#Tri-Fold Loading Ramps

[just-aake]

Flustered Crushes

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: The Black Widow does not get flustered. So why is it that Natasha can’t seem to stop embarrassing herself in front of you?

Warnings: fluff

Words: 2795

At the edge of the bustling hangar bay, Natasha leans against the cold, metallic wall, her arms folded tightly, a faint frown etched across her brow as her sharp gaze observes the scene unfolding before her. 

Near the base of the Quinjet’s ramp, you are engaged in animated conversation with Carol Danvers, who happened to arrive at the compound for a quick visit precisely when you returned from your mission.  

You've been with the Avengers for a few months now, a former SHIELD agent seamlessly adjusting to the team dynamics. 

Over time, you've connected with everyone—including her. 

So, Natasha’s made an extra effort to help you feel welcome. 

Clint often teases her about her behavior, insisting her attentiveness borders on something more personal, something like a…crush. 

Natasha dismisses his comments each time with a roll of her eyes. 

She’s just being nice. 

After all, it's only natural to want a solid, dependable relationship with a new teammate, especially someone she'll be working closely with.

That’s the only reason why she came to greet you when you return from your mission.

At least, that’s what she tells herself as she stands there, alone, on the sidelines…not with you. 

Natasha watches Carol say something that makes you laugh, causing her faint frown to deepen.

The flash of amusement in your eyes as Carol grins back makes Natasha roll her eyes and look away, unable to take the sight anymore as a pang of irritation tightens in her chest.

She tries to shake it off, but it doesn’t disappear.

After all, it’s not like she got here an hour before your scheduled return and waited to see you…just to end up watching as the blonde space beauty swoop in, effortlessly captivating your attention.

Deciding she’s had enough, Natasha pushes herself off the wall, preparing to leave.

However, her abrupt movement catches others around her off guard, and she ends up bumping into a passing cart loaded with tools and equipment. 

A clattering sound echoes across the hangar as wrenches and bolts spill onto the floor. 

Natasha curses softly under her breath, a mix of pain and embarrassment coloring her cheeks as she drops to gather the scattered items, apologizing hastily to the technician she collided with before quickly exiting the area.

In her haste, she doesn’t notice your gaze, the subtle smile tugging at your lips as you follow her with amused eyes, tracking her every flustered move across the hangar bay, even as she slips away without a backward glance.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

“So, how’s it going with your crush?” Clint asks, a playful glint in his eyes as he watches Natasha.

Natasha shoots him a warning look that would strike fear into the most fearsome of villains.

Without a word, she grabs the coffee pot, filling his mug before pouring some for herself. She replaces the pot with a decisive click.

“There is no crush,” she states firmly, taking a sip as though punctuating her denial.

“Are you sure about that?” Clint asks skeptically before continuing, “Whenever Y/n’s around, it’s like you lose all of your charm and coolness.” 

Natasha gives him an unimpressed glare. 

“Really? Coolness? That’s the best you’ve got?”

Clint smirks, raising his mug in mock salute.

“Ask me again after I finish this coffee.”

She rolls her eyes, holding her mug close, feeling the warm comfort seep into her hands.

Just as she brings it to her lips, the doors swing open, and Tony strolls into the kitchen, spotting them with their drinks. 

“Oh, coffee! Pour me a cup, Romanoff.”

“Pour your own,” Natasha mutters, savoring her next sip. 

Tony feigns hurt, pressing a hand to his chest in mock shock. 

“FRIDAY, remind me, who owns this building?” 

“You do, sir,” the AI replies smoothly. 

Tony gestures upward triumphantly at her before pointing towards the kitchen. 

“So, technically, that machine is mine, the beans are mine, and...oh, right, that pot of coffee is also mine.” 

Natasha rolls her eyes but eventually reaches for the pot, lifting it begrudgingly.

Tony holds out his mug with a victorious grin. 

But just as she hovers the pot above his cup, she stops short.

“A ‘please’ once in a while wouldn’t hurt.”

Tony’s eyes widen, and he gasps in exaggerated disbelief as Natasha raises a brow in expectation.

Huffing, he mutters, “Can I have some coffee, please?”

“See, that wasn’t so hard,” Natasha quips with a smirk, preparing to pour him his coffee.

At that moment, the elevator dings, and the doors slide open to reveal you, fresh from your morning workout, dressed in your training gear.

You walk by the kitchen, spotting the other Avengers gathered around. 

A delighted smile spreads across your face. 

“Ooh, coffee! Can I have some, too?” 

Natasha’s response is instant. 

“Sure, I’ll make you a new pot.” 

Her tone is warmer than usual, surprising even herself.

You beam at her, and Natasha feels herself pause, momentarily captivated by the sight. Distracted, she almost misses your following words. 

“Thanks, Natasha! Let me change, and I’ll be right back.”

You slip through the doors, leaving Natasha blinking, still trying to regain her composure. 

Tony watches with raised eyebrows. 

“Wait a second—she didn’t even say ‘please,’ and you’re making her a whole new pot?”

Natasha’s eyes narrow as she holds the pot just out of reach of Tony’s mug. 

“Do you want coffee or not?” 

Tony grumbles before muttering a grudging “Yes, please.” 

Satisfied, Natasha pours the coffee, keeping her focus steady. 

“Natasha?” your voice catches her off guard, and she glances up to see you poking your head back into the room. 

“Yes?” she replies a little too quickly, immediately focusing on you. 

Both Clint and Tony fall silent, watching the two of you with curious eyes. 

“Steve’s got a mission tomorrow,” you explain. “Would you mind if I train with you in the meantime?”

Natasha’s mind races for a moment before she steadies herself to answer.

“Uh—yeah, sure. Anytime you want.” 

“Great!” you say enthusiastically before glancing worriedly at the counter. “I think that’s enough coffee.” 

Natasha follows your gaze, eyes widening as she realizes Tony’s cup is overflowing, dark liquid pooling across the counter. She yanks the pot away with a muttered curse. 

“Oh sh—!”

Tony steps back just in time, glaring down at his soaked countertop.

“Really, Romanoff? This is a new suit!” 

Rolling her eyes, Natasha grabs paper towels, unruffled by his dramatics. 

“Calm down, it barely even touched you.”

You let out a small laugh. 

“I’ll be right back,” you say, shooting her a smile as you exit.

“Okay,” Natasha murmurs, her attention lingering on the door.

Clint chuckles as he takes another sip, eyeing her knowingly. 

“You’re right, Nat. It’s not a crush,” he says, leaning back with a smirk. “It’s way worse.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha flashes one of her most charming smiles, leaning just slightly forward as the receptionist fumbles through her files, cheeks tinged with a rosy hue under Natasha’s intense gaze. 

“Here you go!” the receptionist says, her voice soft as she hands over a key card. “I’m sorry again for the mix-up.”

Natasha’s fingers rest lightly over the receptionist’s hand as she accepts the card, her eyes warm and a playful smile tugging at her lips. 

“No problem at all,” she replies, her tone smooth. “I don’t mind the delay with such lovely company.” 

The receptionist blushes deeply, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and giving Natasha a flustered smile. 

Natasha’s confident smirk grows as she watches her charms take effect. 

