musky, earthy, and bright all at once. Dean sucks, and Cas’s face morphs into naked lust.

Hoarsely, Cas asks, “Are you sufficiently prepared?”

Dean nods, letting Cas’s fingers fall from his lips. “I always wondered what that’d taste like.”

Cas pauses in lining himself up with Dean’s hole. “Did it live up to your expectations?”

“Sure did,” Dean says, groaning as Cas’s cock enters him, “You taste great.”

“Thank you?” Cas grunts distractedly as he pushes himself in further. His feathers flutter like leaves in a light breeze as his hips meet Dean’s ass. He stays fully seated inside Dean for a moment, biting his lip.

“You okay?” Dean asks wryly as he looks up at Cas through lowered lashes. “Not going to come in two minutes, are you?” His eyes widen. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that! But, y’know, I’d like it if this first time lasts a little longer.”

“So do I,” Cas says fervently as he starts to pull out.

Dean’s legs shake from the long, slow slide of Cas’s cock moving inside him. “Fuck,” he swears as Cas pushes back in. He wraps his arms around Cas, once again burying his hands in the feathers now slick with oil.

Cas leans down, touching his lips briefly to Dean’s, before drawing away to drive his cock deeper. Dean clutches at him harder, whining as Cas thrusts his hips forward, faster and faster. Toes curling, Dean can’t help arching his back so Cas reaches that good spot inside him.

He moans as Cas brushes against his prostate, zings of heat and anticipation leaping down his whole body. “Touch me,” he begs Cas in between ragged breaths. “I’m close.” His neglected cock has smeared precome all over his abdomen.

But Cas slows instead, and Dean barely holds back a whine as he stops altogether. Cas says, his voice rough, “I thought you wanted this to last.”

“I-” Dean can’t complete his thought. He bucks his hips, but Cas is like granite against him. No give at all. He clenches the muscles in his ass, gratified as Cas’s face spasms, but he doesn’t pick up again from where he left Dean high and not-all-that-dry.

“You wanted this to last,” Cas reminds him. “And I’m glad we have a moment now.” He lays a reverent hand on Dean’s chest. “You are beautiful, Dean Winchester. You, opening yourself up to me-”

Dean purses his lips. “Pretty sure you did the opening up, buddy.”

Cas breaks off, rolling his eyes. He pinches Dean’s nipple in punishment. Laughing, Dean tries to wiggle out of the way, but, of course, Cas has him good and pinned. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Sure, sure,” Dean says, his face heating uncomfortably under Cas’s continued scrutiny.

“I never thought I’d get to have you like this,” Cas says quietly as he cups Dean’s cheek with one hand.

Dean coughs. But Cas just keeps staring, and Dean really should’ve known breaking the tension between him and Cas would take bigger guns than that. He licks his lips, one corner of his mouth ticking up as Cas’s gaze drops down to follow the movement of his tongue. Eventually, he mutters, “Me neither.”

Cas’s returning smile is nearly blinding. He braces himself with both hands next to Dean’s shoulders. “May I try something?” he asks.

“Sure?”

“Tell me if this too much,” and that’s all the warning Dean has before Cas beats his wings.

Cas doesn’t use their full power, but the small, controlled flaps still force Cas deeper than Dean had thought possible. Each thrust drives the breath from Dean’s lungs, leaving him gasping and holding on for dear life to the backs of Cas’s wings themselves as an anchor.

The powerful muscles flex and tense beneath his fingers, and it doesn’t even look like Cas can tell Dean is squeezing his wings in a death grip. Cas’s eyes are screwed shut, but his mouth is lax and open. Rapturous, is the only word that comes to Dean’s mind before Cas’s cock grinds against his prostate and all thoughts are wiped from his head other than, more, more, holy fuck, give me more.

His orgasm rushes over him in a whole-body shudder.

He opens his eyes to see Cas staring at him at point-blank range.

Cas raises his eyebrows, the pleased son of a bitch. “So it wasn’t too much, then?”

Dean gives him a weary thumbs up as he falls back onto the nest, his whole body completely relaxed. Cas’s hard cock shifts inside him, and Dean twitches like a livewire from the aftershocks.

“Do you mind if I keep going?” Cas asks in a strained voice.

Dean smiles up at him. “Knock yourself out, big guy.”

All it takes is a couple slow drags - Cas keeps the wings folded, or else Dean would shake apart from the oversensitivity - and Cas falls over the edge. He comes breathing Dean’s name.

* * *

Dean wakes up alone. From the dim light filtering in from the window, it’s early evening. Confused more than anything, Dean pulls on his jeans - helpfully folded at the side of Cas’s nest. He grabs his flannel but doesn’t bother buttoning it up as he takes the stairs two at a time.

No Cas on the first floor either.

A quick peek out the window tells Dean Cas hasn’t left the property - his fugly, practical truck sits in its usual spot in the driveway.

Dean finds him with the bees, because of course he does. Cas is not wearing the full bee suit, only a long-sleeved denim jacket and worn linen pants with the hems tucked into his boots.

“Would’ve been nice to wake up with you!” Dean calls as he hastily does up the buttons of his flannel since getting a dozen stings would be the kicker after the best sex of his life.

Cas carefully slides the comb back into place. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stay,” he says, and he does sound regretful. “I was worried about the bees. I’m almost done now, though.”

“I figured,” Dean says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Next time, though, I’ll drag your ass back to the nest. This is your first warning.”

Cas noticeably brightens at the mention of next time. “I’ll remember, Dean,” he says solemnly.

Dean raises his eyebrows. “Will you?” he asks as he takes a few slow steps closer. As long as he doesn’t swat at any of the bees or make any sudden movements, he should be safe as far as bee stings go. “You didn’t remember how to clear a honeycomb a few hours ago.”

“I remember now,” Cas says, his eyes narrowing with suspicion at the gleeful expression on Dean’s face.

“You sure?” Dean asks innocently. “’Cause I could always give you a few pointers. Y’know. Since you’re so new at this.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Cas mutters as he walks away from the hives.

“I could show you how to use a bee escape. Extract a super. Requeen a colony,” Dean says as he falls into step with Cas.

“How am I simultaneously impressed that you remember what I’ve taught you and annoyed that you’re using it to mock me?”

Dean shrugs. “I’m just that awesome.”

Cas casts him a long, considering look as they approach the back porch. “Or you’re just that much of an ass.”

Dean clears his throat. “Looks like you’ll have to stick around to find out which.”

Dean scrambles in after him to kiss the undoubtedly smug look off Cas’s face.

“I think I already know,” Cas says with a sincere smile. “I've always known, since that first time you begged me to watch Star Wars with you.”

But, because Cas the true ass out of the pair of them, he ends that sappy sentiment by patting Dean condescending on the head with the tip of his wing as he strides into the main house.

#profoundnet #angel castiel #beekeeper castiel #farmer dean #fluff #amnesia #wing kink #mutual pining #friends to lovers #wing grooming #rae writes fic

22 notes · View notes

saedii-gilwraeth-simp · 4 years ago

Text

Another World - TDC Holidays - Day 27

Hi, daughter of a nurse here to tell you to give nurses more respect. If you’re giving them 100% respect, give them 110%, they deserve it, especially with the year we’ve had.

DAY 27

AU: QUARANTINE

POV: BILLY/ARSINOE

He was working on a case for a client in the kitchen when Arsinoe got home. He made no move to go to her as she passed, waving gently as she smiled tiredly at him on the way to their bedroom. Her cheekbones bore deep red indents from where she’d been wearing a face mask and goggles for her 10 hour shift.

He heard the shower running and focused back on his work, fiddling with Arsinoe’s engagement ring that he wore on his pinky while she was at work so she didn’t have to furiously wash it every day.

She emerged from the bathroom in a towel just as he closed his laptop. She padded across the room to him and kissed his cheek, nuzzling into his neck slightly. She didn’t bother getting the dinner he had put aside for her.

“Hi,” she whispers.

“Hi. How was work?” Billy asked, although he knew the answer. She was a doctor in the middle of a pandemic, it wasn’t hard to guess how her day was.

“Shit. They had me in emergency for most of the day. The nurses are being run off their feet and no one in government respects them enough to pay them more even thought they do all the hard stuff. The whole thing’s fucked. Plus, I had a patient declare he had no symptoms and then have a massive coughing fit. It was lucky I got him with the face mask right before he coughed on the other patients,” she says, turning and walking into their bedroom. Billy scowled and followed her. She emerged from the wardrobe with a t-shirt and pair of his shorts, dropping her towel and quickly changing. He passed her engagement ring to her and she slides it back onto her finger.

“People like that have no respect,” he says. Arsinoe nods and tugs Billy towards her, laying them both down. Billy lies half on top of her, putting pressure on her right shoulder how he knows she likes after long days hunched over at work.

“Yeah, they’re plague rats, I know. At least we have the day off tomorrow,” she sighs again, this time with more relief. Billy frowns and looks at the date on the alarm clock beside their bed. He had lost track of the dates but Arsinoe was right, tomorrow they both have the day off.

They were supposed to be getting married tomorrow.

Instead, they would be spending the day inside, by themselves. Arsinoe said they should Skype their families, but Billy knew she didn’t really want to, so his plans for tomorrow were making Arsinoe’s favourite foods, good wine and better sex. She could persuade him to change the order if she wanted to.

He let her cuddle tighter into him and they laid there until the timer on their lights flicked them into darkness.

He woke to Arsinoe kissing up his neck. It was easily his favourite way to wake up and he hummed happily.

“Morning, babe,” he opened his eyes slowly to see she had drifted onto his chest in the night. He kisses her good morning and her nose scrunches slightly.

“You’re breath stinks,” she says, her voice thick with sleep. He smiles and kisses her forehead.

“Well it’s a tad difficult to get up and brush my teeth when the most wonderful person alive is on top of me,” he whispers. Her cheeks went red and she went to roll off him before he held her hips still, “I didn’t say I wanted you to move,” she watches him with those gorgeous dark eyes before patting his chest and rolling off him, stretching out on their sapphire sheets.

“Go brush your teeth, junior,” she mumbles and he stands, heading towards their ensuite. When he feels her eyes on him, he turns to see her eyes flicking up to his.

“Were you just looking at my ass?” He asks and she smiles.

“It looks good in those pyjamas,” she ceded. He chuckles and goes to brush his teeth. When he exits the bathroom, Arsinoe is gone but he can hear music and cooking coming from the kitchen. He follows the sounds and leans against the kitchen wall, watching her cook and hum along to the Footloose soundtrack. He falls in love all over again.

They don’t call their families during the day, instead pretending that they’re families were busy as Billy carries Arsinoe back to their bed after breakfast. They’re probably not, but Arsinoe really doesn’t care as Billy’s delicate fingers trace her tattooed ribs and he kisses her like she’s the sun that he hasn’t felt in months.

They take their slow, sweet time, long into the afternoon until both are sleepy again.

Arsinoe feels blissfully numb as Billy lays beside her, his fair hair tangled with her dark curls, his arm a nice weight across her stomach.

“I love you,” she whispers, the sound barely making a dent in the warm silence around them. Billy’s arm squeezes her stomach gently and he kisses her shoulder. His silent way of reciprocating her affection. She turns her head to watch him for a while, allowing herself to take him in.

He’s gotten more pale after so long inside, but that had revealed a layer of freckles across his nose that she hadn’t seen since they were in university together, combining their insurmountable and quite frankly asshole-ish ability to brag with an unbeaten beer pong record. She kisses his shoulder and rolls away as her phone vibrates on the bedside table. A message from their original wedding venue that she can ignore.

And a text from Jules from twenty minutes ago: have fun today! Enjoy the day off.

And then, 10 minutes later: You two are having too much fun aren’t you! And then a bunch of winky face emojis. Arsinoe rolls her eyes and turns back to her fiancee as he shifts and pulls her back into his arms, nuzzling into her neck.

“I want to stay here for the rest of the day,” she says, running a hand over his jaw. He smiles delicately, kissing her fingers.

“Then let’s stay here for the rest of the day,” he says, kissing her and pulling her to rest on top of him.

TAG LIST: @poisonerrose, @alwaysbored005, @nataliaarronn

#three dark crowns #one dark throne #two dark reigns #five dark fates #kendare blake #queen arsinoe #billy chatworth #another world #holiday special 2020

10 notes · View notes

hawksmagnolia · 4 years ago

Text

Never falter, Never fail

Drunk Drapple Prompt for @the-ss-horniest-book-club by @findingasimplepleasure / @nano--raptor

Summary: Destroyer!Chris comes looking for the commander of his special ops team and finds far more than he expected.

Warnings: Mentions of violence (nothing major), tattoos

Word count: 1,844 (oops?)

“Can you tell me where I can find the Lieutenant?”

Behind you, several men snicker until they realize you’re glaring at them and they drop their eyes to the gear as they mumble apologies.

