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gorbalsvampire · 5 months

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Vampire: the Requiem (2e) Readthrough Review (Repost)

About eighteen months ago I picked up the second edition of Vampire: the Requiem and, while laid up with the first instance of mortifying acid reflux (it would not be the last) I decided to do a full readthrough review. Then I went insane and deleted my accounts at least once. But! Wayback Machine to the rescue! The text survives and here it is again.

I don’t want to make too many comparisons to Vampire: the Masquerade because “is it better?” comes up every couple of weeks on the White Wolf RPG subreddit and has done for years and I’m tired. I want to talk about Requiem on its own merits where I can. That said, I cannot avoid being an old hand who knew VtM first and has been playing V5 for two years: I’m bound to evaluate what I discover in terms of what I already know.

Images are from the book in question, sourced via the Storytellers’ Vault, spirit of fair use, purely for illustrative/visual handhold purposes.

A Date with the Night: world building

The onboarding is solid, with the key questions asked and answered (in sightly purple prose, but still):

what do we do in this game? (we predate, but we also philanthropise, we also party: we are trying to be something other than a machine that eats blood forever)

what’s the internality of the characters like? (who you are as a vampire is precariously balanced with who you pretend to be as a human and you need to do both, in very practical terms)

what’s the core conflict? (Strix have existed for as long as Kindred have, they are the old-school pre-literary revenant vampires, and they hate you) (VtR 1e was pretty bad at this, it didn’t have a fallback for when your brain wouldn’t turn over, and the Strix answer this need: when you don’t know what to do with your players, throw a Strix at them)

Clan presentation, again, really good. The focus on what kind of predator they are, how the human experiences them; the range of example personas presented; the recommendations on stats, sweet Jesus yes, it’s about damn time. The game explicitly says “hey this signature power uses those numbers and this one uses these, bear that in mind, here’s what priorities here or there on the sheet might look like as a character so you’re not feeling like the system mastery has crowded out your vision.”

Covenant presentation is a bit weaker; it doesn’t feel anchored into the processes of gameplay to the same extent, there isn’t that “hey, you’re Lancea et Sanctum, here are some Merits you might want to consider” – I don’t know why that might be yet but it feels a bit lacklustre after the very table-focused material on the clans.

I do like how the clan origin stories and the extinct clans and covenants suggest a metaplot without beating me over the head with it. There was a thing called the Camarilla in Rome, it was the first proper vampire society, it fell apart because historical pressures but also Strix, it survives in these ways. But there’s no Grician bias stuff here – no specifics for the brain to snag and snare upon, no numbers and no iconic signature characters into whose biography the game texts can deteriorate.

As I read it I’m thinking “OK so how does that plug into the European history I’m interested in exploring, how far from Rome are we here?” or “OK but how does this place much further away talk back to any of that, we’re beyond the frontiers of Rome with this one, did they ever have a Camarilla or are we looking at Circle-Town from the year dot?” The covenants feel inspiring from a storytelling perspective but in terms of character generation they’re not quite made concrete.

The All Night Society is an in universe introduction to setting concepts like the Traditions, the processes of hunting and ghouling. I find this sort of thing accessible enough but there are bits where I’d like to be told how it works. The Cacophony, for instance: I can grasp the idea from this impressionistic and dreamlike prose, but mine is not a life of underground parties or graffiti tags, and I could do with this shit translated into Parochial Geek through the medium of concrete, at-table example. Just walk us through how it manifests in an example of play. Oddly I don’t get the same effect from Solace even though I’ve never been a habitual drug user.

There’s a shadow of things to come, with the spread on feeding grounds and havens, but it isn’t reified with recommended Backgrounds to represent that stuff. (I stand by Predator and Coterie Types as the quiet best innovation of V5, by the way, more definitive of how you do vampirism than any amount of sect allegiances.) All in, it’s a good chapter for hooks and eyes.

Building a Monster: chargen (and rules) (and then chargen again) (but also reference)

Laws of the Dead runs pretty long – character generation and all the Disciplines are in here. I’m going to stat up my old character (since I lost his sheet anyway and didn’t really know what I was doing when I made him) along the way for another perspective on all this material.

Aspirations are a useful early feature: pick three things your character wants to achieve in the game, one or two relating to Kindred existence and at least one relating to the human world. Characters need to want things, not just “be rounded” by events in their past – they need to be moving toward events as yet unresolved. Personally I think it should be one pre-mortem one post-mortem and one space to allow emergent gameplay, as I always end up going off down some strange tangent for session after session and then feeling bad because it’s not what I told the Storyteller I wanted to do with the game.

Adrian Royce is a Ventrue and a member of the Carthian Movement: his concept is “Weird Left Zine Correspondent”. His human-facing Aspiration is to pay off an enormous debt – he dug a deep deep hole of expenses researching his first book and he’s got to square that somehow. His Kindred-facing Aspiration is to uncover a secret that gives him leverage over/among his fellow Ventrue – I imagine he’s a bit shit by the clan’s standards, a wrong side of the tracks Embrace for all that he’s the best possible version of himself.

I’ve always liked the nWod/CofD “grid” of Attributes – cross-reference the kind of challenge (mental, physical or social) with the approach being taken (power, finesse, resistance) and you’ll know exactly which one to roll in a given moment. Couple that with a robust “let’s think about what this word means” approach to the Abilities and you’ll be calling the dice pools with confidence in no time. It does help to be up front about this approach, defining the Traits with players, just in case they think seducing someone is a Subterfuge roll by default when you see dice pools more as “what are you trying to achieve with this seduction – do you want to make someone believe you because you’re hot, or do you want something material out of it?” kind of decision.

Adrian isn’t a particularly finesse-oriented person – he gets what he wants through force of personality, occasional acts of violence, and sheer tenacity. He’s not particularly smart, although he works hard. Social prime, then Physical, then Mental. Mental Skills take a higher priority though, he’s well trained and makes up for his lack of exceptional smarts with a rigorous approach to investigation. Physical gets bumped down: he can handle himself in a fight and he’s picked or planted the odd pocket in his time, but he’s nothing spectacular. His specialties are in Investigation (Conspiracy Theories), Expression (Journalism) and Brawl (Boxing) – I’ve decided he has a hobby that makes him a little bit tastier in a scrap. His clan gives him an extra dot in Presence, which is a nice way to pick up a four-dot ability without sacrificing anything else, or compensate for a sacrificed dot somewhere.

Beats kind of sneak into the middle of character creation. These are super important as beats – as in story beats – convert into experience points. From the sessions I played a few years ago I remember beats coming thick and fast, a core part of the gameplay loop. Is the list of things that give a beat on the Storyteller Screen? It is not (they needed that space for half a page of grappling rules, obviously).

New Disciplines are sensibly gatekept – the clans’ unique Disciplines require a teacher and a sip of the ol’ vitae, the covenants’ unique Disciplines require a teacher, everything else is up for grabs.

There’s a list of archetypal Masks and Dirges (your pretend human self and your real Kindred self, respectively) that restore all or one of your Willpower points when you live up to them (I’m hoping Willpower is the ‘extra dice’ ‘reroll’ or ‘auto success’ generator it’s been in other versions of the game – I honestly forget how that works – but there’d better be lots of incentives to spend it!).

Touchstones appear here, but they’re both a little more nuanced (it’s acknowledged that they can be a place or a thing, although a glance at the ST screen has revealed that spending time around humans is mechanically enforced by the Requiem rule set) and a lot more developed (there’s a good two pages of examples for you to build off, why the hell didn’t V5 do this?).

I’ve adapted the “Former Patron” for Adrian. He has a close friendship with a ‘zine editor, the only person who’ll consistently employ him and pay him steady money for whatever he turns in on or about the deadline. Ricky – for ‘tis his name – isn’t stupid, he knows Adrian is Kindred, but he’s taken a “don’t ask don’t tell” approach and Ade is grateful for the mercy, since not being asked means he doesn’t have to lie.

At this stage we get into a cluster of more in-play rules, and…

On the whole, page for page, this book is beating V5. The layout is sensible and consistent, the art assets aren’t gratuitous, the artified text boxes generally draw the attention to a key idea summarised in direct and emotive text, and I haven’t ever had to follow two ongoing arguments across two sets of different coloured columns in a six column spread. But the information flow through chapters is just as bad as V5, and really shits the bed at this point: I’m trying to make a character and there’s page after page of core gameplay activities in the middle of the chapter between Touchstones and Merits.

If I’m walking someone through chargen and getting them to read the words so they understand what they’re doing with the dots (instead of just learning the summary and not really doing the process in full depth) this is bad, because it breaks flow and we lose momentum and concentration. If I’m looking for a rule during play, this is bad because core activities are clustered up in the middle of a section about something else and there’s no marshalling of information onto spreads or anything. This is just about acceptable in a PDF, with search and hyperlink at your side, but it’s rubbish in a physical book.

We get into the rules for damage, and for vitae, and the Blush of Life casually tosses off that for one (1) vitae, vampires can keep a meal down for most of the night, or have sex. That’s that. No lengthy “at Humanity 4 you can’t get it up but you can fingerbang” granularity. Neat and tidy. It’s just another biological thing they might need to do sometimes.

Predatory Aura is also neat: an explanation for just why Kindred society has all these customs and all that elaborate rigmarole. Kindred know Kindred; the Beast stirs, and can be incited to lash out. This is the bare-fangs-and-hiss routine; this is the stagey, theatrical sexuality; this is the sneering and posturing behind polite words. And it’s got some simple, hard and fast rules keyed to Willpower and Power Attribute rolls. And it gets past the "how do I know that you're a vampire?" stage in meeting the NPCs. Do like.

Rules for posthumous Embraces and the rise of the corpse as a Revenant – nice touch. Another threat that can find its way in should the session or story need some sizzle, as anyone who’s been bitten can rise if they come into contact with vitae after death or are fully exsanguinated on a later feeding (which is how we get the Lucy-in-Dracula moments). Lovely stuff.

Feeding is in here: there’s the simple way, and the “well, you have to grapple first” combat option (ahh, that’s why grapple rules ended up on the ST sheet – but the beats would have been nice to have!) And certain chestnuts about blood and vitae are described explicitly: the physical fluid nourishes more or less depending on where it comes from, so different amounts are needed. I wish the exact processes and amounts were on the goddamn sheet (I won’t need weapon damage in every session, but I will definitely need feeding!) though. Finally an example of play as well, to cover the no-dice feeding option, which definitely needs it.

I’m going to stop complaining about the stupid ST sheet eventually, but why isn’t the frenzy modifier chart on there? Frenzies can come up in any scene, god damn it…

There’s a long and disorganised list of Merits. Some of them – the Carthian Merits I’m trying to pick out for Adrian – come in multiple tiers and I can see the shape of the Loresheet system from V5 in there. They seem to have been sorted by “Kindred only” and “Mortals can take these too” but they’re the wrong way round (I’d put bedrock stuff like Contacts and Status up front, since a lot of the Kindred ones refer to these or have them as prerequisites). Also, the lack of sub-sorting means that if, for instance, I’m building a Carthian, I have to flip back and forth a lot just to figure out what all my options are and what I need to chain into this or that to make them go. Chalk this up to something Masquerade has always done better (either by skimming specific ones off into clan and sect supplements, or dumping a lot of them into an optional appendix and having the core focus on the important Backgrounds that locate your character in the world).

Adrian has ten Merit points to spend. I’m going to start with Human Merits, because they’re more concrete bread and butter assets like “living indoors” and “having money”, and go into the weeds of Kindred Merits once I’m happy that he’s grounded. He has a dot in Allies, representing the activist community who know and tolerate him because he occasionally turns up something extremely useful. Area of Expertise (Investigation) makes him really good at that due diligence and Barfly will help him blend in when he’s doing the legwork. True Friend doubles down on his relationship with his Touchstone, Ricky T: Adrian strikes me as a hard man to like, but faithful to the bitter end in return. Finally, I’m going to buy him some Carthian Status as a prerequisite to his Kindred Merits: I’m starting to feel like Adrian’s a bit of a sofa surfer, leeching off his covenant and repaying the favours with hard graft and the occasional truth bomb. Carthian Pull and I Know A Guy will work for this at low level, giving him access to the odd low tier ‘background’ dot in exchange for a story-generating favour. I have one dot left and pop back to the Mortal list to pick up Trained Observer, just to lean harder into that “works hard, pays attention” feel.

The chapter closes out with Disciplines, which I am absolutely not going to talk about at any length. I’m just going to remark that the multiplying XP costs of other Vampire iterations are long gone, that Devotions (what I know as Amalgams) are sidepieces with an experience cost based on the number of dots that go into them, and that every Discipline has a stat+skill+discipline pool as standard.

As a Ventrue Adrian has access to Dominate in-clan, so I’m going to go hard on it as his unique selling point. Two dots there give me the simple four word command and the option of chaining three of those together into a series of instructions or extended control. His dice pool for it isn’t great, so I go back and swap his Attribute priorities; three dots in Intelligence to make the Discipline go. Looking at his dots now, he’s got a powerful intellect and forceful personality but he’s not very quick or delicate in his approach, and while he can throw hands if he has to, he probably treats them a bit too much like an amateur boxing ring and starts shit he can’t finish. He gets a dot in Resilience to round him out, and give him a chance to stay on his feet in these tight spots.

And we’re done. That took longer than I’d have liked, largely because this felt like three chapters (some core rules, the Disciplines writeup and character generation) rammed into one poorly-organised whole. The writing is on point, the layout is good, the art assets are unobtrusive and feel relevant, but the flow is all over the place and I suspect it’ll be actively annoying to refer back to this section in play. At least now I know where things are.

Playing With Your Food (game rules) (the rest of them)

Rules of the Night (hopefully this will go a bit faster!)

Usual stats-n-skills breakdown, but I like the suggested equipment and sample actions that come along with each skill to guide use of them – that should avoid the dead dots problem where someone takes dots in Etiquette and the chronicle never uses it, since it’s a player’s responsibility to suggest things like dice pools in order to move the story along. (I mean, Etiquette is a tiered Merit here, but you get the idea.) A very good page and a half on commonplace activities and their dice pools, which is built into the section on dice rolls and doesn’t make weird claims about what kind of fuckin’ is good fuckin’ (V5, take note!). I don’t always like these (as I’ve said, sometimes seducin’ someone is Charisma and sometimes it’s Manipulation, the approach and desired outcome should set the pools) but if people want a usual roll, there it is.

Social Man… eo… that word I can’t spell

Good things about this system: it’s specifically for players to use on non-player characters.

Bad things about this system: it introduces trackables in the shape of Goals and Doors that need to be calculated, modified, and tracked in a long chain of rolls that may take days of in-game time to fully resolve. It’s a very roundabout way of figuring out how many rolls of varying types are involved in the extended task of getting someone to do what you want. It does reduce down to a formula (take lowest of Resolve or Composure, add 2 if a breaking point would be met, add 1 if an Aspiration would be thwarted, add 1 if a Mask would be compromised, you need that many successful rolls – not successes – to get what you want) and I like the concept of introducing not-social rolls to the process (on the grounds that fixing someone’s garage door will make them like you more and feel indebted to you) but it all feels a bit protracted.

There is the shape of something good here but I dramatically prefer the approach V5 takes of introducing Social Conflicts with Willpower as a “damage tracker”, resolvable in three rounds, each of which can be instantaneous or protracted.

Combat is fine, it’s the usual stat + skill – target’s defence dice pool. Dodging doubles your Defence and turns it into a dice pool you roll against your attacker, which I’m not sure about the odds on. I think I’d rather have the blanket dice penalty imposed on an attacker’s pool as not letting them roll dice is surely better than rolling my own to see how many 30% chances of cancelling out their dice I can muster. Perhaps Dodge is there because people roleplaying fight scenes want to be able to dodge, because they don’t want their character to throw hands. That seems more likely.

I am going to do another “V5 did this better” – I am trying to rein it in, I swear, I know this is an older game – and say that V5 has the only initiative system I will ever accept as better (for my theatre of the mind playstyle) than “just start with the player on my left and work around the table”. Instead of all this “roll dice add character trait bonus subtract weapon malus” stuff V5 works off the dynamics of the scene, ticking down through existing close combat between already engaged parties, then ranged, then fresh close combat, then everything else. This works because what’s important isn’t the realistic simulation of real combat or the random factor: it’s building scenes in a way that makes sense and helps everyone grok what’s happening and serves to organise who rolls dice when and in what order turns are taken.

Equipment is more granular than I’m used to but I don’t entirely hate it: it’s things that are useful, expressed in terms of the Merits needed to acquire them, and I think that’s a better way of using Merits than the rather vague “I have Resources 5 so I should be able to hire NPCs to do everything for me”. Availability is a dot rating which you can match with Merits or successes from rolls – so if something’s Availability 4, you need Resources 4 or you’re rollin’ to see if you can blag it somehow.

Conditions get bumped into an appendix for ease of reference. I’m ambivalent about these. Once you’ve got them into your head they’re probably fine but it might well be easier to just say “characters affected by this mind whammy get a -2 to Social Resistance rolls” than constantly cross-referencing to the Mind Whammied condition. I feel these work better with the reference cards – something tactile you can toss across the table so a player can refer to it, and hand back when it’s done – but I forget what it was like trying to wrangle them on Roll20.

The World Against Us (adversaries, locations and ref advice)

The World We Die In takes us through a series of sample domains: Athens, Beijing (with a localised version of the Ordo Dracul), Berlin, Montreal, North Carolina (with a Jiangshi clan that remind me of the very heart of the old Wan Kuei from VtM), San Francisco, Swansea (Swansea?), Tokyo (with localised covenants – zaibatsu – replacing the familiar five)… I think this is a nice answer to “Requiem has no lore” and “Catholics and pagans are not global phenomena you Eurocentrist pillock”, which are pain points I've heard in more than a few of my Masquerade groups.

Storytelling is a busy but focused chapter, which talks about how to emphasise each aspect of play – Mask and Dirge, Aspiration, Blood Potency, Vitae, Conditions and so on – offering a Twist for each one that really brings it out of the morass of play. My favourites are the Vitae Twists with tokens passed across the table and no numbers said aloud when feeding, and an option to say “chuck the character sheet, Vitae are dice, you can roll as many as you want, but when you’re running low, you must feed”, with damage coming out of the Vitae pool as well, and a five-dice no-control Frenzy at the bottom. (I really like this one, it’s the most… vampirism is all that matters… of the whole lot so far.) I’d use that with the Blood Beats twist as, let’s face it, conventional experience doesn’t really matter here, what matters is accumulating experience to become More Vampire by adding Blood Potency.

I also like the Twist to replace health trackers with Conditions applied as characters take hits. The mathematics involved seems like it doesn’t so much replace the health tracker as add a layer to it – I think I’d base this on margins of success during combat rolls rather than doing sums to see how much each character can take.

And there’s a really neat mode for character generation – a 12 step programme for fleshing Your Dude out with the other players and the storyteller, basically a collaborative relationship map that you build during character creation. I love group character creation and I also like when players bring me NPC ideas. Colour me pleased with this. I’d want to do this before even putting dots down; basically, concept, then Climbing the Ladder, then building the characters and setting.

An appendix for ghoul characters (with unique ghoul merits – for the first time ever I might actually think a ghoul chronicle is worth doing, as an extended Prelude), an appendix for conditions, and we are done!

Would I run this? Yes. It’s not perfect – the information flow of the rules is all over the place, especially interrupting the character generation is a no-no, and I really don't like Doors – but those are the only two tooth-grinders, so it’s walking in with a credible 7/10.

Additional, after the fact: I did end up running half a V:tR story, and came to the conclusion that Requiem has some incredible ideas about how vampires work but doesn't quite boil them down into efficient systems, at least not ones that I can run over Discord. With a face to face group and a deck of Condition cards and tokens to track feeding it would probably be easier to do. I do think it's superior to V5 on at least one systemic front though, and that's with Humanity... which we will come to very shortly.

#vampire the requiem #vtr #game review #rulebook review #readthrough review #self repost #don't be mentally ill and delete your accounts folx

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saintedcooper · 1 year

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Francis (Frank Castle x Reader AU)

New York, 1949. You’re a waitress trying to find your place in the world and get your footing at your new job. That is, when you’re not being very distracted by the handsome, mysterious writer who frequents the diner.

Pairing: Frank Castle x Reader

Content: Some language

Length: 2,761 words

Notes: Age is not explicitly stated but reader is grown, she’s in her mid-30s. She’s something of an anomaly at the time, being unmarried.

Additional notes at the end.

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

Chapter 1: Beginnings

“You like the quiet?”

It’s a foggy New York afternoon and Maurice, the diner owner is busy delivering plates and taking orders. His white shirt is damp and clinging to his thick form as he hurries as fast as his stocky legs will take him.

I hurry to keep up with him as he darts to a table in the corner with an arm full of plates.

I definitely overdressed for the interview. I’m wearing a long burgundy coat dress, white tights, and a pair of pumps borrowed from my new roommate. The air in the joint is thick and sticky. I swear my curls are falling by the minute.

“Can’t remember. I’m the eldest of six kids. I haven’t known quiet since my oldest brother came home from the hospital.”

Maurice finishes putting the plates on the table and throws down extra napkins.

He dramatically bows at the table and pulls at an imaginary bow tie.

“Bone appy-tite,” he says before turning on his heels and rushing back behind the counter.

“Great, kid. I need you on the sad shift.”

Maurice makes his way to the coffee pot and groans, it’s nearly empty. He looks around, seeming to miss something.

I spot an extra coffee pot behind the counter and shrug. I’ve clearly already got the job. I pull my gloves off and brush past the still-searching Maurice.

“Sorry, the what?”

I set about making a fresh pot of mud. Maurice looks impressed.

“The sad shift, you know. Drifters, widowers, divorcees.”

He makes a dismissive gesture, “Weird writers. People that ain’t got nowhere to go even after midnight. You’d work the 8-5. Kitchen closes at 2ish. You’re basically just fillin’ coffee cups for the last part.

“They won’t give you no trouble and the tips are great. Real easy goin’ bunch, it’s just the girl who was on that shift got herself in the family way and well, here we are.”

The coffee’s finished brewing and I take the pot to start refilling cups.

“Sounds good,” I tell Maurice over my shoulder.

“Great! You start tonight. Go home and get some sleep.”

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

It didn’t take long to realize Maurice was right: the late shift is quiet.

I started that night I got the job and got the hang of it pretty quickly. It wasn’t long before I knew everyone who’d come through on a typical night.

Over the past few months, we’ve settled into a nice rhythm.

It’s intimate being with people in the hours between night and day. They open up to me, they tell me about their struggles, and I get to listen.

Tonight, the patrons are spaced out between the bar and corner booths, like normal. Each of them smoking so much that there’s a persistent thick cloud above the joint. I sometimes felt like the only person in the world who won’t touch the stuff, but working here now I’m not sure it matters anyway.

I’m standing behind the counter, hip cocked and head resting in my head, looking out at the city.

The diner’s filled with the usual suspects. All except one.

I spin my watch around to look at the time.

He’s usually not this late.

I know, I shouldn’t have favorite customers. They’re all great, they tip well, and they’re nice.

But there’s this one guy, a writer. I noticed him early on.

Name’s Francis.

He comes in damn near every night and is impossible to miss. He’s gorgeous, well-dressed, and polite. And he always smells like a pine forest after it rains.

He’s nice to look at and good to talk to but we’ve always left it there. He mostly stayed to himself during my first few weeks here.

Then, on my way to work one day, I walked out of the train station and into a freak storm. It started hailing out of nowhere, loud and cold and I was absolutely not dressed for it. I threw my bag over my head and started running the last blocks to the diner.

But my pump caught a big piece of hail just wrong and I rolled my ankle.

Next thing I know, I hear this familiar deep voice behind me say, “You alright, sweetheart?”

I turned to find Francis holding his hand out to me. I took it and winced as I tried to get up to my feet.

It hurt, I leaned to one side as I stood there.

“Ah, think I tweaked it.”

I bent to rub a hand over my ankle and found it slightly swollen.

“You headin’ to work?”

I nodded. “Yeah. But walkin’ there’ll make it worse and so will walkin’ home and—”

Francis hefted me over his shoulder like it was nothing and my whole body heated up. I covered my face with my bag.

“Oh, goodness! Francis, really. I can walk. Slowly, but I can do it.”

"Nah, sweetheart. Can’t have you makin’ it worse. It’s no trouble.”

No trouble for him, maybe, but terrible for my attempts to stave off a full-blown fascination with the guy.

He carried me four blocks to the diner.

I was so mortified I started asking him questions to distract myself from the embarrassment.

I learned that he was a writer. He wrote a lot of pulp but he was working on a novel, had been for three years. He mentioned his wife using her job as a secretary for a construction company to bring him story ideas.

“She was no damn good at it,” he said with a laugh. “She said one day, ‘Vinnie threatened to break a guy’s knees today and it made me wonder if you could write something about how knees can feel fear.’ Just completely missing the point every time.”

I laughed along with him.

“Was? You two break up?”

Francis didn’t respond for nearly a block.

When we reached the diner he said, “’s complicated, sweetheart. Let’s get some ice on that ankle.”