Quick and efficient, she slips the USB drive from the computer, seamlessly hiding it under her palm as it rests over the key card. For a moment, she feels pleased with herself, effortlessly pulling off her usual charisma.

See, she thinks to herself, Clint has no idea what he’s talking about—she’s got plenty of charm.

“Nice job, Natasha,” your voice suddenly crackles in her earpiece, startling her. 

Her hand slips in surprise, almost knocking over the items on the counter. She turns it into a casual adjustment, but not before the receptionist gives her a curious look. 

Natasha quickly smiles, grabbing the key card and offering a polite nod before walking away toward a secluded corner of the lobby.

Pressing a finger to her comms, she mutters, “Y/n? Where’s Clint?” 

“He had to step out for a minute,” you answer. “He asked me to take over. Is that okay?” 

“No–I mean—yes, of course,” Natasha says, the words tumbling out a bit too quickly. 

She straightens, running a hand through her hair as she tries to regain her composure. It’s not like she hadn’t expected you to assist with missions, but the thought of you watching her…

She tamps down the sudden flutter in her chest and forces herself to stay focused.

“Your next target is on the same floor as the key card you just picked up,” you continue, your voice warm and steady in her ear. 

“Got it.” 

“I’ll explain what you’re looking for.”

Natasha nods and begins striding toward the elevators, hoping her sudden focus will drown out the distraction of your voice in her head. 

She tells herself it’s just a mission—professional, routine.

But now, with you guiding her through the next steps, each word falling from your lips makes it harder for her to maintain her usually calm, steady demeanor. 

Her heart beats a little faster, and her cheeks feel a bit warmer than they should. She brushes off the thoughts and keeps walking, determined to stay cool and collected.

“Um…Natasha?”

She stops mid-step. “Hmm?”

“You’re…going the wrong way.”

Natasha freezes, blinking in surprise. She glances around, realizing she’s heading in the opposite direction from the elevators.

A wave of embarrassment sweeps over her as she lets out a quiet curse under her breath.

“Right,” Natasha says, turning with as much dignity as she can muster, her face heating as she finally heads in the correct direction.

Oh, she thinks to herself, she’s definitely going to kill Clint.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha steps out of her room, her leather jacket slung over one arm as she adjusts the zipper. 

Your voice calls her name from down the hall, catching her off guard and making her slam the door shut in a startled motion. She spins to face you, only to be tugged back by an unexpected resistance.

Natasha looks down with a sigh, spotting her jacket sleeve caught in the door. Tugging at it proves ineffective, as it stays firmly wedged in place.

Hearing your footsteps approaching, Natasha hastily shoves the jacket behind her back, trying to appear composed. She leans casually against the door, hoping the awkward moment has gone unnoticed.

“Hey,” you greet with a warm smile as you reach her.

“Hey, Y/n,” Natasha replies, attempting a relaxed tone.

You eye her with a hint of curiosity. “Are you…okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine!” Natasha says quickly, forcing a casual smile. “Just, um, examining the door. Thought it could use a closer look.”

Your brows raise in amused surprise at her peculiar explanation, but you let it go. 

“Well, once you’re done with that,” you say, playing along, “I made a reservation at that new place downtown. I was wondering if you’d like to join me?”

“Just the two of us?” The words slip out before Natasha can stop herself. 

A flicker of excitement and amusement crosses your face as you nod. 

“Yeah, just us,” you say softly.

Natasha’s heart gives a small flutter, but she maintains her composure. 

“I’d love to,” she says, a smile slipping through despite her best efforts to stay calm.

“Great, it’s a date,” you say, grinning. “I’ll meet you in the garage.” With a playful smirk, you add, “After you finish your ‘inspection,’ of course.”

As you walk toward the elevator, Natasha watches you with a lingering smile.

Once you’re out of sight, she finally frees her jacket and heads to the garage a few minutes later, finding you waiting by her motorcycle.

You hop on behind her, wrapping your arms around her waist in a snug embrace. 

The warmth of your presence makes her feel a fluttering sensation in her chest she can’t shake. Distracted, Natasha blindly reaches for her helmet and slips it on—only to be met with complete darkness.

With a soft sigh, Natasha’s head drops to her chest, realizing she put it on backward. 

The chuckle that escapes your lips behind her is quickly muffled as you clear your throat, your hands reaching to help her. 

You gently remove the helmet, your fingers brushing her cheek as you pull it off.

When Natasha glances back, she catches the playful look in your eyes as you bite back a grin.

Seeing this, Natasha lets out an exasperated sigh. 

“Can we just pretend the last few minutes didn’t happen and start over? I swear, this doesn’t usually happen to me.”

You laugh, unable to hold back anymore. 

“Oh, I know all about the smooth and charming Black Widow,” you say, your gaze warm and teasing. “But I think this side of you is pretty cute too.”

A faint blush spreads across her cheeks at your words, and Natasha takes the helmet, this time slipping it on correctly, with a soft smile she can’t quite hide anymore.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

It’s another one of Tony’s famous parties, where glittering lights reflect off polished floors and music pulses softly through the spacious hall. 

In the middle of the dance floor, beneath the warm glow, Natasha sways with you, her hands resting gently on your waist as you move together to the rhythm of the soft melody. 

You wrap your arms around her neck, leaning in and drawing her closer until your lips meet hers in a tender, lingering kiss. 

Natasha smiles softly against your lips, and as you pull back, she rests her forehead gently against yours, eyes half-closed in a moment of quiet contentment. 

Even as the music fades into the background, her hands remain firm on your waist, as if she has no intention of letting go.

“Why don’t we get something to drink?” you suggest, glancing over at the bar lined with sparkling glasses.

Natasha only pulls you closer, her fingers brushing lightly along the small of your back as she murmurs, “Or…we could stay right here and have another dance.” 

Her voice is a soft suggestion, and she leans in slightly, her green eyes filled with warmth and alluring charm.

You raise an eyebrow, a knowing smile spreading across your lips. 

“It’s cute how you’re trying to be smooth.”

Natasha’s expression shifts, feigning innocence. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she says, though the faintest blush colors her cheeks.

With a playful glint in your eye, you tilt your head at her in challenge. 

“How long has your bracelet been stuck to my dress?” you ask, giving her a teasing look.

Natasha glances away, the blush deepening as she realizes she’s been caught. She’s spent the past few moments subtly trying to free her wrist from your dress, but to no avail.

“In my defense,” she murmurs, attempting to deflect, “you distracted me with how beautiful you look tonight.”

You chuckle softly at her excuse, reaching up to pull her even closer. With a playful grin, you press a gentle kiss to her lips before leaning in to whisper against her ear.

“Think of the bright side—if you can’t get it loose, I’m sure you could just rip this dress off me.”

Natasha’s breath catches, and for a split second, she’s utterly still, her mind stalling at the suggestion. 

You pull back just enough to watch her expression, and a delighted smile grows on your face as she stares at you, wide-eyed and flustered, clearly caught off guard.

It only takes her a moment to catch on, her eyes narrowing in realization as she shakes her head with a playful huff. 

“You’re trying to embarrass me on purpose,” she accuses, a hint of a smile breaking through.

Unashamed, you bite back a laugh and nod. 

“It’s nice to see the calm and collected Black Widow all flustered for once.”