The former undercover agent, Chris something, is standing there. His beard is still cut into the goatee but you notice it’s starting to fill out into a full beard. He’s no longer wearing persona that he’s been living but the tattoos haven’t quite faded yet and they peek out the bottoms of his polo shirt sleeve. You also think you spy the shadows of leftover ink on his wrist as well.

Shit.

“Depends. Why do you want to know?” False bravado and snarling attitude to hide the shock.

He frowns at you, at your defensive tone and body language. “I just need to make sure he is clear on the details of this op.”

He hasn’t recognized you yet.

Thank fuck.

You shoot him a dark look before you look over your gun, checking the chamber and sliding it smoothly into the holster at the small of your back. He watches you, appraises you really. You’re dressed in your usual tactical uniform. Black boot, black pants and an olive green moisture wicking undershirt under a long sleeve button up. Your hair is hidden under a black baseball cap.

You know he’s wondering what you’re doing on this team. Not many women willingly join a special ops team like this but not only are you on it, you lead it. You are the damned Lieutenant and you’ll deal with him later. Sticking your fingers in your mouth, you give a sharp whistle that his him wincing and your team snapping to attention.

“Team Three. I need you here, here and here. Split into pairs and do not let each other out of your sight. Period.” There is a crude but effective map drawn out on the white board. Pictures of certain areas are taped next their marker counterpart. Your nails are short, unpainted and your hands are scarred and calloused. You slide the button down off and toss it onto your gear bag.

You see his impossibly blue eyes focus on your arm, ignoring the armed men hustling out of the room. More likely, is that he’s staring at swaths of black ink that vanishes under your sleeve where it begins at the top of your shoulder and ends in the middle of your forearm. The Queen of Swords in all her glory adorns your flesh. Below that is Eagle, Anchor and Globe of the USMC but the globe has been turned into the crosshairs of a rifle. There is more ink under the black fingerless gloves. Gloves that your team bought you as a joke when you were elected their leader. Black leather but with fine, almost delicate stitching that forms the outline of every bone in the hand, ones that you wear every single time you get the call. The rest of the tattoos are hidden beneath your clothing except the three small black swallows at the bottom of your hairline.

There are questions on his face that you can’t be bothered to answer right now. You shrug into the heavy ballistics vest and pull the velcro tight.

“Team Two. I want you stacked up tight in this corridor between shipping containers. Nuts to butts gentlemen, hope you showered.”

The next six men peel off from the pack and are gone.

Only two men are left, so you point to the smaller one on the left. “I want you to cover the back doors from the sky.” You point to the man on the right. “I want you on the west exits. Trench it if you can. There are no windows on that side, just two big industrial doors. I’ll make sure spikes are out in case of vehicles.”

They nod and are out the back doors of the mobile command and vanish into the rapidly forming darkness. You’re about six miles east of the compound, far enough that any light is barely visible. You shut down the lights and start to exit when the agent grabs your arm.

“I asked you where the Lt is.” He says it as “Ell-tee”. You wonder briefly if he’s a veteran too.

You grab your night vision goggles and strap them to your head, leaving them on your forehead. You yank your arm from his grip and grab your rifle case.

“I am the fucking Lt. And I’m very clear on our goals, Agent.”

You nod your head at him and spin on your heel but not before you hear his voice.

“You and I will talk after this.”

Well, fuck.

===============================

Sixteen hours later and you’re laying on flat on your back on top of a shipping container. You’d climb down yourself but you don’t want to risk any damage to your precious ‘Vera’, a Barrett M107 sniper rifle. You hadn’t thought to bring up the case because your mission’s timeline changed suddenly and you hadn’t bothered, focused on scrambling up four shipping containers for a better sightline. Things had gone sideways but in the end the good guys won and the bad guys went to prison.

There is a heavy thunk of metal on metal and you roll to your side to see Agent Chris kneeling in the ladder bucket of a fire truck. “Ready to come down or are you working on your tan?”

You flip him off as you crawl to your feet, cradling your rifle and make your way down.

“Transport will take you back to base.” He slides to the side to give you a chance to stagger onto the platform.

You nod, too tired and spent to form words. Your legs are like lead, too many hours spent on your belly first in the chill of the night which turned into a sweltering day. He catches your arm first and then your rifle. He lowers you to the ground and starts yelling for a medic.

When you open your eyes, the first thing you realize is that you’re soaked and so disoriented that briefly you think it’s raining.

And then you realize you’re not alone and your back is pressed against a person. A person whose denim clad legs are on either side of your legs. Your vest is gone. Your weapon is gone.

A little stab of panic cracks your chest as you realize you’ve been stripped to underwear and undershirt. The shower is one of those overlarge ones, enough for you both to sprawl.

You groan and try to sit up and strong arms pull you back.

“Slow down trigger. You’re in my room.”

Him.

Agent Chris Something.

“Your internal body temp was too high. Technically too high for life function according to the medics. Apparently you’re too goddamn stubborn to die. We had to cool you down.”

“Report.” You rasp.

He hands you a Gatorade. “Drink. Slowly.”

You force yourself not to gulp as he continues. “Zero casualties from your team. Couple of minor scrapes. You run a tight ship there Lt.”

“Thanks…I think. Who stripped me?”

“I did. How’s your head?”

You tilt your head side to side to test your equilibrium and then you feel his palm as he twists your hair off your neck and secures it with a band.

“Swallows?” He asks as his fingers linger there for just heartbeat too long.

“Yeah.”

“How many do you have?”

“What? Tattoos?”

He shifts you long enough to adjust the water temp up a little bit.

“I..I’m not sure anymore.”

“A full sleeve and also your hip, strong ink work, bold designs. And then you have these little tiny swallows.” His lips barely graze the delicate flesh on your neck as his hand clamps down on your right hip.

“You know I know where all your ink is sweetheart. Why didn’t you tell me that night you were a Fed?”

“Same question could be said for you.”

“Why were you in my local bar nine days ago?” He runs a hand over your side, knowing full well where he knows the words scrawl across your skin.

“Intel.” You squirm and his thighs lock your hips.

“You had my reports.”

“I prefer to have a first person view of the shitshow I send my team into.” You pull away and turn on him, kneeling on the tiled floor. “Sorry I’m not a super special agent but I’m damn good at what I do. And to be honest, I didn’t know who the hell you were and I didn’t trust you. Obviously, I was right, since I distracted the fuck out of you.”

He looks as exhausted as you feel, he’s soaked but still fully dressed. He holds up his hands in surrender. “I would have done the same thing. Just so you know? You’re the only thing that distracted me. Still are distracting me.”

You stare at each other for a couple of heartbeats before you jump into his lap. Your mouths clash together, opening to the other while your hands cup his face.

“Wait.” He gasps which you promptly ignore, your mouth on his jaw, his neck.

“Sweetheart, no. Not until you’re completely recovered.” He grabs your face in his hands. “I’m not fucking you in a bathroom again. Tell me the story behind the ink.”

“Which one?” You struggle not to kiss him again. Must be the adrenaline dump. Must have been delayed because of your heat stroke.

You’re a damn liar.

“All of them.”

“The swallows were first. Got them after my first deployment. To remind me.”

“There are three.”

“We lost three.”

He nods, doesn’t push. He knows you’re not ready for that conversation. Still sitting on his legs, you peel your soaked shirt off and toss it aside.

“Ribs was right before my second deployment. I wanted to have that reminder.” You press his hand against the words. “I will never falter and I will not fail.” “Hurt like a bitch too.”

“Got back from deployment and I was fucked up in the head. Too young to have seen what I saw. So I got my spine done.”

He doesn’t have to look, he knows what it says.

“Scars show us where we have been, they do not dictate where we are going.”

Moving his hand to your right hip, you leave it to linger over the stone tower and crescent moon that stain your skin. “Tarot card. The Tower. Represents everything I felt when I got out.” He doesn’t comment on the two puckered scars at two of the corners.

You twist your arm so he gets a better look. “Queen of Swords. When I finally found myself again, I wanted to be independent, strong. It helped me patch myself back up and apply for the agency. I got this before my expert firearms test at Quantico. Eagle, Globe, Anchor…with my rifle sight in the globe to show how both of those pieces of me make one.”

“And your hands?” He asks softly.

He takes both of your hands in his and kisses the ink across your skin at the base of your thumbs.

“Breathe.” Says the left.

“Hold.” Says the right.

“Just a reminder when I line up the shot.”

“How about you give me a shot?”

“What?”

“You’re incredible for reasons not related to a bathroom in a bar. I want a chance to lick every single one of those tattoos.”

“If that’s the case, wait until you see my piercings.”

Chris groans as you smile into his kiss.

@nano--raptor @cchellacat @eurynome827 @jobean12-blog @book-dragon-13 @aesthetical-bucky @marvelgirl7 @sallycanwait68 @buckys-broody-muffin @softpeachbarnes @godofplumsandthunder @azurika-writes @ikaris-whore @this-kitten-is-smitten @randomfandompenguin @littleredstarfish

Want to be on the tag list? Send me a message!

#HBC #hbc drunk drabbles #prompt fic #Destroyer!Chris #destroyer!chris x reader #Sebastian stan #gonna need to write the prequel now #fanfic #allie writes

63 notes · View notes

notasiren21 · 5 years ago

Note

Lukanette 24, 86. First day at university/college?

Hell yea bud I gotchu (even tho I have classes in the morning and finished this af 4AM but lol idc)

Rootbeer Floats & Milkshakes

Rating: Teen basically

Pairing: Lukanette

Word count: 3,839

Prompt(s): (24) “Wanna go grab a drink?” & (86)”Don’t be scared, I’m right here.”

Characters: Luka Couffaine, Marinette Dupain Cheng, Ayla Cessaire

Description:

Marinette’s first day at university comes with a surprise planned by a certain quiet girl off somewhere else for school and her best friend/roommate Ayla. It’s been two years since Luka and Marinette last saw each other and inner thoughts get spilled and fluff takes place.

So many boxes.

That’s all there was to it. There were too many boxes she had carried up and unpacked between her and Ayla that filled their new university dorm room.

In fact, she was almost certain there was a god out there when a student happened by saying he was taking spare boxes to store away for a later time.

She collapsed onto her bed, black high waisted skirt spanning the mattress and covers, pink silk blouse hanging off one shoulder. An arm carefully draped across her face to avoid makeup, lips parting in an exaggerated moan of exhaustion.

“You alright there, girl?” Ayla snickered, folding her clothes and swatting Marinette’s thigh to get her to move.

“If by alright you mean, questioning my life choices and events that led me to here and disdain for being limited to colleges because of my other persona needing to be here for an akuma, then yes. I’m alright.”

Ayla whistled lowly, “Damn, bug. And here I was, worrying about that small thing called tuition and student loans.”

The bluenette sat up in a huff, leaning against the wall with eyes closed rubbing at her forehead.

“Right, that. God, the thought of starting university scared me, but being here is downright terrifying.”

And then she heard it.

“Aw, Mari, don’t be scared, I’m right here.” And there standing was the owner of the smooth and calming voice. Grinning with his perfect teeth and one snake bite piercing ring on the bottom left of his lip, hair more of his natural black roots and electric blue tips, and a few tattoos.

She was screaming excitedly and hurling her body into his for a hug before Ayla had the chance to turn around and the poor boy could blink.

“Luka!” She smushed her face against his middle ribs, feeling the muscles of his now matured figure and the soft cotton blend of his black hooded long sleeve.

Ayla still folded, more than pleased Juleka involved her in a scheme like old times and reunited the two after Luka left for university for those two years and spent breaks being Jagged Stone’s new protégé.

He placed a kiss to her hair, squeezing her tight and feeling his face burn from her presence altogether. “It’s nice to see you too, Ma-ma-Marinette.” He teased, watching as she pulled away and wiped some small flecks of glitter highlighter away from his shirt. “It’s fine, I don’t mind it.” He said, carefully grabbing her hand and bringing it down to rest between them.

“I didn’t know you went here.” God, her eyes were so blue.

“I could say the same. I came to visit because Ayla said she needed help with boxes and Juleka told her I attended the same school and lived in the same building.” He raised their hands, placing a kiss to her knuckles, “This is by far the greatest surprise though.”

Marinette blushes heavily from the gesture. She used to whenever Luka was sweet around her but the time spent apart seemed to reinforce her feelings. She smiled before a frown took over her features. She quickly whipped around to stare at the taller female.

“Why didn’t you just invite him over sooner? We would’ve finished forever ago.” Only receiving a huff and glance to her.

Luka blinked, “Oh, so you don’t need any help?” Great, now he was feeling like he was intruding and a possible nuisance hanging around.

He was about to offer to leave them so they wouldn’t be distracted when the small and petite girl he spent his last teenage years loving squeezed him into another hug.

“Oh my god, you being here is more than enough help. I think I can see the light, is this it? Seeing Luka has killed me with such peaceful serenity I’m able to leave this horrid place for a possible paradise?”

He gave an amused laugh that rushed out of him, staring wide eyed to his old friend with glasses.