That was months ago and since then we’ve pretty much settled into our routine. I only think about him throwing me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes once, maybe twice an hour.

Everything’s normal.

Tonight I managed to get the cook, Tom, to keep the kitchen open a bit longer for Francis but his patience is wearing thin.

There’s steam coming through the serving window as Tom pours boiling water over the utensils, preparing to close the kitchen for the night.

“Sorry, toots,” he says with a grin. “Your boyfriend ain’t comin’ tonight and I’ve got shit to do.”

He shrugs and turns away.

I pick at the varnish on my nails and give a dramatic roll of my eyes. “He ain’t my boyfriend, Tommy, and you know it. He’s just a nice payin’ customer who gives great tips. You know I’ve gotta go see my sister soon ‘fore she pops that kid out.”

Tom's throaty laugh rings through the diner and he appears in front of the serving window again.

“Hey, baby, no disrespect to her but I’d say the 5th time you shove one out we can stop with the fanfare, eh? I mean, sheesh, they startin’ a football team?”

I bite the inside of my cheek and stifle a giggle. She’s across the country but I swear to god, I laugh and she’ll know it.

“Be nice, she’s my sister.”

“Yeah well, you’re the one who got all the sense. That’s all I’m sayin’.”

Tom throws his hands up, an empty, steaming pot dangling from one of them, and goes back to his cleaning.

He’s not wrong. They’ve been turning out babies like lovin’ was going out of style since he got back home from the war. One a year.

It’s what she wants and I’m happy for her. But it smarts a bit sometimes. I helped change her diapers but she beat me to everything a girl’s supposed to do. We couldn’t afford college when it was my turn but I worked my ass off to make sure she got to go to Bryn Mawr.

Then, just a few months after classes start, she goes on a day trip and catches the eye of some square-jawed, bronzed god fresh out of college. The next thing I know she’s banging on my door at 3am covered in rain shouting, “Bunny, you’ll never guess! We’re engaged! Don’t tell mama but Johnny has a lead on a job out west, we’re eloping! Don’t hate me?”

Then she kissed my cheek and dragged her damp ass out the door and into his big, stupid Packard.

They don’t refund tuition when your sister lands a god and drops out after 6 months, by the way.

Mama did always say she’s the worst little girl in all the world and—

The thudding clank of the bell on the door stops the spiral, the sharpness of it reverberating through the quiet space.

We all know who it is but every head turns to look. My breath catches in my throat.

Francis Castiglione steps through the door looking good enough to eat in his suit with a gray hat sitting low, shading his face. He nods to the familiar faces around the diner.

I stand up and smooth down my dress just as he catches my eye. His lips tug up into a little grin and he’s headed my way.

God, my throat feels like wool. I swallow and spin around to grab the coffee pot, a mug, and a saucer.

Francis glides into a seat at the counter.

“How you doin’ tonight, sweetheart?”

I throw a quick smile over my shoulder as I finish pouring his coffee.

“Real good, Francis. And you?”

He groans, low and deep.

The sound shocks a little gasp out of me and I pray he didn’t hear it.

“It’s uh…heh. It’s been a long night, doll.”

I grab a stirring spoon and head to the counter with his coffee. He’s taken off his hat and the harsh light he’s sitting under illuminates a face full of angry-looking scratches.

I forget all about the coffee, gasping and throwing a hand over my mouth. Coffee spills out of the over-filled up and drips down the cup and saucer, some spilling onto the floor.

“Francis! My goodness, what happened?”

Francis reaches out with swift reflexes to grab the tipping coffee from my hands. He places the saucer and mug on the counter and licks his coffee-wet fingers.

For a moment, I forget all about his scratched-up face, eyes focused on the peek of his tongue darting out to lick the coffee now running down his hands.

I’m gawking at him like a schoolgirl and of course, I’m caught. He holds my gaze while he slowly licks up the side of his hand. He smirks at the top.

“Don’t worry bout it, sweetheart. It’s no big deal.”

My cheeks flush and I nod.

“Right, sorry. I just— it’s hard to not be distracted by you.”

I make a flailing gesture with my hands.

“And then the coffee and you — how you got it up and. I lost myself, I apologize, it won’t happen again.”

Francis does his best to hide his laughter behind his hand.

What’s he laughing at?

The deep frown on my face makes him lose it. He throws his head back and howls with laughter.

“Hey! What’s so funny?”

He tilts his head back to me, wiping tears from his eyes.

“Oh, sweetheart. I meant this,” he gestures at his face. “You asked and I’m saying it was nothin’. Not talkin’ about you oglin’ me.”

Oh, good lord. My face heats up like a Looney Tunes character who just guzzled a pot of boiling water.

Francis is a gentleman, though, now doing his best to stifle his laughter and save me the embarrassment.

I hide my face behind one of the bar towels.

“Oh, Francis, I’m so embarrassed.”

He waves a hand at me.

“Ah, don’t be. I’m only teasin’. It’s nice that you were worried about me.”

He takes a sip of what’s left of his coffee, looking at me over the cup.

“’sides, it’s good to know I’m distractin’.”

My face is still warm but I’m trying to calm down. I use the towel to pick up the coffee spilled on the counter and floor.

“Well, I am concerned. What the hell happened to you?”

“Eh, just uh, wrong place, wrong time. But you should see the other guy.” He waggles his eyebrows and it gets a laugh out of me.

“Honestly, who gets into fisticuffs with a writer?”

”Sheesh, you ain’t never read much Hemingway, huh darlin’? We writers are a scrappy bunch.”

He downs the rest of his coffee.

“It’s all the insecurity.”

I walk down to the small sink behind the counter and wash out the towel.

“Well still, I don’t like it. How did it happen?”

Francis waves a hand and shrugs. “Nah, doesn’t matter much. Tell me about you. You still savin’ up to go see Jeannie?”

I scoff.

“Yeah.”

I take the rest of the coffee pot around the diner, topping up the cups as I respond.

“But now I’m wondering why. It’s her fortieth kid for christ’s sake. She could teach a seminar on not keeping your legs closed.”

One of the regulars laughs as I finish my rounds and head back behind the counter.

“It’d be more impressive if she didn’t end up pregnant every year. Meanwhile, I’m here in the greatest city in the world staying in at night and on weekends to go see another one of her fat, sloppy babies? That jerk Johnny makes a fortune and I have to buy my own ticket on a sweaty bus for four days? It’s a goddamn shame!”

I slam the spent pot into the cradle of the machine.

“God! Fuck. her!!!”

I let out a scream. The patrons all politely appear enthralled by the wood grain on their tables.

“Hey, hey,” Francis leans across the counter to turn my shoulders around. He rubs at them in a gentling gesture. “Hey, it’s all good, whatever you want. You ain’t gotta explain nothin’ to no one, least of all any of us.”

I glance around at the nodding heads in the diner.

“You do what makes you happy.”

Francis rubs his hands down my arms, I take a deep breath and close my eyes.

“I don’t want to see her. She makes me feel awful.”

Francis nods, giving me big puppy dog eyes.

“Then don’t. S’your life, kid.”

He pats my shoulder and sits back down in his seat.

I slump over the counter and hide my head.

“I’m so embarrassed.”

“Don’t be.”

“I work here, I’m supposed to be professional and —” my eyes widen…shit.

I pop my head into the serving window and Tom’s nowhere to be found. The counters and cooktops in the kitchen are pristine. He’s gone.

“Francis! I’m so sorry, I tried to have him wait for you but he said he had plans, and let's be honest, as long as he’s payin’ the plans would still be there even if he’s a few minutes late, and—”

“Sweetheart, sweetheart,” Francis calls for me to come back to the counter. “S’alright. Promise. Missin’ supper once is not gonna kill me. Might do wonders for this book I’m writin’, though. Really get me into the head of a starving artist, ya know? Maybe more people’ll buy it if I can make myself extra miserable in the process.”

“Oh, don’t say that.”

“I’m teasin’, darlin’. Don’t be so serious.”

I flush. There ought to be a law about how many times you can call a girl sweetheart or darling before she starts to get ideas.

He makes me feel like a girl again.

Francis fixes me with a stare. Neither of us breaks it as the seconds stretch on. He licks his lips and leans into me.

“C’mere, I wanna tell you somethin’.”

“What?”

He gestures for me. “Just c’mere.”

I lean in closer, the warmth of his breath rustling the delicate hairs of my ear.

He gets closer still and whispers, “I don’t come here for the food.”

I’m frozen and flushed while he grins his face off. He shakes his head and reaffixes his hat, pulling the brim down low again. He pats the counter and I realize he’s moving slower than normal as he heads to the door, favoring one side.

He gives me a final look across his shoulder.

“Night, sweetheart.”

The bell rings loudly through the space and then, quiet.

-----

Part 2

Let me know how you feel about this duo in the replies! Reblogs + asks welcome, too. How do you think reader will handle Frank's little declaration? Do you think she'll press him further on how he got injured?

I'd also love feedback about readability! Is it clear and easy to follow being in first person present?

If you're experienced as a beta or editor, feel free to drop me a line if you'd be interested in helping me edit future chapters.

#frank castle x reader #c: frank castle #s: the punisher #u: mcu #frank castle x female reader #the punisher au #au: 40s #brit writes #Francis series

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gingerel · 1 year

Text

dad!cor + prompto

What other people consider stoicism Cor simply considers calmness.

He’s never really been shocked, never been so surprised that he hasn’t been able to look past an obstacle and see a way around it. Cor has never been so frightened that he’s frozen, he’s never felt the kind of terror that people talk about where they say I didn’t know what to do.

Prompto’s mobile goes straight to voicemail, but Cor checks his room and finds his charger plugged into the wall beside his bed. While annoying, Cor can’t be angry about it; he’s been meaning to buy a second charger to leave at Monica’s for when he spends the night with her.

Prompto is speed dial preset one, Monica is on number two — she picks up fast, which is one of his favourite things about her. He wouldn’t co-parent a child with anyone else.

“Prompto left his gym sneakers behind,” Cor tells her without any preamble. “Let him know that I’ll drop them off at school on my way to work so he doesn’t have to rush back here.”

Monica is so quiet he wonders if she answered the phone at all.

“Monica?”

“Prompto isn’t here,” Monica says. “Cor — I thought he…didn’t he decide to stay at home tonight?”

And suddenly Cor knows.

“Cor?”

Suddenly Cor knows what it’s like to be so frightened you can’t move.

Noctis’ phone rings but he doesn’t answer, it just goes on and on and on. Cor calls Gladio next, who answers at once, takes the information in stride and promises to head right over to the Leonis household. Cor tries Noctis’ phone once more and this time it doesn’t ring at all.

Which, now he’s able to think again, is the most logical solution.

Gladio pulls off his ball cap as he awkwardly takes a seat by the breakfast bar where Prompto usually sits to do his homework while Cor attempts to cook for them. It’s a surprising show of deference that Cor might laugh about under different circumstances.

“We need to put out an alert that Noct — Prince Noctis is missing,” Gladio says. “Internally at least. Sir — I’m sorry.”

“Noctis is the one that should be sorry,” Cor mutters, staring at his phone like it will suddenly ping a GPS location of wherever Noctis has dragged his son.

Which wouldn’t work even if Prompto had his phone. Even if Prompto weren’t such a good kid he’d never invade his privacy like that. For a moment he considers bringing up the concept of Noctis having it during the next security review but no — he deserves the privacy too.

It’s so obvious. They’re sixteen, Noctis has had a taste of freedom living by himself. It makes sense that he would want to push the rules, to be stupid and reckless. To pull his son into the mess right alongside him.

“Next time they better just skip school,” Cor growls, tossing his phone onto the counter.

At least then it’ll be light out, at least then Prompto would just come home at a normal time and be a little off while the guilt eats at him about the lie. Cor probably wouldn’t even need to punish him for it when he eventually found out. Prompto’s pretty good at beating himself up about things.

Gladio hops down from his stool.

“I know which of their favourite arcades are open late,” Gladio says. He always did catch onto things fast.

“Go,” Cor says.

He should dispatch an entire Crownsguard patrol, or at least go himself, but at least if it’s just Gladio they might not run off again.

Cor’s still reading Gladio’s Not here, moving to next location text when his phone rings.

“Prompto,” he answers, not bothering to hide his relief.

Monica had turned up just after Gladio left and she seems to suddenly stand at her full height again.

“Dad,” Prompto says, barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you with Noctis?”

“Yes,” Prompto says. “We — um, we did something really dumb.”

“Yes,” Cor agrees. “You did. Where are you?”

“We wanted to go to this gig —”

“The one Noctis asked us about and was explicitly forbidden from going to because you’re both underage, it’s in a bar and was on a school night.”

Cor hears Prompto swallow. “Yes. That one.” Prompto pauses and Cor hears Noctis speak but not the words he’s saying. “We didn’t even get in.”

“Probably because minors are prohibited without a chaperone,” Cor says. He had looked at letting them go, and he might have swung it, if not for the fact it’s a school night.

“I’m sorry,” Prompto says again.

“I’ll be right there,” Cor assures him. “Are you both safe?”

“We’re kind of hiding,” Prompto admits. “But, um. We’ll see you when you arrive.”

Cor must break every speed limit. Which is fine, he’s allowed. And it means he gets to glare at Noctis in his rear-view mirror much sooner.

“It’s my fault,” Noctis says as soon as they’re on the road. “Prompto didn’t want to do it. It was all my idea.”

“Of course, it was,” Cor says. “He’s still grounded though.”

Prompto opens his mouth, flounders, and closes it again.

“That’s fair,” he mumbles.

“Will you tell my dad?” Noctis asks miserably.

Cor hesitates long enough that Noctis physically squirms. It makes him feel a little better. “Not if you promise never to do it again,” Cor promises.

Noctis looks so relieved it's almost difficult to still be angry at him. Almost.

“Can Noctis sleep over tonight?” Prompto asks. “So, you don’t have to drive him back to his apartment?”

Cor should say no. But Prompto looks so earnest, like being separated from his best friend after what must have been quite a scare will be physically painful for him.

“Fine,” Cor agrees. “And Prompto?” His son hmms to let him know he’s listening. “Thank you for calling me.”

“Thank you for coming to get us,” Prompto returns.

“I always will.”

“Dad – do my moms know?” Prompto asks.

“How do you think I found out?”

Prompto swears quietly under his breath and Cor has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.

#ffxv #myficlets #dad!cor #prompto argentum #cor leonis

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boypussydilf · 1 year

Note

can i ask for your thoughts on keron society? i cannot stop thinking about this little nightmare planet

NIGHTMARE PLANET FOR REAL!!!!!! GOD!!!!!!!!

i work best with guiding/prompting questions so in the absence of those i will just ramble about shit until i cant recall any more of my thoughts so this might be strange and disjointed 👍

im obsessed w keron society so i keep an eye out for canon indications of What It’s Like so here’s my list of canon keron society trivia i remember off the top of my head: they have military training schools for elementary school age children. more specifically, they seem to have almost exclusively if not actually exclusively military training schools, i.e., i dont know if theres any mention of non-military schools of any kind and the way characters talk about it indicates that Military Training Schools are the schools everyone goes to by Default. In fact! overall! keron society seems to be built on the military, run by the military, and almost entirely comprised of the military. It’s not necessarily unusual for most of the keronians we meet to be part of the army since all of our Main Characters are part of the army and we’re therefore seeing the world From Their Perspective but uh. I think “join the army” is straight up the default, expected life path on keron and anything else is a noteworthy Deviation. My evidence: when putata first shows up giroro immediately assumes that he’s part of the army and asks for his rank even though like,. “being a keronian on earth” really does NOT automatically correlate to being there as part of the military, by that point we’ve at least met… Well, by that point i’m pretty sure we’ve at least met dororo’s mom, who as far as I can tell isn’t part of the keron army at least anymore, so you know………. Point IS: all signs I’ve noticed point to: Keron is founded on its military. The majority of its population is part of its military. It’s a military society. Fucked up right?

SPEAKING OF THE SHURARA CORPS. *GESTURES TO GIRURU AND DOKUKU* FUCKED UP RIGHT ??????????? I’ve already kind of forgotten the EXACT details as they go over them in the dokuku episode but context if any of my non-keroro followers are reading this heres how i remember it: (*resists the urge to go rewatch that part of the episode to double check*) giruru and dokuku are brothers, they were experimented on by, i believe, the fucking military again, and turned into A Liquid and A Gas respectively, and this is explicitly framed as “wow! fucked up! both of their lives were literally RUINED and they DO NOT WANT THIS”. HUH? Also what’s with dokuku being specifically called like the first gas keronian THEY MADE MORE? LIKE OF COURSE THEY MADE MORE BUT ??? UNETHICAL KERONIAN EXPERIMENTATION CANON.

SPEAKING OF THAT HEY WHATS UP WITH THE CLONING THING. No literally, what’s up with the cloning thing. The garuru platoon arc in the manga explains it pretty concisely, platoon commanders get their fucking DNA saved so that if they’re ever deemed unfit for command in any way by the Keron army they can be REPLACED WITH A CLONE OF THEMSELF and then DE-AGED TO A POINT IN THEIR LIFE LONG BEFORE THEY WERE CONSIDERED UNFIT TO COMMAND AND THE ORIGINAL IS PUT ASIDE AS PART OF THE RESERVE FORCES. The manga also says somewhere that keroro is the 315th. THE THREE HUNDRED AND FIFTEENTH K66 TYPE KERONIAN. HEY WHAT? GUYS ARE YOU GONNA ELABORATE ON THAT? NO? NO? I mean, maybe they do in some way. But probably not. I don’t know.

*falls to my knees and punches the floor* keron society is incredibly fucked up. I think literally everyone on that planet needs therapy. I also get the feeling that Planet “Every Single Person Born Here Is Going To Join Our Military While Still A Literal Child, Correct? Awesome!” does not have great resources for coping with any trauma or anything else induced by their military. I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s FASCINATING. Studying the nightmare planet as a means to study the main characters. Studying the nightmare planet and desperately wishing we had more information about it. I want to watch this shitshow up close and in action. It’s bad. It is bad. Fucked up planet from hell. Dear God.

anyway this post is already long and i have to go soon but here’s a lightning round list of theories vaguely related to “the keroro of “back then”” and the question of how the Fuck sergeant procrastination-and-french-fries has been genuinely trusted with an entire platoon and the invasion of an entire planet

keroro puts his energy towards things he finds Fun and at one point he found being part of the army Fun enough to give it his full and genuine attention and earn a reputation as someone competent and capable before he stopped finding it particularly Fun and stopped really giving a shit or trying very hard. (aka, Keroro is Space Neurodivergent, which is true anyway)

there’s an episode of the anime where keroro’s dad saves the whole platoon, completely unknowingly, by complete accident, while also drunk off his ass. What if he’s always like that. Competent on accident. What if Keroro is also like that. He did a bunch of cool shit, but like, just kind of stumbled into it without meaning to or really realizing what he was doing.

Nepotism

I’m out of time. I should probably put this post under a readmore but i. won’t <3

#THANK YOUUUUUUJUU OMGGGGGGGG.#FEEL FREE TO ASK MORE QUESTIONS.#IM HAUNTED BY FREAK PLANET AND THE FREAKS IT PRODUCED #basilask #this is where if this was a p5 or dgs post id use one of my headcanons/theories/meta tags #but i dont have a tag for that kinda stuff for sgt frog yet ……#sad!#ok i made a tag to save meta/hcs/lore from my brain/etc #keron wa uchuu ichi… tabun #< based on sum1s tags on this post yay <3 #except using the japanese lyric bc ill remember the exact phrasing of that better than ill remember a translation #i love having super specific gimmicky organizational tags that half the time might just end up confusing people who aren’t me

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sapphic-squid · 2 years

Note

Ok some random thoughts on season 2 from my brain lmao:

I WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT NORA. They like don’t tell us anything about her other than the singular shot and ughhh it enrages me.

I hated Seth’s character, which I know is at least somewhat intentional but I don’t like watching shows where I want to punch one of the characters every time they are on screen.

Unsure if I’m reading too much into her words but them showing Shelby right after Gretchen says she has people on the inside bothers me because I really don’t want a Shelby double agent storyline. Also I am sad about shoni being the way it was. I hope that gets resolved a bit if there’s another season.

From a very random standpoint, I don’t like the experiment because it doesn’t make sense from a scientific side and that annoys my head. Which I recognize that is such a random annoyance considering Gretchen clearly has some problems that she needs to address on her own, but I’m just not enjoying the experiment standpoint.

I actually didn’t mind the boys being involved. It definitely wasn’t necessary, but I didn’t find it too bad. Which considering the reaction I saw on tumblr I thought I was going to be more annoyed at them. Also I cannot tell if I’m supposed to be picking up tension between Leah and Fatin but I definitely did.

I rambled a lot in this lmao. In conclusion, I liked season 1 more. I still want a season 3 because I want the story to be completely concluded. I liked this season but not my favorite.

Fucking hate Seth. I read a spoiler about the SA so I knew it was coming so I hated him from the start. I kinda wanna know how I would have felt about him at first if I didn’t know

I’m very conflicted on the Shelby double agent thing. I like the idea of a Shelby working for Gretchen but secretly doing it to help the girls and playing Gretchen. But I just feel like it could go wrong so many ways. I don’t want a Nora situation where people turn her into a villain for being manipulated. And having the camera focus on her as they were trying to escape made kind it feel too obvious to me. I don’t know how to feel

Yeah the experiment is confusing to me. In season one I was able to write it off as Gretchen being crazy and biased and not knowing how experiments work. But now that the experiment is so plot heavy (while it was in s1 too a lot of it was survival still and mysteries and now there’s test subjects put together in a phase of the experiment and now they pretty much know they’re test subjects) I don’t know what the writers plan to do with this. Will there be an actual point to this?

For me I didn’t mind the boys inclusion I just think they over did it. Like Raf’s whole backstory pretty much appointed to nothing. In small doses it think the boys would have been way better. But with just how much time was given to them I think they ruined some of the flow of the show and what made the first season so captivating

S2 was SO Leatin coded. Like I’ve loved them since the beginning but like also I try and think critically of the direction of the show and not get sucked into shipping goggles. And I think they could pass it off as platonic until the different her scene. FATIN LOVES A HER THE SAME WAY SHELBY LOVES TONI. THAT IS EXPLICITLY GAY

I know you talked about it first but saving Nora for last because I love her my whole heart. She’s been my favorite since I was halfway through the first episode. And I was a firm believer she was alive so watching it made me feel vindicated because I WAS RIGHT. But then I just got sad because she didn’t get any lines. We got a sad look at Rachel. There was just so much potential. I wanted more of her in HQ. I wanted to see her miserable and angry and wanting to fight for Rachel and her friends. She never wanted this. All she wanted was to help her sister

#asks #mick🌻#the wilds #I appreciated this #i enjoy hearing your thoughts and then rambling about my own #i wanted to see more of Nora so I could feel more secure that she’s going to be important in the future #and the writers aren’t just going to forget about her #a twin? no what do you mean Rachel’s always been an only child #<<<like that energy in future season is my nightmare

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beaversatemygrandma · 2 years

Text

Randomly thinking about that time this fuckboi started working with me. Now, he didn’t originally come off as a fuckboi, he was rather sweet and just plain pretty. But then came the time when he was flirting/sleeping with three of us there. All at once.

One of them was an old friend of mine and while i was fwb with him (he was nice to have around, okay), she admits to me that she has a crush on him. And I’m like “oh.” bc i had a crush on her. Then there’s the third girl, she was close to this old friend and they started hanging out a lot. This third girl started dating the fuckboi. Now, here’s where the fuckboi really shows his fuckboi colors. My old friend started flirting back with him and tried to date him bc he never told any of us that him and the other girl started dating. Those two stayed talking for a while, we’d do group hangouts together just the four of us. Still. Unaware. That those two started dating. One night he invites me over, I stay the night, etc etc. (Long story, there’s more.)

The next day, my friend comes up at work like ‘Something’s off about those two’ and starts talking about how he still wouldn’t turn her down but seemed like he was avoiding the whole idea and spending a lot more time with the other girl.

A few days later, me and the fuckboi were working side by side and had a whole lot of time to chat. At the worst possible point during the lunch rush, he looks to me and says ‘by the way, me and that girl are dating now.’ (Keep in mind, this was apparently a couple months after they actually got together) So, of course I’m there like ‘what the actual fuck man. I literally slept with you last weekend.’

THEN, a week or so later, my friend comes over outside of work and tells me about how his gf told her that he cheated on her a month before. And me, putting the pieces together slowly but surely through the conversation, realizes, he cheated on her with me. And she didn’t even know about the most recent time that he had. It was definitely more than once bc that fucker was being all secretive. After that, the girl group split up for a while due to different jobs. The fuckboi moved in with his gf. Me and my old friend keep up a casual friendship with oddly homoerotic flirting that goes right over the head of our incel friend who acted as our ride 90% of the time so he casually joins in thinking its just a bit we’re doing even though both of us are subtly telling each other that we’re down to get together. Yadda yadda, six months pass Somehow. I Still Can’t Get a Girl. Which is funny bc she explicitly told me she was into girls too during that time. Fuckboi’s gf finally has had enough of his shit, allegedly he got another girl involved, and dumps him, leaving him without a home. He comes crawling back to me, but i no longer had my apartment and wouldn’t just let him crash with me. There was a whole thing and eventually he finally managed to get a new place to live after I pointed him to our incel buddy for a place to sleep, who, being the kind weirdo that he is, let him stay with him until he could finally move on.