Natasha’s lips curl into a smirk as she pulls you flush against her, her free hand sliding up your back, fingers grazing along your spine. She leans in, her lips just a breath away from yours, the warmth of her gaze intense.

“Only for you,” she murmurs, her voice a hushed promise before closing the distance, her lips capturing yours in a kiss that makes you forget the world around you, the room fading away as you melt into each other’s embrace.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: just a short fluff with a soft Natasha that I had finished some time ago. after everything that has happened yesterday and today, I wanted to give some kind of happier distraction, even if it may be only a temporary escape from everything. I’m still going between disbelief, sadness, and anger myself about the situation while also trying to be prepared to continue on. But hopefully, this was able to bring some of you some sort of break from everything else.

[crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf]

"That's nice, but I think I need more muscle,"

Wrecker x F!Reader One Shot

Summary:

Its a late night and lonely shift at the loading hanger, just you and your oversized help for the evening. Upon finding out the boys might be breaking contact with Cid, it only takes a flash of puppy dog eyes to convince you to blow off some steam.

WC: 3831 - Read on Ao3

*this is just my general "mature rating" specifics:

Content Warning:

Smut. Brief Angst. Wrecker is loaded. Oral (f receiving), fingering, Mirror sex, Thigh use, Cum cover, brief alcohol, casual sex, Mando'a, Ice Cream. Wrecker's name is actually Wreck-her.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

“Oh, what the varp…”

You eyed the sparking frigate that chugged into your docking bay. 

“They're late.”

You spun at the gruff voice, weathered from an age of death sticks and drink, to look down at the scaly woman that sauntered in. 

Cid stood arms folded following where your eyes had been as the wrecked ship came to a stop with a shriek and a rush of steam. 

“If they weren't so cute-”

You didn't catch the rest of it, but you smirked amused as you watched her wander over to the men hopping out of the cargo doors. It didn't linger on you though, as you glanced back at the clock over the cluttered switchboard in the office. 

Late is karken right…

There was no way you were gonna offload this ship on your own and get to go home tonight. Your fingers found their way to your temples and gave them a soothing rub before you followed Cid to address the vagabonds cluttering your dock. 

They were laughing jovially as you approached, recounting their recent escapade to an amused set of claws and scales. The little girl, Omega, hopped down after them and you bristled. They brought the child with them again. You tried to smother the indignant feeling as she waved at you with her usual exuberance. 

Hunter caught your expression and raised his eyebrows. You glared back and he clapped his hand to his chest, exaggerating like he’d been struck. It was stupid and you chuckled while the one called Tech rolled his eyes. 

“Don't encourage him, he's been unhealthily drawn to dramatic antics lately and I fear he’ll start trying to make me laugh,”

Cid turned back to address you,

“My usual hangar, the account should be up to date.”

She turned to go and the boys turned to follow.

“Um, excuse me!”

They turned back. 

“Do you know what time it is? Everyone else has gone home for the day.”

Cid made a face like it wasn't her problem, that wasn't gonna fly with you though. 

“If you want this done tonight, someones gonna have to stay and help,”

Omega piped up,

“I can help,”

“That's nice, but I think I need more muscle, sweetie…”

There was silence, the boys looking between themselves, obviously wanting to touch base with Cid to get going again. 

“I'll stay behind.”

You jumped at the deep, gravelly voice behind you,

“Maker! Wrecker, don't sneak up on me like that!”

“I wasn't sneakin’,”

You weren't sure why he looked so hurt, but he disappeared back into the shadows of the cargo hold and the rest of the squad shrugged and continued on their way. 

“Great… the two of us then,”

You stomped up the ramp, ready to get to work and maybe steal an hour nap before the morning crew got here. 

At least they had the sense to leave me the strong one…

Wrecker was already working as you entered the hold, casually throwing crates ten times your weight onto a hover pallet. You walked over to the load and started checking the box numbers against a dossier Cid had forwarded to your datapad. 

The two of you worked like that quietly for about an hour; You giving directions and him following obediently. 

“Take a break and get some water big guy,”

You casually swatted his hip and he jumped, hesitating but eventually going to the dispenser to fetch a cup. Leaning against a box you checked the crates that had been registered versus what was left and sighed. There was a sharp snap followed by a large clunk and you looked up to catch Wrecker tossing his gauntlets onto the discarded breast plate on the floor. He caught you staring as he unzipped the thick tan under coat to dab at the beaded sweat on his neck.

“It's hot,”

“Yeah… uh, do what you have to,”

But you were distracted, light glinting off the exposed muscle of his neck. He splashed water on his face and it dropped into the v of his chest, catching in the wispy hair that covered it. You felt your face flush and your eyes shot back to the data pad on your lap. 

I need to get out more…

You stiffened as he came up beside you, bending to lift the crate you were standing by… but he stopped, a look of irritation on his usually bright features as he took in your tense posture. 

“Do I make you uncomfortable or somethin’?”

“What? No!... No, I'm just tired… sorry, Wrecker,”

He moved the crate, stacking it onto the hover pad; stopping to roll his sleeves over his elbows. 

“It's not just tonight.”

“Hmm,”

He turned, 

“You're always like this. Quiet, but just around me… did I do something?”

“That's not true…”

“It is,”

You sank your weight back on your heel and thought about it… 

…

“Shyte… I'm sorry, Wrecker… no, you didn't do anything.”

He shifted uncomfortably.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I'm sure,”

…

“What is it then?”

You looked at him more directly, his brow was pinched and his jaw flexed subtly causing his temple to bulge in an anxious rhythm. He was tense, but still had that air of lost puppy that always made your heart pinch. 

Shyte. 

“No… Wrecker, it's not you… it's me. Sometimes I see those bright smiles on that handsome face and… I dunno, feel kind of… bad.”

You finished lamely, realizing you'd have to do better as his face slacked in confusion. 

“Bad about being such a bitter asshole all the time?... Omega talks a lot, about what you boys deal with…”

You weren't sure if any of this was helping but he wasn't stopping you. Without realizing your palms had started to sweat and you tucked them into your pants pockets. 

“Just, if you can go through what you guys do and still be so nice and sweet, well… whats that say about the rest of us… about me… and then yeah, I guess I get uncomfortable…”

“You're not an asshole.” 

You snorted,

“Thanks.”

But you had said too much and turned back to your data pad, flushing and a little grumpy. 

A shadow fell over you and you looked up to find Wrecker leaning over you.

“Uh… what's up, big guy?”

“You really think I'm handsome?”

Huh… I guess I did say that…

“Well… sure, you're a looker, Wrecker,’

You patted the chest boxing you in against the stack of crates. 

“I like big guys with scars and goofy smiles though, so consider that a biased review.”

You pushed out from under him pacing back to scan the warehouse and formulate a plan of attack. You were overshadowed again and you turned back to the tall clone looming over you raising your eyebrows in question. 

“Go out with me,”

“What?”

“Go out with me. You and me, on a date.”

You stepped back, considering his eager expression and softened. 

“Sure, why not… next time you boys are free?”

His brow pinched, confusing you,

“What about tonight?”

He countered, looking hopeful. 

“Ah…”

You glanced about the hold still mostly full of crates. 

“I’d love too, Wrecker, but we're less than halfway through and by the time we're done-”

“What about now then?”

“...now?”