“Don’t even bother. She spent a summer with Chloé having to serve punishment by working in her family’s bakery and everyday it was nonstop dramatic monologues until their shifts ended.” She smiled, “It was amusing and did get better as time went on though.”

He only nodded, hating when she let go and moved to put small and casual heals on, long hair falling over her shoulders as she lent to the side, finding solid balance along her bed post.

“Well since it’s a reunion and all, wanna go grab a drink?”

Luka only dimpled down at her in response, excited she wasn’t ready to part ways with him just yet.

“You even have to ask?”

~*~

There was no question about it in her mind; Luka had definitely gotten hotter in their time separated.

His hair was messy in his young rockstar way but still gravitated the urge for Marinette to play with from across the table. His eyes seemingly more of azure than just regular blue when he was younger. Eyelashes and brows black and more defined.

How in the hell did his features harden after two years?

Marinette played with the straw in her milkshake, glancing up frequently to catch a glimpse of Luka who was at the counter ordering a root beer float. She coward every time he looked to her like he felt her stare.

Ayla passed on the reunion trip, saying she was going to go visit Alix and then spend the rest of the day with Nino who attended the same school as them.

“Sorry I couldn’t take you to a bar or something to ease your nerves, I can’t drink.” He said, sitting down and alternating between a spoon and a straw for his drink.

“You can’t?” She was surprised, most university students would frequent shops and stores to buy out the liquor section back home.

He shook his head, the curve of the spoon sitting on his tongue before he spoke. “Nope, alcohol intolerant. Pass out the second it hits my system, I get sick and the worst hives ever.”

“That sounds awful, how did you find out?”

He laughed lightly, “My roommate was in charge of making punch for a party he was going to later when I would be out buying a new release of this one game. He asked me to try it and only told me of the fruit ingredients, wondered if it needed more sugar. Had no clue until I woke up in the campus’s infirmary.”

She grabbed his hand with hers, white nail polish tips visible to him on short nails of hers. “If it makes you feel any better, I had planned to order a Shirley temple or something had you taken me to a bar. Never like the idea of drinking anyways and I don’t have the luxury of freedom to.” She faltered before she smiled at him.

“Yeah, never know when one will need to run across the rooftops of Paris huh?”

She went impossibly still before he realized what he confessed.

“You knew?” Her voice was a mere whisper, eyes growing wide and beautiful mascara lashes blinking rapidly.

He let go of her hand quickly like he just hurt her, opting to lean on his elbows on the hard table and mess with his hair nervously, avoiding her gaze.

“I mean, I’ve always known since I first met Ladybug in person,” he was speaking quietly to avoid drawing attention. “The way you spoke was just, it was mesmerizing and like a song in itself. When she talked to me, all I could hear was you. And one day you approached me from behind and said my name in that way you do that gets to me and I turned around and saw her instead. And I just knew, I mean that day I was more sure than I had been the first meeting.”

The air suddenly turned thick and she didn’t know how to respond until she thought about certain things he said that she could focus on and giggled.

“And yet the people I spent everyday with in class never picked up on it. You truly are one of a kind, Couffaine.”

The hand that messed with his colored locks stilled, eyes meeting hers that were amused and he felt himself burning like mad. Clearing his throat and sipping the soda from the ice cream concoction.

“So, how’s Adrien?” He wouldn’t dare give himself hope like last time when he first fell for her.

“Adrien? He’s fine. Why do you ask?”

“Haven’t you guys hit like your third year yet? When was that anniversary?” He really didn’t want to know but it would provide him a slap of reality before getting hurt again by his own damn self.

She giggled again, head hanging low and bit her lip in a way that made his chest tighten. “I wouldn’t know. We broke up a few months into our first year because we just weren’t made for one another. We’re still great friends and that’s all we are to each other. Nothing more.”

Ah fuck...the hope is seeping in.

“Huh, didn’t see that coming.”

She added some sprinkles to her shake that sat on the ice cream parlor’s table besides the napkins. “We were younger, thinking everything made sense and it would work out. In reality, I just had some tween love obsession goggles on that inhibited my logic and real life objectives.”

He was smiling now, arms folded with one able to eat the soda flavored ice cream, “You really grew up, huh?”

“I could say the same to you. Wonder how a Viperion would look today than from two years ago? Sexier? More fitted? Definitely hotter no doubt.” She flashed a smile and her shoulders shook when he coughed harshly and choked on his spoonful, looking at the way the red traveled down to his neck and his eyes shook in panicked awe of her. “You okay there, Vipey?”

“Vipey?” He hit a fist to his chest, drinking the soda at the top again. Questioning that one little thing was far easier to draw attention to her teasing compliments.

She waved him off like that new nickname wasn’t twisting his heart in the most delicious pain he ever felt. “Always wanted to call you that but Chat was such a jealous and possessive thing back then, I was afraid he’d claw you to bits if I gave you your own pet name.”

Did she really not know what she was doing to him?

Wait.

“Okay, I get it. It’s a cute name.” He leaned towards her again, “On another note, is this you confessing that Chat Noir is Adrien? Because I kinda already figured.”

She gaped before smiling, “You’re just too good, aren’t you?”

“Not really. I mean, a socially repressed kid who lives by a set of rules and is made to be perfect all the time suddenly gains powers, and what is he expected to do? I would think look untamed and be unfiltered as much as possible. It wasn’t that big of a leap when I knew she was you. Well, a small fraction of you at least.”

Marinette ignored the last part. “You know, most people love to say her name. Ladybug’s. Why don’t you?”

His dark brows furrowed before he held a spoonful of his ice cream up to her lips, still leaning forwards and meeting her eyes. “I like your name better, Marinette. You’re what makes her, you’re always Marinette. Why call you by something else unless it’s required of me to do so?” She pretended like the hitch in her breath wasn’t obvious and ate the ice cream, noting the way his eyes didn’t dart down to watch her eat it like most boys would but instead held her gaze, and only dropped to grab more for her.

“What do you mean by that?”

He gave a sad smile, “You’re a smart girl, Mari. Ladybug isn’t who you are, it’s just a persona you created to ease the worries of an entire city that’s heavily populated. Someone you made real to stand up against someone with a power and lust for evil when I’m sure you wanted to hide away like the rest of us. Who you are behind the mask is so much more powerful than the one presented to us because you’re human. You made her to get through the challenging times and give a hero to a city when you wanted to be protected and safe just like them. I admire Ladybug for all she’s done, but I admire Marinette more for the sacrifices she’s made to help Paris and the victims of akumas.” He wiped the corner of her lips when the tinted ice cream caught his attention, his smile dropping. “Every time Ladybug got hurt, my heart didn’t break for her, it broke for you.”

“Me, what why?”

He chanced it and leaned his forehead to hers. “Because everyone saw you gain injuries throughout battle and they cried for Ladybug. Then your purification presumably took away the pain and injuries, but I always assumed some lingered. And that the memories in fact did stay and I wondered how many sleepless nights you had where you jolted awake in fear of getting hurt again, and I prayed to whatever deity there was that you didn’t cry alone in the dark.”

She wanted to cry now.

“People worry about the hero and then the fight is over, then worrying about themselves and the close calls. No one ever stops to worry about the person behind the mask though. I’ve always hated that.”

“No one but you, huh?” They had quieted down significantly and whatever had been flickering between the two had grown to sparks that remained unsettled inside them.

Luka glanced down at their hands that were close to one another’s, taking a deep breath before pulling back. “C’mon, I’ll take you back.”

The walk back was silent, Marinette holding onto his arm that was lazily available while his hand rested in his shirt pocket. He gave her a small smile when she took off her heals to walk through the carpeted dorm hallway, offering to carry the small shoes for her that now dangled from his free hand’s hooked fingers. He watched her step on the patterns in graceful ways, dancing around them to his humming in the near empty hallways.

He assumed there was a first day party raging on somewhere in the building.

They stopped at her dorm, finishing out keys and letting him walk inside to place her shoes down on the rack she brought with her from home. He looked up just in time to see a familiar bracelet presented to him, a snake kwami floating near it and a red one zipping in the back to eat baked goods from home.

He couldn’t find words for how surprised he was, looking between the little god and then her and the bracelet.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, Sass won’t mind. I just felt like I would’ve had a great partner in Viperion if I was given the chance to work with him more.”

He willed himself back, “How do I know this isn’t some elaborate excuse to check me out in a skin right suit?” He nearly prided himself when she became equally as flustered.

“That’s only a quarter of the reason why I’m offering, Luka.” She pouted, avoiding his eyes and shifting her weight nervously. He smiled down at her, grabbing her arms and wrapping them around his waist as his crossed over her shoulders, cheek resting to her hair again.

God, this felt like home.

“When have I ever said no to you, Mari?” He could feel her excitement shoot through her and the small squeal of excitement reached his ears as he laughed. Letting her pull one arm from her shoulder and slip the bracelet on. “Hi, Sass. I’ve missed you.”

The snake smiled, glancing between Luka and the smaller girl in his arms that was beyond content with the turn of events for the night. “Not assssss much asssss her I presssssume?” Earning a snicker when he winked to the small god.

“Luka, the main reason I asked you?”

He pulled away, letting her sit on the bed on her knees, messing with her skirt in her hands.

“Yeah?”

“It’s because, I’m, um,”

“Take your time, Marinette. I don’t mind.”

She took a breath, “I’ve never trusted anyone with my inner thoughts and feelings like I do with you. You read me like an open book and try to keep it to yourself so I never become embarrassed. But you know the real me behind the mask that most others don’t even if they know my secret, and that counts for something.” She met just azure eyes, “Who better to protect me than the one who sees I’m just as weak as any civilian.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, instead walking closer to her and letting his right hand guide the back of her head to his lips as he placed a kiss to her forehead.

“Is that a yes?”

He nosed her hair, “Maybe I just want to hear you call me Vipey again.”

She giggled in kind, flicking his nose. “It’s a cute nickname for a cute boy who is a cute superhero.” She nudged the tip of his nose again, “With a cute, button nose.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were flirting with me, Dupain Cheng.”

“It took me a few years to gain the courage for it, but yeah, I guess you could say I am.” She blinked up innocently at him. He crossed his arms with a smirk.

“You know it’s dangerous for cute and beautiful girls like you to make guys like me hopeful right?”

“Is it?” She tried matching his height, even with the extra inches of the bed she only reached to his chin while she stood on her knees. “You said I’m smart, meaning I’ve learned my lesson this second time around. It’s okay for you to be hopeful, right?”

“Marinette?” He couldn’t move, afraid he would scare her off and praying to those kwamis he knew what was happening next.

“Luka?” She nudges her nose to his chin, giggling lightly when he shifted down to meet her nose like she wanted. He couldn’t and wouldn’t make the first move, she knew that. He respected her too much to read too far into things she did. “You know I always had this crush on you, right?”

“You what?”

She frowned, tears glistening around the blue hues of her eyes. “I really did miss you while you were away.” He forced a swallow, ignoring the matter that no one has ever spoken those words to him before and the weight they carried to him. “I’m not messing up this time, Luka.”

She pulled at the collar of his hood, bringing him down to her lips as her name died on his tongue and his hands slipped out of the pocket of his shirt to find support from her waist. His eyes screwed shut in fear of it all not being real or worse, her realizing it was a mistake to take with him.

But she still let her hands travel to his hair, giving a small happy noise with the ability to now play with it and feel it between her fingers. That alone coaxed him out of his potential nightmare slowly and encouraged him to move his lips against hers , feeling her smile when he found the bed to sit on so she wouldn’t have to lean up and felt her legs draped over his lap sideways.

He couldn’t bring himself to do anything when she broke the kiss, scared she’ll kick him out or express regret. Instead she gave a shy smile and then pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, hands framing his face before she hugged him with enough force to send Luka tipping backwards into her pillows with her on top of him.

She didn’t move off of him, only brought her face up to rest on her arms on top his chest while he refused to look at her. She held his face again, feeling the heat of the blood rushing to his face.

“Is it my turn to say how cute you look when you’re a blushing mess?” Her impish smile widened when the depths of his blues met hers, his jaw hardening in response to let her know he was at a loss for words. She ran a hand through his hair, noting the way he couldn’t stop the hum from escaping his throat. “You always were the one who got away, I didn’t want to risk it this time around and knew it the moment I saw you step into the university dorm that it had to be.”

He swallowed nervously, fingers twitching on her back. “Does this mean you want to be-,”

“Boyfriend and girlfriend for the time being? Absolutely.” She gave a firm nod, lips pressed in a straight line to make him laugh finally. He tried not to think about the her response and what the “time being” could lead to, hopefully a future together like he always wished for.

“Okay. I want that too.” She grinned, resting her chin on her arms again and staring up at him with an awed look. “What?”

She shook her head, leaning up to peck his lips before darting down to his chest and resting her cheek against his heart, “Nothing, you’re just really cute, Luka.”