After all that, the girls are reunited again. The three of us would spend whatever time we had outside of work at the beach. (I lived with my granddad at the time and he had a BEACH HOUSE so BEACH.)

The fuckboi brought three bi girls* (*I’m not a girl anymore tho) together and managed to get the weirdest homoerotic friendship between all of us over the unification from this guy, which none of us acted on bc apparently there wasn’t enough evidence for any of us to make a move on another.

Now, the girls started living together after the fuckboi vacancy, alongside another girl, my other old friend’s beard, and the incel buddy. It became this small lesbian coven with the token small man with weeb shit all over the house who’d give me tips on how to flirt with that one girl i had a crush on bc she had him wrapped around her fingers but zero interest in him, but he was like ‘yeah, i’ll get you the girl, dw’. So, i had all the inside tips on what she liked and what kind of gifts to randomly drop on her. It was a Solid Plan. To which, she slowly figured out and literally told me that she was telling him the most expensive things to buy her bc she really did have him wrapped around her fingers. And there i was just thinking she had an expensive taste.

Then sadly, i ended up hitting the bricks and ditching town not but a few months later due to granddad-related situations. Shortly after that x-mas party we had where i was basically flirting with her the entire time as she kept making me her usual Dark and Stormy cocktails.

I really want to start talking to that girl again. She’s that type of friend you can just pick up without any of those years taking a toll. (Bc somehow an acquaintance i had in high school turned into a best friend that i was crushing on as an adult) I hear she’s still living with the weird lesbian coven and the incel is finally no longer an incel and has a gf and still THERE. (Plus, i think he finally started wearing deodorant. He smelled a lot better last time i saw him. His girl is doing him some good.) Anyway. I want in on that group again. It’s been too long. I need to talk to her at some point soon.

Anyway that was the unification via fuckboi. His ex-gf left the group and went off with a new fuckboi to Texas so who knows where she’s at. But the REST ARE STILL THERE.

I need to get back to my hometown already. I’m ready for a new bout of fuckery, this time excluding our favorite fuckboi. Well. Hopefully.

#taks speaks #hey its storytime #adventures about that pretty fuckboi who crashed on my couch for three months #good times tbh #sadly i only got with the fuckoi in the end #but tbh he got with everybody involved #and fuckin played us but in the end the girls were together #but sadly 2020 hit me hard and im so far away from them now #the only one whose whereabouts i dont know are the fuckboi #and tbh im curious what happened to him #bc the only reason he ended up crashing with me for so long was bc his parents moved out of town and he wanted to stay #its more of a curiosity if i'll run into him again or if he went across state with his parents bc his whole three girl charade #who knows. the only one who uses social media is his ex gf

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welcometophu · 2 years

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The Meaning of Home: Chapter 38

The Meaning of Home Chapter 38

Tags for all Welcome to PHU novels will be available at the PHU tag list on Pillowfort. This list is under construction as of Sept. 5, 2021.

[ Previous | First | THE END ]

Pawel is standing outside when the truck arrives. He waves to direct Shane to park it along the driveway, just past the house but enough off to the side that there will still be plenty of room to pass it on the way to the second house. There’s already a long line of cars in place, and Shane pulls up behind them, Anita pulling her own car in behind.

It’s not a large truck—he’s left all of his furniture back at the house for Anita to use, aside from his own desk and Conor’s bed. By the time Shane walks over, leaning on his cane with the key to the rental dangling from the fingertips of his free hand, Colt is outside as well. Colt moves in close to Pawel, wrapping his arms around him from behind. “Is this moving day or an invasion force?”

“You take in kids; I take in college students,” Pawel responds. “And sometimes their parents. These three are Shane, Jess, and Pels.” He points to them each in turn, and the kids wave, their soul mark ink darkly visible on the inside of their wrists. “Shane and Pels are part of Coven on campus, and Jess has been studying the mathematics of magic and ritual. Which reminds me, I should make sure she’s in touch with Val—”

Pawel cuts off as Colt presses against his cheek, turning his face and tilting him down so Colt can claim his mouth in a kiss just long enough to steal his words.

“No working today,” Colt says. “We’ve got enough chaos going on with the move. Leo’s family is here, too, and I know I’ve seen more of your college adoptees around. Not to mention Chelsea taking over the kitchen like she lives here. I’m pretty sure I heard Nevaeh offering her the couch in her apartment over the garage.”

“Do we think that would help keep Nevaeh more in line when she’s not living in the main house, or do we think Chelsea will only encourage her to get into trouble?”

Colt snorts at Pawel’s question. “Pretty sure the answer to that is just yes, in general. Both. But that said, I’m also pretty sure your ex is trying to move in while it’s all chaos and we’re not paying attention.”

They haven’t explicitly discussed it, but Pawel has a feeling that they’ve all known that Chelsea’s become a part of this extended family already. “Sounds about right,” he says, just in case Colt needs to know he’s okay with it.

“That’s what I figured.”

Pawel takes Colt’s response as acceptance, and they’ll talk it over in more detail later. Chelsea will need a room of her own, eventually. Maybe in the basement. Or in the new addition they’re planning in the space between the master suite and the garage. Or possibly… no, it’s all thoughts for later. They have a lot of plans for the future; Pawel’s pretty sure this house will be under construction for years.

Shane jingles the keys dangling from his fingers, reclaiming Pawel’s attention. As soon as Pawel looks at him, Shane tosses the keys. Pawel just barely manages to catch them before they hit the ground.

“Where do you want us to take things in to?” Jess offers. “We want to get unloaded and head back to Unity. Cheyenne’s at a friend’s place, so I know Pels’s mom wants to pick her up, and well, we kind of have plans.” She looks from Shane to Pels and grins.

“You’re all welcome to stay for dinner,” Colt offers. “But if you just want to unload and get going, all the rooms inside have signs on them, as long as Pawel labeled his boxes.”

“Conor’s room is—” Complicated. Conor’s room is complicated, splitting his space between this house and sharing a room with Duke, and the other house, where he’ll share space with Emma. “Put his boxes upstairs in the room labeled for Duke. The library is at the front of the house, and my room is the big master suite near the center. The desk is going into the library—get Alaric and Chris to help move that.”

Pels has a phone out, texting, and a moment later Alaric and Chris come out to open the back of the truck.

“Football players are definitely useful for hauling heavy objects,” Colt muses. “I suppose I can forgive you for the invasion force. Nash and Caity have already moved into the house in back, by the way. They bought the staging furniture, and brought over what they had in storage. Emory took the extra bedroom there; they said they wanted some space from their siblings, and they get on well with both Emma and Conor.”

“This is definitely becoming a community and an exercise in co-parenting,” Pawel says.

“You’re just figuring that out now?” Colt nudges him towards the truck. “Come on. Let’s get your things in where they belong.”

Pawel makes several trips, arms aching from the weight of the boxes he carries. Some go into the library, where he pauses to hold the door while Chris and Alaric work to move his desk through it. On his way back outside, he stops to wave at Chelsea and Nevaeh, who are plating food in the kitchen. There’s a bright burst of fruit-scented sparkles; Alanna and Jennie blink into existence, then disappear just as quickly when Nevaeh shouts at them. He hasn’t seen his own child at all, but Conor has to be around somewhere. There’s only so far he can go.

When they are down to a few boxes of books left in the truck, Pawel grabs the last box labeled “bedroom” and carries it in, setting it carefully on the extremely large bed. He opens it, and carefully lays out framed pictures across the bed. It looks as if Colt and Leo have already set up their own picture gallery on the tops of both bureaus. While he was packing, he had dug through old pictures, printed a few that had never seen the light before, and picked up new frames. He has his own timeline ready to intermingle with theirs, to combine their lives.

He has pictures from high school: one of him and Leo, taken by a tourist while they were in the middle of their road trip, and a formal picture of him and Colt from senior prom. He has two pictures from when he was still a student at PHU. One is of a large group of friends from orientation, with him and Chelsea grinning at the center, and the other was taken later, when Chelsea was heavily pregnant with Conor. He’d put away all the images of that life, and now it’s time to bring them back. It’s time to merge the past with his present; he’s pretty sure none of them are going away again.

The rest of his pictures chronicle Conor’s growth, and their life together. There’s a picture of Conor and Alan. There are new, recent pictures of Conor and Emma, as well as one he managed to sneak of Conor and Chelsea when they weren’t looking.

“Pawel?” Leo’s voice precedes him. The door opens as Leo pokes his head in, “Cap and Daisy are here and…. You okay?”

“Hm?” Pawel looks up, the picture of Conor and Chelsea still in his hands. “Just trying to figure out exactly how to fit in.” He realizes as he says it that while that’s not exactly what he means—he wants to slot his pictures into the timeline where they belong—it’s also exactly what he means. This move is so much more than a new house. It’s a whole new life.

“Don’t worry, there’s plenty of room.” Leo walks over and surveys the pictures before selecting the two from high school. He holds them above the bureaus, against the wall. In the old room, under the sloped ceiling, that space didn’t exist, but now the gallery can extend. “That’s what this move is about—all of us making space for each other. We’ll weave this all together and let our histories intermingle the same way our futures will.” He sets the two pictures on the bureau to the left of the other images, in the place at the start where they belong. “Bring them over.”

Colt comes looking for them a few minutes later, and joins in sorting the pictures. By the time they are done, no pictures are displayed but they’ve decided on the correct order for the timeline. Leo’s made a note to pick up hooks at the hardware store—the latest addition to a long list of needs—so they can figure out the exact layout later.

It’s not a finished project, but they’ve gotten started. And that little bit makes Pawel feel more settled into this space.

“Pawel?” The call of his name comes from somewhere beyond the closed door to the room.

“Your father’s been looking for you,” Colt points out. “He said he sent Leo, and I came to see exactly how distracted you were.” He smirks. “I was expecting something other than picture sorting.”

“Not while everyone’s in the house; save that thought until after the move.” Pawel shoves lightly at Colt when he comes close; it does him no good and he finds himself wrapped up in a hug with both of them. He exhales, leaning into them. “I just needed a little time, that’s all. I’m good now.”

When they emerge into the hall, Dad is right there, hand raised to knock on the door. “Didn’t want to interrupt,” Dad says, “but everyone seems to think you’ve all gotten lost. Also, the girls are in the kitchen and claim no one’s allowed in until they’re done baking because of cookie theft? There’s been a lot of yelling.”

“Adding teleportation to Jennie’s sneaky arsenal of tricks to get sugar really has made it difficult to keep her away from it,” Leo says.

“It doesn’t seem to harm her,” Pawel says. “She might even benefit from a higher sugar diet. We’ll just need to buy more.”

“Pretty sure we could go broke buying out a bakery every day,” Colt says dryly, “but yes, I see what you mean.”

“Hey.” Mac’s right there by Pawel’s elbow. “Conor’s climbing all over the Jeep in the garage, and I was wondering if that’s a good idea. Also, Matt and Jaiden have created a barricade at their door and Alanna keeps teleporting past it, and there’s a lot of yelling involved. Jennie’s out back informing the kids setting up camp that they aren’t her Papa’s kids, so they can’t have him. Oh, and where are the first aid supplies? Hannah burned herself trying to rescue a pan of cookies from the oven before Jennie got them. Jennie did not seem to care that they were still molten sugar levels of hot.”

“I—” Pawel halts, unsure what to address first. New data about Jennie and sugar gets filed away—he’s not studying her; he’s just trying to remember what’s going to be important as a parent.

“I’m not sure we’ve unpacked the first aid supplies yet, but if you can’t find the right box near one of the bathrooms, I’ve got a kit in my car,” Leo says. “Should be unlocked and the kit is in the trunk. I’ll take care of Jennie and my nieces and nephews. Colt, you handle Matt and Jaiden. Pawel, Conor and that Jeep are all yours. Like father, like son, apparently.” He grins then, tangling his fingers briefly with Pawel’s to squeeze them. “I’d been meaning to ask. Should we be looking into getting it towed away, or do you want to see if we can resurrect it? It reminds me of the one you had in high school.”

“That’ll depend on whether it’s even fixable. But I want it,” Pawel admits. “I’ve seen a Jeep in worse shape still on the road—we actually drove it with Shadows chasing us, in the other world. I wouldn’t mind having one again, although I’ll probably still drive the practical car to Unity and back.”

“Let me get the first aid kit to the kitchen, then I’ll meet you in the garage,” Mac says. “I’ve got an idea.”

She’s gone before Pawel can reply, so he supposes his agreement is assumed. He steals a kiss from Colt and Leo before they head off, then realizes his father is still standing there, watching him with a small smile. “What?” Pawel asks.

“Just glad we’ve both got someone good in our lives,” Dad says. “Heard you finally met Daisy.”

“You could’ve told me you were dating someone,” Pawel replies. At Dad’s eyebrow raise, he admits, “Okay, I guessed you were dating someone. I had no idea it was someone who knew Mom, though.”

“You okay with it?” Dad asks. “I’m planning on keeping her. Just have to convince her to move in one of these days.”

“I’m more than okay with it. You okay with all this?” Pawel gestures at the door to the living room, where they can hear all the noise and chaos from the rest of the house.

“I taught them to call me Dziadziu, didn’t I?” Dad counters. “I’m not a complete idiot. I knew how those boys felt about you, and I knew how you felt about them. None of you are good at hiding your emotions. You’re just oblivious when it comes to admitting to them.”

Pawel puts a hand over his heart. “Right, thanks for the direct wound, Dad. I love you, too.” But it’s true, and he knows he’s lucky to have had such a good parent in his life. “I do love you. Thank you for everything.” He goes easily when Dad reels him in for a back-slapping hug, holding on tight for a moment as if he were ten instead of almost thirty.

Which. Oh, well, shit. “Dad. Tomorrow’s my birthday.”

Dad lets him go, raising both eyebrows. “Is that a surprise?”

Pawel nods. He’d honestly forgotten. “I’ve been busy.” It sounds like a good, valid defense in his own mind. “It didn’t even occur to me that all this was happening for my twenty-ninth birthday. But I… I honestly can’t think of a better gift,” he admits.

“As long as you’re happy.” Dad gives him a nudge towards the living room. “I hear someone calling your name. You should probably get out to the Jeep before Mac comes looking for you again.”

Right, because his son is getting into trouble, and God only knows what he’s trying to do to the Jeep. Conor’s never met something he couldn’t try to fix with magic. And it’s Pawel’s job as his father to— He stops and turns. “Dad. Thanks for everything. Thanks for being such a good dad, and being such a good grandfather. I know I wasn’t the easiest kid, but you were amazing.”

“We’re amazing together,” Dad says.

And yeah, that fills Pawel’s heart because that’s it. It’s all about having family to lean on when he needs them, and being able to let them lean back.

By the time Pawel makes it to the garage, Conor is sitting in the driver’s seat of the Jeep, while Mac leans on the door, and Alaric is under the hood. Conor holds his hands up as soon as he sees Pawel. “I didn’t try starting it.”

“Her,” Pawel corrects, running his hand across the front quarter panel. “And she doesn’t start, at least according to the note that was on her last time I was here. She’s a gift with the property. I suspect the last owner just didn’t want to deal with getting her towed, but I’m happy she’s here.”

“You used to have a Jeep, right?” Conor scrambles over the center space, falling into the passenger seat. Mac opens the door as he goes, motioning for Pawel to take his place.

Pawel hitches himself up, careful of the rust on the running board; he’s not sure it’ll hold much weight. He settles himself in, adjusting the seat and the mirrors with a practiced hand. “I had one pretty much like this one. Different color. I like this green, and if we try to restore this Jeep, we’ll probably need to get her repainted. It’s peeling all over the rear quarter panel. She’ll need a new canvas top, too, unless we just want her to be either open, or use the hard top.” He points to where the hard top leans against the far wall. “I’d like to restore her,” he says softly.

Conor rubs his hands together, sparks spilling from his palms. He grins. “I’ve got this, Dad.”

“No.” Pawel covers Conor’s hands, his word punctuated by the thud of the hood dropping down into place. “Some things magic can’t—and shouldn’t—fix. You might do more damage.”

The smile slips away from Conor’s expression. “I just wanted to help. I thought we could have….”

“A project?” Pawel asks, when Conor’s voice fades. “I’m not sure I’m going to be any good at fixing up a classic car.”

“You know someone who is,” Mac points out. She gestures at the door to the garage, like someone should be there; Pawel doesn’t see anything other than more cars—and one motorcycle—in the driveway. “Trish,” Mac continues. “She does all her own work on her truck and bike. She and Alaric built his bike this summer.”

“You did?” Conor bounces to his knees, hands on the dashboard as he leans to look at Alaric. “You built a motorcycle?”

“Junkyard parts,” Alaric says, with a small, gruff smile. “Trish helped me get it all put together, and taught me how to take care of it. She’d probably be up for fixing this Jeep up. She likes this kind of stuff. Said she learned how to take apart an engine practically before she could walk.”

“Can I see your bike?” Conor pushes his door open, spilling out of the Jeep and stumbling by the time his feet reach the floor. He bounces back up. “I’m okay. Alaric, I want to see your bike. Can you take me for a ride? Dad, is it okay if he takes me for a ride?”

Pawel can just imagine how that would go. Alaric would take Conor, then he’d have to take Emma, and soon it’d be like pony rides, but with a bike. Alaric’s expression is blandly polite, tight around the eyes. “Maybe not today, Conor,” Pawel says, and the lines around Alaric’s eyes ease. “I’ll talk to Alaric and see if we can arrange something for a day when there isn’t as much going on.”

Alaric nods with a grumble of assent.

They go out to look, and Pawel is impressed with the detail. From the description, he’d expected to be able to tell that it was put together out of junk parts, but everything gleams like new. It all seems to fit together, and when Alaric starts it, Pawel hears the rumble of an old Harley engine.

“Trish custom built the orange bike she rides,” Mac points out. “You should definitely talk to her. She’d love being able to work on it here, too, where there’s room to spread out, and have a roof over her head.”

Conor looks up at Pawel, his eyes wide. Pawel doesn’t know who Conor thinks he needs to convince; Pawel had already decided to keep the Jeep the moment they signed for this property. “Fine,” he says, as if he’s giving in. “And I’ll ask her if she minds if you shadow her.”

“She’ll probably make you learn how to take care of it,” Alaric warns. “She tested me while we were putting my bike together.”

“She needs a name.” Conor darts back into the garage, his voice echoing once he’s inside. “The Jeep, not Trish.”

“Agreed, but why don’t we wait until she’s road ready before we figure that out,” Pawel tells him. He’s got some vague thoughts now, but he has a feeling he won’t know her name for sure until he can see her personality sparkling out from under the rust. “Right now, we need to—”

“Conor!” Emma slides into the garage, stumbling as she skids on the cement, her braids flying. “Come help me get our room set up. Mom and Dad got my computer out of storage and we bought a webcam and we can go call Alan.”

Conor scrambles to catch up with her, and they both race off down the road to the other house. Pawel spots Nash and Caitlyn lingering in the open door of the garage.

“Alaric, Mac—these are Nash and Caitlyn. Emma’s parents. They’re—”

“Weather Witches, and taking the house at the back so Emma doesn’t have to leave her new family,” Nash says.

“Call me Caity.”

“Caity,” Pawel repeats. He ignores the look Mac gives him; she’s already heard the rest of the story and knows exactly what happened. At least as far as they understand it. “I bet you didn’t realize you’d be gaining an entire extended family along with your daughter.”

“It’s going to be something to get used to,” Nash admits. “Having a separate house will help.”

“Thanks for taking in Conor part-time, and giving a room to Emory,” Pawel adds. “Things could shift as we add more space in the main house.”

“It’s fine. He’s a good kid, and he’s promised not to magic up the place too much.” The way Nash says it, Pawel suspects that Conor’s said it several times. Which likely means he’s already done a few unintentional bits of magic in Emma’s room. “I think we’ll be fine.”

“It’s kind of nice,” Caity says softly. “We’re part of a community, and most importantly, Emma’s happy. It’ll give us some support while we work on getting ourselves reintegrated with the world. We need to find jobs again.”

“I think Emma will enjoy having you home while you look.”

Nash and Caity exchange a glance, their smiles soft and fond. “I think we’ll like that, too. I still can’t believe we—I’m just glad we’re here, now,” Caity says.

Nash touches her shoulder. “We should probably go see what they’re up to, and if they’re able to get the webcam working.”

They walk out with Nash’s hand on her lower back, Caity leaning towards him. They’re going to be fine, Pawel thinks. They’ve got each other to anchor them in the chaos that is the Papa-Harrison household.

Papa-Harrison-Szczek household.

Wow, that’s a mouthful. No one is adding a second hyphen to the surname any time soon. Pawel’s fine with that, too. He knows it doesn’t make him any less a part of the chaos to not have it named after him.

But.

The details of it are closing in around him, pressing against his skin. He leans on the Jeep, fingers curling against the bubbles of the paint.

“You okay?” Mac asks.

“I’m fine,” Pawel says, and it isn’t actually a lie. It’s just not the entire truth, either. He glances over to see her and Alaric waiting there, as if expecting him to say something else. “I think I’m just going to go grab some breathing room and unpack the library. You can come along, if you feel like organizing my books.”

Mac and Alaric exchange a look. “Nah,” Mac says. “I think we’re good. We’ll go find Chris and see what else needs some moving around here.”

“Thanks.” Pawel ducks inside, skirting around the noise of the kitchen. Matt and Jaiden are in the living room, arguing over who will carry boxes upstairs. When Pawel blinks, he thinks might see and smell Alanna and Jennie passing through, but they’re gone before he’s sure.

He makes his way to the front of the house and closes the door as he enters the library. Sound fades, muted by the thickness of the real wood door. No cheap hollow core doors in this house. When he’s in here, it can be him and his books and he has a chance to focus.

More importantly, right now, he has a little bit of alone time.

He hadn’t really thought this part through—that by becoming a part of the household there would always be someone who needed him. There are nine children in this house, and only three adults. They’re outnumbered. Chaos is going to become a way of life. Pawel is so used to it being him and Conor, and having the help of his friends and neighbors… this will take some adjustment.

It’s worth it, he thinks. He lifts a box of books onto the desk and looks at the empty built-in shelves. The desk isn’t in the right spot, but he can fix that once there’s more room to move around. Right now, he just needs to empty and break down boxes. Putting his books on these shelves—organizing them in a way that’s less haphazard than just throwing them wherever they land—this means it’s permanent. He’s moving in. And yes, it’s worth it.

He lets himself fall into an organizational fugue. Every book is a piece of his past—either something he wrote, or something he collected, or something he curated. This is the sum of a decade of research, pulling together the story of Talent as best he could. And he’s wrong, he knows. He has learned so much, and yet, so much of it is still incorrect. He has a long way to go, and maybe he’ll never know the truth of Talent. Maybe they’ll never figure it all out. But at least he’s working on building a resource for those who come after him. He’s creating a knowledgebase for the people who Emerge, and for Lineage Talents who never had that history within their families.

He begins by placing books in chronological order, as they were in his old house. The notebooks look right, but he realizes that all of his personal notes should be in one place, so he digs through boxes until he finds them. Different journals—some hardcover, some softcover, some reflecting the different phases he’s had for favorite pens. He particularly likes the two written entirely in a peacock blue fountain pen that was lost somewhere on campus.

He puts stickies on the bookcases, labeling them loosely by type of Talent, then labeling shelves by memoir versus interview versus theories versus texts. He starts a pile of books that don’t fit into any category, then starts adding new types of Talents, new ways to break out what he knows. Like Travelers. Just a year ago he had no idea they existed as a group, but now he can’t deny it, not knowing what he does about Shadowwalkers and Teleporters and… Carolyn, whatever she is.

Pawel doesn’t see where Chelsea comes from. A shadow, he assumes, since the door never opens. He turns around and she’s there, sitting on the desk with her legs crossed and her elbows on her knees, chin perched on her hands as she watches him. He stares at her, and she smiles slowly, letting her hands fall to her legs. “Want help?” she offers. She doesn’t wait for an answer, sliding off the desk and smoothing her sundress down over her legs, then redoing her ponytail to neatly catch the wisps of hair around her face.

She looks at the shelves, nodding to herself. “If you put things on the shelves, I can either alphabetize or put them in date order—don’t give me that look, I’m fully capable of opening something up to check a date. You keep doing what you’re doing. We��ll get this finished.”

Every once in a while, when Pawel empties a box, Chelsea breaks from her organizing and flattens it to toss on to a growing pile. As soon as they’ve cleared enough space, they work together to tug the desk into the right position; the whole room suddenly seems larger. Pawel grins, and when he turns to her, she holds up a hand for a high five.

It’s comfortable working with her. It’s going to be okay going forward, he thinks. Somehow, despite having been gone for so long, Chelsea has fit herself into the cracks seamlessly. It works.