“Just a quick break for a twisty treat, I'm buying… I know a stand nearby,”

You hesitated, glancing about the rig again but he persisted. 

“It'll take all night anyways… what would a little snack break cost us?”

He was leaning over you again, hitting you with sad puppy looks. 

“Besides, I'm starving’,”

You closed your eyes, exhaling sharply in amusement before meeting his gaze. Without much thought you reached up to cup his cheek, stroking his pouty lip lightly with your thumb. 

“Sure, what the varp…”

~~~

You perched on the back of a stone bench watching the tall clone navigate his way back to you from a crowded stall. It sat in the middle of an alcove of one of the many slums adjacent to the shipping district. It was a nice corner of the community; the laundry hanging from lines all the way up the circular thoroughfare added a colorful motif against the bare bulb strands haphazardly hanging about. 

“Hope you like berries,”

A cold cone was popped into your hand, white whipped treat piled high and topped with a syrupy reduction of local berries. It looked wonderful, and far too fancy for this corner of the world. You darted your tongue out to catch a drip from the already melting desert while Wrecker dropped onto the bench seat by your legs, bouncing you slightly. 

“Mm, it's good!”

“I know, it's the best I've found down here…”

“How'd you find it?”

You had started to work at the cone with more enthusiasm. It had been forever since you treated yourself and you made a resolution to get out more often again. 

“Omega found it actually… kids seem to have a nose for this kind of thing, it's been awesome!”

You made a note to thank Omega, taking another lick of the sweet berry syrup. 

“I won't lie, I worry about that girl, Wrecker…”

His face fell for a second, and he focused on his own desert before finally,

“It's not lost on us… that this isn't the kind of life she should have,”

You nodded solemnly, regretting bringing the mood down.

“We're not gonna bring her here anymore.”

“You found somewhere for her to stay while you work?”

That uncharacteristic pinch to his brow again.

Oh,

“None of you are coming back, huh?”

“Not if we can help it…”

You remembered the antsy way Hunter and Tech were hurrying to wrap up with Cid. It must be true… and you sighed. You were gonna miss the odd band of clones. Especially- now that you thought about it,

“Is that why you stayed behind tonight? Clearing things up with me?”

…

“Yeah… I don't know, I thought I might've upset you and I… It didn't feel right, leaving for good without setting it straight,”

“So tonight's it then?”

“...yeah,”

You sighed, then swore as you noticed the melting creme drip down the back of your hand. You let out a small whine as it got between your fingers, already making you feel sticky. You reached for a napkin, noticing Wrecker had already finished his cone and was eyeing your movements as you made to wipe the syrupy mess away. 

You struggled, licking the melting side as you switched the cone to your other hand… but now that was the one holding the napkin and-

Without much warning Wrecker snatched your wrist. 

“It's best not to waste it!”

He licked your hand and your breath caught in your throat, eyes snapping to the peevish expression coloring his scarred features. His wide tongue slid between your fingers to get at the sweet creme and he pulled your hand closer, finishing by sucking at the soft, webbed flesh between your pointer and middle digits; he flicked his eyes to yours with a wink as he did so and your thighs clamped shut with a sudden rush of heat.  

It's best not to waste it…

You felt flames crawl over your face as you became suddenly aware of how crowded and public the little plaza was. By Kark, there were younglings present…

“I think…”

He planted little kisses to the back of your hand, up your forearm.

“... We should get back to the hangar… fast.”

You felt him smile against your skin before you were forcefully pulled up from the bench. 

~~~

Your back hit your office door with another hard thump and you pulled your already swollen lips away from his hungry kissing,

“Wait, I need to unlock it…”

It had taken longer to get back from the snack stand than to get there and you weren't sure you hadn't left a few you-sized dents in the side streets on the way. Your jumpsuit was already unbuttoned down to the waist and you're sure the buttons were left with the dents. Even with his obvious exercise of control the man was strong and your legs wobbled as he set you down by the keypad. 

You impatiently punched the code in and the door swished open. 

His hands found your hips again, dragging you into the small office and lifting you to sit on the desk. Flimsi crinkled under your ass as you rocked from the force of his lips finding yours, pulling your thighs to grind against you. You gasped as the bulge you felt fighting the fabric of his trousers. 

“Holy Maker…”

He chuckled at your muttered oath,

“How'd you think I got the name?”

You squinted quizzically up at his sloppy grin,

“That can't be why…”

“Nah… but that's what I told the GAR”

You snickered, gasping when he brought your attention back to the sizable challenge pressing between your legs with a quick hump, shaking the desk and your resolve. He leaned in kissing you, softer than before, mouth moving more carefully to feel the shape of yours sucking slowly on your bottom lip. 

“We don' have'ta go that far… but I could make it good for you…”

You tilted your head to look down again, tentatively reaching to feel the taught fabric, trying to gauge the actual size of him. The small groan that rumbled through him as you stroked his hardened cock settled things. 

“Do what you have to, Wrecker.”

He grinned, shoving his thumbs into the open neckline of your jumper to slip it from your shoulders. An arm wrapped around your waist and he gave your body a little hop as he tugged the gathered fabric past your ass. He assessed the boots and the loose legs of the jumper and decided to pull the clothes over your shoes, leaving you in your scruffy work boots and practical underthings. 

He kissed back up your thigh, tugging at the waist band of your panties with his teeth before those too were yanked down with a cascade of flimsi. 

You pulled the bra off as he looked between your legs, his tongue darted over his lips and he hesitated, coming back up to kiss you more; hands roaming up your hips to grab at your exposed breasts. 

You were tugging at the zipper of his top, the sound satisfying as the coat fell open exposing his chest to you. You ran your fingers over the map of muscle, tight abs and bulging pectorals littered with healed burns and cuts. He sighed at your touch, leaning into you so you could feel his skin pressed to yours. 

You kissed him again, slipping your tongue between his lips to deepen the need growing between you. Your fingers scratched into chest hair, a gentle, circular motion that brushed the soft strands and sent a wave of ease through him as the coat slipped off his arms. Then you were held to him, thick arms pressing you into his broad chest. 

You felt his hands wandering, strong fingers finding their way between your legs. He groaned against your lips as he felt how slick you were for him, a small wet spot forming on the desk from the heat of your arousal. 

He wasn't quite satisfied apparently, breaking the kiss to gently lay you back over the desk. His mass leaning over you made you feel helpless as he pressed more kisses against your neck,

“I need you more relaxed,”

It was mumbled low against your skin and you took a deep breath, catching the tension that tried to coil from where his lips pressed against you; first your collar bone, then exploratively down forming a cool trail across your breasts and down to your navel. 

His hands followed, pressing your breasts, rolling your nipples with his palms, thumbs pressing the skin of your stomach, following the path of your belly button as he sank between your legs. 

You gasped as you felt his tongue against your folds, a long, firm lap over the spread petals. He continued at that pace, slow, even licks; pressing into your clit but not focusing on it. Wide, rough hands were slowly rubbing your thighs, massaging the muscle with his thumbs, up your belly, then back down again. He wanted you to uncoil, coaxing you into a hazy, limp state. 

Eventually a thick finger probed your entrance, carefully penetrating into you, gently pulling at the ring of muscle as he withdrew. You mewled at the ministrations, feeling him stretch you gradually, gasping as a second finger joined the first. 