“Oh my god, you’re going to kill me.” He muttered, arms leaving her and covering his red face.

“You okay?”

He whimpered, “Peachy. I meet up with the girl I’ve had a crush on forever and have a date with her and she ends up being my girlfriend before the night is over. And she’s the type to shower me in compliments. I’ve sighed my own death wish.”

“While you’re dealing with that, you mind if I turn the television on and catch up on an anime I’m watching?”

He uncovered his face to look at her then the tv across her bed, “Does this mean we have to move?”

She shook her head, moving to grab the remote and he noted he recognized the show already from some posts and expressed interest to himself of it before.

“No, I’m too affectionate to pass up on cuddling.” She sat up to grab a blanket before resting on his chest again, tangling her legs with his and giving a happy wiggle when he hugged her close. “You smell nice, I like it.”

“Fuck, you’re really too adorable, Marinette.” Luka sighed, forever grateful the university he didn’t care much about had one thing he would give the world to and she wanted nothing but him instead.

“You’re adorable too, Vipey.” Giggling when he squeezed her in retaliation and muttered to just watch her show and cuddled him.

#luka couffaine #miraculous ladybug #miraculous lb #miraculous luka #luka x marinette #mlb luka #marinette dupain cheng #marinette dupain cheng x luka couffaine #love #lukanette fic #lukanette fanfic #prompt #fluff #mentions of viperion #answered ask #i need sleep #lukanette

96 notes · View notes

kingofdirtandnothing · 4 years ago

Text

@polyfacetious big ass Christmas Drabble Extravagaza: Day Nineteen

George has a damned fine voice. And it’s a good thing that he does, because the man talks about boring shit more than anybody that Atticus has ever known.

Like now. He’s been droning on about chemical reactions for god knows how long. If they weren’t naked in bed, Atticus would get up and walk off. Go make a cup of tea or something. It wouldn’t deter George at all. He’d just keep on talking.

Because it wasn’t really about having a captive audience. George just did his best work thinking out loud. God only knew how much chatter that little assistant of his heard. Hours upon hours would be Atticus’ guest.

But you didn’t get to be one of the best chemists in the world by being white bread and butter normal, now did you?

Atticus waits for a lull in the onslaught of words, giving it a full three seconds before he speaks, just to be certain George had wrapped up his thought. (He’ll never admit to thoughtfulness out loud. That would ruin his reputation.)

“I’m getting leave again at Christmas.” George shifts onto his side, head resting on the upturned palm of his hand. He’s not what anyone would call beautiful, but there’s something about him that makes Atticus’ blood run hot. (He’s not a looker himself. Atticus figured that out young. He also learned that personality could get you the same bits with just a little more work.)

There’s a moment where George’s eyes are far away. Atticus waits, as patient as he ever is. You had to give the man time to come back to himself from wherever those rambling thoughts were. But there’s a blink and those clever eyes zero in on him, because George is clever, and he sees what’s being offered.

A holiday. Together.

Neither one of them had any family to speak of. Atticus had the crew, and George had his work socials and his bored rich housewives, but beyond that, there wasn’t really much to do on a holiday.

Unless one of those bored rich housewives could sneak away from her family on Christmas day. Which if a woman could handle that, Atticus would concede his spot in the bed, because that’s some fucking logistics and deep lies to accomplish.

“I could swing ‘round this way.” An offer. Because they’ve been doing this on and off for years, but it’s never been Official. It’s never been just the two of them and no one else. Atticus don’t mind it that way. He’s not jealous of saggy breasts or diamond earrings. A man had his urges.

But there was something about asking to spend a holiday together that felt intimate in a way they tended to skate away from. Atticus was head over heels, there was no denying that truth. He’d been in love with George for a long time now, and he’s confident enough to say it’s mutual. But mutually in love and mum about it was a hair different than mutually in love and spending Christmas together like a pair of old queens.

He brushes his fingers along the corded muscle at the back of a strong neck, his breath a sharp exhale when George clambers on top of him. “You aren’t exactly light as a feather here, Georgie.”

And that gets him an elbow right to the ribs for his trouble. “I’m perfectly shaped for all my activities, I’ll have you know.” George had a voice that made your toes tingle. It’s what drew Atticus in, back when they first met. Sitting a few blokes apart at the bar, nursing drinks in the quiet of an early morning.

All the partiers were gone, the lightweights sleeping it off against the bar top. All that was left were the lonely men and the alcoholics. And when Atticus heard that raspy, dry paper grumble of ‘another, damn it’, his dick was already on board and half hard.

There wasn’t much courting, then. But neither one of them were the type for romance. (A lie Atticus perpetrated because if George saw his notebook full of poetry, he’d never let him live it down.) Atticus had simply moved three stools down, knocked back the rest of his pint, looked over at George and said ‘I’ll jerk you off in the bathroom if you’ll do the same for me.’

And they’d been meeting ever since. A slow and steady escalation, because despite the drugs and the booze, George was as steady in spirit as he was in hand. Hand jobs in the bar bathroom became back alley blow jobs. Back alley blow jobs became backseat fucking in George’s car. Fucking in George’s car became a short drive to whatever hotel that Atticus was scrimping out to get him through leave.

All to get them here. Legs tangled like mad drunk grasshoppers, fingers tracing muscle and ink. (George had a fondness for tracing the lines of the compass tattooed on the top of Atticus’ head. He said it helped him think.) Talking about spending the holiday together in a hotel room just like this.

“Well.” The word is snapped off at the end, though the rasp of it is teasing. “If you’re going to be staying more than a day or two, it stands to reason that you should sleep at my place. That way, you can spend your money on getting me a proper gift.”

Another escalation. Atticus knows where George lives. He’d gotten the address back when they were still fucking in the back of the car, fogging up the windows like teenagers. He’d used it only to send the bastard postcards, though. Atticus liked to fill them out with useless facts about things he saw when they were out and about. The biggest thing he saw in a place, and the smallest. What the oddest local cuisine was. Atticus liked his little facts.

And he liked an excuse to keep himself in George’s thoughts, since the slimy git had a habit of taking up space in Atticus’ thoughts, whether he wanted to or not.

But being offered to stay at George’s place? That was a big deal. Because it made this holiday bit even more serious. It wasn’t two men sharing take away on a shitty motel bed with A Miracle on 34th Street playing quiet in the background on an out of date TV.

This was a proper Christmas. At home. In George’s home. For at least three or four days.

“You’d do that?” It’s a stupid response, and Atticus sees just how stupid it is by the way that George is looking at him.

“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to.” And he had a point there. It was like moving mountains to get George to do things he was indifferent about. Atticus couldn’t imagine what it would take to make the bastard do something that he really didn’t want to do.

“Right.” Atticus murmurs, tracing the crow’s feet wrinkles where they crease the skin at the corner of George’s eyes. Some people said you could read those lines, the same way you read the lines on someone’s palm. But Atticus can’t be sure if those were lines of laughter, or lines of squinting behind goggles in a lab.

He hopes it’s more laughter than anything.

Atticus saw a fortune teller once, a little old woman set up on a blanket at the fringes of a bazaar in India. She had taken his hand and pointed out the lines to him in broken English. His life line was long, a few close calls written into the cracks in the line along his hand. His fortune line was more like Morse code, and Atticus felt like that was pretty true to life.

But most of all, she earned those rupees when she pointed out his heart line. ‘Late’, she said with an all knowing nod. ‘Strong.’

It’d be years more before he met George. The old bag had been more right than Atticus could have guessed. Late meant he was in his forties before George Cholmondeley. (And another year plus before he could spell the bastard’s last name.)

Strong wasn’t the half of it.

Nothing was ever going to keep Atticus from being out at sea. But George was enough to lure him back to land more than he ever did before. This was the first year that Atticus was actually going to use up all of his leave, instead of having it converted and put onto his pay.

“Right.” George agrees, and that’s the end of that. There’s a light in those clever eyes that says ‘argue with me and lose hours of your life and still do what I say’ and Atticus can’t argue with those facts.

Arguing with George was like trying to shove a camel through the eye of a needle. You’d work up a sweat, you’d get pissed off and tired, but you’d be no closer to your goal hours later.

No, it was settled.

“And what does a man such as yourself want for a Christmas gift, hm?” Because Atticus has no earthly idea what to get him. He knew all the stupid tidbits, things that George liked to eat, the things that he loathed. What movie he’d roll over to watch, if it was on the television when they were done fucking.

But none of those things equalled out to Christmas gifts. It’s not like Atticus could buy him a tie or a nice pen and call it a day.

“You to figure it out.” And Atticus should have seen that coming. George was contrary, often just for the fun of it. And even more often, just for the amusement of watching Atticus get pissed off trying to figure it out.

“Bastard.” He drops his head back against the overly starched hotel pillowcase and sighs, eyes on the ceiling. There were no stains up there, which was an improvement from the last time that they met up to spend the night together. But it was that popcorn style that reminded Atticus of being a little boy, spending his nights staring up at the ceiling in the boy’s home. Right out of the 1970s, it was.

“You like it.” And again, Georgie isn’t wrong. Atticus loves the holy hell out of the bastard, not that he’s going to say that out loud any time soon. His silence is rewarded with George easing down into the crook of his left arm, cheek pillowed against Atticus’ chest.

He wasn’t exactly a chiseled Greek god, but it was easy to not feel insecure about the softness of his belly when George was running his fingers through the soft, downy hair there.

“A notebook is cheating.” Because he knows that George is going to buy him a gift too. There’s a huff of offense that blows warm air against his chest, and Atticus grins. “If I don’t get the easy out, then you don’t either.”

His notebook did need replacing, though. It was a battered old spiral bound number. In a few more weeks, it’d go in the bottom of his trunk with the other full ones. But he wasn’t going to carry around some expensive leather wrapped thing. Hell, just last week he dropped his notebook in the toilet.

Not going to risk doing that with something that cost more than a pound or two.

“Now you’re the one who’s being a bastard.” George’s irritation always has such a lovely bite to it. Atticus likes getting him riled up, though he doesn’t try too often. It wasn’t easy. But it was always worth his hard work, as evidenced by the blunt nails dragging deliciously down his belly.

It’d be awhile yet before he was able to go again, seeing as they’d just finished fucking about ten minutes ago, but the spirit was really fucking willing right about now, regardless of what bullshit the flesh was on about.

“Yeah. But you love me.”

And yeah, it was very much mutual.

#ch: atticus #polyfacetious | chol #polyfacetious #v: expats row #queued #carlota's christmas drabbles

3 notes · View notes

leonajasmin-writeblr · 5 years ago

Text

OC Interview Tag

Thank you @westywrites for the tag! I feel like I underrate Sebastian even though he’s one of my favourite characters at the same time(????) so I’m going to interview him! Along with his sister Miriam because I want to work on making them having different voices.

Rules: Pick a character from your WIP and have them answer these fifteen questions, then tag people.

1. What is your full name?

Sebastian Phineas Alexander Schwarz. Phineas, obviously, is after my dad. Alexander is after Alex, who my parents babysat when they were teenagers. Schwarz is also after my dad because that’s his surname. And then my mother liked Sebastian so that was her contribution.

Miriam Elena Arnette. Miriam is a more formal homage to my mother’s middle name (Mirabelle), Elena is after my paternal grandmother and Arnette is my mother’s surname.

2. What does your full name mean?

Sebastian was an early Christian martyr who was both tied to a tree and shot with arrows as well as being clubbed to death- hence why I’m unholy as heck to prevent that happening to me. Alexander means ‘defending men’ and as the future leader of Phinea, I guess I have to defend my people (not just men though). Phineas means ‘oracle’, which suits my dad better. Schwarz is German for black.

Miriam means ‘wished for’, which is ironic since my father disowned me. Elena means ‘bright, shining light’ even though, I can assure you, I’m the opposite of that. Arnette was just made up by the author and is too uncommon to find any information on (whoopsie).

3. What are your nicknames/other names?

Both of us don’t really go by nicknames but mine is Seb or Sebi whereas Miriam’s list of hated nicknames include Marnie and Mirry.

4. What’s your gender?

I’m male and Miriam is female.

5. What’s your sexuality?

Gayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy with a boyf

Bisexual. My first two partners were female but now I’m ‘experimenting with’ the opposite sex.

6. Where are you from?

Mindeya, the Phinean capital. Born and bred.

Natli, Vanska’s capital. I wasn’t born there though.

7. How old are you?

We’re both fifteen. We’re not twins though; our parents decided to do the nooky not too long after I was born and Miriam was slightly premature on top of that.

Sebastian’s birthday is early September and I was born mid-August the following year.

8. What is your magic form/what species are you?

We’re both humans but have abilities. I’m a Guarder.

I’m a Time-Turner.

9. What does your human form look like?

I’m short like mother and thin like dad. Curly, messy brown hair which is almost the same colour as my skin. And I have light green eyes.