They’ve finished most of the boxes by the time the door opens. The current box is on the desk, with books piled all around it. Pawel hasn’t quite figured out a category for them yet, but it’ll come to him. Probably in the middle of the night, when he wakes up and needs to start working right away. As much as Leo and Colt keep saying they like the idea of Professor Szczek, that could change when he gets into middle-of-the-night idea mode.

Speaking of Leo and Colt… there they both are, just inside the door, looking somehow both concerned and fond at the same time.

Chelsea giggles. “I think this is my cue to leave.” She nudges her way between them so she can escape, pushing the door closed in her wake.

“Food’s been set up in the courtyard.” Leo holds out a hand, and Pawel takes it, letting Leo draw him close. Colt brackets him on the other side and he and Leo both wrap their arms around Pawel.

It’s been nice to be alone for a little while, but this… this is very good, too.

Leo kisses his forehead. “Still panicking?”

Pawel huffs a soft laugh. “Remember that cliff I was poised on the edge of? I’m pretty sure this is the part where I’ve already leapt off and now I’m in free fall.”

“We’ll catch you,” Colt promises. “We’re not going to let you fall.”

“Although I get the feeling that keeping you safe is going to be a full time occupation,” Leo says dryly. “At least we can keep an eye on you when you’re here.”

“And you need to talk to us,” Colt says. “Whatever’s going on. None of this trying to do everything on your own that we keep hearing about. This is a partnership. There are three of us and nine of them; we have to band together.”

“Speaking of the kids.” Leo lets his head fall forward, forehead to forehead with Pawel. Colt reaches over Pawel’s shoulder to run his fingers soothingly through Leo’s hair. “I’ve already had a talk with Nevaeh about what we expect for behavior since she’s essentially got her own apartment. I know she’ll be okay—but I also know what teens her age can get up to.”

“Wonder how you know that?” Pawel says. “It amazes me how few of the students I teach think about the fact that for me, it was only a decade ago that I was in their position. I remember it pretty damned clearly. I’m not senile yet.” He hesitates and adds, “She and I have talked some. She’s got a good head on her shoulders. I’m glad she’s talking to you.”

“She said she’s talking to Chelsea, too.”

“Good.” Chelsea and Pawel might have made their mistakes, but he’s glad to see her bonding with these kids. His kids. God, these are all becoming his kids.

“You’re panicking again,” Colt murmurs, his lips pressed to the curve where Pawel’s shoulder meets his neck. “Stop panicking. I could help with that.”

“Save that thought for later.” Leo carefully disentangles himself, then separates Colt and Pawel as well. “There’s an entire family and extended friend group waiting outside for us. Let’s go celebrate.”

Right. They’ve just started a whole new life here. “I have work to do tomorrow,” Pawel says, slipping one hand into Leo’s and the other into Colt’s. It’s a little awkward to walk three together in the hall, but they manage to make it safely through the house and living room, to the sliding glass doors that lead to the courtyard. He can see that someone’s started a fire, and Alaric and Chris stand by the grill along with Dad. Mac is off to one side with a collection of children, some of whom Pawel doesn’t recognize; they must be Leo’s family. Small knots of people are gathered around—along with one house cat that Pawel suspects is Clan.

Conor is with Emma and her parents, sparks dancing over his fingertips as Emma wiggles her fingers under a small storm cloud above his head.

Colt makes a soft noise. “I love the auras I see,” he murmurs, sliding between Leo and Pawel, his arms behind their backs. “It’s like they all join up, making one big happy aura. Pleased. Sated.”

“This place smells good,” Leo agrees. “It smells like home already.”

Pawel can’t see auras, nor can he smell whatever it is Clan smells. But he can throw his senses wide, trying to draw on whatever that was he experienced in the Dreamscape. He tries to bring out that Faerie sensibility, and instinctual magic bubbles up in a way he hasn’t felt before. He reaches out, touching on each person as his senses flow outward. There are no wards yet, but he can feel a natural building of energy around them all as if they are contributing to the sense of what this place is. Who this place is—as if it’s a being in its own right.

This place has welcomed them, and they are bonding with it in return.

Wards are going to be very easy to set, he thinks. This home wants to keep them safe.

“Come on. They’re waiting for us.” Colt slips between them, sliding the door open and motioning them forward. Pawel has no choice but to go, Leo crowding him from behind to make sure he steps through.

As soon as Colt steps to the side and Pawel is visible, Conor lets loose a bright column of sparks that light up the sky around him. There’s a puff of fruity-scented air, and Pawel just barely manages to get his arms up in time to catch the two small girls that materialize and grab onto him. He scrambles to hold them securely, Alanna nearly strangling him as Jennie simply climbs onto his shoulders and grips his hair.

“Surprise!” Nevaeh yells.

Surprise? Pawel blinks in confusion.

Nevaeh rolls a cart forward from the side, Hannah and Liz hurrying to light candles on what looks more like a porcupine than a cake. It’s too small for the number of candles stuck into it and now burning merrily. He’s a little afraid the flames will melt the frosting if they aren’t blown out quickly.

Colt and Leo tug him towards the cart. It’s not just the one cake. There are also trays of the cookies he saw being made earlier, and several trays of cupcakes. He can’t imagine how they kept Jennie from this much sugar for so long today. As it is, she’s leaning over his shoulder, dangerously close to unbalancing herself as she tries to reach for something.

She leans down and whispers loudly, “Hurry up and make a wish. I want a cupcake. I want lots of cupcakes.” She hesitates, then adds, “If you really don’t want your birthday cake, I can eat it for you.”

Oh. “Right. Tomorrow’s my birthday.” He literally just had this conversation earlier, and he’d already forgotten again. “You arranged a surprise party.”

“Well, the party was already happening,” Nevaeh says. “We just made surprise cupcakes. Everyone helped; even Matt and Jaiden decorated some. So. Surprise!” She pushes the cart closer. “Jennie’s right, though. Make a wish and blow your candles out.”

A wish. Pawel gets closer, bending to where the flames flicker in front of him. Colt’s hand is on one shoulder, and Leo’s on the other. They spread their fingers, and Pawel suspects they can reach each other where their hands span across the back of his neck. They’re all joined together here in this moment.

He can’t think of a single thing to wish for other than this. He wants to be able to have this from here on, going forward. Colt, Leo, their large family. He doesn’t need anything else. This family is already magic on its own.

Pawel closes his eyes on that thought, inhaling. That’s it exactly. He reaches up to touch their hands, tangling them all together.

As he exhales, he doesn’t need to open his eyes to see that the candles have all gone out. He’s already gotten his wish, and he can see the future that lies ahead. He’s found his way home.

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#welcome to phu #welcometophu #the meaning of home

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millllenniawrites · 2 years

Text

a light, a song, a bluebird (Poe Dameron x f!Reader)

words: 6.4k

warnings: contains smut and difficult themes so 18+ only please; Reader has certain trauma responses that not all readers may relate to (including being touch-adverse, temporarily non-verbal, and ‘flight’ related conflict responses); intimacy related anxiety; dealing with trauma indirectly (source of trauma is never explicitly declared); assumed consent typical of a developed relationship; passing mention of having children in the future; canon typical violence; dancing; Jedi!Finn (not that it’s a warning, but it’s necessary for context)

a/n: FINALLY THE FIC I HAVE BEEN TALKING ABOUT FOR MONTHS IS HERE!!!!! I don’t really get into my trauma on here but this fic is pretty heavily based on me and the way I exist which is SUPER vulnerable and makes me very stressed but I’ve had a few requests over the years for something like this and I think I’m finally ready to post more about my experiences. We’re gonna start with this and see how it goes. It’s also a new narration style I’m trying!

I definitely could add more scenes to this thing (and I still might add to it) but I just need to post it and let it be imperfect. But if you guys like this universe, let me know? Maybe I’ll make this a little series? Not that I need another damn series

(Also if you’re interested in the playlist for this fic, it’s here)

I hope this means something to you. Writing it has definitely meant something to me.

Poe could have sworn you were a statue with how still you sat. Shoulders hunched near up to your ears, only a slight sway of your head gave you away: the human among life-like metal and stone.

He takes a cautious step into your workshop, head on a swivel for company and your self-designed traps. Only once had he missed a tripwire, sending a misshapen clay head—he later found out it was an attempt at a lothcat— swinging through the air and into his jaw.

He carefully navigates the stacks of artwork as he heads for your work station. As he passes though, he brushes a thin layer of ash off a carving of a Force-tree and rights a pile of tarps threatening to topple onto a half-finished clock. He never would have lingered on the timepiece, tucked under a larger depiction of a four-legged, seemingly hairy creature he doesn’t recognize, if not for the delicate gold gears set into its face. Not only were the gears golden, but you had pressed metal leaves of the same warm shade into the preserved wood of the clock’s body.

He freezes as he hears you call out, “Mr. Bey?”

You’re shocked at how quickly his head snaps around to look at you. It usually takes him a moment to respond as he feigns having the reflexes of a normal person, making it more than clear that he’s undercover, but you weren’t one to call a man out. His business was his.

And your discretion kept him coming back.

You had turned in your seat and were grinning at the handsome man, yanking your earpieces out of your head. They clatter to the tabletop. Standing, you tuck your hands into the front of your stained apron, sending your bag that was always slung over one of your shoulders swinging at your side.

Something about the softness in his eyes makes your heart flutter.

He takes a small bow, carefully tipping the grey cap he has sitting on his curls in your direction as he made his way to his feet. Something in his knee pops and you flinch on his behalf.

He coughs, surely from the thickness of the air. The volcanic island that houses your shop has experienced recent activity, sending debris and ash into the air. Given how sparse his visits were, you doubt he’s used to the air quality.

“I hope I didn’t startle you,” he says, his voice gravely. There’s something child-like about how he carries himself, like a boy in his father’s clothing.

“You didn’t,” you say with a shake of your head. Leaning around the large chunk of unworked metal that was blocking your view, your eyebrows quirk up as you notice the subject of his study. “I didn’t think a non-standard timepiece was part of the Princess’ order.”

“It wasn’t this time. But I’ll put a good word in.”

Your laugh is a gentle exhale. You rock back on your heels before turning around and pushing aside the grease-stained cloth that curtained off the underside of your table. The box he’d come for had been tucked under your workbench all day in anticipation of his arrival.

Every time your swinging legs had collided with the crate, you had seen his gentle brown eyes as clear as if he was standing before you.

You grunt as you pull it free. With a quick tap on the top of the weapons case, it begins to levitate itself. With a careful shove, you send it towards Poe. “There.” You rock back on your heels again, your head cocked. “Will that be all, Mr. Bey?”

He brushes some ash off the crate with his sleeve. “This time.” He sets the credits – more than he owed you for the weapons, if your eyes didn’t deceive you – on a squat table beside him.

The man was always careful to keep his distance from you. Though your quips were given with a smile and you seemed to take his teasing as well as you dolled it out, there were certain moments that you became timid around him.

He didn’t want to be the one to chase away your smile.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come on an adventure?” he asks, knowing your response.

He’d asked every time he’d come to pick up orders from you. It had taken you a few occurrences to figure out exactly what he’d meant. That he wasn’t just a stranger attempting to kidnap you. That he was actually asking you to come with him.

The Princess. A handsome scoundrel with a fake name. Shipments of weapons disguised as art. You didn’t need to be a genius to figure out what exactly you were assisting.

The Resistance.

Though it was a noble cause, and you couldn’t be happier to assist the General-Princess Leia Organa, you couldn’t imagine what being on a military base could offer you, other than sleepless nights and the feeling of uselessness you’d been trying to avoid since birth.

So, you shake your head. “No, thank you, Mr. Bey. You enjoy your adventure and I’ll see you soon.”

“Well, alright.” He bows again. “Take care.” He gently pushes the crate out your front door without looking back.

It’s weeks before Mr. Bey comes back to visit you. He’s transporting bombs, this time. Expensive ones. You’d traded a few of your best pieces for them. Things you were proud of and didn’t want to part with for anything.

Except, apparently, the fate of the galaxy.

His trip is short, as it always is, but he’s been sure to ask you: “Do you want to come on an adventure with me?”

Your answer is no, again, and he does look disappointed, but he smiles at you and leaves without pressuring you, as always. It’s like he can’t be anything other than sweet. He doesn’t know how. It simply isn’t in his programming.

You wonder what a man like that is doing in the middle of a war.

“Will you join me on my adventure today?” he asks softly.

Mr. Bey is wearing a long cloak this time. The thick fabric pools at his neck, failing to hide the suture tape that lines his jaw. He carries a new weight on his shoulders this time, months after you’d seen him last, his eyes sunken and hands unsteady.

You wonder idly what would happen if you were to say yes. Unfortunately, you hadn’t planned for this to be the moment you find out.

You push the crate towards him. “I’m afraid not, Mr. Bey. Who would finish this piece if I were to come with you?” You gesture to the metal sculpture in front of you before returning your hands to the strap of your bag. You worry the frayed edge with your fingers as you gaze down at your current project. It’s nowhere near finished, barely resembling the tree you could see in your mind. Two small birds, one still missing its wings, lay on their sides on your desk.

The floor begins to shake.

You move to duck under a table but Mr. Bey surges forward, holding out a hand. You take it gingerly, only because of the intensity of his gaze.

“We have to go.” He pulls you along with him as he heads for the door, abandoning the crate of weapons.

“It’s just a quake,” you try to explain, dragging your feet to slow him down. “They happen from time to time. We need to find cover…”

He opens the exterior door and swears.

The buildings surrounding the landing field burn. Two Planetary Defense ships plummet out of view, black streaks across the sky. Your lungs seize around the ashy air you drag in with your gasp.

A unit of TIE fighters close in on the Flight Tower. Two shots, and it’s set ablaze. Another, and it’s falling, falling…

Mr. Bey grips your wrist, dragging you out of the rubble’s path. The world moves in slow motion as it crumbles around you.

You clutch your bag tight to your chest and you run, hand in hand, from the building as the world explodes around you.

Two hands wave at you through the dust from the far side of the landing field. The shuttle that the person – a human, from what you could make out – is standing on hovers right at the end of the field, where flat earth drops away to sheer cliff and the rolling magma ocean below.

“Jump!” He shouts, dragging you across the gap and onto the boarding ramp of the ship.

He holds tight to your hand as you gaze down at the landing pad, watching the ships, the trading village, and your home explode and crumble into the sea below.

Mr. Bey does not let you go until the both of you are safe inside the shuttle and the doors close. As the shuttle lifts off, you scramble for purchase on the smooth, clean metal walls.

Tin can. You’re inside a tin can, flying away from your home.

“Steady, there.” The human that waved you into their shuttle sets a hand on your shoulder and you jump, gluing yourself to the wall.

“It’s okay. You’re safe.” Mr. Bey doesn’t approach you but holds out a hand. You timidly take it. He gestures to the other man. “This is Finn. He’s a friend.”

“Another code name, Mr. Bey?” you ask, still shaking.

He chuckles, the sound warming you. “I’m Poe,” he says, “Poe Dameron.”

You don’t know the family name Dameron. You’re not sure if you should. But from the way he says it, the sheer weight the name seems to carry as it rolls off his tongue, you know he’s important. His family is important. This man carries a legacy that you don’t need to know to respect.

You introduce yourself quietly, shaking his hand where he already holds yours. “I guess I’m joining you on your adventure this time, Poe Dameron,” you say. In your head, the words sound more confident than they come out, hanging awkwardly between you.

But he chuckles again. It calms something in you, and you smile too.

“It’s gonna be cramped with four people, but we’ll manage,” the man called Finn says and you shrink back against the wall.

Poe quickly lets you go, still smiling. “Come meet our pilot? She’s great. You’ll love her.”

You keep your bag clutched to your chest as he and Finn lead you through the ship. They both walk in front of you, turning back to check that you’re following occasionally but giving you space as you navigate to the cockpit.

The ship is a relic from an ancient time. The vents are clogged, and you can smell salt and sand and something definitely rotting somewhere. Despite that, you can tell the ship is very well loved.

You follow the curve of the upper deck towards the cockpit. A small brown-haired woman pokes her head out the door. “Stowaway?” she says.

Her deadpan has your gut twisting. “I—Mister—Um, Poe… Poe said I could…”

“You’re good. Rey’s kidding.” Poe introduces her to you and you carefully shake her hand.

“Welcome to the Falcon,” Rey says before taking her seat in front of the controls.

“She’s a little odd,” Poe whispers, warmth and love radiating from every word. You just nod, trying to smile.

Finn takes the seat next to her and Poe sits behind her, so you take the only remaining seat in the small cockpit for the remainder of the flight, tucking your knees to your chest and making yourself as small as possible, your bag resting over your knees.

The flight to the Resistance base is much shorter than you had expected. It makes sense, given how often Poe came to visit you for supplies, that they’d want somewhere close if they got into a jam.

If you could equate ‘a jam’ to the war raging in the galaxy.

Upon landing you’re quickly taken through a medical evaluation and then meet two members of the Resistance leadership, a taller woman with pink hair and a shorter one that seemed to carry the galaxy on her shoulders.

You can’t remember their names. It takes all of the concentration you can muster to keep from trembling. You’ll have to ask Poe later, for their names and a map of the base that quickly reveals itself to be a labyrinth. Surely he’ll be able to help. He’s been at your side since the Falcon had landed on D’Qar, providing enough smiles and kind words that you didn’t shake apart.

He walks beside you then, excitedly rambling about how well you’ll fit into the mech unit that had been stationed on base and how he’ll make sure you have enough supplies to still make some prettier things.

“You could still sell them, you know. The Resistance doesn’t exactly have that many sources of income. It would be the same work you were doing for us before!” he says.

The light in his eyes makes you want to trust him. You don’t have the heart to burst his bubble, but you know you aren’t going to fit in with the other mechanics. You don’t have the skills to contribute and you aren’t enough of a social butterfly to make a meaningful contribution to morale.

It was why you had always worked alone.

But there was no going home. So what else could you do?

Poe leads you down a quiet hallway near the back of the base, where the walls are open to the evening air and you can gaze out at the jungle. At the very end of the hallway, he opens a door.

The room is small, the furniture well-used in a way that instantly makes it cozy. A clean set of sheets has been laid on the unmade bed, which is squished into the corner against a wall of windows.

“The windows darken, if they make it feel too open for you. I noticed you cover most of the windows in your workshop…” He moves over to the panel laid into the wall next to the windows and hits a button. The glass becomes opaque, leaving you in darkness.

He giggles, letting out a small, “Oops,” as he paws at the panel, struggling to find the light. Your eyes adjust quickly to the darkness. You move towards him, hitting another one of the buttons.

The lamp in the ceiling stutters to life and you quickly back up, realizing how close you’ve gotten to Poe. He smiles, not unkindly, and says, “It’s okay. You’re going to be safe here. I promise.”

You nod. Your jaw has glued itself shut, keeping you from responding with anything more than a hum that you hope sounds encouraging.

“I’ll leave you to get settled in. We can head down to Supplies tomorrow to get you some clean clothes. There are a few shirts in the dresser. I thought you might want to sleep in something clean.” Poe points to the dresser and makes his way to the door. “Well, goodnight.” He backs out of the room, still smiling as the door closes between you, leaving you alone.

In the dresser, you find two shirts, one with long sleeves and one with the sleeves cut off. You lay your dirty clothes in one of the other empty drawers and put on the long-sleeved one. It’s worn, small holes dotting the edge of the collar where a necklace might have snagged it. But it’s warm. You dress the bed and lay down, fiddling with the hem and staring at your flickering light until sleep finds you.

You lean against the wall outside the cantina, clutching your cup tight in one hand. You’d brought tea in case the night got cold, but the dancing, screaming utter chaos inside the building seems to seep out, warming the night long after the sun had gone down. You watch the shadows that the people inside cast through the windows.

“Hey, Mech! Are you coming inside?” One of your favourite techs calls from the doorway. In your panic, you forget her name.

Even a year of knowing someone can’t stand up to the adrenaline spike that courses through you at someone’s eyes meeting yours.

Your open your mouth to respond but your tongue sticks to your teeth, so you shake your head, holding up the unlit stick of spice that rests between your fingers as an excuse.

She grins and yells, “Enjoy!” before heading into the building.

You wonder how long you can go using the same stick of spice as a way to get out of talking to people before someone calls you on it.

A crowd of pilots make their way up the short road between the town and the base. From their yelling, they’ve already broken into the liquor stash. A few voices stand out. Karé and Jess, more specifically. Black Squadron. Which means Poe is surely among them.

Quickly, you survey them. Poe is there, his flight suit only half on. He’s tied the arms around his waist, securing the bottom half of his jumpsuit in place and leaving him in a white undershirt that showed off his arms, shoulders, and most of his chest. Rey always says it ‘barely counted as a shirt’ and you giggle to yourself at the memory, stopping only when you realize how crazy you’ll look if someone spots you.

You tuck your knees into your chest, making yourself as small as possible so they don’t notice you.

You’re almost successful.

Poe Dameron slides down the wall beside you, waving his squadron into the cantina as he settles. “D’you need a light for that?” He gestures to the spice in your hand.

You shake your head.

“Just needed a minute by yourself?”

At that, you nod.

He grunts as he sinks back into the wall. “Cool. Me too.”

You gaze out at the jungle together. Poe can’t sit still, as hard as he tries. He begins to sway to the music that blasts from inside the cantina, humming along and tapping a rhythm line you can’t hear on his thigh.

“Do you want to dance?” He finally blurts out.

“In there?” You whisper, somehow finding your voice as you point to the door.

He shakes his head and stands up, brushing off his flight suit. “We can dance right here.” He grins down at you. Pure energy radiates from him.

You can’t disappoint him.

So you stand, pocket your spice, set down your teacup, brush yourself off, and look at him expectantly.

Poe takes your hand in his, stepping closer. He keeps enough of a distance that you don’t feel the urge to run, only making contact with you where your palms touched and where his hand rested lightly on your back to guide you. The two of you barely sway, following the bass that pounds through the walls.

“Is this usually how you dance at these parties?” You whisper, already knowing the answer. You’ve seen the way he holds onto his partners, his dark gazes, his wandering hands. This is very, very different, almost proper, and you aren’t sure what to make of it.

“No. But it’s how I used to dance when I lived on Yavin. My mom taught me,” he says, turning you slowly. “The music at these parties is always bad. But it’s not always so loud.”

“Celebrations usually are. Loud, I mean. It’s… good. I’m glad everyone has a chance to relax.”

Things on base had been tense, the silence uncomfortable and heavy, even for you. The Resistance had needed a victory. Even this little one was invigorating, like you actually had a chance against the army that had amassed in the shadow of the New Republic’s failure.

“Yes. It’s good.” He spins you again, and you settle into a rhythm.

Poe is a good dancer. Many of the people that seemed to yearn for him would have killed to be in your place, to be so close to the Untouchable War Hero Poe Dameron. He keeps to himself, sticking with Rey and Finn (and you, when you could stand to be around people) when he wasn’t around his squad, and you saw how that angered some people on base.

Thankfully, they mostly left you alone. There were some perks to having two Jedi and the Resistance’s best pilot as your only friends. Even if they were only friends with you because Poe kept sitting with you for meals.

But that didn’t mean your ears turned off. It was safer to stay in your office or in the mech lab, where you didn’t have to be around people’s judging glances and whispers. The techs you liked kept their conversations with you brief and solely focused on work-related matters. They didn’t bring up Commander Dameron’s favouritism towards you, the extra projects he gave you so you could practice working on the Resistance’s tech, or the way he trailed behind you on your rounds when he should have been training, or the nights he spent in your room.

They also didn’t know that most of those nights ended with the two of your sprawled out on your floor, laying in the light cast by the moon through your window, with enough space between you that Rey and Finn could have fit. It wasn’t nearly the scandalous affair they all made it out to be.

But still. Poe is there. Holding you, not some other mech he could romance and whisk away before the night is over.

“Shouldn’t you join the party?” you whisper.

“I’d rather be out here with you.” His voice is as soft as the hand that rests on your lower back, drawing you closer.

“You know I won’t be going home with you,” you remind him.

He chuckles again. “Can’t I dance with a friend?”

“I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Are more of the people you dance with friends?”

“Friends of a sort.”

Your stomach rolls and you straighten up. “And what sort of friend am I?”

He doesn’t seem to notice a change in you, but his voice softens, the darkness that had edged his words disappearing. “A good one. One of the best.”

“I can’t beat Finn, I guess.” You untangle yourself from him and sit back down, taking a sip of your cold tea.

Poe stays standing, looking down at you like a lost puppy. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No, Poe,” you whisper. “You’re fine. Go enjoy your victory party.”

He shuffles his feet, looking between you and the open door.

“I’ll come back for you,” he finally says. “I’ll walk you home.”

“Sure, Poe.” You nod, trying for a smile.

You’re gone in the time it takes him to get a drink and come back to your spot against the wall.

“So, you haven’t hooked up with anyone since you got to D’Qar.”

You stare at Poe, trying to figure out if you’ve imagined him speaking.

“Am I wrong?” he says.