He started licking harder, moving his fingers in and out of you. Ragged pants started to pour from your throat. You were getting tense despite your attempts to stay calm and relaxed. His fingers would dip into you, then spread as he withdrew them, working the muscle looser while rubbing across the nerve endings to light sparks through you. You felt warmth wash over your senses, melting into your muscles with a breathy sigh as he gently brought you to climax. 

He made a pleased noise as you grew wetter around his fingers, his deep voice rumbling through your bones. His hand left you, fingers disappearing between his lips as he sucked them clean. Then his firm grip was around your hips, rolling you carefully to lay flat on your stomach. 

Your breath caught at his palms squeezing your ass, spreading you, taking you in from this angle. You looked over your shoulder, catching his eye as he looked over you and the corner of his mouth twitched. He stood, hands making for the clasps of his pants. The breath you were holding came out in a small whine as you felt the weight of his cock fall across your rump. It was large enough to feel twitching against the small of your back and a shudder went through you. 

He moved his hips, a few test thrusts between the round cheeks of your ass before handling himself to angle to your opening. You bit your lip as you felt him pressing against your folds. Still staring over your own back you watched as he spit on his own length, smoothing the saliva over his head before adding pressure to your entrance, coaxing your lips around him. 

“You sure you want this, mesh’la?”

Good question…

You reached over the desk to yank a drawer open, pulling out a hidden bottle and taking a swig. You felt the ease seep into you and you braced yourself. 

“I'm ready Wrecker…”

He pushed, pressure increasing to something almost white hot and painful, but never going over that edge as he eased back, then pressure again. You felt yourself stretch and let out a whimper as his head finally popped past the tight muscle of your opening. More spit landed where his flesh met yours, feeling almost cold on your heated skin. Slowly, he inched inside of you; taking his time and crooning soft little praises at the gasps you made. 

You took what you could, gripping the edge of the desk, feeling full as he ground against your limit. You both groaned as he withdrew, pressing back again to pin you to the desktop. Ecstasy ripped through you as he stroked against the nerves pressed so tightly to his girth. You cried out, eyes rolling back slightly at the overwhelming sensation. The desk shook with his next thrust and he grabbed your hips as you went limp, surrendering to the current that was setting your synapses ablaze. The rattle of the desk was loud as he worked himself in and out of you leaving you dazed and dancing on a pleasurable edge. 

The room pitched and you felt yourself lifted, strong arms wrapping under your thighs to lean you back against his chest. You lifted your arms back around his neck, cradling his head behind yours. He carried you perched on his shaft to the fresher, hitting the light and door switches with his elbow. Positioning you in front of the sink he spread your legs in front of the mirror. 

“Look how good you take me,”

He was nuzzling into your neck, forearms taught as iron bars lifted you then slid you back down. You watched your stomach ripple as he pushed against your insides. He wasn't even fully sheathed and you moaned pathetically at the sight of him inside you. 

Swinging his hips and arms in unison he brought you down on him. Fast, controlled, thumping into you with rough groans against your neck. 

You let yourself get lost in the crashing sensations; his chest flexing against your back, breath hot against your nape, his voice a persistent rumble through your core. There was no room for thoughts, your brain filled with nothing but whirring electricity that became louder, more frantic with every thrust. 

“Wrecker, I- I can’t-”

Before you could finish the thought, orgasm tore through your senses. Strong hands held you tight as you writhed in his grasp, shuddering around the cock snugged firmly inside of you. 

He kissed the back of your shoulder as you came down before he withdrew from you, turning you to sit on the counter. He tugged your hips to the edge, laying his cock on your belly and closing your thighs around his shaft. Hugging your knees tight he thrust against your legs, massaging his length against your clit and inner thighs.

You limply watched him hammer against you, harder than he would've dared inside. He grunted in satisfaction as your hands found his head against your belly, teasing the ridge as it moved back and forth over you. The friction of his cock against your folds was forcing ragged gasps from your throat and you moved with him, chasing one last high. 

Your thighs flexed, clamping over him as you came again and Wrecker let out a low moan, thrusting till his hips were against your thighs. Cum shot from him in ropes to splatter against your breasts and belly. 

He leaned more into the counter, bracing himself over your glazed torso to kiss your forehead, then nose, then lips. 

“Thank you, mesh’la,”

You were trying to catch your breath,

“No problem, big guy,”

“Can I call you?”

“My coms are always open,”

…

“Where is everyone?”

A small voice drifted in through the hanger,

“Maybe they took a break,”

Hunter and Omega had come back looking for their squad mate.

“I'll check the office!”

No! Omega,

The door to the office swished open and you both tensed. 

“Ah-uh, maybe they went to get something to eat… you know how Wrecker is.”

The door swished shut, and you breathed again, silently thanking Hunter for the save. Omega prattled on unawares,

“You're probably right! There's a twisty treat stand we found near here, I bet he went there!”

“Yeah, uh, let's go check,”

The voices drifted away and warm soft kisses found your lips again. 

“Let's get you cleaned up,”

“Please.”

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Tag List: @rinksu-no-joo

[materassassino]

For the ask thing, Dinluke 💛💖🤎 pwease?

(I'm assuming you gave three options so I could choose one.)

💛 reunion kiss / relief

(Set in the same AU as Those Hands of Yours, That Count the Nights, but approximately two-and-a-half years later.)

Word spreads through the Hoth base like wildfire, hot enough to thaw the walls: they’ve been hailed by a Mandalorian ship. Everyone knows the Mandalorians are nominal allies, and everyone knows what happened to Mandalore a year ago. The fact one is taking refuge here is momentous, and they have the clearance. They’ve been let through.

A crowd has gathered in the hangar, dense enough that Luke has to politely but firmly elbow his way through to the front, to stand beside Leia and Han. Han looks sour, like he does most of the time at the moment. Leia has her arms folded, brows drawn.

“Well?” Luke asks, slightly breathless.

She gives him a small, sad look. “A woman hailed. She gave the right codes but…”

The intimation is unvoiced: don’t get your hopes up.

He tries not to, he really does, but he is made of hope, and always has been.

Like the clean stab of a vibroblade, the Kom’rk fighter/transport slides home into the hangar, coming to a crisp stop and easing off the turbolifts until she settles in a soft cloud of shifted ice crystals. Elegantly done with such a sizeable ship. Han pouts at it like it’s done him great personal wrong.

Even though his heart thuds in his chest, Luke tries to take a deep breath. It could be anyone on that ship: despite Mandalore’s fate, there are thousands of Mandalorians in the galaxy, and all of them are valued allies. He’ll be happy to see anyone who steps off it. All warriors are welcome, especially those of such renown as—

His feet move before he realises. He can sense him, after the horrid, sickening void he’s felt for two years. He catches himself with the Force before he can slip, and is halfway up the loading ramp before anyone has time to notice, to stop him. There is ringing silver in the Force, the most beautiful song in the galaxy.

He grabs the middle figure’s arms, unable to stop himself from breaking into a wide, joyous grin. Immediately a forest of blasters in on him, loaded and ready to fire.

“Din,” he breathes, aware of them but ignoring them. “You’re alive.”

“Luke?” Din chokes out, and a woman with a blue and white helmet gestures for the guards around them to lower their weapons with a roll of her helmet.