On the other hand, I have dad’s height and mother’s slightly thick and curvy build. My hair is also curly but darker, closer to black. I’m slightly paler than Seb but it’s still obvious I’m mixed. I have amber eyes and a prosthetic left arm.

10. What’s your aesthetic?

Even though Vanska is the steampunk empire, I still wear some of their gear, including some goggles and an old jacket Miriam grew out of. I skateboard and dabble with some things which my dad thinks are illegal so I guess a thrifty steampunk vibe.

Whatever you associate with cold. It’s my personality and how I always feel. I wear a (vegan) leather jacket but that’s seen as the norm in Vanska for those of us who don’t want our ribs broken by corsets. And books. I love reading.

11. Who’s your best friend?

Best friends are for weenies. I’ve got lots of friends but nobody I’d class as ‘best’.

My childhood best friend was Roman and at school it’s Cyrus. Now the two are together, it’s made it a lot more difficult.

12. Would you ever get a piercing/tattoo?

I’ve got a few piercings but don’t wear my studs that often. I have commitment issues so getting a tattoo is probably a bad idea.

I have absolutely no interest in either.

13. When are you happiest?

When I’m left alone and have some sort of (non-academic) challenge to solve. Tinkering, how to land a jump on my skateboard, how to escape the house without being caught by any of my dad’s workers...all fun.

When I get to be a grandmother. In bed, alone, with a cup of tea and a book or some knitting needles.

14. What’s your biggest secret?

How much illegal crap that I have in my bedroom cupboard. I keep my room a mess so my no one attempts to clean the place.

My family have been keeping secrets from me, but I’ve hidden the fact I’ve known what they are for a long time.

15. What was your first impression of [each other]?

Miriam was in her unstable stage when we first met. Dad and Uncle Dimitri wanted me to get to know her so we’d purposely get paired into group projects. She was annoying and bossy but boy, did she naturally take to leadership. When needed, she could take control of our group projects with the Vanskan virtue of being harsh but fair. So Sebastian was really annoyed by her, but Secondary Master Schwarz was annoyed at how she could naturally do everything he was nagged about.

I’d been told to get on with the Secondary Master of Phinea before I left school, but wow, was he annoying. We’re both blunt and can get on people’s nerves when we don’t consider what we’re saying but the main difference between us was Sebastian is lazy as hell. He was that annoying person who committed just enough in our group projects that he wouldn’t be failed. But he followed me the lunch after the project and I realised he was still like that, but just less caricatured.

If y’all want to take part, then I’m going to tag @mortalitazi, @vampire-sharks and @dearotpstopdyingpls!

4 notes · View notes

ryder-s-block · 6 years ago

Text

Jaig Eyes (Ch 3)

Chapter: 3/?

Always available on fanfic! https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13221379/1/Jaig-Eyes

Chapter Three: Assassination Contract

“If we agree to peace talks with the Separatist Alliance, this whole war could come to an end.”

“If we allow Separatist forces to arrive on Coruscant, we could bring the war to our very door!”

“Then meet on a neutral planet!”

“And bring war there? We’d be breaking our own laws of war!”

I watched the Galactic Senate debate endlessly from where I stood on one of the upper floors. “This is ridiculous,” I muttered quietly, knowing the mic in my ear comm would pick up my voice.

“They certainly don’t seem to be getting anywhere,” Apex responded immediately. I glanced around the massive amphitheater, wishing the guards had allowed me to keep my goggles. I scanned the area instead, trying to think as Embo would. I’d worked with him before, having gained a mutual respect between us. Maybe it was even friendship.

When I heard he was hired to take out the Senator of Naboo, I knew I had to stop him. After I’d felt the anger coming off of Skywalker when he mentioned the risk to the Senator’s life, I knew anyone who targeted her, or force forbid, killed her, would be hunted to the furthest reaches of the galaxy by the jedi. I sensed something else there. I wondered if the council knew it, and just ignored it. I looked across the amphitheater, seeing the jedi watching the session, a petite figure beside him. His padawan, I assumed. I’d been told her name was Tano.

I shook my head, bringing my focus back to now. “Talk me through the schematics,” I said softly.

“Given his profile,” Apex explained. “Embo will likely take a placement in the hidden shafts above the amphitheater.”

I hummed, looking up at the hallways above the Senate, the grating opening in long slanted lines. “He’s up there somewhere,” I thought aloud, my eyes casting back to the Senator of Naboo as she spoke out against continuing war. I sent my gaze around the room, seeing cheers of approval at her speeches, as well as looks of disdain. The thought occurred to me that one of those representatives or senators may have hired Embo to take out their biggest opposition. And to spur the war effort forward.

None of that really concerned me. My concern was Embo.

Something rippled in the force, drawing my attention to the hallways at the top of the amphitheater. “Kriff,” I cussed, leaning further into the vast room further to look up. Through one of the slanted grates, I watched the rounded edge of a bowcaster peak through. “Northwest corner.”

“Formulating the fastest route now,” Apex responded.

“No time.” I backpedaled, gauging the distance.

“What are you doing?” Apex asked, a sarcastic quip in his voice.

“Something stupid,” I grunted, leaping off the viewing platform and landing deftly on one of the repulsor-pods. The Quarrens in the pod leapt backwards in fear, guards that lined the entryways immediately firing. “Oh, please don’t shoot,” I breathed out as I leapt to the next pod, this one filled with Gran.

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” Apex declared. I ignored him, desperately hoping he wasn’t right.

I glanced up at Embo’s bowcaster, seeing it aiming at Senator Amidala. “Kriff,” I swore again, taking the final leap to the Naboo pod. I tumbled in my landing, slapping into the Senator as I heard the bowcaster fire. I felt the heat of it hit my armor, the Mandalorian steel protecting my chest. It’s powerful bolt, however, seared past me in its ricochet, burning through my side along my rib cage where my armor was weaker.

I hit the ground beside the Senator, her own guards leaping into action shielding her from the bowcaster’s continuing fire. I looked up, seeing Embo pull his weapon, likely having seen me be the protector.

“He’s bolting,” I hissed through the pain.

“Are you going after him?” Apex asked.

I groaned, aware of the burning in my right side, but ignoring it for now. “Find me where he’s going.” I stepped past the guards that were protecting Senator Amidala, taking control of the pod. “Excuse me,” I said to the gungan representative, guiding the pod to the closest exit on ground level. I nearly docked it, leaping from the pod and stumbling through the pain into the hallway.

“Who is that?” I heard the senator ask, but I ignored it, listening to Apex instead.

“That shaft is three floors above you.”

“Okay, but does it have a window that leads out?”

“Yes. South side.”

I turned, racing through the halls. I knew he was faster than me, but hopefully the guards would be more focused on the actual shooter than me. As I ran, I passed the familiar visors of the two clones I’d met in the detention cell, minus the medic. Skywalker and his padawan were close behind them, hurrying after me as I ran.

I puffed as I broke past the guards at the door, looking sideways as glass shattered three stories up, Embo having leapt through the window. He used his hat to slide down the sloped walls of the Senate building deftly.

I body slammed a Senate guard, taking his weapon and aiming quickly. I felt the tension around me as others lifted their weapons, aiming at me instead. I took the shot, my blast hitting Embo’s hat and knocking him off balance. I leapt onto the sloping side, following him down to the next platform where I’d have him alone. Despite knocking him over, he still landed easily, turning his bowcaster on me as I landed. I’d like to tell myself I landed as well as him, but not only was I far from as acrobatic as Embo, but the blaster shot I took to my side wasn’t helping.

Practically collapsing before him, I took a deep breath and laughed sarcastically. “You shot me, you asshole.”

He babbled at me in Kyuzo.

“Hey, I had good reason to stop you.” I stepped forward, knowing he wouldn’t pull the trigger. “What are you doing Embo? I know we do this for the money, but you’ll get yourself killed doing stupid shit like this.”

He spoke again, making me step closer again, practically leaning over the top of his bowcaster.

“If you succeeded in killing her, they would hunt you to the furthest reaches of the galaxy. I don’t want to see your face showing up on the job wall.” I pushed the bowcaster down, staring into Embo’s yellow eyes. “Drop this, Embo. Please.”

He was silent for a moment, aware of the security and clones that were close on our tails, the jedi leaping down the sloping surface. He spoke softly, his eyes glancing down to my bleeding side.

I chuckled. “I’ll be fine.” He didn’t look convinced. “I’ve had worse, now get out of here.” The Kyuzo nodded to me before bolting, leaping deftly off the landing platform. Skywalker and his padawan landed beside me, their lightsabers ignited.

“She let him go,” the Togruta exclaimed, her green lightsaber, pointed at me. I wrapped my arm around my bleeding side.

“He missed,” I explained, glancing at Skywalker. “And he won’t be coming back.”

“Is that what he told you?” he asked skeptically.

“And you believed him?” Tano followed up.

I chuckled darkly, moving to lean heavily against cargo crates. “Trust me. He owes me one. He won’t come back.”

As I spoke, the two clones in blue joined us on the platform, followed closely by the Senate guard. They lowered their weapons as the jedi sheathed their lightsabers. Skywalker looked at me curiously, his face suspicious.

“Why did you do that, Kida?”

“Kida?” the Togruta cut in. “This is the bounty hunter you tried to get to join us?” She looked me over skeptically.

“Watch it, kid,” I growled through my pain. “I just took a bowcaster shot for your precious senator.”

She lifted her eyebrow at me, giving me a scowl, but it only made me chuckle. She was young, giving off the same ferocity and determination in the force as her master. I looked to Skywalker, giving him a grin.

“I think I might like that medic now.”

Interestingly, Skywalker actually quirked a smile, giving a nod to the clones. “Captain,” he called to the one with the Jaig eyes. “Get her to a med bay.”

“Yes, sir,” the captain responded immediately, the second clone joining him. The one with the Republic sigil on his helmet offered me his hand to pull me up from the half-sitting position I hadn’t realized I’d fallen into. I accepted it, leaning on him heavily.

“Thanks,” I muttered grudgingly as he helped me back inside the building. His voice was slightly warbled by his helmet, but I heard him chuckle nonetheless, giving me a slight nod in acknowledgement.

The clones led me to the med bay, which was unsurprisingly small considering the lack of combat in the Senate. Or...the lack of combat that was expected of the Senate building. The clones sat me down on one of the few cots, stepping back as a medical droid walked in.

“Please remove your armor,” the droid said in its monotone drone.

“She doesn’t like doing that,” the soldier with the Republic sigil on his helmet remarked. I chuckled through my pain, casting him a glance. I reached up reluctantly, unclipping my armor slowly. The movement hurt, causing me to wince.

“She needs assistance,” the droid stated.

“I’m fine,” I said through clenched teeth.

The clone removed his helmet, revealing the Republic tattoo on his face and skull, as well as a somewhat swollen nose. I cringed.

“That’s looking better,” I tried. Thankfully, he laughed.

His hands came up immediately, helping take off my shoulder guard. I almost fought him, but realistically, my body was feeling fatigued from the injury. And maybe some part of me panged with nostalgia. Jango once helped me take off my armor when I was first learning. And while this clone had his face, his eyes were different. His soul different.

It was surprisingly comforting.

“Yeah, well,” the clone laughed. “I’m just glad you didn’t mess up my beautiful face.”

I laughed, cringing at the pain, but not letting it show. “You already did that,” I teased, my eyes flicking meaningfully to his tattoo. He laughed again, moving to my other side to remove my other shoulder guard- the one with the kyr’bes marking. He hesitated when he removed it, looking at it closely. I didn’t speak, letting him look at it before putting it down.

“I’m Jesse,” he offered with a smile.

I, surprisingly, returned it. “Kida.”

“You don’t seem surprised we have names.”

“Are most people?” I asked as I slowly removed my armor, leaving me in my sports bra. I tried to ignore their looks, focusing on the conversation instead.

Jesse cleared his throat, clearly trying to keep his eyes away from the scars that graced my back and the slave brand on my inner forearm. “Well most people knew us by our numbers. That’s what we grew up with.”

I chuckled, leaning as the medical droid cleaned my wound. “I know that’s not true. The Kaminoans call you by numbers, but you guys never did.” I felt their confusion, as well as the burning gaze of the captain on my back. He was staring at the black ink that decorated my shoulder blades, put there by Jango himself.

“How--”

“I was friends with Jango, remember?” I said through my wince as the droid worked. “He lived on Kamino during the cloning project.” They sat in stunned silence for a moment before both snapping to attention. I sensed a group in the doorway behind me, my eyes lifting to look in the reflection of the droid’s optics.

“So this is the woman who saved Senator Amidala’s life.” The voice made me tense, a sense of mystery rippling towards me in the force. It was the famous voice of the Chancellor, his well-dressed form coming into my vision as he rounded the cot. “That was quite the good deed you did, young lady.”

My eyebrow lifted at him calling me ‘young lady,’ but I pushed down my snark, glancing at the rest of the group. The Chancellor’s usual band was with him, as well as Kenobi, Skywalker, Tano, Senator Amidala, and the gungan representative.