You watch his lips move.

Yeah, he’s definitely actually talking.

“How would you know?” you finally reply.

“Because you have the same routine every day and I’d notice if you deviated from it. Hell, Holdo would notice if you deviated from it.” He stares down at his feet, swinging his legs off the edge of the boarding ramp. It had gotten stuck in place, five feet off the ground, and you and Poe had been sent to fix it. Though your tools were spread out in the belly of the shuttle and you had wanted to get to work, Poe had insisted you pause to watch the sun rise ‘properly’ over the base. It’s still too early for you to be disturbed, which you’re equal parts grateful for and dreading. Though you had settled back into a normal rhythm after the Dancing Incident, you felt like you were still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Maybe I haven’t. What’s it to you?” you say, not looking at him.

“Most people go through the base the moment they get shipped here.”

“I’m not most people.”

“Clearly.”

His voice edges it’s way solidly into the flirty zone.

On instinct, you say, “If this is you offering, I’m not interested,” even though you know it’s a lie.

He snorts, “Oh, I figured that one out. Don’t worry.”

Your head whips around to stare at him. “What?”

He laughs, full-belly, his face tilting up towards the rising sun. “I’ve been flirting with you for ages. If you had any interest, I’m sure you would have made a move by now.”

“You flirt with everyone.”

“I do not.”

“Yes you do! You treat me the same as all the other people you take home.”

“No. I don’t.” Sudden softness. And it hurts, it aches somewhere deep in your chest because the pain in his voice is your fault, and you know it.

It’s your turn to stare down at your feet, hanging off the platform. You wonder what he’d do if you jumped off and went inside. Would he come after you? Would he give you space, find you later and apologize?

How many more times can you run from him, reject him, leave him behind, before he started to leave you?

You reach across the gap between you and take his hand. Your grip is sure, more like you’re holding a soldering iron than a human. When he moves to hold you back, you don’t flinch, even with your heart hammering against your ribs and the little voice in your head screaming at you to run.

Progress.

“I know,” you whisper. Because you do. If you’re anything at all, it’s perceptive.

Something in you aches to say more, but your tongue turns to sandpaper and you can barely swallow around it, never mind speak.

Poe squeezes your hand lightly.

The sun rises.

Finally, he whispers, “Should we get back to work?”

You nod. You stand.

You’re the first to let go.

Poe sits across from your work bench, dutifully holding your wrench with two hands. He hasn’t said a word since he sat down, fully becoming part of your workstation as you move around the engine mod you’ve been working on for weeks.

He’d taken to randomly showing up. It was a recent development, and you guessed it had something to do with how few missions he’d been assigned. Everyone else had been busy, taking the intel from the new scouting team and turning it into results. Which meant you had more stuff to fix.

But Poe had been kept on D’Qar, training the recent batch of recruits. And when he was off, he delivered the damage gear that got shipped back to base from wherever-the-fuck the Resistance spies had broken it so you could fix it.

He watches carefully as you replace the paneling on a blaster he had brought over from Gold squadron. Another mech steps into the workspace, takes one look at Poe, and runs out.

Your face burning, you turn on him. “Do you keep showing up here because you have something to say?”

Poe shakes his head.

“Have you taken a vow of silence?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“I like your voice.” You still sound grumpy (and embarrassed), but you mean it.

He just blinks at you, his lips turning up in a sheepish smile. It’s sweet, how he still gets nervous around you. Before, you’d thought that it was just the circumstances of your meetings, the high-stakes nature of smuggling weapons for the Resistance. But he still gets quiet, still blushes whenever you catch him off guard.

Before you can think too hard about it, you lean across the table and kiss him.

It’s light, just a press of your lips against his, but it sends your head hammering against your ribs anyhow.

He’s too stunned to speak for a long moment. Finally, he whispers, “What was that for?”

Your stomach drops like stone. “Did you not like it?”

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “I dunno. You ran away before I could decide.” Slowly, he rounds the table, coming to stand between your knees.

You roll your eyes but lean in again anyways. His hand gently cups the back of your head as he brings his lips to yours.

It’s nothing you were afraid of and everything you want. He’s soft, oh-so-soft, but never yielding to the way you push against him. Winding your hands in his hair, you tug him closer and swallow the little surprised sound he makes.

In an instant, he’s everywhere: his hands on your waist pulling you out of your seat, his chest pressing to yours, his arms encircling you to keep you close.

When you finally pull away, flushed and gasping for air, you ask, “How about now? Was that okay?”

Poe nods slowly, his gaze focused on your mouth. “It was perfect.”

After that day, Poe hardly leaves your side, to the point that Leia had to order him to return to his normal duties.

As much as you loathe the stares from everyone else, you bask in the attention from Poe. He’s so sweet to you, stealing little kisses and touches whenever he can. Though you still tense sometimes when his hands on your back or hips catch you by surprise, you’re more than comfortable the rest of the time. It’s new. Different. You hadn’t thought this would ever be possible again.

You still hadn’t talked about it. What you were to each other. What this meant. But he walked you home every night, and he brought you lunch on days he was on-world, and you were okay with the not-knowing.

Weeks later, after he had walked you home, you invite him inside.

It should be normal, him being in your room. It had happened before. You’d spent long days working in there and nights sleeping side by side, the few inches between you feeling like an entire planetary system and nothing at all.

But somehow, this feels different.

He keeps a hand on your back as you enter the room. You sit on your bed as he talks through his next mission, but you aren’t really paying attention.

The air is heavier somehow. Every shaky inhale takes more out of you.

You’re not sure how it happens. One moment, he’s talking about the caves on Jedha. The next, he’s above you. His hands tight on your waist. Yours under his shirt (just barely). His breath hot on your neck.

Everything is warm. Too warm. And he’s above you, and it should feel good, and it does, when you aren’t thinking about it. But you are thinking about it. And the walls start to close in. And you can’t get a full breath.

“P-Poe…” you whisper.

He hums into your skin, hips grinding more firmly into yours as he kisses along your jaw. It hurts, somehow exquisite and excruciating all at once.

“Poe?”

He freezes, hands leaving your waist and finding yours. “Are you okay?”

You tip your chin up to the ceiling, gasping. “I… I can’t breathe.”

Poe backs off, keeping a hold on one of your hands. “Are you sick? Can I get you something?”

You shake your head and fold in on yourself, somehow sitting up on your bed. Bent over your knees, you focus on breathing slowly. Evenly.

Poe sits on the floor at your feet, still holding your hand, rubbing small circles over your knuckles with his thumb. He kisses the back of your hand, murmuring against your skin. “It’s okay. I’m sorry. You’re okay. I’m so sorry. You’re safe.”

Slowly, you start to come down. Your eyes open enough to focus on him in the dim glow of your room.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you say slowly, your whole body shaking. “It’s not your fault.”

He nods, seeming to understand.

“It’s not your fault,” you say again, tears pricking your eyes.

“It’s not yours either,” he whispers, and you find he’s right.

Poe starts to stay the night.

It isn’t often, only when you both can afford to lose some sleep getting ‘distracted’. More and more, your bed feels empty without him in it. You begin to miss his kisses, rather than worry about when the next one might happen.

And Poe notices.

He’s more careful, after the night you had to stop him. But never timid with you. He doesn’t walk on eggshells like the others used to. He’s wrong, sometimes, but he tries. And you’re safe no matter what. And that means more than any sweet words he could whisper to you in the dark, after he thinks you’re asleep.

Because he does that. Often.

It doesn’t matter how you fall asleep, whether he’s laying on your chest or you’re tucked under his arm; he eventually starts to talk to you. Sometimes it’s stories, the ugly parts of his recent mission that he couldn’t bare to tell in the daylight or a memory from his childhood. Sometimes it’s dreams: taking you back to Yavin IV, introducing you to his dad, meeting his childhood friends, vacations on Chandrila, what your first baby’s room will look like (he’s sure to clarify: “If you want kids. We can talk about it.”), where the kids should attend flight school, how he wants to be buried beside you someday.

It’s that night that you wake as he’s saying, “I’ll die first. I have to. I don’t want to be alone.” He pauses to sniffle and cuddle into your shoulder before continuing, “I don’t want to leave you by yourself but I can’t be without you. And you won’t really be alone. You’ll have Finn and Rey. And your people in mech. You’ll be okay.”

“I won’t be,” you whisper before you’ve decided to speak.

“W-what?” He props himself up on an elbow, staring down at you in the dark.

“You were my first friend. You’re my love. I don’t want to be without you either.” You reach up, tracing over his cheek with a feather-light touch.

At once, he shudders and slots himself over you, his arms cradling you to his chest as he presses his forehead to yours.

“You have the more dangerous job,” you say, though you know it won’t help. “I could lose you any day. Any time you walk out the door…”

He presses his lips to yours, insistent. And you give in. Because he knows. And you know he knows. As much as you never talk about it, this war is more likely to steal you from each other than to spit you out the other side, hand in hand. The clock ticks, and ticks, but as long as it doesn’t stop, you have time.

And it’s time you spend, that night, wrapped in each others arms, shedding clothes, as close as two souls can be while trapped in human forms.

When you cry — and you do cry — it’s from relief. Release. Never pain.

In the aftermath, he holds you tight, and he presses kisses over your cheeks, and you realize just how much you love him.

When you tell him, he cries too. And it’s your turn to hold him.

Poe seems to stand taller as you walk through the base and people notice your linked pinkies.

“It’s so sweaty,” you’d said whenever he asked if he could hold your hand.

So you’d found a happy medium. He could still be physically linked to you, claim you as his for everyone to see, and you could avoid the sensory overload that accompanied having damp palms.

A few people look, more to pay respect to The Poe Dameron than to give you any attention, but even so, the stares are like pins in your neck. You flinch at a cupboard slamming in a room adjacent to the hall. Poe drops your hand to wrap an arm lightly around your waist, like he can shield you from the sudden onslaught of sights and sounds.

“Almost there,” he whispers into your hair.

You nod just enough to signal that you’ve heard him.

Poe steers you out of the base, keeping a hold on you until the two of you are on the path towards the cantina the Resistance frequented. He helps you into a booth at the back, his hands staying safe places while people could see you. Once you’re settled in, his hand finds it’s way between your thighs, squeezing gently.

He kisses your forehead and joins the conversation happening around you.

Eventually, Rose, Rey, and Finn join you, squishing you all onto the small bench. Poe checks in, making sure you’re alright, and you find that you are. Without realizing it, you’d gotten used to the casual affection that’s typical of Resistance members. Where Finn’s thigh is pressed to yours, you just feel warmth.

He and Rey talk about their daily training. You and Rose bond over your mech work, and she agrees to teach you everything she knows about the bombers. Before you know it, the night begins to wind down.

Poe helps you out of the booth, your hand securely in his. He kisses over your hair and whispers, “Thank you for coming out with me.”

“Thank you for asking.”

#poe dameron #poe dameron smut #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x female reader #poe dameron fic #mywriting

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mandos-sluts · 3 years

Text

The Prisoner's Dilemma

The Mandalorian x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 2.7k

Summary: There’s a bounty on your head and the Mandalorian Din Djarin picks you up. Boba Fett informs Din of what he does with bounties like you.

Warnings: Smut, rough sex, explicitly non con!! (but reader is into it), fingering, daddy kink, bondage, lots of dirty talk, degradation, exhibitionism kink

A/N: Please don't hesitate to message us or comment if you want to be on our tag list, or add yourself via Taglist sign up!!! Feedback is always very much appreciated <3

PLEASE please heed the warnings!!

Masterlist

Din has been hunting with Boba Fett ever since the Razor Crest was destroyed; they travel from planet to planet together collecting bounties. While he would prefer to work alone, Din doesn’t mind Boba’s company— the two are very similar people. Both are cold, stoic bounty hunters who don't take shit from anyone.

You struggle and resist when Din picks you up. Sending endless punches and kicks at the Mandalorian trying to cuff you. You attempt to flee but to no avail, your strength is nothing compared to his.

He cuffs your hands behind your back and roughly walks you to the ship, maintaining a firm grip on your upper arm as he drags you alongside him.

The first thing you see upon entering the rusty ship is another man in Mandalorian armor. “Ahh what the fuck? She’s your bounty??” Boba says to Din as he tugs you up the ramp of Slave I.

Both men are fully covered from head to toe in beskar. The one handling you is taller than the other, and has a deeper voice.

“Yeah. Where’s yours?” Din responds casually.

“In carbonate.” Boba says nodding to the chamber. ”Damn. You’re lucky, Djarin.”

“Lucky? The price on her head is the same as your bounty’s.” Din replies.

“I'm not talking about the payout. Look at her, man! She’s yours to take.” Boba says locking his stare on your increasingly confused expression.

“What do you mean?” Din says flatly, looking down at you.

Boba takes a deep breath. “Ohhhhh Din, so innocent.” He laughs. “….You get to fuck her!”

Did…. did he just say what you think he said?

Din scoffs. “You fuck your bounties?”

“Well if they look like her! Shit, how could you not?!” Boba takes a step closer to you. “Damn. I've never seen a bounty as pretty as this one.” He says grabbing your chin and lifting your face up.

You’re standing there silently, still in Din’s grasp with your hands clasped behind your back. Din looks down at you and you turn your wide puppy dog eyes up to meet his gaze, anxious to see what he will do with you.

Boba takes a step away from the two of you. “If you don’t fuck her, I will. I’m not letting a pretty thing like that go to waste on my ship.” He pats Din on the back. “C’mon Djarin, you deserve it pal.” Boba says as he exits the room.

You stand there, almost in shock, waiting for the Mandalorian to do or say something. Part of you suspects all of this talk is just some nonsense to intimidate you.

But then after a moment, he finally speaks. His voice is low and rough, tone firm with a hint of condescension. “Well…..you heard him darling. You want me or Boba? I’ll give you the choice.” Din lightly chuckles.

Your heart drops. He can’t be serious. There’s no way bounty hunters are allowed to fuck the bounties they collect. Then again, why would he not, whose gonna stop him? You’re the criminal.

You’re scared, but not as much as you would expect yourself to be. And that’s because your fear is clouded with arousal. Why aren’t you scared shitless? Perhaps because this is lowkey one of your fantasies? And maybe because you’re also incredibly attracted to this big strong Mandalorian manhandling you. Shit.

“Yo— wait, no please don’t.” You say the last part mechanically.

“You want Fett to fuck you?”

“No!”

“Alright.Then I’ll be fucking you, princess. Consider yourself lucky. Fett would make it all about himself, but I'll see to it that your needs are met as well.” Din says softly as he runs one hand through your hair and grabs your waist with the other.

“What? Wait…. I….I….wait– please.” You say, your body trembling underneath his hold.

Din takes a deep breath. “You’re getting fucked baby, you may as well enjoy it.” He says as he grabs your ass with both hands and practically lifts you up, pressing your body flat against him.

“Ah! No. Just– just let me go…. please!” You plead trying to shake free of his clench, your glassy, scared doe eyes staring right into his visor.

“Ha. Keep struggling, sweetheart.” Din pushes his helmet right against your ear as he tightens his grip on your ass. “Just turns me on more.” He whispers in your ear.

“Mmph!” You squeal out, shaking your shoulders as he spins you around and pushes your torso down, bending you over a table.

One of his hands is on the back of your neck, forcing you down on the metal surface. The other is on your waist, right near your cuffed hands. Your ass is waggling in the air as you try to resist his advances and rid yourself of his grabby hands.

You can barely move, however, under his sedulous grip. He shoves your pants down, leaving you bent over the table with your ass in the air in nothing but the unfortunately racy thong you’re wearing.

Your whole body shudders as you feel two of his thick fingers trace your clothed folds.

“Hahahahahahaha…..” Din maniacally laughs as he feels your gooey wetness through the fabric. “Nowwwww I see. Now I get it. You fuckin like this, you little slut.” He growls in your ear. “Pfft. I was gonna say, the fight you’re putting up is pathetic, but now I see why.”

Din isn’t wrong. He has seen you actually struggle and resist when he was capturing you, and the weak shaking of your shoulders and your little pouting is clearly not everything you have.

“Damn, I’ll give it to ya princess, you had me fooled for a while.” Din coos as he grinds his unbelievably large bulge against your ass.

“N-no! I don’t want this!” You contend. Your jolting only serves to make him shove you against the table harder, essentially inhibiting all your movements.

“Baby girl, your pussy is fucking sopping wet, drop the act.” Din scoffs. “You are literally leaking through these panties.” He says as he slips his long thick finger underneath your soaked underwear, running it along your slick. Your whole body shutters under his touch as pressure darts in your core.

“I—”

“Tell me, pretty girl.” Din interrupts. “Have you ever had a cock as big as mine?”

He loosens his grip on your neck, allowing you to crane your neck and look back at the monster cock he is rubbing up and down your glazed valley.

“Fuck.” You whisper to yourself, unsure how he is going to fit in you.

Din slaps your ass. “Answer me.” He commands in a deep tone.

“Ah!” You cry. “No. N-never.”

“Yeah?” Din purrs right before he shoves his entire length into you.

You scream out. “Ah!!” Never have you been opened so much before. He lets his cock sit in you a moment once it’s fully engulfed, leaving you stuffed to the brim with his member.

“Holy shit.” Din breathes out. “Oh fuck yes, this is some good pussy.”

With that he starts rocking his hips back and forth, driving his massive girth into you each time. Your mouth falls open as disgusting moans fall out of your throat. His grip still harsh around your neck as he holds you down hard, pushing his hips against yours and delivering you the best pleasure you’ve ever felt.

“Ha. Knew it.” You hear Din chortle behind you.

You open your eyes and realize that you are pushing your hips back into his, trying to pound him even harder into your G-spot. You curse at yourself for being this brazen with your actions and not hiding your pleasure and yearning better. At this point, you know you’re not fooling him, but you’re not ready to completely give in.

“Now— now that my cock’s in you, you gonna finally behave? Be a— a good girl for me, huh? You little whore.” Din pants as he plows into your hole.

Your cheek is pressed hard against the table and you bite your bottom lip, trying to muffle your lewd moans as you squeeze your eyes shut.

Din chuckles at your pathetic attempt to remain silent. “Don’t respond and I won’t let you cum. Which— well…. you don’t even want to cum, right? Cuz— cuz you don’t want this, right?”

Your eyes shoot open. “Wait….N-no! Ple– please!!!” You cry, turning your head to look back at him.

“Mmmf, please what?” Din growls.

“Please….ah— please let me cum!” You finally relent.

“Ahhhhhh there it is. Keep beggin’, baby. You’re gonna have to earn it after being such a naughty little bitch.” He remarks as he moves both hands to your hips and pulls you into him each time he drives into you.

“Please! Please let me c-cum daddy!” You cry. “I wanna cum so badly, I wanna— wanna cum all over your cock. Please, please daddy!”

“That’s it. Look at you being so obedient now. Ha. Looks like I've fucked the good girl right into ya.” He says, slowing down his thrusts. Din bends over so that his helmet is right against the side of your head and whispers in your ear. “You like playing an innocent little brat don’t you? Pretending tha— that you don’t want to get fucked. But you’re such a dirty fuckin slut, you just couldn’t resist my big dick could ya? You— you’re just too fuckin desperate to get your tight little hole stuffed full of cock. Isn’t that right?”

“Y-yes! Fuck! Your cock hits me— hits me so deep! S-stretches me out so good!” You whine out as he thrusts into you.

Din spanks your ass again, sending a fresh wave of arousal to your core and making your cunt clench around him.

“Oof. I felt that. Ya like being spanked too? Fuck. You are a whore.” Din chuckles.

Your moans have turned into downright vulgar screams that you have no control over. He’s pounding into you so hard that your vision has gone blurry from the tears falling out of your eyes.

“Gah. You look so f-fuckin pretty when you cry baby.” Din mutters.

You hear a bang at the door and panic momentarily.

“Goodness, Djarin! It sounds like you're torturing her in there.” You hear Boba yell on the other side of the wall.

“Nahhh, I’m taking good care of her, isn’t that right sweetheart?” Din calls out, leaning over to your face.

“Y-yes!” You scream in response.

Din then grabs your shirt and for a moment tries to pull it over your head. Upon realizing that your cuffed hands pose an obstacle, he rips it right off your body, causing you to jump a bit.

“Come see for yourself, pal.” Din offers to Boba after discarding the ripped fabric on the floor.

The door slides open and Boba is met with the crude scene of you bent over a table, completely naked with your hands cuffed behind your back, mouth open wide with tears rolling down your face, and Din standing behind you, holding your hips tightly while plowing into you.

Boba stands in amazement. “…Holy fuck.”

“Say hi to Boba, pretty girl.” Din orders.

“H-hi sir.” You manage to spit out, lifting your head slightly.

“Shit. You hit the jackpot, Djarin. How’d you get this little one to submit?”

“Ohh, she wasn’t hard to tame. Ah— Needy whores like her never are.” Din responds while continuing to drive into you.

“Well, bye princess.” Boba says looking straight into your watering eyes. “Be good now. Din can get mean if he doesn’t get his way.” He remarks before existing.

When the door closes, Din yanks you up by your hair, spins you around, and lifts you onto the table. You’re sitting straight up on the table with your hands still clasped behind your back, a fully clothed Din standing between your legs, holding your trembling thighs wide open as he sinks his length back into you. You instinctively wrap your legs around him.

He grabs a rough hold of your face, hooking his thumb in your agape mouth while the rest of his long hand wraps around your head, forcing your watering eyes to look right at him as he pounds up into you. Strands of your hair stick to your sweaty face as you’re unable to brush them away.

His other hand trails down your sweating skin to your clit and starts drawing tiny circles on it. You wish you could wrap your arms around his neck and hold on tight to him as he drives you over the edge.

“Alright, pretty girl, cum for me. Show me what you’ve got, baby, come on.” Din encourages, swiping his thumb over your swollen clit.

Your cuffed hands are in tight white fists with your nails digging into your palms. Your whole body tenses up and your back arches as you squeal out. Din’s grasp on your face stops your head from falling back as your orgasm shatters through your body.

Din is hardly pulling his length out of you while thrusting fast and deep inside of you, feeling your cunt flutter on his cock makes him moan and you can tell he’s going to cum soon.

Just then he lifts you off the table and shoves your head down. “On your knees and open wide, I’m gonna cum in that pathetic pretty mouth.” Din breathes out as he rapidly strokes his cock over your face.

You sit up tall on your knees and open your mouth, sticking your tongue out while looking up at him with wide watery eyes. Din grunts as he grabs a hold of your hair and tilts your head up, positioning his cock right over your quivering mouth. Warm streams on white cum shoot from his length and fall on your lips and tongue. He keeps pumping it as he sprays the rest of your face with his seed.

“Damn baby, I thought you were hot before, but you look even better on your knees with your face covered in cum, sweat, and tears.” Din remarks while putting his softening member in his pants.

You slowly rise from the ground, your legs shake and almost give out as you bring your self to your feet. You’re panting and strands of your hair are stuck to your gooey face, as your cuffed hands prevent you from wiping your face.

You stand there awkwardly and silent, naked and disgusting as Din buckles his belt.

“Your pussy is so fucking good. I think I'm gonna have to keep you.”

“W-wait, what?”

“Yeah. I can't turn you in. Can't let a cunt like yours go to waste.”

“Bu— but then you won’t get paid.”

“Oh, having you around to fuck at my leisure is worth way more than the bounty on your head sweetheart.”

You gulp. “I thought—”

“Come on princess.” Din interrupts. “You can either stay with me, or go rot in jail. What’ll it be?

“But I— I….” You have completely forgotten about the foul fate that awaited you. You haven’t had time to think about what would happen once you were turned over. You have no idea of what life is like in a New Republic prison, nor did you have any knowledge how long you would be incarcerated.

“....I wanna stay with you.” You say softly looking down at your feet.

“That's what I thought.” Din says walking up to you. “Get yourself cleaned up baby girl.” He spins your nude body around and unlocks your hand cuffs, nodding in the direction of the fresher. “I’m going on a supply run and then it’s my turn on the flight deck. And my cock could use some warming while I pilot the ship.”

*********************************

Masterlist

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Taglist:

@pinkninja200 @raspberrymama @stevie75 @tacticalsparkles @kenoobiwan @shark-s @theamuz @blackrose8425 @beskarboobs @smutslutz @princess-djarinn @spideysimpossiblegirl @riot-rotten @javierpinme @hypnoash @anaaaispunk

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phoenixyfriend · 3 years

Text

Anakin Introduces his Jedi Babies (and Himself)

Context: Anakin and the Jedi Babies, chrono

Warnings for: canon-typical dismemberment, unfortunately-aimed puppy crushes

Word count: 5,839

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

The first time a Jedi meets a Skywalker, it’s on Bandomeer.

The planet is close to Mandalorian space. Finding someone associated with Mandalore is, technically, not that surprising. There are even Mandalorian operations on the planet.

What is surprising is the fact that the person from Mandalorian space is an unfamiliar Jedi Knight who is utterly unstoppable.

(Obi-Wan Kenobi has no way of knowing how similar his experiences are to what might have been, on this planet. Mandalore has been interfering in operations here ever since Ylliben Skywalker started reporting visions about the coming catastrophe. Where that interference has helped or hurt... well. There’s no way to know.)