Distantly Luke hears Leia let out a sound of pure delight, but it barely registers. Ignoring the crowd, ignoring propriety, Luke surges up. Din meets him halfway, and it’s cold beskar to warm(ish) skin and hair, Luke’s eyes sliding closed.

He’d been on a low simmer of dread for two years, since they separated all that time ago, since they found out about Mandalore, with no inkling Din was actually safe. He’d tried to move on, to let go, but he couldn’t. Some small, perhaps foolish, fragment of hope remained in him.

It’s paid off.

They pull back, and Luke sags with relief. He doesn’t even know what to say. His emotions are in turmoil, and all he can do is stare as the familiar, beloved lines of Din’s helmet, and superimpose the holograph he’s stared at every night.

“Oh, I have good news,” Din says.

“What?”

Din steps slightly to the side, pressing something on his pauldron. A hoverpram floats forward.

“We’re fathers, now,” he says, and the hoverpram opens.

[neon-kazoo]

Former Hero Gets a Wheelchair

Today was the day.

After months of hardly getting out of bed, months of fighting the agency’s insurance plan, months of insisting that the hero’s condition was, in fact, service related, they were finally getting a custom wheelchair delivered.

Today, they got their independence back.

The doorbell rang and Hero had never moved faster on their cane, rubber tip taps and accompanying footsteps echoing through their entryway as they reached the door. Opening it, they were greeted with a beautiful sight. A smiling worker stood behind their brand new chair.

The rigid frame was coated in a metallic blue, with shining push rims to match. Black metal completed the footrest and backrest support, blending into the black wheels and side guards. It looked sleek; It looked perfect.

Waved in by the former hero, the worker lifted the caster wheels over the door frame, pushing the chair up and inside before locking the small silver brakes.

“You ready to take her for a spin?” They asked, and the hero grinned from ear to ear. They took a seat, sliding back till their hips were settled. The worker pointed out the buckle and Hero clicked it shut.

“Safety first,” they nodded and the worker chuckled in response.

Brakes unlocked, they pushed, and they glided like they were on a cloud.

They sighed at the ease of movement, moving down the hallway with little pain. It had been so long since they could just move. They missed moving just for the fun of it, for the rush of wind in their hair and adrenaline coursing through their veins. They missed jumping across rooftops, turning their feet on a dime, climbing walls, and starting fights that they could actually win.

Overwhelmed with the return of that feeling, they found themselves increasing their speed more than what may have been advisable around the house. Consequently, when they tried to turn around, they clipped the doorframe, leaving a scuff mark on the plaster and a slight damper on their confidence.

“Takes a little getting used to,” the worker assured.

Hero continued, slightly abashed at their excitement. The worker watched, then suggested they raise the footplate a little to accommodate Hero’s thin soled shoes. After a moment with an Allen wrench, Hero was properly fitted into their new wheelchair.

Now, it just needed a name.

In their time as a Hero, they had practiced restraint when fighting countless villains. They never aimed to maim or hurt more than necessary, even if the villains pointedly did not return the favor. Ever since being forced to retire, Hero carried that sentiment into their civilian life too. However, there were times when they wished to be a little petty. Sometimes, when people blocked ramps or stared at them a little too judgingly, they wished warm pillows and bad hair days upon them. Their prayers for minor inconveniences rose especially when they saw news of a certain villain, who Hero suspected to have a set of very crushable toes.

Maybe, Hero would have to pay them a little visit, with the help of the brand new Metatarsal Muncher.

They couldn’t wait to get out of the house, to be able to function on a daily basis. They were going to get groceries, get out to retirement-events, go outside with a sense of focus not being spent on trying to stay upright, shop without a mind clouded with pain.

If only it hadn’t taken them this long to accept what they needed.

The worker showed them how to disassemble the chair. The ultra-light wheels came off with a button press in the middle, the cushion was removed so the back could fold down. Hero got to assemble it back themselves and, satisfied, the worker bid them goodbye with some maintenance and care instructions.

Far too excited to wait, the former Hero loaded their chair into the car and headed for the park, thrilled to go watch the robins and blue jays hop between the trees. Once, the former hero had envied their freedom, the ease with which they traveled and lived their lives. They had wished they could soar above the sky and dive down back to the ground. Now, as they followed the smooth concrete path through the oaks and the birches, they made peace with their own kind of freedom.

It may not look the same as it once did, but life moved on.

If they had earned nothing else in their time as a hero, it was the right to live their life in the least amount of pain possible. Despite any reservations, they would use this tool to help them, and if anyone had a problem with that, they would meet the wrath of the Metatarsal Muncher.

[dolphindive85]

We Need a Girl Chapter 5- the photo shoot

Chapter 5

Hannah could tell from Marcus’s particularly pearly whites today that he was pleased with her. She reflected a little bemusedly on the more solemn and occasionally downright scolding meetings she’d had with him before. Meetings where he’d chastised her for flipping off pervy event reps, or where it had got back to him through some little snitch that she’d point blank refused to strip naked and take polaroids with a camera man who she was supposedly meeting with to discuss an EP front cover. There had been one particularly tricky meeting where Hannah really thought Marcus was going to drop her for good. Hannah knew her temper was always a boiling pot with a shaky lid, and Marcus had warned her that another “fuck-you fest” with someone they were trying to schmooze really would be it. Luckily, he had told her, there was just too much of a gap in the market for a “song writer with pin up potential” for him to give up on her yet. She supposed she should be grateful for this, but since that comment she’d had a terrible feeling it was a matter of time before Marcus tried to get her to dress up as a sexy 50s sailor and salute the camera or something equally fucking dreadful. He reminded her a little of a shark when he smiled like this: so wide, so many teeth.

“Hannah, it sounds like you’ve been really excelling. Jeff’s been so pleased with how you’re working the camera, says you’re a natural. There’s great chemistry on set, it’s really going to draw new eyeballs to the show they hope.” 

Marcus was a businessman, and he knew he didn’t need to tell Hannah which eyeballs she was being counted on to draw. Hell, it didn’t even matter. A view was a view, and views meant more advertising, and more money. 

“Right, great. That’s great news. They want me to do more?”

Marcus shifted slightly. “Yes. The conversation around exactly what that looks like is still ongoing. But yes!” He was still treading carefully. Surely Hannah couldn’t be naive enough to think that a masculine-targeted show like this one didn’t need their female cast member to have a certain appeal. But then she’d been incredibly oblivious to opportunities in the past. Marcus felt assured that Hannah would quickly see that this was a chance too good to miss, and compromise was always part of chances in entertainment. He’d compromised keeping such a fucking liability on his books, because he knew that, with the right light and a small enough t-shirt, he could sell what Hannah had to offer.

Oblivious to the machinations of the deal, Hannah smiled at the promise of more time in the show. She did like being part of the Jackass group. They had all been nice to her. SteveO and her had been friends for a long time, and hanging out with him more was a lot of fun, if you liked bruises and weed, which, luckily, she always had. Her skating had improved loads with the help of the group. Even Bam, who she’d been tempted to write off as a spoiled big mouth after the night in the bar, had held her hands and coached her across skate ramps, long sleeves flapping and laughing like a little boy. She trusted them. It felt good to be a little kid with them, all scraped knees and giggling. Running away from grown ups and trying to find the next funniest possible thing to do. 