“I didn’t do it for the Senator,” I explained, glancing at the woman. “No offense.” She raised an elegant eyebrow, but said nothing.

The Chancellor floundered while Kenobi looked amused. “Then why did you?” Palpatine asked.

“I heard about the hit and who took it. Taking it was stupid, so I stepped in.”

“Why?” the padawan asked with a bite to her tone.

I lifted my eyebrow at her. “Just because we don’t follow a religious order, doesn’t mean we don’t have friends, kid.”

“Is Senator Amidala still in danger?” Skywalker butt in, giving his padawan a silencing glance.

“Of course she is,” I laughed slightly. “She’s a senator of the Republic. One who’s incredibly opinionated and isn’t afraid to voice those opinions.” The group stared at me. “But for now,” I clarified. “She’s safe.”

“Because a bounty hunter gave you his word?” the Chancellor asked skeptically.

I looked him over briefly, perturbed by the fact that I couldn’t get a genuine read. “Not only that, but now everyone will know that I protected her.” I looked around at the group. “I’m sure the mass number of viewers and senators present allowed for my identity to be discovered quickly. The press has likely circulated already, or will shortly, and all other bounty hunters looking at the job would know my involvement.”

“And that’s going to stop them?” one of the chancellor’s lackeys asked.

I lifted my eyebrows as the droid laid a bacta-patch over the wound on my side. “I’m assuming you didn’t really look into who I am.”

The Chancellor sighed, watching me closely with intense eyes. “Either way, we thank you for your service. I’d like extra guards on Senator Amidala for the time being, until we can be sure that all of this danger has passed.”

He and his lackeys nodded to me before sweeping out of the room. My eyes flicked to watch them leave before flashing back to the remaining group. The droid applied a bacta-pad to my side, stepping away with automated hisses and groans.

“We-sah are very very appreciative of you-sah,” the Gungan representative said, his head bobbing in an over-animated manner. I smiled a little, but held down my chuckle. I’d met gungans before, and while they often spoke in an amusing manner, I wouldn’t lie and say they were bad fighters. Then again, the representative before me didn’t seem to be one of these warriors.

“You said you didn’t do it for me,” the senator spoke, her voice gentle. “But what if you did in the future?”

I lifted my eyebrow, glancing over the group. No one seemed to know what she was getting at. Skywalker rippled with confusion and frustration, only some of it directed at her.

Senator Amidala regarded me seriously. “I want to hire you.”

“Senator-” Skywalker tried, but was cut off by a wave of her hand. They waited in silence as I regarded them, glancing over their faces. I swallowed. I’d be protecting the woman Jango had once been hired to kill. Is that betraying him?

I could practically hear his response. “No, ad’ika. Never listen to what others say. Take the jobs you see fit to yourself. The ones that you believe in, even if all you believe in is filling your pockets.”

I breathed deeply, reaching out with my feelings to each of them. The padawan, four years my younger, was swirling with uncertainty, still working on controlling her emotions. I felt her distaste for me and my profession, but also her curiosity. She could feel the same admiration the clones projected towards me, as well as their own curiosities. I wondered if she felt the intensity that came from the captain, as I did. Skywalker seemed frustrated, but he also felt the hesitant acceptance from his soldiers. Kenobi, however, was level and focused. Controlled. I felt his surprise when he sensed me prodding at his mind, making me recede quickly.

I felt no deceit from the senator. Only determination with the tiniest spark of worry below the surface. She hid it well. I chewed the inside of my cheek before deciding.

“What’s your price?”

10 notes · View notes

dr0wning-in-hell · 7 years ago

Text

First Words - Peter Maximoff soulmate au

Summary : Being a new student at Xavier’s school for gifted youngsters, Y/N thought she wouldn’t have anyone- until she met Peter Maximoff.

Word count : 3.k+ (definitely my longest!!)

Warnings : fluff, smut, heavy make out session, swearing, protected sex, fingering, slight(?) hand job.

Pairing / characters : Peter Maximoff x mutant!reader, Jean, Jubilee, Charles Xavier, Warren, Kurt

Prompt : Peter and the reader are soulmates, and the first they ever say to each other are tattooed on their skin. / “I was wondering if you can do a peter maximoff x reader smut? Sorry to bother you” - anon

A/N : I decided to combine my own little prompt with this one that I got a while ago from an anon a while back. p.s. I am very sorry that this took so long.

new masterlist | requests | prompt list

Y/N opened the doors to the mansion, the sound of the large doors opening caught the attention of almost everyone on the main floor. Y/N took a deep breathe and walked in, the amount of attention she was already getting made her self-conscious. For some reason, she felt like something she needed was here, but maybe it was someone. She shook the thoughts from her head and stood by the doors awkwardly. She was told that the head master would meet her at the doors and assign her someone to show her where she will be staying, but no one came around yet.

After a minute or two, a man in a wheel chair came up to her, a smile on his face. Y/N tried her best to muster up a convincing smile, but it was obvious her smile was not at all convincing. The man stuck out his hand, and Y/N had no choice but to shake it and be polite. “Welcome, Miss. Y/L/N. We’re very happy to have you here at the school.” He turned his chair, his hand motioning for her to follow him. Y/N followed, trying not to make eye-contact or contact with anyone in general.

The door to what must have been the man’s office opened up and Y/N followed him inside. It shut behind her, but no one was with the two of them. It was only her and the man in the wheelchair.

“I’m a telekinetic and telepath, Y/N.” The man said. Y/N only nodded. “So, why have you decided to come to this school, Miss. Y/L/N?” The professor asked.

Y/N shrugged. “I’ve been having a hard time controlling my powers. I had it under control for almost three years, but now... it feels like something has changed drastically.” The Professor was already processing and thinking about Y/N’s words. He had heard this from another mutant at the school. A silver haired speedster who now, couldn’t slow himself down for anything.

“What are you powers again?” He asked. Y/N froze for a minute. She reached her hand out and picked up a coffee mug on the Professor’s desk. He watched her closely as energy waves came from around the cup, and in seconds turned it into a completely different object. Laying on the man’s desk was now a pile of pebbles, taking the place where his mug used to be. “Fascinating.” He breathed out. “Matter manipulation, I presume?” He asked.

Y/N nodded. “That was something small, but if it’s a bigger object? It just... explodes. It has never done that before, not until a few months ago.”

“That is quite odd. I have had another student say the same thing. I will try to find him later and introduce you two.” The Professor explained. Y/N nodded. “But until then, I will have Jean and Jubilee walk you around the campus, and if you decide to stay, I can find you a roommate. The girl smiled and turned her head just as two girls had walked in. They both seemed kind. They introduced themselves, the redhead being Jean and the shorter girl with dark hair was Jubilee.

The two girls started off with the main level of the school and the classrooms, before going up to where some of the dorms were. After that they headed outside.

Y/N looked down at Jean’s arm, a slight scaring laid on her forearm. “What’s that from?” Y/N asked, gesturing towards the long scar. Jean smiled a little.

“These were the first words my soulmate, Scott, said to me when he came to this school. It was quite funny, actually.” Y/N smiled. Maybe she would find her soulmate here too.

A group of teenage boys came walking up to Y/N, Jubilee, and Jean. One was blue, the other had glasses on, and another had metal wings. The one with glasses smiled at Jean, and Y/N noticed that the boy had a scar on his arm like Jean did. Jean smiled back at him, before smiling to the other two boys.

“Who’s the new chick?” The boy with metal wings smirked, eyeing Y/N. She only rolled her eyes.

“This ‘new chick’ can turn you into a pile of dirt if you don’t watch what you say.” Y/N warned. He kept his mouth shut after that. “But my name is Y/N Y/L/N.”

The blue boy smiled. “I am Kurt! It is very nice to meet vou.” Y/N smiled at him, finding him to be nice.

Y/N looked at the one with red glasses. “I’m guessing your Scott, Jeans soulmate?” Scott nodded.

“I am. It’s nice to meet you, Y/N.” You nodded. As Jubilee went to say something a gust of wind rushed past the group. In seconds everyone, except for Y/N, had an ice-cream cone in their hands. When the wind stopped Y/N saw that the wind was in fact another boy. He smiled triumphantly, but then turned to Y/N and frowned.

Y/N rose an eyebrow at the boy. He had silver hair and goggles strapped to his head. “I didn’t get you ice-cream.” The boy said. You felt a slight pang on your arm, but ignored it.

“I don’t need anyone to get me ice-cream.” After those words were spoken you felt the stinging sensation on your arm again. Pulling off your leather jacket you looked down at your forearm, the place where words were once written in cursive letters were now a scar. The teenagers surrounding your looked from your arm to Peter, who had also taken off his jacket and was looking at his bicep. He had fading words, that quickly turned into a scar,

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Warren grumbled. The winged boy was elbowed in the ribs by Scott, who was smiling at Jean.

“Let’s let these two talk, okay? We’ll be inside if you guys need us.” Jean smiled at you and al you could do was nod. Once you knew that they were all inside the mansion you looked back up at the silver haired boy. He smiled awkwardly.

It was silent, the two of you didn’t dare to speak, partially because you didn’t know what to say. You thought it would be best to start off with your name. “I’m Y/N.” You said, sliding your jacket back on.

“Peter.” The boy said, smiling again. He seemed to be calming down, not feeling as nervous anymore. “So do you uh- want to walk around? Get to know each-other?” He asked. You shrugged.

“Lead the way.” You motioned for the two of you to start walking, and that’s what you did.

It was silent for a bit, neither of you really having experience with this.. whatever this is. Peter coughed, shoving his hands in his silver, leather jacket.

“So um.. why are you here?” Wow, could be any less blunt? “I-I mean at the mansion? Only mutants come here, so obviously if you’re here you’re a mutant.” He said quickly, not even catching a breathe through his words. You couldn’t help the small smile that made it’s way across your face, but just as soon as it came, it was gone.

You sighed and watched your feet step in front of one another. “For some reason, over the past month or so I haven’t been able to control my mutation.” You could feel Peter’s body tense next to you, but decided against saying anything about it. “So I’m here, to try and figure out what’s going on.”

Peter nodded. “What are your powers?” He asked, genuinely interested.

“Matter manipulation.” Peter tilted his head. “I can change one thing into another.” You gestured towards his ice-cream and he handed it to you our of curiosity. You thought of any type of food, and in seconds the ice-cream turned into a powdered doughnut. Peter’s eyes lit up as you handed it to him. Without hesitation he took a bite from the new food and smiled.

“It tastes just like a powdered doughnut!” He said excitedly. You laughed, smiling at him.

Over the course of your stay at the mansion your powers not only came back into control, but they developed more and more when u used them. You were proud of yourself, the Professor was proud of you, and your soul mate was also very proud of you.

Peter’s own powers had also grown while you were at the mansion. You watch him speed around the mansion, or outside the mansion and time him. He’d test himself against the other X-Men in training, and you were surprised when not even Jean herself could do anything to him.

Now it was after their training session, they were all exhausted as they trudged from the training room. You smiled at them as they walked out and waited patiently for Peter to come out. You waited for around ten minutes but Peter wasn’t coming out, but maybe he wasn’t even in there. You sighed and walked up to your bedroom at the mansion. The Professor thought it’d be best if you and Peter shared a room since you were soul mates, and apparently he did the same thing for Jean and Scott.

Opening your door slowly, you were surprised when you saw rose petals and scented candles sprawled all over your room. Right in the center of it all was Peter himself, holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers. He smiled at yo as you walked in and he saw how happy you were.

“Pete? What is this?” You asked as you slowly walked towards him. He shrugged and held out his free hand, and you gladly took it. You squealed when you pulled you in to him, arms wrapped around your back.

“It’s been almost nine months since we met each other and I thought I’d do something for you, for us.” Peter said, looking own at you and smiling. “And I really wanted to do this.” Before you could even ask what in the world he was talking about, he leaned down and placed a soft, gentle kiss onto your lips. Of course this wasn‘t your first kiss. You had your first kiss during ‘party’ your eighth grade year of school, ad you were dared to kiss one of the coolest guys in school. Nothing happened after that though, it was one kiss and one kiss only. But that kiss and this kiss were different. That kiss had no feeling behind it, this kiss had so much feeling and passion behind it, it made your knees buckle.

Peter pulled away, lips slightly swollen as he looked at you. You took the bouquet from him and set it down on your desk. He looked at you for a moment, but then his eyes fluttered shut when you put your lips on his for another kiss. This kiss deepened with each passing second, and with all the courage you could muster up, you lightly licked his bottom lip as an ask for entrance. Peter quickly obliged and opened his mouth, allowing the both of you to roam each other’s mouths.