(Is there?)

When Xanatos shows up and starts taunting Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon, there’s a giggle from the doorway.

All three have to turn to look at the individual in question.

Mid-twenties, leaning against the doorframe, slim but strong, covered in dark fabric and half a set of armor. A scar by one eye, well-kept hair, and a smirk that could burn the longest fuse. A lightsaber, unlit, in one gloved hand.

This man is... very attractive, Obi-Wan thinks. This is not an appropriate thought for the situation. Obi-Wan thinks he can maybe blame it on the exhaustion.

“No, no, keep going,” the stranger says, sounding like there’s a laugh stuck in his throat. He waves dismissively. “Let’s, ah, let’s hear the master plan. Good ranting voice, maybe a six out of ten on the ‘I’m better than you’ and a four on the actual intimidation. You can do better.”

“Excuse me?” Xanatos hisses, sounding incredibly malicious to Obi-Wan’s ears. “Just who do you think you are?”

“And now you’re overselling it,” the stranger sighs. “Are you new at this? You seem new at this.”

“I would... also like to know who you are,” Master Jinn admits, shifting uncertainly as he tries to keep both du Crion and the stranger in his sights.

“I’m just your friendly neighborhood Jedi Knight, here to fight darksiders because... that’s my life, apparently,” the man says, looking down at his arm for some reason. He shakes his head and looks up at them with a bright grin. “Do you need some help, Master Jinn?”

“You still haven’t told us your name.”

“This is true,” the knight says. “That said, I’ve been told by my boss to explicitly avoid naming myself while on this mission for a variety of reasons.”

“Your... boss,” du Crion drawls. “Not the Council, then.”

“Current supervisor,” the stranger offers as correction, completely unconcerned. “It’s a complicated situation, don’t worry about it.”

“I don’t worry about nonentities.”

The man purses his lips like he’s trying very, very hard not to laugh again. It’s very mocking. “Sure, kid.”

Xanatos has had his lightsaber out ever since Obi-Wan and Master Jinn entered the room, but he does one of those fancy, meant-to-be-intimidating one-handed saber twirls as he turns to face the Knight.

The man’s smirk widens. “You do realize you’re going to lose, right? C’mon, kid--”

“I’m older than you!”

“I did like zero research on you as a person, just your many and varied crimes; how old are you?”

Du Crion’s face goes pinched. “I’m twenty-five.”

“Ah, yeah, no, I’m older,” the knight says. “Only a few years, but I’m also a delightfully obnoxious little bastard who ages real slow for, uh, reasons--”

Obi-Wan is fascinated. This man is very strange. And very pretty.

Obi-Wan may be light-headed. Is he bleeding? Blood loss would explain this.

Obi-Wan isn’t bleeding. Damn.

“--anyway, I’m sure I’ve got a more interesting life with more mature experiences than you,” the knight says. “So even if I wasn’t older in body, I’d be older in spirit.”

The knight’s entire sense of being carries such an air of banthashit that Obi-Wan can barely believe it. It’s almost impressive. Obi-Wan wonders how often this man just opens his mouth and immediately gets punched in the face.

“You talk a lot for a man in someone else’s domain.”

“Hey, look on the bright side,” the knight says. “At least I’m not flirting with you. That’s what my master did with almost every darksider we met except his grandmaster.”

Du Crion pauses.

Obi-Wan has the distinct feeling that he and Master Jinn have lost any control they might have, at any point, had over this situation. They hadn’t had much control in the first place, but anything they did have is squarely in the stranger’s court right now. The silver lining to that is that du Crion is thoroughly distracted and has also lost some control of the situation.

“Besides,” the man continues, completely ignoring the very red lightsaber that is being very obviously readied for his death. “This is not that big of an advantage for you. I mean, hey, the fancy central console that can only be reached by skinny walkways with no railings are a nice touch, all chromed metal and minimal lighting, very dramatic, but there’s no lava. I’m not, like, chained to a rock in the middle of an arena for a public execution at the hands of starving animals the size of a fighter ship. You’re threatening to kill me personally instead of standing in the most expensive box of the theater, sipping your wine and congratulating yourself on step one of a plan that has another fifty-thousand steps and no end in sight. You--”

“Is there a point to this?”

“I’m just saying, I’ve been in worse situations by better darksiders than you. This is sad. You’re sad. Try harder.”

Obi-Wan makes a little noise in the back of his throat. Nobody seems to notice, but Master Jinn does put a hand on his shoulder. That’s nice.

“I don’t have any interest in setting up a public execution.”

“What kind of a Sith wannabe are you?” the knight asks, tilting his head. Obi-Wan distantly notes that his hair is longer than initially assumed; it’s just held back and curled. “Public executions are a whole thing. It’s like you’re not even trying. Tell me you’ve at least got vague plans to hand me off to a pirates instead of killing me so you can make some comment about me not even being worth the effort.”

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” du Crion asks, his voice the kind of forced casual level nonsense that shows he’s actually very, very frustrated. Obi-Wan could almost believe that du Crion is as uninterested as he’s pretending to be.

“If I was trying to get myself killed, I’d... pick a fight with the Trade Federation, maybe? I mean, I survived that when I was nine but they’d probably take me more seriously this time.” The knight taps at his chin. “I don’t even know where the actual Sith is, but--”

“There are no more Sith,” du Crion scoffs.

Oh, the knight looks pitying now. Obi-Wan likes that much more than he should. It just really suits the man’s face.

Quin’s going to make so much fun of him later.

“I have fought multiple Sith,” the man says, slowly and clearly, as though explaining something to a child. “My master fought more than that. I lost my arm to a Sith when I was nineteen. You can say they’re gone, but I don’t trust like that.”

“It’s not a matter of trust,” du Crion says, rolling his eyes. “It has been a thousand years since the Sith were wiped out. Much as I’d like them to still be around, I’m not going to--”

“Oh!” the knight exclaims. “You’re lying! You do think they’re back, this whole mess is you auditioning.”

Du Crion stares at the man as though he’s lost what few marbles he had. “Excuse me?”

“You want to be the next Sith Apprentice,” the man says, cheerfully unconcerned by the mounting tension in the air. “That’s adorable. Well, no, actually, it’s very bad, both for you and for everyone else, and now it means I can’t just kill you in battle like I was planning because the Jedi are going to need you for information. Blast.”

Du Crion’s eyes widen. It is not in fear, but in incredulity. Obi-Wan thinks that it’s all in the eyebrows and the tight, befuddled smile. “You were planning to kill me, Jedi?”

“I mean... yeah, kinda,” the knight says, shrugging. “Quick and clean option, that.”

This time, Master Jinn is the one that makes a disbelieving noise that both of the bitchy twenty-somethings ignore.

“You’re a Jedi,” du Crion points out, entirely pleasant.

“...yes,” the man says, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “Technically.”

Du Crion is very much distracted by this. “Technically?”

The man wiggles a hand. “Arguments can be made. I certainly was trained as a Jedi and consider myself to be one. My knighting was according to protocol, and at the Temple. Technically.”

“...but?” Master Jinn prompts.

The knight smiles like he’s got something very spicy in his mouth and is unwilling to admit it’s too much for him. “But nothing! Don’t worry about it. There’s a fight to be had with a Sith wannabe who doesn’t realize he’s not going to measure up.”

“Arrogant,” du Crion accuses.

“No,” the knight immediately says. “You just don’t fight a galactic war without learning which opponents are actually going to kill you.”

Obi-Wan leans into Master Jinn’s side, his legs feeling a little too much like jelly. He whispers, “I have so many questions.”

“As do I, Padawan,” Master Jinn mutters back, and something in Obi-Wan’s heart twists. He’s a padawan! Master Jinn’s actually going to go through with it!

The fight does actually happen, at that point. The knight lights his saber and leaps forward, flashing through Djem So movements without a moment’s hesitation. For all the trash talk and boasting, the fight isn’t actually over very quickly. Du Crion is good, even without having had a chance to spar against a real person since he left the Order. Power flows around him, dark and heavy and sharp in ways that the Force usually isn’t, and the red saber snaps through the air with a speed Obi-Wan can barely track. Xanatos du Crion is, without question, danger incarnate in this moment.

The unknown knight is better.

There are attempts at banter, mostly by the stranger. Du Crion is too focused on the fight to bother responding. Obi-Wan just clings to Master Jinn, trying to stay awake and aware. It’s difficult, given the past few days, and even with help from the Force, he’s flagging.

The way the knight moves is... captivating, though.

(Quinlan’s going to laugh at the top of his lungs, later. Obi-Wan’s going to blush and stutter and bury his face in a pillow, and Bant’s going to pat his back like the amazing friend she is, and Quin’s just going to laugh, like an asshole.)

The fight doesn’t end cleanly. The knight cuts du Crion’s saber in half and, in the same movement, cuts the man’s hand off.

Obi-Wan’s seen too much blood in the last few days for it to shock him, but the smell is... unpleasant.

“I don’t suppose either of you carries Force-nullifying cuffs?” the knight asks, holding his saber to du Crion’s neck with an expression that is amused and satisfied in equal measure.

“No,” Master Jinn says. He seems... very bothered. Well, du Crion was his student once. Obi-Wan can’t imagine he’d be very calm if he had a student that went dark and started killing children. “Was cutting off his hand really necessary?”

“I feel like half my fights end with either someone dying or someone losing a limb,” the knight muses. “Sometimes that limb is my own, even!”

Obi-Wan isn’t sure if the man is manic or just trying to throw them off their rhythm. It probably doesn’t matter.

“Okay, I have Force-nullifying cuffs of my own,” the man says. “But these things are expensive as hell, and they weren’t paid for by the Order, so just giving them to you isn’t really on the table. That said... my ship kind of got shot down on the way here. If you could give me a ride off-planet--”

“Our ship was also shot down.”

The knight blinks at him, and then kicks du Crion in the hamstring. It’s not a very hard kick, but du Crion shoots him a look of offense that’s probably justified. Getting kicked when one is already down is never a great feeling.

“Stop shooting people,” the knight scolds.

Obi-Wan feels vaguely like he’s having a fever dream.

“Okay, new plan,” the man says. “What kind of ship did you come in?”

“KYL-3400 small transport,” Master Jinn says, with not a little hesitation. “Why?”

The knight grins. “I’m going to cannibalize it for parts.”

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

Jango has known Anakin Skywalker for six years. Many of those years have been spent being yanked into babysitting for the man. For reasons Jango doesn’t feel like examining, this will likely continue.

“You’re late,” he says, as the man in question stumbles out of a battered ship that looks only barely like the one that left three months ago. “I thought you said Bandomeer was a quick fix.”

“Ship got shot down, had to help some Jedi, ran into fucking Onaka on the way back,” Skywalker grouses. “I feel like shit. Where are my kids?”

“Buir says you have to go to medical.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever. My kids, Jango.”

“They can visit you in medical.”

“And, what, Mereel’s gonna go there for a debrief?”

“Your debrief is going through me,” Jango says, and doesn’t let himself flinch when Skywalker makes a face. “He’ll check in later.”

“Yeah, no,” Skywalker says, taking a step forward and then swaying with a curse. “Listen, this actually does need to go to Mand’alor direct, not just the Alor-in-training--”

“Please don’t do that with my language,” Jango immediately says. “That’s not--no. ‘Alor-in-training’ isn’t a thing. Don’t do that.”

Skywalker turns on his heel with a frustrated snarl, and Jango’s eyes widen as the stupid tunics the man wears flare out.

“Is that a blaster wound?”

“No.”

“Yes it--for fuck’s sake, Skywalker!” Jango growls and just goes over to grab the taller man by the shoulders and march him to medical. “I’m calling your sister.”

“Don’t tell Shmi, she’s got enough to--”

“I’m calling your sister,” Jango snaps. “And you’re going to deal with it. Ka’ra, do you even think? Is there a brain in that head of yours?”

“I’ve been told my braincell is lonely.”

“I’m going to shove you in a trash compactor, dikut’la jetii,” Jango mutters. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“If I say yes, will you let me go deal with it on my own?”

Jango strangles his own scream and shoves Skywalker into the nearest examination room. “Fix him!”

The medic looks up, raises a brow, and turns to Skywalker. “What did you do?”

“What didn’t I do?” Skywalker shoots back, grinning like they’re sharing battle stories over a drink in a cantina.

The medic--Mirka’lu, he thinks--crosses her arms. “General.”

Oh man, the medics must be angry with him already if they’re already jumping titles like that.

“I’m just a knight--”

“General Skywalker.”

The man in question grimaces. “I maybe got shot during an altercation with some pirates.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And... I maybe--maybe--picked a fight with some Hutt enforcers.”

Jango’s going to wring his neck.

Right after he calls Shmi.

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

Komari does her level best to not shift nervously under the judgmental eyes of the man they’re pretty sure is the Mand’alor. Her master’s got the situation under control. She’s just there to observe. They’ve got an entire team--

“Is that your way of telling me that your Order did minimal research on the situation before coming to intervene, and the only reason you bothered to reach out is because one of my men, weeks ago, let you know that Death Watch is setting traps for both my people and yours?”

Komari feels the flare of annoyance from Master Dooku. She doesn’t react, but she can hear the tension when her Master speaks.

“I assure we would not have attacked on Galidraan unless attacked first, or if we’d found solid evidence of the actions we were informed of,” Master Dooku says, quiet and even. “All your messenger did was save us all a little time.”

Mereel smiles thinly. “Saved us all some lives, more like it.”

“Perhaps.”

“Ah, jetiise aren’t the only ones with Force-Sensitives,” the Mand’alor says. “I’ve more than a few under my command. Visions aren’t foolproof, I’m aware, but I’ll be damned if such a warning goes completely ignored.”

Master Dooku makes a low humming noise. “Be that as it may, I’m unsure of what it is that you’re expecting out of our... presence. We are not here to help you claim your presumed throne. We are only here to stop the killings we were told about.”

“I don’t need your help to reunite my people.” Mereel waves a hand, batting the mere suggestion away. “But I’d appreciate the help with taking out the terrorist group that’s actually going out and murdering the helpless, this planet’s farmers and doctors and children. Kyr’tsad isn’t just a thorn in my side, Master Jedi.”

“And what proof do I have that you aren’t just the same kind of monster as you claim they are?” Master Dooku challenges.

It’s a little brazen, considering how dicey these negotiations are. For all that Komari herself doesn’t wince, someone behind her outright hisses in dismay. She agrees with the sentiment.

Mereel just laughs at them. He catches the eye of one of the armored individuals along the wall, human or close to it, and nods to himself.

“Right,” the man says. “Well, we have our own Jedi. Would you like to meet him?”

Master Dooku is immobile, as if carved from stone. The rest of the group is... not.

“I suppose that would be acceptable,” Master Dooku says, and Komari feels the tension in him wind further through the training bond. There are a million questions to be had here. None of them can be answered without the supposed Jedi.

“Great,” the Mand’alor says. He leans back in his seat and turns to the door. With the press of a button, the door slides open. “Ben!”

A child darts into the room, stops, and bounces on their feet. Probably male, Komari thinks, and very anxious. The child’s eyes dart about the room, taking in every single Jedi in sight. When that gaze lands on Master Dooku, there’s a flash of recognition and... not hate, but distaste. Confused and distant dismay, maybe. The child turns back to Mereel.

“Mand’alor,” the child greets, still bouncing. “Am I needed?”

“Thought I told you this meeting was for grown-ups,” the Mand’alor says.

Ben shrugs. “I wanted to listen in.”

“That door is soundproofed and you know it.”

“So?”

The Mand’alor grins. “Do me a favor and go fetch your dad.”

“Buir’s still sleeping,” Ben says, grave as dirt. It’s a strange expression for such a small child. He can’t be older than eight, and Komari’s pretty sure even that’s a stretch. “Shmi’s gonna be mad if he has to wake up before the bacta’s done.”

“I just need him for negotiations,” Mereel assures the child.

“Aggressive negotiations with a lightsaber?” Ben asks, and Komari nearly chokes.

“No, just regular ones.”

Ben nods sharply, and then turns and runs out.

“That boy...” Mereel mutters, but it’s fond. “Anywa--”

“BUIR!” Ben’s voice echoes from the hall, faint but audible, along with some very loud banging on what is presumably a door. “DAD! WAKE UP, THE COUNT IS HERE!”

The Count? Komari wonders. Even Master Dooku seems surprised.

The question is clearly on more minds than just her own. Mereel raises a brow at Master Dooku and gestures vaguely. “Didn’t know any of you were nobility. You a Count, Master Jedi?”

“No,” Master Dooku says, and before the Mand’alor can press further, he adds, “but if I were to retire from the Order, the title would be mine to inherit. As I have no intentions of retiring, I am not and will not be a Count, but I assume that is what the child is referring to.”

“Ben,” the Mand’alor corrects. He seems pleased with the reasonable answer. “Ylliben Skywalker. I suggest you refer to him by name.”

“You have a fondness for him,” Master Dooku notes.

Mereel shrugs. “No more than any other child, objectively, but his father is one of my more effective allies, and he gets antsy about things. Saying ‘your child’ won’t be a problem, but ‘the child’ is... well.”

The smirk is a challenge that Komari doesn’t feel ready to meet. She’s glad it’s not hers to handle.

“Why do you ‘have’ a Jedi?” Master Dooku asks, pushing the conversation back to the point Komari’s sure he was initially aiming for.

“Found him in a snowstorm, brought him inside,” Mereel says, grinning. “And then he refused to leave, the shabuir. Troublesome man, like you wouldn’t believe, but useful.”

“Like a feral tooka,” someone behind Komari mutters. She feels a part of her soul die.

You can’t just say that in front of the Mand’alor! she screeches in the depths of her mind, despairing.

“Exactly,” Mereel agrees with a laugh. “Skywalker’s a feral tooka.”

Komari dies a little more.

“Talkin’ shit about me, Mereel?”

...oh no.

This one’s pretty.

The man is tall, dressed almost entirely in black, and looks like shit.

“You look like you got run over by a herd of bantha,” the Mand’alor notes.

“I got back less than a day ago,” Skywalker growls out. He leans against the wall behind the Mand’alor’s desk. He folds his arms. He glowers around the room. “The kriff is Count Dooku doing here?”

“Master Dooku,” the man in question says, a little pained. “As I informed Mand’alor Mereel, I may technically have claim to that title, but I am a Jedi. So long as I remain a Jedi, the title isn’t actually mine.”

Skywalker makes a face, and then shakes his head. “Fine. Whatever. Jaster, what the hell do you need from me?”

“Well, some manners would be nice.”

“I got shot and am putting myself in a position to get yelled at by baar’ur Mirka’lu for coming here when I’m supposed to be on bed rest,” Skywalker growls out. He kicks Mereel’s chair, glaring at the back of the man’s head. “You’re lucky I put on pants.”

Mereel seems unbothered by this statement or treatment.

Komari thinks her eyes may currently be the size of dinner plates.

“You’re the one from Bandomeer.”

Skywalker’s head snaps up to focus his gaze on Master Dooku. “Say what?”

“You’re the one my former Padawan encountered on Bandomeer,” Master Dooku says, something satisfied in his tone. “He said you refused to give a name, but the physical description does match.”

“Oh, lovely, Jinn’s been gossiping,” Skywalker mutters. “That’s just--”

“General Skywalker,” Mereel says, voice finally slipping to something more stern than amused. “If you could please focus.”

Skywalker rolls his eyes and mutters something about painkillers.

“Buir?”

Skywalker’s head tilts to the side, and he holds one arm out to the side. The kid from before--Ben--darts in to cling to the man’s side. A slightly taller Togruta follows in and ducks in under his other arm. Both children keep a wary gaze fixed on the same person, and their adult...

Every look from this man is a new challenge to Master Dooku.

“They’re yours?”

That is the exact question Komari was hoping her master wouldn’t ask.

“We’re in Mandalorian territory,” Skywalker says. “They’re Force-Sensitive orphans with an incredible amount of potential. If I didn’t claim them, someone else would have.”

It’s not an airtight justification--the man could have just sent them to the Temple--but the air around him is roiling with aggression. This man does not like Master Dooku, and is more than a shade protective of these--his--children. Komari shifts her weight and worries as the pregnant silence grows heavier.

“As you say,” Master Dooku allows, and some of the bowstring-tight tension in the room loosens, drains away like foul bathwater. “If I may... I was unaware you were a General, nor that Mandalore had a standing army large enough for such a position.”

“He’s not,” Mereel says. “Used to be, won’t tell me where. It’s not my business, or yours. Title’s a holdover from whatever war he was fighting before we got him.”

Komari is not the only person whose heart drops as Master Dooku says, “Qui-Gon claimed that the rogue knight he’d met on Bandomeer mentioned a galactic war against the Sith.”

Mereel blinks, and then turns his seat around to look at Skywalker. The other Mandalorians look at Skywalker. Every single Jedi also looks at Skywalker.

The Togruta child sticks her tongue out at Master Dooku.

“I did say that,” Skywalker says. “What of it?”

“You know, when I said I didn’t care what fight you were running that turned you into a soldier, I kind of assumed it was something on the level of, say, a system-wide civil war,” Mereel drawls. “Not galactic Force nonsense.”

Skywalker shrugs. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.”

“Because you’ll lie?”

“No, I’m just going to be really annoying about it,” Skywalker tells him. The Togruta giggles and shoves her face into his side. “Or, hell, I’ll let Ben do it. We both know he can talk circles around basically everyone in this room.”

“Skywalker.”

“Mereel.”

The two hold gazes for a moment that lasts just a little too long, and then Mereel breaks it off. “We’re talking about this later.”

“Of course, Mand’alor,” Skywalker says, with a grim sort of smile. “Wouldn’t dream of doing otherwise.”

Mereel doesn’t seem particularly impressed by that.

Komari wonders if anyone else remembers that Skywalker was supposed to be here to make negotiations easier.

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

Yan Dooku is having a Day.

He’s not entirely sure whom to blame for this mess. Perhaps Yoda, for suggesting he handle this mission. Perhaps the governor of Galidraan, who decided collaborating with terrorists for his own gain was a good idea. Perhaps Jaster Mereel, whose influence and power is enough that Yan needs to tread carefully. Perhaps Qui-Gon, for giving him just enough information about Skywalker to cause some drama.

Perhaps Skywalker for being a recalcitrant, ornery bastard who delights in Yan’s suffering.

(One of the Mandalorians calls him that to his face, and Skywalker informs the man that “my mother always told me I didn’t have a father,” and stares until the Mando stammers out an apology and turns on his heel.)

(The smirk on Skywalker’s face is certainly informative.)

“Hi.”

Yan looks up from the datapad he’s been using to try and punch out a report, for all that he can’t find the words he needs, and sees the Togruta youngling from Skywalker’s side hanging upside-down from a ventilation grate.

He blinks evenly at her. “Good afternoon. Is that your normal manner of traversing the building?”

“Yeah, when Jan-Jan isn’t yelling at me about it,” she says, and drops from the ceiling. Seemingly without paying attention, she directs the grate itself back into place with the Force, screws reattaching themselves with only the slightest whisper. She’s done this many, many times.

“I’m afraid I don’t know who that is.”

“Jango Fett,” she clarifies. “Ad be Mand’alor.”

Child of the king.

He does remember that much from the briefing.

“I see,” Yan says, rather than try to tackle whatever the usage of such a nickname implies. “I’m afraid nobody’s seen fit to introduce you, youngling.”

“I’m Sokanth Skywalker, but most people call me Soka,” she says, with a bouncing, shallow bow. Full of energy, this one. “I’m eight.”

“The General is your father, then?”

“Mm-hm! He adopted me when I was almost two,” she says, and climbs up onto the bench. She wraps her arms around her knees and beams up. “Ben was still a baby, and we didn’t go get Shmi until a few months later when Skyguy could afford it.”

“Skyguy?” Yan prompts.

“My dad,” she explains, head tilting a little as she studies his reaction. “I... I’ve always called him Skyguy. He took care of me before he adopted me, for at least a year. He says I called him Skyguy when I first started talking, back then, and then he didn’t make me stop when he adopted me.”

“I see,” Yan says. “Does your father know you’re speaking with me?”

“Probably.”

“And would he approve?” Yan hints as heavily as he can. “He doesn’t seem to like me very much.”

“That’s because we’ve all seen what you could be,” she says. “But you’re not the Count yet, so it’s okay.”

Information. “Ah. Visions, then. That would explain some things.”

“Ben gets them the most,” she keeps talking. “But it’s not just that. It’s like... patterns. The Sith are going to target you, because they’re going to think you’re worth corrupting.”

“And you’ve seen enough Sith to know that?”

“Yeah.”

“Visions are not foolproof,” he says, trying to keep his tone gentle. He’s not used to interacting with children of this age, and this one comes with a father in the Mand’alor’s confidence, someone he can’t afford to irritate by making a daughter cry. “I have a friend who is very prone to visions, and some come true, some don’t, and others--”

“Are self-fulfilling,” Sokanth finishes for him. “I know that. But my dad’s actually fought Sith, y’know. The guy who cut off my dad’s arm used to be a Jedi Master, like you, and he was all fancy-schmancy and a history nerd for Sith stuff, and didn’t like the Council or their decisions very much. Like you.”