And Johnny. Her whole body lit up when he was on set. He was so polite to her it was almost formal. He watched like a hawk when she took part in any stunts, eyes dark and arms folded. She wanted to break his resolve and make him laugh again, and she was constantly on the look out for ways to do it. 

“SteveO are you sure you want to look loaded in these pictures?”

“Yeah dude I wanna see how big I can make my pupils go in the pictures” he replied, spraying cleaner onto a rag and breathing deeply.

Hannah watched a little doubtfully, but she didn’t want to harsh her friend’s fun. They were in the parking lot at the shoot, and Hannah’s stomach was doing backflips. She’d washed her hair and blow dried it, and it looked bouncy and fresh. Instead of the usual ‘work uniform’ she’d adopted of baggy t-shirts and cargo shorts, she’d chosen a tank top and long skirt. She felt a little self-conscious, but she tentatively trusted the others enough now to try something different for this special occasion. 

She linked Steveo’s arm and dragged him inside, where the rest of the boys were waiting. There was a cooler of beers on the floor, and Johnny, Dave, Ryan and Bam were sat with open bottles. They looked up when they saw them come in. “Oh hey nice of you to decide to join us!” called out Bam. “Sorry dude I had some very important errand to run.” said SteveO, sniffing in a way that Hannah thought was a bit obvious. “Oh yeah sure thing SteveO” laughed Johnny. Hannah reached out and playfully messed up Bam’s carefully coiffed hair, and he swatted her hand away. “You’re dressed like a girl today Hannah” Bam teased. “Careful, Jeff and Knoxville will remember they’re too chivalrous to let you have any fun.”

“No one was feeling chivalrous enough to wait for us before you cracked into the beers though?”

“Hey, it’s 9am somewhere” deadpanned Ryan, and tossed her and SteveO a bottle each. 

Hannah looked round for a bottle opener. Noticing, Johnny stood up. “Aw fuck off Bam, just cause you don’t mind making a girl cry doesn’t mean we’re all a bunch of brutes.”

He opened Hannah’s beer and handed to her, smiling. “Here ya go doll, and I think you look real nice.” Hannah grinned and knocked back a mouthful of beer. “I mean I know how much everyone likes my animal t-shirts so I can get changed back if you think that’s more the vibe we’re going for.”

As she’d predicted, there was a groan as her animal t-shirts were denounced by the group at large.

“Those fucking t-shirts man-“

“Fucking birds staring at me while I’m trying to work-“

“Those t-shirts have autism man I swear, a wolf howling at the moon, or a giraffe head and a tree. Where do you even buy a t-shirt like that in this day and age.”

“They are a waste of a killer rack man, makes you look 12 years old.” Ryan shook his head, disgusted. 

Sipping her beer and smiling at the barrage of criticism that her t-shirts tended to elicit, Hannah thought that for such a straight group they could sure bring the claws out when it came to fashion. 

Jeff approached, with who Hannah assumed was the photographer. He was tall, with a thin moustache and side burns. Hannah would guess he was 40, 45 perhaps. He was also, she noticed with a sinking sensation, staring right at her chest. His eyes didn’t so much linger as laser focus on to them. The worst thing was Hannah actually liked her boobs, or at  least she had done. Back home she’d got them out with ease, but in this town it felt like they entered the room 10 steps ahead of her, creating their own first impression. The rest of her arrived unwelcome and un-greeted behind them. About a month into life in LA, she’d taken to covering them up and pressing them down whenever she could. Apart from today, when she’d felt at ease enough to get dressed like she wasn’t attempting to smuggle out contraband. Clearly this had been a huge mistake. She folded her arms and moved her hair to the front, like that would make any fucking difference. 

The shoot started and Hannah tried to relax. They snapped pictures of the group. They tried to one up each other looking for the silliest thing to do in the next photo: Dave England dropped his trousers. Bam jumped into Ryan’s arms, Johnny kicked Ryan in the nuts. SteveO ricocheted around it all like a pinball. Laughing, Hannah joined in, encouraging Ryan to put his hand out and let her stand one legged in his grip before promptly toppling down. The camera flashed, catching the fall and the group collapsing under Hannah’s weight. 

Groaning on the floor, the group took a moment to get back to their feet. As they righted themselves, Hannah could see Jeff, Marcus and the camera man conferring, gesturing towards her and nodding.

“Right we want to try something different.”

“Boys, take 5. Then we’re gonna split into groups for photos. Hannah, we want you to try this on.”

“What is it?” Asked Hannah doubtfully.

Jeff looked a little shifty, and held up a white bikini. It had skull and crossbones symbols over the tits and across the butt it said ‘Jackass’. 

The men around her broke into laughter.

“Oh man good luck with that.” Said Bam, doubling over. “You gonna try and fit cargo shorts under those bikini bottoms Hannah?”

“Aw fuck dude that is so awesome, that’s gonna be a smokeshow on you Hannah. That’s hot!” SteveO babbled, draping himself over Hannah’s shoulder and talking fast.

Johnny clapped his hands together, throwing his head back to laugh. “That’s a Jackass branded bikini? Aw hell I didn’t even know we made those. We all gotta get one.”

Still laughing, the boys and Jeff walked to the cooler and helped themselves to another beer while Hannah’s costume change went ahead. 

Hannah stood holding the scrap of fabric in her hands, her knuckles white. She stared down at it feeling unable to move. What the fuck was she going to do?

“Marcus I don’t feel…comfortable with this. I would really rather not wear that.” She spoke quietly, a hush that she hoped wouldn’t bring the attention of the rest of the crew. Hannah looked imploringly at Marcus, trying to convey with her eyes the words she wanted to infer without having the shame of saying out loud: help me! Do something!

Marcus sighed.

“Hannah, like I said, this is a big opportunity. I don’t think you should assume you’ve got the kind of influence here as to get away with seeming difficult to work with.” 

Hannah flinched. “Fucking hell Marcus you’re supposed to represent me. If I wear this that’s it, I’m just… just eye candy here” she hissed, but apparently not quietly enough. People were starting to look. Johnny and Bam were glancing over from the beer cooler, and the photographer approached her and Marcus. He’d clearly assessed the issue and interjected breezily. 

“Honestly, sweetie, your face isn’t going to sell this magazine, but those are.” he gestured vaguely to her breasts. “So come on, let’s get our jobs done, alright?”

Feeling her face flush red, Hannah sucked in a breath. “Fucking hell.” and marched away. 

In the dressing room, Hannah put on the bikini. It barely covered her boobs, the white fabric and string leaving very little to guesswork. She hadn’t shaved, and the string tie bottoms sat high up on her legs. Hannah browsed the rack of clothing in the room and pulled on a pair of denim shorts. She presumed pubes weren’t something this group was ready for. She appraised herself in the mirror. “Fuck this fuck this fuck this” Hannah whispered, pressing the palms of her hands to her eyes. She took a deep breath. Do not be a fucking baby Hannah thought to herself. This photoshoot was meant to be a special moment. So what if she was wearing a bikini. SteveO was shirtless! This was fine. Obviously SteveO was also very obviously pinging out of his mind, and his body was different. It was a bit, a canvas for a joke. She hesitated, and opened the door to head back out, desperately hoping that the drama of the last 10 minutes had gone over her costar’s heads. 