Peter held onto your waist tightly, his fingers brushing your shirt up an digging into your skin slightly. He guided both of you back towards your bed, falling onto his back with you straddling his waist. The two of you pulled away to take a breather, but when you looked at each other you could tell that you both wanted the same thing. Hesitantly, you reach out and tugged at his shirt, your hands pulling it up enough for you to see his v-line and abs. Your mouth went dry as you took in how gorgeous he looked. Peter took control after that, quickly removing his shirt and then tugging at yours. You took yours off, throwing it the ground with Peter’s. His hands slid from your waist, up your torso, and down your arms.

“You’re so perfect.” He mumbled out. Your body heated up at his words, making him smile.

You took your shorts off, now only in your under garments. You tugged at Peter’s jeans and got up just a little bit so that he could get them off. You bit you lip as you saw his bulge through his boxer shorts. Peter chuckled a bit and pulled your face down to his, his hot breathe fanned your face and then he flipped you over, his face now only millimeters from your neck. Your breathe quickened as you felt Peter’s plump lips place soft kisses along the crook of your neck and felt him bite down on your collarbone.

“Can I take this off?” He asked, starting to fiddle with your bra strap. You nodded, sitting up to help him take it off and put it with the rest of your discarded clothes. You didn’t seem as self-conscious during this, which surprised you. Peter placed soft kisses down the center of your chest, while his hands kneaded your breasts between in palms. The new feeling made you push your chest further into his hands. His hands finally came down from your breasts and to your hips, where you last piece of clothing was. You could feel Peter’s breathe on the inside of your thighs as he looked up at you for permission to take them off. You nodded, and watched as he easily slid the material down from your legs.

“Pete.” You mumbled, tugging Peter back up to where your faces met. Your hand trailed down his back, and then to his front as you grabbed at his restrained member. He gasped and leaned forward, putting his weight on his elbows. You bit your lip as you slipped you hand inside his shorts and gently started to stroke him. He let out soft grunts and murmurs of your name as you tugged at him.

Balancing his weight on his right arm, he moved his left hand down to where you needed him most. His calloused fingers slipped through your wet folds, leaving his fingers glistening in your wetness. You let out a soft whine, needing more from him. Peter got the message and slowly eased one finger into your pussy, and started to pump it in and out of you at a steady rate. Your mouth fell open when a second finger pushed its way into you. Peter watched your expressions for any sign of pain, but by the way you were moaning and bucking your hips for more, he knew you were enjoying this.

You continued to stroke Peter, trying to match the pace of his fingers inside you. It was difficult though, because he’d speed up and nearly make you scream, and then slow down. Loud moans of his name and curses left your mouth right after the next, almost like clock work. When Peter was fully hard under your touch and Peter felt how wet you were, the two off you stopped and looked at each other.

“Do you want to continue?” He asked. You nodded, rolling over a little so that you could reach into one of the drawers in your desk to pull out a condom. Peter looked a little surprised, but the thought he had was soon gone as he watched you tear open the foil packaging and roll the condom onto his shaft.

Once you readjusted yourself beneath him, Peter crawled in between your legs and positioned his tip at your entrance. You nodded at him, and held onto the bedsheets next to you. Slowly, he pushed into your pussy, stretching out your walls. You gasped, closing your eyes and trying to adjust to his size. Peter waited for your signal to start moving, and the slight nod of your head was enough to tell him to start. He thrusted into you slowly, moving his hands to yours where they were curled into the sheets. Your gripped his hands in yours tightly, moaning softly with each thrust he gave into you.

He leaned down next to your ear, panting softly. “You feel so good.” He mumbled. “This is my pussy, only mine.”

“Yours.” You moaned out, arching your back and bucking your hips to meet each of Peter’s thrusts. Your eyes lowered to where you two connected, and you watched as he constantly slipped from within you and then plunged back in.

His thrusts sped up and you felt a knot forming in your stomach. You let out a whimper, biting your lip as you felt yourself getting close to your peak. Peter knew this too, so he sped up to where he knew it wouldn’t hurt you.

“Pete, fuck, baby I’m cumming.” You mewled, throwing your head back in ecstasy. Peter thrusted through your orgasm, his thrusts became sloppy as he came in the condom after you. When you two came down from your high he pulled out, being careful of how sensitive you were. After discarding the condom, Peter pulled a blanket over your body, and laid next to you.

“Well that was fun.” Peter said while stroking your hair.

You chuckled softly, yawing in the process. “It was great.” You mumbled. You moved closer to him, laying your head on his chest, with his head resting on top of yours.

Those unspoken words, were now your favorite words.

307 notes · View notes

shu-of-the-wind · 7 years ago

Note

From the ten types & tropes: rebelcaptain for 10-xiv threw a book at your head and detention pleaseeeeee

From the ten types &tropes: rebelcaptain for 10-xiv threw a book at your head and detentionpleaseeeeee

HOKAY SO. I hate writinghigh school fic, so I shifted it to college AU. XD

I also think this is from the same AU with Jyn having a broken leg and Cassian mothering her with food and cuddles and telenovelas. Which means this is their meeting for that AU. So there’s that.

For clarification:

xiv) You pissed me off inclass so I threw a book at your head and now I’m in detention and jesus fuck Ihate you so much and the teacher made me apologise and wait you’re cuter upclose and the way you talk is kind of nice actually oh fuck no

“I hope I don’t have toexplain to you how many rules you just broke, doing that.”

Jyn folds her arms tightover her chest, and says nothing. She stares hard at the wall, and startsbouncing her foot. Across the desk, Mothma sighs tight through her nose, andfolds her hands together.

“Have you been going toyour sessions?”

“Yes,” says Jyn, becauseit’s the fastest way to get Mothma off her back. Mothma sighs again.

“You could be chargedfor assault.”

Jyn shrugs.

“You’re lucky you’re notbeing charged for assault, you know.” Mothma looks as though she wants torub her hands over her face, like she wants to put her head on the desk andmaybe bang it there a few times, just to give herself a concussion. “As it is I’mgoing to have to put you on academic probation. There’s going to have to be aninvestigation.”

Jyn shrugs.

“You could be expelledfor this,” says Mothma. Her voice gets tight. “I know you’re not exactly fondof school, Jyn—”

“Can I go?” Jyn asks,and stares at the wall rather than watch the hurt flicker over Mothma’s face.She doesn’t need to see Mon Mothma disappointed in her again. It happens thesame way every time, the crumpling brows and the pursed mouth. It’s like atattoo on the inside of her eyelids. “I have a shift to get to.”

“You’re not leavingwithout apologizing first,” says Mothma, and Jyn snaps her head around.

“I’m not apologizing tothat prick—”

“If you don’t he couldbring charges.”

“I don’t care—”

“This isn’t adiscussion.” Mothma stands, and wipes her hands off on her skirt. The scrape ofthe chair shuts Jyn up faster than anything else she could have said. Mothma’snot the sort to let chairs scrape, if she can help it. “Go and apologize. There’llbe a conduct hearing in a few weeks. You’ll get a letter in the mail. Don’t loseit.”

“Fine.” Jyn snags herbackpack up off the floor, heaves it over her shoulder. “I won’t.”

“This is your lastchance here, Jyn,” says Mothma, when her back is turned. Like slipping a knifebetween her ribs. “I can’t shove it under the rug this time. More than that, Iwon’t. I understand why it’s hard, but—”

“You don’t.” Sheshoves her free fist into her jacket pocket. “You don’t get it. You have noidea how hard it is.”

Mothma’s quiet, for awhile. She says, “Jyn, you have to deal with this.”

I know, Jyn thinks. Aloud, she says, “Whatever,” andleaves the dean’s office.

She can’t actuallyremember making the decision to throw the book. All the students in all her classespiss her off, but she’s never been that fucking stupid before. He’d just—been frustrating.Full of himself. She can’t even remember what he said, to make herso angry, but one minute she’d been trying to explain how wrong he was about thedefinition of frontiers and settler colonialism and then the next she’d tossedthe damn textbook at his head and the professor had tossed her out of the classroom.She can’t remember the in-between. Her palms sweat, to think of it. She hasn’tlost her temper that suddenly and that badly since she was sixteen,fucking hell, she can’t do this again, she can’t fall back into that,she can’t—

Jyn wipes her hands offon her jeans, and heaves her bag up higher over her shoulder.

Jackass Fuckface waitingout in the corridor. At least, she’s pretty sure he was waiting for her. He mightbe just waiting for Mothma to finish the meeting, go in and confirm Mothma’sworst nightmares, that he’s going to bring charges against her and the schooland everyone and their mother, but when she opens the door, he lifts his head. There’sa dark purple bruise on his jaw, from the book, and she can’t quite look at it.He’s also just a bit older than she realized. Not by much, just—most universitystudents are in their early twenties, not middling, and most of them don’t havequite so many stress lines around the mouth. Another student, closer to herage, she thinks, obnoxiously tall and very Asian-looking, shuts his laptop, andstares at her with unblinking grey eyes.

“This is the one,” hesays, without inflection. Jackass Fuckface shoves his history book back intohis ragged backpack.

“Leave it, Kei.”

Jyn stares at the floor,and doesn’t say anything. Neither does Jackass Fuckface.

“Well,” says his friend,in trim Queen’s English. “You could at least apologize for being amadwoman.”

“Kei,” says Jackass Fuckface.“I said leave it.”

“Fuck off,” says Jyn atthe same time. “I don’t answer to you, asshole.”

“You should bringcharges, Cassian,” says Kei to Jackass Fuckface. “Clearly there’s no otheroption here. Since she’s insane.”

“Go home, Kei,” says JackassFuckface. He keeps his voice even, but there’s something tight under the accentthat might be a leashed temper. “I told you I could deal with this on my own.”

“With little regard foryour own survival of this encounter, considering she threw a textbook atyour head.” Still, Kei slides his laptop back into his neatly kept messengerbag, latches everything together with the steadiness of an automaton. He drapesit over his shoulder. “I expect a text in ten minutes to confirm that you’restill breathing. If I don’t get one, I will regard you as demised, and sellyour furniture on Craigslist.”

“Thanks,” says JackassFuckface, sourly, and Kei marches away down the hall. By the time JackassFuckface has turned back around, Jyn’s staring at the carpet again, at theshitty pattern and his torn up trainers. It looks like he glues his shoestogether. The repairs are well done, and carefully hidden, but she’s done itenough herself to know the evidence. She’s had to replace the soles on herboots three times.

“Sorry about him,” saysJackass Fuckface, and Jyn can’t help it. She snaps her head up to look at him,because j’excuse? “He says whatever comes into his head. He neverlearned a filter.”

“You’re apologizingto me now?” she says, and Jackass Fuckface—Cassian bites the inside ofhis cheek. He also turns to stare at the wall. The strap of his backpack isworn, too, fraying at the edges. His jeans have holes in the knees.

“You’re right,” he says,clipped. “I won’t.”

Awkward silence for abit. Jyn scuffs her boot over the floor.

“Look,” she says. She triesto count to ten, and fails. Her stomach churns. “I shouldn’t have—shit.”

Cassian watches herthrough too-long bangs. His eyes are brown, she thinks. Brown and sad, somehow,and almost inquisitive. He waits.

“I have anger managementproblems,” she says. Jyn keeps her teeth tight together. “I’m in therapy. Ihaven’t—fucked up like that in years. But it’s been—” She stops. He doesn’tneed to know about Galen winding up in a mental hospital. “Look, it won’thappen again, okay? So don’t—you can charge me if you want, I don’t care, butdon’t fuck it up for Mothma. It’s not the school’s fault, it’s mine. So.”

His eyebrows drawtogether, very slowly. Something crawls up the back of her neck. It feels likebeing X-rayed, being watched like this. She doesn’t like it.

“Okay,” says Cassian,after a beat. “Sure.”

Jyn digs her nails intoher palm. “Seriously?”

“I’m not pressingcharges anyway.” He shuffles his feet, pushes his hair out of his eyes. “But—thankyou for clarifying.”

Jyn opens her mouth, andshuts it again. There’s no point in asking why the fuck he’s being polite toher. She should just take the win, and go. She knows that. But—

“Is your face okay?” shesays, without thinking, and bites her tongue. Cassian blinks once, and thenrubs at the bruise.

“I’ve had a lot worsethan this,” he says. The sadness creeps in around his mouth again. “I’ll heal.”

She looks him overagain, harder this time. He stands like he’s trying to slip into shadow, butthere’s a regimented kind of stiffness to his knees and shoulders that saysmilitary or police. His clothes are cheap and worn, so not working currently,but the patch on his jacket reads Alliance, and it doesn’t look like aknockoff. Just out of the military, then. Quiet and reserved. Officer, maybe. Theaccent says international divisions, not European, which means intelligencework or military deployment. Afghanistan, maybe. Indonesia. Iraq. Jedha. Whoknows. She shifts back and forth on her feet, the bootknife tickling at herankle.

“I’m sorry,” she says.It chips her teeth on the way out. “It was shitty. Like I said.”

Cassian blinks at heragain. The corner of his mouth lifts, just a bit. “I’ll heal. Like I said.”