That’s... very personal.

“A surface-level similarity is not enough to make the claim that I am to become a Sith,” he says.

She blinks at him, eyes too large for a face that’s so near to human in bone-structure. It’s unnerving. “Whether or not you Fall is your choice, Count. All I can tell you is that you are the kind of person they look to groom... if only as a pawn.”

The words are too old for a girl her size.

“You speak as if you’ve faced the Sith yourself,” Yan says, well aware now that he needs to tread carefully, but... “You’re too young to go out into the field. I can’t imagine your father would allow a child like yourself to go up against someone that dangerous.”

She blinks those too large eyes, and tilts her head in the other direction, and then smiles. “You care. That’s good. Keep that compassion, Count.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I feel like you’re evading the question.”

Sokanth giggles. “Maybe. Buir doesn’t like us talking about it much. It makes him sad, ‘cuz he can’t help us not hurt, and a lot of it is really scary. It’s like... my memories are too big for my head. I don’t get a lot of visions, but I get a lot of dreams of things that happened that I’m not alive for. And buir does remember those things happening, so it’s true, and it happened, but I only... sort of remember it, and when I think about it too hard, it hurts my head. Or I get nightmares about it, and I don’t like those. Ben’s got it worse, though. He has more to fight.”

It’s a lot of information.

It’s confusing information.

It’s... possibly information that the General has asked her to feed him for reasons he can’t even begin to guess at.

“In this war your father fought,” Yan asks, “were you a soldier as well?”

“Commander,” she corrects, voice soft. “That’s what the dreams call me, before they start screaming.”

“How old are you really?” He asks, before he can quite stop himself.

She laughs, suddenly bright again. “I’m as old as I look. I’m eight. Just because the Force gives me memories I shouldn’t have doesn’t mean that my brain isn’t a kid. Sometimes Ben tries to act older than he is ‘cuz of the memories, y’know. Buir gets sad whenever he does that, ‘cuz he thinks we deserve to be kids before the galaxy goes to hell again.”

“He’s sure of such a thing?”

“It always does,” she says, with the air of someone who isn’t sure how their conversation partner could be quite that dense. Her voice takes on a sing-song cadence, like she’s telling a fable instead of a philosophy. “War always comes eventually. Not every sentient is selfish, but enough are, and they tend to be the ones that claw their way to the top. The rich and powerful will take and take and take, and then, when there’s nothing left, they will use their living stepping stones to tear each other apart. All we can do is be ready to end it as quickly as possible once it comes.”

Yan lets the claim sit for a long, quiet minute. “Did your father tell you that?”

“No,” she says. “Ben did.”

The six-year-old.

“He has a way with words,” Yan manages.

“Sometimes he uses his stuffed animals to host courtroom dramas,” she says. “He makes me look up the right laws so it can be procedurally accurate, ‘cuz he’s a nerd but so am I, and it makes Skyguy happy when he sees us playing like that instead of just doing saber forms and stuff.”

Yan has... no idea what to do with that. “I wouldn’t normally call courtroom dramas a normal children’s activity.”

“Yeah, but Ben’s a nerd,” she says, as if that’s all that needs to be said. Maybe, for her, it is. “And there’s only so much time I’m allowed to spend hunting.”

Right. Togruta.

“And what was your father doing at that age?”

“I’m not allowed to talk about that,” she says immediately. “Because it’s very private and he and Shmi get upset if we bring it up, ‘cuz of trauma and stuff.”

Shmi. The... sister, he thinks. People seem to be unclear on that. He’s heard a few refer to the teenager as just “one of Skywalker’s,” so that’s something to consider. She’s near-perfectly halfway between the children and the General, in terms of age, so it’s a little ambiguous where she fits.

That said, he’s been in a lot of places in his time as a Jedi Master. It’s taken him a little longer than it should have to realize, but he thinks he’s got at least part of the puzzle.

Skywalker’s a slave name. Tatooine, specifically.

It’s not confirmation, really, but...

Well. He thinks it’s better he doesn’t dig, on that subject.

“Hey,” Sokanth says, tugging at his sleeve. “Can I ask ya something?”

“I cannot promise an answer, but you may ask.”

“Can you spar with Skyguy? I wanna see who wins.”

#Disaster Lineage #Anakin Skywalker #Ahsoka Tano #Obi Wan Kenobi #Qui Gon Jinn #Count Dooku #Yan Dooku #Ben Kenobi #Jaster Mereel #Xanatos du Crion #Jango Fett #Komari Vosa #time travel #de aging #age shifting #family #phoenix files #Anakin and the Jedi Babies #500 notes

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raifenlf · 3 years

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Why Loki’s Sylvie Is A Mary Sue

So I am firmly in the camp that Sylvie on the Loki series was/is a Mary Sue. The last episode made me feel better and like maybe the show was doing a thing where they were faking you out that she was a Mary Sue only to show she was actually sort of a bad guy and I liked that. But all the recent interviews make me think the show wants to go back to her being a Mary Sue.

But I feel like when I call her out for being a Mary Sue people tell me what are you talking about, she’s not a Mary Sue, bad things happen to her, etc. But that doesn’t actually make her not a Mary Sue.

Also, before we start, I know some people find Mary Sue sexist. But I personally use the term for guys and girls. I don’t use the term to belittle women. I use the term to criticize a poorly written character.

And I know Mary Sue is often used to describe fanfic characters. But to me, this series is kind of like a fanfic because the writers took a character who had been in canon MCU material for ten years and then created characters around that character. So, I kind of review it like I would a fanfic. It’s very different than if the writers had created a brand new show with all of their own new characters.

Anyway, if you are not totally familiar with the Mary Sue term, then check this out:

I know the term Mary Sue probably means different things to different people. But I have always used these guidelines when I write my own fanfic to make sure my characters never come off as a Mary Sue.

This article really gives you a full scale of what a Mary Sue is. If you start reading it, you’ll immediately see why Sylvie is. But I’m going to take out the parts that most fit Sylvie just to highlight why I believe she is a Mary Sue. I apologize for this being so long.

Mary Sue Character Traits

Personality

Erm... what personality? The typical Mary Sue doesn't have one per se, because she isn't meant to be a character; rather, she's an entity by which the author makes cool stuff happen.

I feel like that is Sylvie in a nutshell. She doesn’t have a personality. I feel like even though she ate screentime, I still don’t really know her at all. The writers love to say she’s badass. That’s not a personality.

Sometimes when I am writing stories for fun and creating new characters, I like to take surveys as my fictional characters. Like the kind of surveys you’d see in a magazine, like personality types, what’s your dating style, etc. I figure if I don’t know what my character would do in any of those situations, then I need to keep working on my character. And if I was trying to fill out a survey pretending I was Sylvie I would have no idea what to answer because she doesn’t have a personality. She’s just “cool”.

What little personality a Mary Sue has isn't as important as how other characters react to it. No matter how shy or socially awkward Mary Sue is supposed to be, other characters will be inexplicably drawn to her

This is so Sylvie. Loki falls in love with her...why, exactly? He falls in love with her in the big Nexus event moment...why? Because she had a tough childhood? Mobius spends like two seconds with her in a car and goes from hating her to saying she’s his favorite Loki. For. No. Particular. Reason.

She's extremely persuasive; everyone finds her opinions to be better than their own

She enchants Hunter B-15 and then immediately Hunter B-15 makes it her whole entire life mission to back Sylvie up.

And occasionally she'll be a complete asshole...This can manifest itself in several ways...The author wants to write a badass but doesn't know how. This leads to a character who mistreats everyone around her and is never called out on her abrasive, casually abusive behavior.

Sylvie talked down to Loki and treated him like garbage for all of episode three, but it was never portrayed as a bad thing and we never got any impression Sylvie later felt bad for the way she treated Loki

The author doesn't know how to hold back the character, meaning that she will succeed at practically everything. This means that when she encounters rules or authority figures who would otherwise prevent her from doing what she wants to do, she rolls right through them (and they praise her for her "boldness" in defying regulations). If a bad guy is violent and aggressive, she can beat him by being more violent and aggressive (with all that entails). It's impossible for her to go overboard because she's protected by Protagonist-Centered Morality.

Sylvie is shown as a kid to immediately be able to grab a Tempad and run away. And she can kick ass way better than Loki, for no known reason. She is always able to fight back against the TVA when they attack her. And she can kill lots of innocent TVA agents but it’s okay because TVA bad, Sylvie good.

Skills

She will always be superior to the canon characters, regardless of what canon has established they can do or whether it makes any sense.

Whose skill was needed to defeat Alioth? Sylvie’s. Of course. Sylvie needed to teach Loki her skills in order for him to succeed (!). And again, she is literally called the superior Loki.

Relatedly, there's no effort to her skills. She never actually trains or learns anything to become more powerful; she just wins the Super Power Lottery, or is a freakish natural learner, or is just Inexplicably Awesome

We’re told Sylvie literally taught herself magic. She literally taught herself to enchant people. That. Makes. No. Sense. Like, I have so many questions. Like, why would it even occur to her to teach herself that? And how???????????? This is really lazy writing.

Canon Character Relationships

Mary Sue is often designed to hook up with another character, often as a form of Wish Fulfillment. This isn't that bad in and of itself (okay, it is kinda weird), but Mary Sue accomplishes this without any sense of realism. She just grabs her lover's attention straight away, and their relationship will never face any obstacles or tension; it's true love from the start and nothing else. The biggest giveaway is if the love interest is explicitly the author's favorite character, and she essentially "cures" him of all the angst that ails him (at the expense of his characterization).

Yeah, so...this one should be pretty obvious to anyone who watched the show. Loki literally falls in love with Sylvie immediately, and then he suddenly turns from “villain” to “hero” just because of loving her. And this was definitely at the expense of his characterization. And Loki just knows he falls in love with her. There’s not even any moments of hmm what do I feel for this person? It’s just true love, immediately.

She will be related to a canon character in some way. This (marginally) helps explain such phenomena as her being a Copy Cat Sue and other characters accepting her so easily.

Sylvie is a Loki variant. They use this to help explain why Loki is drawn to her and why their falling in love immediately “makes sense”.

Most characters give her more heed than they normally would. The good guys never stop praising her

Seriously, it was so over the top and OOC for Loki to gush over her. He literally tells her she’s amazing. They don’t even make it subtle.

Characters' previously established personalities change in reaction to her. Proud, arrogant gimps suddenly acknowledge her superiority in everything. Reckless youths will listen to all her advice. Responsible leaders will defer to her instead. Villains will obsess with her to the detriment of all else. Extremely competent characters will become stumbling buffoons who require her help to do anything. Sweet, mild-mannered characters whom the author doesn't like turn evil and insult her. They all become unnaturally focused on her in some way.

Again, Loki’s whole personality changed in reaction to her. He became a buffoon who needed her help to enchant the Alioth because of course he couldn’t do anything without her! Hunter B-15 goes from doing whatever the TVA said to fighting the TVA just because of Sylvie.

Story Elements

Mary Sue is without exception a single-person Spotlight-Stealing Squad. The entire story hinges on her existence; if you removed her, there would be no story.

Sylvie undoubtedly drove the whole story this season. It all became about HER meeting the TVA heads because of HER trauma. Loki’s life was only saved at the beginning because the TVA was trying to capture HER. And SHE was the one who started the whole multiverse (!).

Mary Sue is The Chosen One, even if the setting already has one. There are many ways she can accomplish this: she can be a Sailor Earth type who "shares" the position with the canon hero; she may be vaguely "destined to help the destined one fulfill their destiny" (i.e. do all the work except the final blow so that the prophecy is still technically correct); or the canon hero may be revealed to be a Fake Ultimate Hero all along. Being the Chosen One doesn't necessarily involve her being a God-Mode Sue, especially as authors become aware of the phenomenon and try to avoid it, but it does make her critically important to the world and allows her to continue stealing the spotlight without the "god mode" label.

HWR wanted Sylvie to come with Loki in the end, like she was chosen all along right alongside Loki. Like one of the most important characters in the entire MCU is now this character who we only met a few episodes ago.

Most Sues have an unusually Dark and Troubled Past. It's often used to create a Sympathetic Sue, but any type of Sue can have one

They tell us, over and over, how hard Sylvie’s life was because she was kidnapped by the TVA in order to create sympathy for her.

She almost never does anything wrong. In the rare instance that she does, it's usually; (a) a way for the author to disclaim her being a Mary Sue by introducing a single imperfection (that has no bearing on anything anyway), and (b) designed to show her smarts by making her feel instant remorse, and she'll be Easily Forgiven anyway:

So this one hopefully will not come true, as a lot can change between now and when the show is taped. But if the show goes on the way the behind the scenes team is talking, Sylvie immediately felt remorse for betraying Loki, and Loki has already forgiven her and is desperately looking for her. Ugh.

Alternatively, she is more than capable of doing something wrong, be it in general moral terms or something that goes against whatever code she abides by, and she maybe even frequently does so, but don't expect the other characters or the narrative to ever acknowledge or comment on it in any real capacity. If the other characters do call her out, expect them to be treated like they're the problem for daring to criticize her at all.

Mobius calls her out for killing people, but Sylvie immediately says he’s a bad person and then Mobius agrees, because, of course.

She will often suffer from Special Snowflake Syndrome; i.e., she has a trait or backstory that sets her apart from her group or race.

She is the only female Loki, thus making her the special one among all the Lokis in episode five.

Presentation

In visual media, the camera just can't stop staring at her.

The camera would follow her in fight scenes rather than Loki.

Mary Sue Tropes

Okay, so there are specific Mary Sue tropes that Sylvie is. One of those is Copy Cat Sue, which I think was referenced before.

Copy Cat Sue

A lot of fanfic writers...start to write something because of their passion for this character, but they find something about the character that doesn't mesh well. Maybe they're the wrong gender or are otherwise not close enough to the author's expectations...In any case, rather than put them through the Possession Sue process, they just get a Clone-O-Matic™ and out pops a Copy Cat Sue...the character might be intended as a replacement for the canon character, but without whatever icky traits the author hates. They'll then rob the spotlight, prove the canon character to be unworthy of his/her position, and either relegate the character to obsolescence or, perhaps, even remove them entirely.

Sylvie is basically a clone of Loki, she is a variant. But she absolutely robbed the spotlight of Loki’s, and they literally call her the superior Loki. I mean, they are literally not even being subtle about this. And there was a feeling by myself (and a lot of other viewers) that Sylvie might ultimately replace Loki in the MCU.

Black Hole Sue

Much like a black hole, this is a Mary Sue who "sucks in" the plot and characters to her. Characters will behave outside their personalities, logic will be defied, and rules will be broken for her sake.

Sylvie really does suck up all the plot and Loki definitely behaves outside of his personality just to fit the Sylvie show.

Jerk Sue

A Mary Sue who is mean or maybe even cruel, but are still treated as an ideal person.

Once again, Sylvie is basically a jerk all of episode three, but you’ve got Loki falling over himself to call her amazing in just the next episode.

Relationship Sue

A Mary Sue who exists to be the perfect mate for a specific character...this character has everything in the plot conspiring to enforce this One True Pairing...in Fanfiction, they are the perfect beloved of a canon character.

They literally have Mobius speculate that Loki falling in love with Sylvie is so extraordinary that it causes an entire Nexus event, that’s how huge this One True Pairing is (!). And Sylvie is the love interest of Loki, the only character who had been around before the beginning of the series

TLDR: Sylvie has all the tropes of a classic Mary Sue character. So calling Sylvie a Mary Sue isn’t being sexist or just randomly hating on the character. If you use common Mary Sue characteristics to examine the character, she just has too many of these characteristics to ignore.

#loki negativity #antisylvie #loki critical #loki criticism #antisylkie

439 notes · View notes

multifandomimagines · 3 years

Text

Let Me Show You - A Theo Raeken Imagine

Characters: Theo Raeken x Reader

Word Count: 3469

Summary: Reader is feeling stressed and insecure, so Theo wants to be there for her and make her feel perfect.

Warnings: Smut (female-receiving oral and vaginal), insecurity, mentions of IED

Written by: Josie

A/N: Keep reading after the cut 👀

Disclaimer: GIF isn’t ours - credit to who it belongs to

Y/N sighed as the puffy red eyes of her reflection stared back at her through the mirror. This week had been… different. Every little thing had been going wrong, and each day brought more and more emotion, stress and insecurity. Her under-eyes were dark with exhaustion and her smile wasn’t as bright as it usually was - that is, when it showed itself anyway.

She didn’t even hear when her bedroom door opened and closed softly, didn’t register the light footsteps across her carpet moving toward her; not until the eyes of her boyfriend met hers in the mirror, round with concern. Seeing him so suddenly would usually have elicited a wide grin from Y/N, and she would jump into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist. Yet, in the state she was in, his arrival made her feel as if she could finally let it all out. Her emotions overwhelmed her like a tidal wave, and her eyes prickled with tears.

“Theo,” she whispered, her voice cracking, and hurriedly turned around to bury her head in his neck. Almost like a reflex, Theo held her tightly to his chest as she cried, his hand rubbing up and down her trembling back. He slowly walked them backward until his legs hit the edge of her bed, and pulled her shaking body onto his lap.

“Shh, baby,” Theo hushed her sobs tenderly. “It’s okay.” Her head had made its way back to his neck, Y/N couldn’t even look up at him. He wouldn’t show it, because he had to be strong for her, but seeing his girl like this broke him to pieces inside. She was the only person who saw the good in him when everyone else tossed him aside as either a failure or a villain. Either way, he was a lost cause in the eyes of most people. Everyone really… well, everyone except her. Out of all of the people Theo had met in his life, he knew Y/N deserved to be happy more than anyone. She deserved to be cared for, celebrated, loved. As someone who dragged him out of his darkest places, Theo wanted nothing more than to help her out of hers.

Y/N sniffled, and slowly lifted her head from Theo’s shoulder, her eyes staring downward and avoiding the gaze of her boyfriend. She knew it hurt him to see her like this and she wished she could just… stop.

“Hey,” she heard him say. “Look at me Y/N.” His voice was rich with worry for the girl he loved, and she flinched at the thought of causing him grief. It was quick, but Theo saw it, and his heart snapped once again. Slowly, he raised his hand to her cheek, running his thumb along her cheekbone softly, collecting the tears that were slowly drying on her face. She subtly leaned into his touch without even realising she did it, it was like her body moved off it’s own accord, drawn to him. Gently, Theo moved his hand to Y/N’s chin and turned her head to face him.

For the first time since he’d arrived, Y/N finally let Theo see the pain in her eyes. They were glossy and slightly bloodshot, and Theo’s gaze softened at the sight of her vulnerability. “What’s wrong?” He asked a simply question, not wanting to overwhelm her.

“Everything,” she breathed. Theo’s fingers ran themselves through her hair, encouraging her to keep going. Initially she wanted to shrug him off and succumb to her feelings again, but she let him comfort her. “I’m just feeling everything all at once. Theo, I can’t-“

“It’s okay baby, it’s okay,” He held her cheeks delicately, scared to break her fragile form. “Breathe with me.”

It was something Theo had learned over the months. Sometimes Y/N really needed to calm down and just breathe slowly, in and out, exhaling the intensity of her feelings as much as her brain would allow. Though she hadn’t admitted it, Y/N realised that the method worked better when Theo led her through it.

After a minute or so of long, deep breaths, Y/N was no longer jolting with the ghosts of sobs from earlier. Theo continued to hold her close, remaining gentle but tight enough to always remind her that he was there for her. No matter what.

“This week has been so bad,” She began, and Theo stayed silent, realising that she was finally feeling comfortable enough to talk. He felt a small surge of pride flow through him at this, knowing that it was hard for her at times. “I’m stressed. I still have so much work to do, and deadlines are creeping up on me like a freakin’ predator. I’m worried for my brother, he’s struggling with his IED and he’s even been taking his meds, but they keep needing to up the dose and it kills me to see him in the state he gets. I keep screwing up too, like earlier I kept stalling the car, and I broke a photo frame yesterday morning, and I forgot to submit an assignment for grading at the beginning of the week. And I can’t sleep at night… Theo, I’m so tired.”

“Hey, come here,” Theo whispered, pulling her into another hug. “Okay, first of all, you are so smart and every time you get stressed about an assessment, you always go and smash it, don’t you?”

A smile threatened to pull at her lips at his confidence in her, and she nodded.

“Right,” Theo grinned. “Next thing, Liam is resilient, just like you. He won’t let one little setback get him down, and his meds will be sorted before you know it. Plus, he’s lucky to have you as a sister, you know that? You’re always there for him, everyone sees it.”

Y/N shifted on Theo’s lap, looking into his eyes as he spoke. “And,” He continued. “Everyone has weeks where they feel like they mess everything up, even super cool badasses like me.” Y/N giggled, spurring Theo on. “Someone as perfect as you doesn’t need to worry about a few little mistakes. They’re nothing, okay? Not important.” His hand moved soothingly up and down her arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “Is that everything?”

“Um, yeah…” Y/N trailed off quietly, suddenly avoiding her boyfriend’s eyes and sinking into herself. Theo knew her so well at this point that not a single subtle movement would go unnoticed, so he raised his eyebrows at her response. He knew she was holding back, and she knew that he knew. Sighing, Y/N gave in a little. “It’s stupid.”

“What have I always told you?” He said, smiling at her. “You can tell me anything. Anything at all. I’ll be there for you no matter what. You know that, don’t you?”

Y/N nodded and breathed in, slightly shakily. “I feel ugly, Theo.”

“What?” Theo whispered in disbelief, his eyes the size of saucers. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but it wasn’t that. “Baby-“

“I told you it was stupid-“

“No, it’s not that, it’s just-“ Theo searched for the words in his brain. He never thought he’d have to convince the most beautiful girl in the world that that’s what she was. He thought it was just common knowledge, really. “You and ‘ugly’ would never even fit in the same category. Not even in the same universe.”

“That’s just not true though,” Y/N stated, shaking her head, her eyes tired. “I can’t even look in the mirror at the moment. I feel like when I look, I’m not looking back at me. And it makes me cry. I’d rather not see myself at all than to look at that reflection.”

If Theo’s heart wasn’t broken before, the damage was definitely done now. Hearing Y/N, his girl, say that she wasn’t pretty, but ugly, made him feel all kinds of lost and confused, but more so sad, because he wished he could take away her pain and make it all disappear. Unfortunately, his powers of pain transference only worked on physical pain, and he silently cursed that fact.

“How can you not see what I see…” He whispered, almost more to himself than to her. “You know, the first time I saw you Y/N, even from a distance I knew I’d never see anyone as beautiful as you. And now I’m looking at you, months later, and I still think you’re just as stunning. You are gorgeous. You hear me? The most gorgeous ever.” Theo placed kisses on her nose, her cheeks, her forehead as he spoke, causing Y/N’s heart to flutter. His words stirred something in her, and the intensity of his eyes boring into hers made her forget about everything she was worried about. A wave of adoration for her boyfriend washed over her, and she cupped his cheeks delicately, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

Y/N didn’t have the words at that moment, all the emotion was caught in her throat, so she did what she felt conveyed her feelings best. She leaned forward and kissed him, Theo’s lips moving against hers immediately, as if by instinct. It was so soft, so pure, light as a feather. She pulled away from him all too soon, their eyes meeting each other once again, but Theo didn’t feel like stopping. “I want to show you how beautiful you really are,” He spoke lowly, holding her hand and giving a gentle squeeze. “Please baby. Let me show you.”

He didn’t have to explicitly say what he really meant by that for both of them to know, and his request sent warm shivers through her body. She spoke only one word: “Okay.”

Theo connected their lips again, harder this time. Even with just a kiss, he wanted to pour every ounce of love he had for her in it. He would make sure that he made her feel exactly how she deserves to feel. Her hands had moved to the back of his neck, plucking at the hairs on his head, while Theo held her as close as their bodies would allow.

His fingers slid up her t-shirt slightly, brushing the skin underneath. Theo’s fingers were so cold that Y/N gasped against his lips, so her boyfriend took the chance to slip his tongue into her mouth and explore. Slowly, he lifted her shirt up further and further until they were forced to pull away so Theo could tug it over her head and toss it on her bedroom floor.

Of course, Theo wanted to marvel her brilliance as best he could, so he gripped her by the waist and moved her carefully so she was laying flat on her bed, looking up at him. “So beautiful,” he murmured, and waisted no time in resuming their kiss. His hands travelled down her sides as their lips moved in sync like a perfectly choreographed dance, and his hips ground into hers - gently still, yet hard enough to give Y/N friction where she needed it the most.

He dragged his lips to her neck, sucking and biting on the skin to create dark marks to decorate her already perfect body. Theo considered it his finishing touch to her, as he knew she needed him as much as he needed her, which was what made them so perfect. Y/N’s hands roamed his back, one leg secured over his hip to keep him close, and Theo reached around to unclip her bra. His eyes widened - he would never get used to seeing her body like this, and she wasn’t even fully exposed to him yet.

“I love these so much,” He said, lowering his head to one breast and closing his mouth over her nipple, his tongue sliding across her sensitive skin. Y/N moaned as he simultaneously kneaded her other breast with his hand. “I love this one,” He said, moving away from the one he was playing with. “And I love this one.” Theo reattached his lips to her other breast, her rapidly increasing breaths spurring him on.

Y/N’s hips involuntarily bucked up at Theo’s, and he chuckled lightly against her skin at the movement. He trailed his lips back up to her collarbone, her neck, her jaw, all while dragging her leggings and her panties down her legs as far as he could. He pulled away from Y/N’s lips to crawl down the bed until he could completely reveal her entire body. Her leggings and panties discarded on the floor, Theo looked his girl in the eyes as he placed his hands on her thighs and lightly encouraged her legs apart.

Shivering with anticipation, Y/N watched her boyfriend wide-eyed as he licked one long stripe up her centre. Her eyelids fluttered, but she couldn’t bring herself to break the intense eye contact she held with Theo, until he began to flick his tongue against her clit. Her head fell back onto her pillow, arms flying down to grab onto Theo’s hair, feeling his head moving between her legs. She moaned as he licked and sucked at her clit, doing everything in his power to make her feel good, and it was music to his ears. He soon replaced his tongue with his fingers, rubbing her clit quickly, and started licking along her core, like it was his whole life’s purpose to do so.

“Fuck, Theo,” She whimpered, and Theo groaned against her at the sound of her saying his name in such a situation. Her voice held so much vulnerability yet so much excitement, so much feeling, so much love. The vibrations against her core sent waves of pleasure racing through her, and Theo watched through his eyelashes as her back arched off the bed.

Theo removed his mouth from her core, and her head whipped up briefly at the loss of contact, her eyes wide and pleading for something, anything. Barely moment after, Theo pushed two fingers inside her, pumping them at a quick pace. Y/N moaned louder, and Theo pulled himself up so his head was level with hers, staring directly into her eyes as his fingers worked their magic. “How good does this feel Princess?”

“So good,” Y/N breathed, barely being able to find it in herself to speak. She gripped onto his biceps as he continued his work between her legs, moaning with every thrust of his fingers. “It feels amazing.”

Theo smirked slightly, content that he was getting exactly the reaction from her that he set out to get, and leaned down to capture her lips with his once again. He added another finger and picked up the pace of his actions, his mouth drowning her voice as she cried out. He kissed her hard, drawing the breath out of her almost completely, and she could taste herself on his tongue which only brought her closer to the edge.

Feeling her walls clench around his fingers, Theo moved his lips around to her ear. “Are you gonna cum?” He said, his voice rough with his own arousal. He knew the answer, but he also knew that Y/N loved to hear his voice, and it somehow turned her on even more. All she could do at this point was nod frantically, her moans and whimpers making it impossible to get the words out. Theo sped up his actions even further, trying with everything he had to send her over the edge. “Cum for me baby.”

The words uttered into her ear sent her into ecstasy, and she let go screaming Theo’s name. He watched with his mouth hung open as her body pulsed and jolted as her orgasm washed over her in waves, her cries slowing into whimpers and her contorted face relaxing into one of sheer bliss.

A few moments later when Y/N had caught her breath, she reached down and palmed Theo’s bulge through his joggers, eyes widening when she realised how hard he already was. He groaned, dropping his head to her shoulder and tensing at her touch. “N- no, baby,” He stuttered out, voice rough from the feeling. Y/N was confused as he slowly moved her hand away, tilting her head to the side in a silent question. “Tonight is about you.”

Usually she would protest and say that they both need to be pleasured equally, but she wanted him so badly that she didn’t have it in her to argue. Frantically, she yanked his head down and smashed her lips against his, tongue and teeth clashing in desperation. All she wanted was him, and she didn’t want to wait any longer.

She pulled his shirt up his body, almost ripping the fabric with her speed, and he pulled away so she could pull it over his head. She loved to admire Theo’s toned chest and stomach, so she reached her hand down to feel up his abs. She tried to look, but Theo was adamant on her being the one who was worshipped, so he dipped his head and began sucking on her neck once again, causing her head to fall back and a moan to fall from her lips.

As he painted her neck with purple bruises, Y/N reached down and played with the waistband of his joggers, fiddling with the drawstrings. Theo felt her fingers brush him and growled against her neck, hurriedly standing up to yank them and his boxers to the ground, completely exposed before her.

Y/N whimpered at the sight of him, naked and ready for her, and he crawled back over her just as quickly as he’d stood up. Theo looked at her with dark eyes, wordlessly asking for permission to treat her to just what she deserved. “Please, Theo,” She whispered, and of course, Theo didn’t want to deny her anything she wanted, especially when she asked so nicely.

The two of them moaned in harmony, jaws dropped open, as Theo pushed himself inside her, easily sliding in due to her wetness. He moved all the way in until he felt like he was inside Y/N’s stomach, pausing there as they both breathed heavily from the sensation. “Feeling better?” Theo spoke thinly, smiling at his girlfriend’s expression of pure pleasure.

“Miles better,” She replied, thrusting her hips up at Theo, making it known that she wanted more. The chimera began to move, pushing in and out of her at an ever-increasing pace, making sure she felt every single inch of him to give her the best sex possible. Y/N hands roamed his back, nails scratching at it and breaking the skin as she moaned and cursed into his ear.

“Always so tight and wet for me,” Theo groaned, his hair falling messily over his forehead as he moved. “So perfect. Every inch of you is perfect.” He sped up his movements, making sure to hit the spot that gets her screaming, and grabbed at her breast with one hand and delicately stroking her cheek with the other. “I love you.”

Theo was going so deep and fast now, Y/N was so close. Her nails dug into his back as her release approached, unable to tear her eyes away from his as they glowed yellow from the adrenaline. “I love you too,” She spoke shakily, so nearly there, when Theo kissed her hard, knowing she was reaching her orgasm from her clenching walls.

“Now,” He spoke against her lips, and as soon as the word had left his lips, Y/N screamed out Theo’s name at the most euphoric feeling she had ever experienced, shaking and quivering around him. Moments later, as she was still feeling the high, she felt Theo slow his movements as he spilled into her, his own release washing through him like a tidal wave.

After coming down from their high, Theo flopped down next to her in bed, immediately pulling her close to rest her head on his chest, which was still rising and falling. He kissed her head lightly, stroking her hair affectionately, and then pulled the covers over their bodies. He knew Y/N was exhausted, not just from their activities but from her whole week. Her breathing had slowed and he realised she had already fallen into a relaxed slumber.

Theo smiled to himself - seeing his girl finally calm with no stress lines pulling at her face made his heart soar. He hated seeing her so upset, in fact it was his least favourite thing to see in the world, so he vowed to always be the one to lift her back up again.

Theo would always be there for her: rain or shine, any day, any time. And one day it’ll be ‘til death do them part. His smile lingered on his lips as he let his own eyelids closed and he joined her in her slumber, meeting her in her dream.

#teen wolf #teen wolf imagines #teen wolf imagine #theo raeken #theo raeken imagines #theo raeken imagine #teen wolf smut #theo raeken smut #theo raeken x reader #cody christian

455 notes · View notes

forever-rogue · 3 years

Text

Oblivious

A/N | This is just a little sweet fluff with Buckaroo. It’s also a late little happy birthday for @falcor-thee-luck-dragon! I hope you (and everyone else) enjoys!

Summary | You’d think Bucky wouldn’t be so oblivious but...he was.

Pairing | Bucky x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 3.9k

Warnings | language

Masterlists | Bucky, Main

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

James Buchanan Barnes aka Bucky Barnes was a man of many talents and had a vast knowledge of a variety of things. Sometimes, however, things were so obvious and clear that they went right over his head. You could hit him in the face with a 2x4 and he wouldn’t know what happened oblivious. Like the fact that you, his girlfriend of almost a year, had the strange and peculiar ability to communicate with animals. You’d never hid it, nor explicitly told him about it, thinking it would be funny to see how long it would take him to catch on. 330 days (and counting) in and he hadn’t.

Bucky grabbed his phone, scrolling through his social media feeds quickly before pulling up Spotify and turning to his secret indulgence playlist - classical Italian Opera. Yeah. It was just a thing he had happened to really like for no particular reason. The only other living souls in his apartment with him were Archie, your black and white speckled mutt and Alpine, Bucky’s snow white cat. You were currently out of town for work and had asked Bucky if he minded watching Archie, to which he had of course said yes. It was no secret that Archie loved Bucky almost as much as you and vice versa - he was the goodest boy as Bucky had proclaimed. Plus, the cat and dog got along like they were old best friends.

Trailing into the bathroom, he stripped off his t-shirt and pajama pants as Archie laid on the bed and offered him a dismissal look. Alpine was tucked into his side as she slept soundly, paying no attention to her owner.

As he turned on the shower and let the water warm up, he finished stripping off his clothes before deciding to sing along with his music as best as he could. Bucky didn’t speak Italian. It showed. But he was passionate about giving it all as he got ready to take on the day. Archie groaned as Bucky hit a particularly high note, burying his face under the soft duvet.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“You ever gonna ask her the question?” Sam raised an eyebrow at Bucky as the two men walked alongside the creek. Bucky had decided that ice cream and a walk for Archie were called for, so he’d taken advantage of the nice weather and gone outside. Missing your company, despite you only having been gone for a few days, he’d called up Sam and convinced him to meet up. Not that it took much convincing; the men were as thick as thieves, no matter how much they denied it. Co-workers, partners - best friends.

“Umm,” Bucky’s eyes widened as he almost choked on his ice cream, awkwardly coughing to cover up his nerves. Sam just snickered in response as he realized he already had his answer. After a moment he slowly nodded, “I have the ring...it’s been sitting in the sock drawer.”

“Sock drawer,” Sam snorted and shook his head as a flush of red colored Bucky’s neck and ears, “classic. When are you going to do it?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky sighed as he broke off a piece of waffle cone and handed it to Archie, who had been listening in very intently, “I want to...but what if it’s too soon. We technically don’t even live together yet-”

“Doesn’t she like to spend her time at yours? She’s practically moved in...most of the stuff at your place is hers anyway,” Sam reminded him as Bucky made a small, noncommittal sound. It was true - when you’d first met Bucky his place had been minimal and bare. Now, with your time and touch, it felt like a home; a home you had lovingly built with him. Sam bumped Bucky’s shoulder with his, “just get it all done in one swoop. She’ll say yes.”

Archie made a small sound, agreeing with Sam as he rubbed his snout against Bucky’s thigh. He visibly relaxed as he nodded, hoping that this would be enough to psych him up, “I’ll think about it-”

“No thinking about it,” Sam tutted gently, “you’re going to do it. You’ve been a fool - a straight up head over heels in love fool - since you’ve met her. You’re going to ask.”

“Sam…”

“How long have you had the ring?”

“Sam.”

“Bucky.”

“A few weeks after we started dating,” Bucky cast his glance at the ground as warmth flushed up in his cheeks. He’d expected Sam to burst out in laughter, but luckily the other man said nothing, but a smile stretched across his features, “it seems so silly but you know..I just felt like I knew.”

“Sometimes you do,” Sam agreed, putting his arm around his shoulder and pulling him for a quick hug, “you just gotta do it, Buck. She won’t say no.”

Archie barked in response, looking between the two men, wagging his tail excitedly. Sam offered him a few pets before nodding in response.

“She comes home in a few days,” he couldn’t wait to pick you up from the airport and have you jump into his arms while he finally got to hold you again, “I’ve got until then to pluck up the courage.”

“Just don’t lay it on her right away…” Sam snorted as he picked Bucky running up to you immediately pouring his heart out to you. Not a good idea, “give her a moment to be calm and breath.”

“Shut up,” Bucky huffed as he finished the rest of his ice cream, “I’ve got this!”

“We’re all counting on that!”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Bucky set the empty popcorn bowl back on the coffee table as he tried not to sniffle too loudly. His eyes were misty and burning with unshed tears as he watched whatever cheesy romance he had randomly selected. He pulled the soft blanket he was curled up in higher, savoring the fact that it still managed to have a faint bit of your smell on it. Alpine was curled up on the back of the couch, snoozing away while Archie was laying next to him, his head resting on Bucky’s thigh. He was on and off sleeping, but had peeped open an eye when he first heard Bucky sniffle.

“They’re in love,” he whispered gently, unsure if he was speaking to himself or talking to his furry companions. He was scratching Archie’s ears as he watched the scenes play out on the screen, “but they can’t be together. Their families would never allow it.”

Archie huffed lightly as he burrowed further into Bucky’s touch. It was the first time he’d seen the man get so emotional over the movie. Bucky had feelings, plenty of them, of course, but there was something about the movie he’d picked, combined with how much he was missing you that caused him to just lose it. It was like the dam had burst and his emotions were out of control.

He sat back and watched the rest of the movie in silence, a few tears running down his cheeks as he watched the love story play out. By the end of the movie, Archie was fully in his lap and Alpine was resting on his chest, “he left everything behind for her, so they could start a new life together far away. They really were next to meant to be together. It’s beautiful.”

The furry little ones were absolutely going to tell you about this.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Archie yawned and slowly stretched before hopping down from the couch and heading towards Bucky’s bedroom. He tried to nose the door open as he learned to do, but was stopped when he found that it was closed all the way. His head tilted in curiosity and whined softly as he tried to see if Bucky was awake so he would let him in.

As soon as he did, the dog regretted it. All he could hear coming from inside was the soft sounds coming from Bucky. Soft moans and sounds and gentle whispers of your name. His eyes widened as the dog took off down the hall and ran back into the living room, flopping down on his dog bed and cuddling up to Alpine as he tried to empty his mind. All the poor dog had wanted to do was to sleep in the big soft bed - not be scarred for life.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Bucky!” as soon as you’d gotten cleared and walked through arrivals and gotten your single bag, you’d kept your eyes peeled for Bucky. It didn’t take long to find him, standing near the back, blue eyes scanning the arrivals with a hopeful little smile on his face. You almost dropped your bag as you ran over to him. As soon as you were in arm’s reach, you dropped everything to the ground, and Bucky effortlessly scooped you up in his arms. You threw your arms around his neck as he held you in a tight embrace, “James. I’ve missed you so much.”

“I missed you too,” he sighed in content, happy to have you in his arms once again. Everything about you set his soul on fire, as he held onto you as tightly as possible. After a moment, he slowly set you back down, but not before peppering your face in gentle kisses, “you’re so beautiful.”

“Bucky,” you reached up and gently touched his cheek, “you’re too much. I’m so glad to be home.”

“Not quite yet.”

“Sure I am,” you insisted quietly, “I’m here with you. You’re my home, Bucky.”

The small velvet box was practically burning a hole in his pocket as you looked at him like he was everything - your whole world (he was). Unable to form a proper sentence, he grabbed your face and pulled you close to him, crashing his lips onto yours, kissing you like you weren’t in the middle of a crowded airport. He could feel you smiling against his lips, reluctantly breaking apart from you only once you were both breathless.

“What was that for?” you asked shyly, feeling your face flush with warmth as he picked up your bags for you. You were watching him with pure adoration as he reached for your hand and laced your fingers together.

“Nothing,” he shrugged softly, “jus’ missed you is all, pretty girl.”

“I missed you too, Bucky,” you promised, “I love you.”

“I love you more than all the moon and stars, pretty girl.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“What?” you asked as Archie came into the kitchen and sat down, watching you intently as you finished up the cookies you had been working. Bucky was busy with Sam that afternoon, so you’d decided to make a little sweet treat for both of you. You’d been home for a few days and fallen into an easy routine, having opted to stay with Bucky for the time being rather than going back to your own place, “you’ve got something to say, I can tell.”

Just missed you. I like when you’re home, you and Bucky. And Alpine.

“I missed you too, buddy,” you promised, leaning over to his head a gentle pet, “did you have fun while I was gone?”

Yes. Bucky takes good care of me. I like Alpine too. She’s nice.

“I happen to like them a lot too,” you grinned at your friend, “I’m glad you do too. I think...I really love him, Archie. I think, no, I know - he’s the one.”

He thinks so too. He told Sam you’re the one - and us too.

“Really?” you almost dropped the cookies you were plating up in surprise as you bit the inside of your cheek to keep from squealing in excitement, “you’re not messing with me, are you?”

It’s true. He’s got...well, you’ll see. He likes romance movies apparently. And singing opera.

“Oh?”

He was watching a movie. He ate two bowls of popcorn and cried. He let me and Alpine sit on him though so it was okay. He sings opera when he showers in the morning. He’s not good but he tries.

“Archie! Don’t be a meanie,” you chuckled as you tried to picture the scene. It would have been hilarious to see. You’d always known Bucky had a soft side, you just didn’t know how soft, “but I will remember that and use it to my advantage when I want to watch a cheesy movie.”

Please do. He gives good pets when he’s in that mood. He always gives good pets.

“He’s a good man,” you grinned as you reached over the counter for a good treat that you easily tossed to him, “I really love him.”

He really loves you. One night I...never mind.

“No, no,” you shook your head as you waggled another treat at him, “out with it! Or I’ll hide all of your treats!”

Fine. But you didn’t hear it from me - I wanted to sleep in the big bed one night and the door was closed and I heard him. He was...saying your name.

Your brows narrowed in confusion for a moment as you pulled another treat out and twirled it in your fingers for a moment. Then you hit you, what he had meant, “oh. Oh. That is...good to know, I suppose.”

Not for me. I just wanted to sleep, not...hear that.

“Sorry buddy,” you snorted as you handed him another treat, “that will stay between us. Besides...he still doesn’t know we can communicate. I wonder if he’ll ever put two and two together?”

You could just tell him.

“But where’s the fun in that?” you teased as the door opened and Bucky walked in, a giant grin on his face. You looked at Archie and shot him a wink before turning to Bucky, “hello, my love. You’re just in time! Cookies are done and cooled!”

“Oh, my sweet girl,” Bucky came over and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips before petting Archie, “I love you. Is someone here? I could have sworn you were talking to someone…”

“Nope,” you (half) lied, covering up with a brilliant smile, “just me and the dog and cat.”

“Oh,” he shrugged, thinking it was just his imagination, “what’s all this? Cookies - whatever for?”

“Just because I love you,” you grinned as Archie groaned and laid down, “both of you!”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You stopped for a moment to catch your breath as you reached one of the peaks of the small mountain you and Bucky were hiking. It was a glorious day so you’d decided there was no better plan than to get out and enjoy nature. He had no problem at any point, even offering to piggy back you when you’d grown tired; you’d just defiantly stuck your tongue out at the super soldier and carried on.

“This view is absolutely breathtaking,” you looked over the small cliff, admiring the tranquil expanse of the woods in front of you. Bucky was at your side, his eyes on you the entire time.

“Yeah,” he agreed with a grin, “it’s pretty amazin’.”

“Bucky,” you turned around and rolled your eyes at him as he pulled you in for a kiss, causing you to break into a fit of giggles, “I’m all gross and sweaty!”

“Don’t care,” he insisted as his hands found purchase on your waist and pulled you closer against him, his lips already ghosting over yours, “jus’ want you, baby.”

“Bucky,” his name was soft on your lips, but before anything else could happen, you were stopped by a small, almost nervous little voice from up above.

Umm, hi! I don’t want to interrupt but…

You pulled back from Bucky for a moment before looking at the tree, where you found a small squirrel sitting on a branch and watching you both. Bucky was surprised for a moment but calmed when you gave his shoulder a squeeze and gently moved past him and towards your new friend.

“Hi,” you smiled at her and offered a smile, picking up an acorn and handing it over to her, “is everything alright?”

Oh yes. I just wanted to let you know there’s a big group of people coming. If you want some privacy you should go somewhere more secluded! They’re pretty loud, I don’t like big groups.

“Oh!” you giggled as you could only imagine the awkward scenario if you’d been caught, “thanks for the heads up! We’ll definitely get out of here. I’m sorry you have to deal with all the noise.”

It’s okay. I’m going back to my nest now! If you go down the hill, there’s a more private path that leads back down the mountain. There’s signs if you need them.

“Why thank you,” you grinned as you reached up and she let you pet her, “you’ve been very helpful. Maybe one day we’ll see each other again.“

No problem. I hope so too! Thank you for the acorn!

“Anytime,” you promised as she scurried away with her new treasure. You shook your head in amusement as you turned back around to Bucky, to find him watching you with wide eyes. He wasn’t quite sure what had just happened, almost wondering if he was hallucinating. Had you just gone mad and tried to speak to a squirrel? You laughed lightly at the shocked look on his features, “oh.”

“What was...what was that?” he asked as you rejoined him and pressed a kiss to his cheek. His eyes were still scanning the branch the small squirrel had just occupied.

“She was just warning us that there’s a group of hikers coming our way and we should find someplace more private,” you said as if it was no big deal. It didn’t help Bucky in the slightest.

“She? A warning...how….That was a squirrel!”

“I was wondering if you’d ever put two and two together,” you laughed, almost doubling over in laughter, “I...Bucky, I don’t know how or why but I can communicate with animals.”

“You can….how long?!”

“Ever since I’ve been a child?” you held up your hands in earnest, “its something I’ve always been able to do. I don’t advertise it, obviously because people generally think I’m crazy, but I would think you of all people understand. It’s just been...fun to wait and see if you’d ever figure it out.”

“All those times…” he ran a hand over his face in exasperation and disbelief as you watched him in amusement. He was a brilliant, smart man but sometimes he was so oblivious. You couldn’t love him anymore if you tried, “it wasn’t just...a one sided conversation. It all makes sense now. Wow, that’s amazing! What a wonderful thing to possess.”

“I’ve always liked it,” you agreed, “it’s different, you know? But special in its own way.”

“Wait…” he mused for a moment, “so all those times...oh. H-how much have Archie and Alpine told you? Have they always talked to you?”

“Yup,” you crossed your arms over your chest, as you watched his neck and ears turn red, “those two in particular are very animated and over the top. They’re the worst little gossip duo. Almost like you and Sammy.”

“Of course they are,” he groaned as you reached for his hand and pulled him towards. He gave you a sheepish grin as you pressed a light kiss to his knuckles, “they told you about the movie, huh?”

“Archie,” you confirmed, “but he did say you gave him the best pets.”

“Did he tell about...oh no,” this time his whole face was a brilliant crimson, “I-I…”

“Oh stop,” you teased, “I’m flattered and honored. It’s not like I don’t do the same when I’m not with you.”

“Really?” he perked up with pride as you just nodded in amusement, “well then. Wait - did he tell you about Sam?”

“He said you went on a walk with him but that was it,” you shrugged, “nothing really. I do know that he loves you and Alpine very much. And so do I, obviously.”

“Okay,” he relaxed slightly as you took his hand and started to lead him towards the more secluded path your little squirrel had told you about. The box in his pocket was once again burning a hole, “good.”

“Everything okay, Bub?” you asked as he just nodded, lips pursed as he fell into step behind you. Something was definitely off, but you weren’t going to push him on it. If anything, you knew he’d come around and speak his mind about what was going on. He usually always did.

A silence, one neither tense nor uncomfortable, fell over the two of you as you walked down the quiet trail. It was beautiful - lush greenery and newly bloomed plants everywhere. At one point you stopped and pulled out your phone to take a few pictures of the natural beauty. Bucky had been so lost in his own thoughts, his heart practically pounding in his chest and consuming every part of him that he almost bowled into you and knocked you over.

“James!” it was somewhere between a groan and laugh as he caught you in his arms in order to keep you from tumbling into a bunch of bushes. You were face to face with Bucky, looking at him intently as he steadied you, “alright, something’s up. Come on - out with it. You know you can tell me anything.”

“I umm...marry me?” all the speeches he had gone over and planned wet out the window as he just stared at you with nervous eyes. You’d been so taken aback by his sudden question that you took a step back and gave him a curious expression. Bucky’s stomach was in absolute knots as he wondered if he’d just fucked everything up.

“W-what?” your voice was a small squeak, as you tried to see if he was just pulling your leg. But his gaze never wavered, “what did you just ask me?”

“I…” he stopped over a moment before reaching into his pocket with trembling hands and pulling out a small box. Your eyes widened in response as you realized that was not joking at all, further evidenced when he popped it open and showed you the ring inside. Your mouth dropped open when it all came together, “I thought the whole proposal would go a lot differently than this but umm...yeah. Will you marry me? That’s what I’m trying to ask...I’m glad Archie hadn’t spoiled that for you.”

“No,” you shook your head as you already felt tears pricking at your eyes, “he definitely didn’t. I thought he might have been holding something back, but I...I had no idea.”

“I know it hasn’t even been a year yet, but I feel like when you know someone 's the one..you know,” he admitted softly, “and I know you’re the one. The one I want to spend the rest of my life with, the one I want to call my wife...my everything.”

“James,” you looked between him and the ring a few more times before swallowing the lump in your throat, “gods, I am so in love with you. There was never a doubt in my mind that it was meant to be you. Yes, of course yes.”

“Really?!”

“Of course,” you beamed at him, “I love you, Bucky. You’re my forever.”

“Forever,” he breathed softly, “I like the sound of that.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

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