Fuck it, Jyn thinks, and says, “Do you want—food, orsomething?”

He tips his head at her,and waits. “I don’t date. Even if I did, this isn’t exactly the rightcircumstance.”

“God, fuck, no, I don’t—”Her neck feels hot. “That’s not what I meant. Just—I’m shit at apologies. Food’seasier. Or—or a drink, or something. I’d offer to do your homework, but I’mshit at that, too. Academia’s not for me. I’m just here because—”

She stops, and almostkicks herself. He doesn’t need to know about her mother, either.

“Actually I thought youwere the only person in that class making any sense,” says Cassian, mildly. Jynstraight-out stares at him, this time, goggling, because are you high? “Ifit helps.”

“You were arguing withme.”

“Because you weren’t completelyright,” he says. The skin around his eyes gets all crinkly. “But you werestill making more sense than the professor.”

Jyn looks down her noseat him, and says, “You’re completely fucking mad, you know that?”

“I’ve been told,” saysCassian. He shifts his bag on his shoulder, and hesitates. “And I wouldn’t sayno to lunch, if you’re offering.”

She ducks her head to hide behind her hair. “Right,” says Jyn. “Thisway, then.”

#rebelcaptain #my writing #neither pity nor pragmatism #college au

82 notes · View notes

stringsunraveled · 6 years ago

Text

Treasured Trash.

What you need to know: I will have to gut this scene to fit into the story I have taped into, but I want this version to be posted. You are reading the original ending scene. In short, Talia and Raph got together and shortly after became estranged do to betrayal and feelings of jealousy. Talia has had a difficult pregnancy that Donnie has been trying to help her survive from. She has now given birth to a girl that Raph has just relieved is his. Unfortunately the difficulty has not ended yet.

Author’s note:I am not traditional in my writing style and I allow my dyslexia to take full credit. I tend to start backwards and them forwards again. The following scene was one of the first I wrote, and is in first draft form. In the last four months, this story has exploded into some thing new. The characters have also changed in their knowledge of what has happened in this reality and do not resumable who they truly are in this scene any more.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of TMNT,but use them to get the story written down. All other characters are my own and them and the plot may not be used with out my written consent. Warring! 18+ Viewer discretion in advised. There is vulgar language and what is considered smut through out the story but may not appear in every scene or chapter.

“NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! her vital sighs are dropping!” Donnie exclaimed

“What do ya me there dropping?” Raph said looking up from the baby that he cradled in his massive arms.

“Heart rate is slowing and Talia’s blood pressure is falling! We’re loosing her!” Donnie screamed over the sounds of the flat line.

“Do something Donnie, you cant let her die!” Raph yelled covering the side of his baby girl’s head as to shield her from the words that her mother was dieing.

“I am trying.” He said as the sound of Talia’s ribs cracked under the weight of Donnie’s first CPR compression. “Grab the the syringe.” He yelled.

Mikey rushed over with the syringe filled with the last blue dose of anti-mutagen. As he looked down at Talia, Mikey stumbled over his words “I don’t think I can do it, dudes!”

“Take the baby!” Raph snagged the syringe and put the little girl in Mikey’s arms. The movement disturbed her making her cry loader than when she came out of her mother who was now opening deaths door. Raph turn to Donnie.

“On the count of three in her heart. One! Two! Three!” Donnie moved away as Raph stabbed the needle into her heart and pushed the rest of the vaccination into Talia. After pulling out the needle, Donnie started to pump her chested again. “Raph breath!”

Raph rapped his lump lips around Talia’s, which felt as cold as the blue color they were turning. He could see from the corner of his eyes her lungs expanded each time Raph tried to breath life back into Talia’s body, but he could not feel the energy that had pasted between them like it had every time their skin would touch .Leo rushed in, but he could tell Talia was gone. Her body had no light admitting from it, “guys stop! She not there.” Leo said trying to pull Raph off of Talia. Donnie stopped the compressions and put his hands on top of his head in sickening defeat.

“Fuck you, we have to save her!” Raph said as he started to compression on her chest where Donnie had stopped.

“No, dudes Leo’s right she is not there,cause she’s standing in front of me!” Mikey said wide eyed.

They all looked up at him and he was right. There was Talia touching the top of the baby’s head.

“Sssshhhsshhhshhhsss!“ Talia said was she kissed her daughter’s forehead.”My beautiful Renewual. I am sorry I can not be with you physically in your reality any more! But, I will be there in your dreams and that is were you will hear me sing to you!”

“What the Hell!” Donnie proclaimed as he adjusted his goggles.

Talia looked up at Mikey and smiled. She then turned her head to the right towards Donatello. “You might want to start up your sensory equipment Donnie, or you are going to miss a wealth of data that will help explain to yourself and the rest of the world what is happening.

“What is Happening?” Mikey chocked out. “Are you a ghost?”

“This is her light-body, in other words her soul.” Leo said. Talia turned her head to Leo and stared at both Raph and him.

Raph stopped giving her soul body CPR as his mouth opened in shock. Talia was the same, but different, just like Splinter said the night that they were introduced. Raph was hypnotized by how bright Talia’s blue eyes were. Her kimono hung low down on her shoulders exposing her back. Talia seen to glisten every color in the rainbow almost like she was a prism, casting color all over the room. Her skin flawless except for the tattoos on her body.

Tattoos Raph knew for a fact were never there before. From what he could see some were Celtic, others modern tribal, still some looked like sacred geometry. They seemed to appear and disappeared, the only one that staid was the tribal s in the middle of her back.

As she turned around and moved over to the table, they were all memorized. Her movement was not a walk, but not quite a glide either. Talia looked down at herself watching her body turned a paler blue-gray. As her soul body color faded, her light body became more substantially and solid.

“No matter how many times I have seen my shell in death’s state it is still a bite unsettling.” Talia said walking around the table.

“How many times have you seen your um shell?” Donnie asked as he was flipping the last switches on his sensory equipment.

“This is the fourth reality that I can truly remember.” She then thought to herself, “When I have seen my shell it is because the puppet master did not seem ready for me to leave the reality yet. Did he not see a important factor?”

She then looked up at Raph who was stark still. “Don't be afraid. The fact that everyone of you can see me, means you are all on the path to be light warriors.”

“Which one of us is the Light guardian, tho?” Mikey questioned. He rocking his newborn niece for his comfort as much as of her’s.

Talia turned to Mikey and preceded to move back up to him. “You all have the potential to become light guardians once you have faced your shadow selves and embrace it! But I believe you are asking which one of you is my light guardian? He is the only one who has completed that very task and the only one of you who has seen me in this form before.”

Talia then slid her hands on both sides of Mikey’s face and proceeded to tell him. “You have not been the innocent one for a long time. You have choose to stay that way because it is familiar and easy. But, You are no longer a little brother, but an uncle! You will not just be the joyful fun uncle for Renewual, but you will be her comfort. You will be the hand to wipes her tears when Raph and her don’t see eye to eye. You will be like your brothers are for you, but for her.” With that she kissed Mikey’s forehead and a strange feeling hit him.

Mikey felt like he had a third eye and it opened. no longer burned by the weight to prove he was not the little kid any more, because Mikey was not. It was the soul he was holding in his arms, and Mikey knew what his path was of one of confidence and happiness to have and to give.

A loud crack of light flashed above their heads. They all looked up. In the celling, a portal started to form.

“Iss..thaat..AAA..” Donnie couldn’t get the words out.

“Tesla portal? Yes, Donnie it is.” Talia let go of Mikey and drifted over towards were Donnie was standing.

Talia put her hands on Donnie’s shoulder and almost floated up to be eye to eye with him. “Don’t stop working with the crystals. Your work with the frequency will make them speak to you and access the Akashic Records. Don’t forget, do not let your head over run your heart.” Talia slide her right hand down placing it on his chest plate.

“You will be Renewual’s best academic teacher. Through your work you will bring knowledge not only to her, but to this reality beyond what you can image. Don’t get discourage when your head gets in the way. Just remember some times going backwards is the answer to find the path.” She then placed her lips on Donnie’s forehead. Like Mikey, the sensation opened Donnie up, making him realize that he had the answers all a long. Talia was right; Going back to the start to understanding and to use his intuition.

Again another bright flash illuminated the room, but this time light strings darted out of the black hole that was growing bigger in the ceiling. The strings looked like wild rose canes with thorn like projection which transmitted electrical energy across each other. One of the strings swung over to Talia curling around her waist and picking her up.

Leaping in the air, Leo's ninjato came down severing the string from the hole it came out of. Talia was thrown towards the floor by Raphael. Before she hit the ground Raphael jumped over the table and caught Talia. The part of the string that was cut off hit the floor and shattered into crystal shards all around them. Raph don’t let Talia go, but held her tightly in his over sized arms.

Talia looked at Leo saying,”This is not your fight yet, but keep them at bay as long as you can Leo. The battle will come soon enough for you to help me. Remember destiny is not the same as duty, my guardian.”

Donatello grabbed his bo and started to swing deflecting the strings away long side Leo.

“For course Leo's the light guardian!” Mikey mocked, as he started to pull his nunchaku out and take Leo’s other side.

Leo yelled out to him “Mikey, don’t! You need to hold on to Renewual!”

“I can help dude!”

“You are helping! Renewual has the same light energy as Talia. If one of these strings grabs her, we will loose them both!.” Leo shouted. With that realization, Mikey tucked Renewual closer into his body and covering her head with thick fingers.

Talia reached up and touched Raph’s face bring his attention back on her.“I don’t have much time my love.”

“Are you going to kiss my forehead, too?” Raph smirked

“If I had enough time I would kiss you from your forehead to below your belt!” His eyes widened and cheeks flushed hearing Talia’s words.

“After seein’ those tattoos on your body, I want find how many are hidden?” Raph said licking his lips.

“Most of them are. Come find me in your dreams, and I will let you find them all.” she whispered along side of his head so only he could hear. Talia wrapped her arms around his neck and without hesitation she kissed his forehead.

With that shock of energy through the spot were her lips were still pressed, every hidden felling inside burst to the surface. He fell to his knees still holding her in his arms. Raph’s hazel green eyes welled up with tears. Wiping them away from Raph's cheeks, Talia’s eyes did the same.

“Don’t leave me! I can’t take care of Renewual by myself. I am not a good enough turtle for you, how can I be a good dad for her?” Raph said as he lowered his head.

“For course you’re going to be a good dad! We are the same energy, the same frequency. That is why we were able to come together to make her. I know you can raise her with out me here, because I was able to raise my son by myself in the reality I came from.” She lifted his head up by wide chin to look into his heart broken eyes.

“And you are not alone! You have a father to guide you when you need advise! Three brothers who have your back. You will have me to share communion when you meditate and in your dreams. You have the courage to face this! Will it be hard? Yes, but it is worth it my love.”

She turned her head calling “Mikey, bring her here!”

As Talia held out her arms for Renewual, Raph deflected a light band that was darting towards his shoulder with his sai. Making sure Talia had his niece safe, Mikey grabbed his other nunchaku and started blocking the strings. Raph turned his back away to shield the two most precious light beings in his life.

Talia reached with her right hand grabbing his face again and pulled him into hers. As their lips locked exchanging the energy between their souls, Talia slided her tongue into his mouth which encouraged Raph to pull her closer. Raph knew in a few moments he would have to let her go. He tightened his hand in Talia’s hair and breathed her in as deep as he could.

Raph tried to memorize every last detail just like he had the first night Talia asked him to stay and protect her. The feeling of her soft skin, the smell of roses in her hair, as well as the sweet taste of her mouth. A bitter reminder bought Raph back to earth, when a light band hit his shell with such force he had to shift his weight and let Talia slid to the ground.

She grabbed his left arm and slid Renewual in it.

“Now you have something more to live for. You have her! She is everything good about us and everything we could not be then we were alone.” said Talia as Raph pulled her in one more time so tight that either of them could barely take a breath.

“I love you, Talia! I always have!” Raph murmured

“I love you as well. We will find and see each other again, my love!” Talia replied grabbing him face and kissed Raph one more time. Talia stood up pulling her hair back into a pony tail yelling “ Leo, ninjato!”

Leo turned and through one of the swords she had given him towards her. Talia caught the ninjato by the handle taking it behind her head she cut her pony tail off. She laid the sword at Raph’s feet and handed her hair to him. “This will protect her and remind all of you of me.”

Sitting up and bending her head down, Talia clasped her hands together. With in the space between her finger a light ball started to form. “My bothers, you can stop now!”

All the strings started to dart and attach to the ball. With each new string the ball grew bigger and bigger until the light engulfed Talia. “I love you all and thank you for everything!” With her last words, Talia was pulled into the black hole.

A large flash of light illuminated the room once again causing the hole to collapse in onto its self. An eerie silence was all that was let in the room. It was only broken when Donnie's sensory equipment stared to beep.

#tmnt leonardo #tmnt donatello #tmnt raphael #tmnt mikey #string theory #multi universe

0 notes