The studio was cold and she felt her skin goose pimple as she stepped back out of the dressing room. The feedback was instant.

“Aww no way what’s with the shorts? I wanted to see the branding on the ass.” Dave called out from where he was sat by the beer cooler.

“Yeah well you fucking wear them then.” Hannah snapped back. Her insides felt jagged and hot. 

“Jeez” said Dave, holding up his hands in a mock surrender that indicated to everyone he didn’t know why she was being such a bitch. 

“Hannah you look so good dude, oh my god” SteveO approached her, hands outstretched, but was intercepted by Johnny. “O-K SteveO let’s get you onto liquids instead of gases.” he said, putting his hand firmly on Steve’s shoulder.

“OK fantastic Hannah we’re ready to go. Bam and Ryan and Dave, you’re gonna to a set together. And SteveO, Hannah, Johnny you’re gonna do a group shot. Then we might do some individuals.”Jeff directed.

The three of them stood together in front of the camera. 

“You OK?” Johnny asked her in an undertone.

“Yep, all fine.” she said, avoiding his eye. 

Marcus and Jeff stood by the monitor. 

The photographer seemed to have realised SteveO was beyond direction, and so focussed his instructions on Hannah and Johnny.

“Johnny, put on your shades. Yep, now twist left. OK, take a sip of your beer.That’s it, great.”

Johnny was so at ease in front of the camera. Even with her bikini on, Hannah was sure Johnny would be what drew everyone’s eye. 

“OK now a little closer together.” said the photographer, gesturing for Hannah to move in towards Johnny.

By now SteveO was on the floor and Jeff stepped in. “SteveO, come with me, let’s get you a coffee or something.”

The photographer breezed past the exit of one of his subjects.

“And turn to the side Hannah, face Knoxville, right up next to him, that’s it”

Hannah was now stood with her boobs pressed against Johnny, his arm loosely round her. 

“OK now put your arm up, around his neck.” Hannah draped her arm around Johnny, 

“Now bite his ear.”

“Excuse me?” 

“Johnny, put your hand on her ass.”

Johnny raised his eyebrows and looked at Hannah, “You mind?” he asked.

“Um, no, I don’t mind.”

She felt him place his hand gently on her. His hand was big, and it cupped her ass cheek easily. She felt his hand squeeze slightly and relax. She looked up at him and met his eyes behind his sunglasses.

The camera  flashed.

“OK fantastic. Now Hannah turn to me. That’s it. Now lean a little forward, little more…”

Hannah’s adrenaline was turning to annoyance as the photographer attempted to contort her to show as much chest as possible.

“OK now arch your back, open your mouth…”

“Why don’t I just deep throat the fucking microphone, is that more what you had in mind?” she snapped. Johnny let out a loud laugh, doubling over with his hands on his knees. The click of the camera paused as what she’d said settled. 

“I’m so sorry,” began Marcus, leaping into action, but Johnny waved him away.

“All creative input is welcome on set, no bad ideas in brainstorming.” he wheezed, reaching out and ruffling Hannah’s hair. “You’re funny.”

The camera man smiled his thin lipped smile. “Let’s do some individuals.”

Hannah went first. She felt sure that the camera man had become more aggressive in his clicking since her outburst. Jeff had come back, leaving SteveO to sleep it off in the changing room, and he tossed her a beer as he passed by. “Hey, shotgun this!” he called, and Hannah obliged, happy to show off her skills. The camera clicked and flashed as she knocked back the beer, reaching to wipe her mouth triumphantly afterwards. Ryan and Johnny applauded and whooped from their camping chairs, both waiting to be called up for more photos. “OK, now let’s lose the bikini top.”

Hannah let out a shocked laugh. The fucking nerve of this guy. She reached behind her back as if to undo her bikini strings, and instead pulled out a middle finger, and flipped off the camera. 

[abeinginsand]

Scary has four memories involving her stepdad's old mirror. Out of the four, she's only looked at her reflection once. Parts: Prologue (Ron & TJ), Memory 1, Memory 2, Memory 3 (here), Memory 4 Warning: Mentioned bullying by classmates (not graphic detail) ---- It's been one week since Scary's eaten breakfast with her mom on a weekday (due to hefty work load). One week of sitting with Terry Junior and trying to not tear up at the sight of the empty chair across from her. Because any tears are a sign of weakness and the chumps at school get bored faster if she pretends she's unbothered by their words and hair yanking when the coach isn't looking. The pitying and sad puppy eyed look of a grown man her mom married is also just as cruel actually. So she has to keep the eye sweat in check. At least she can feel safe complaining about one of those situations. Terry's a softie after all and no matter what she does (or doesn't do), he never gets mad.

By the end of the week, her step...whatever...has not only ramped up his papaganda chatter but is now sitting in her mom's seat. The meal set up neatly on the table is her favorite kind of soup too, paired with a sorry attempt at a folded napkin. Its a bowl of red blood (tomato soup) and the fish that it came from floating on the surface (three-cheese-blend goldfish crackers). She mutters the quietest of thank you's under her breath and enjoys the soup in wonderful, definitely not awkward silence for a few minutes.

A silence soon broken by Terry asking stuff she wishes her mom would be here to ask. Except Terry cannot replace her dad and especially not replace her mom. Shouldn't be sitting across from her with the concerned yet somehow happy look on his face either. She glares in his direction, says a short "no" to him checking on her and asking if she remembered to pack her backpack. She goes back to eating the tasty soup.

After four days of this undeclared war with him, she finally hears him let out a heavy sigh. She smiles into her next spoonful, victorious. It felt nice to be on the other end of a conflict, to be the powerful instigator and not the prey. The silence returns, the two wash their own dishes and then it's off to the car. Scary sets the radio to the latest kidzbop album with her phone app and Terry triple checks everything in the car--especially seat belts and airbag locations before pulling out of the small driveway.

Maybe if Scary looked over to him at any point during the ride, she'd notice the anxiety written all over him. Instead, the teenager is writing poetry and doodling cross bones in her journal until the school drop off point is in front her door. She gets out without a good-bye and pretends it doesn't feel odd that Terry Junior doesn't say anything either. School happens, she has fun in creative writing and then she skips her last two classes to dye her hair in the abandoned girl's bathroom. ...Or she wanted to but she opened up the box, tried to read the complicated directions, got frustrated, and decided she'd try at home tonight instead. It's nice to avoid the mean girls in her gym class though. In the meantime, she changes out her low pony tail for a high and poofy one. She's one of the tallest girls in her grade so the yanking will be much harder with her hair not dangling past her shoulders. No matter what she doesn't want to cut it, since it took so long to get it this length.

At the end of the school day, her mom's black and shiny car pulls up. Scary slips into the passenger's side and is about to turn on her music when her mom speaks up.

"Terry..." "It's Scary, Mom." "Scary, my little grumpy pumpkin, what are those paperclips doing on your ears?" Scary puts her phone on the dashboard and crosses her arms. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe they'd be piercings though if you let me get some already."

---- Veronica Marlowe Stampler sighs but it has a much different vibe than Terry's one from this morning. His sounded like the air slowly flowing out of a popped balloon. Her mom's sigh sounded like one of those cartoon horses breathing out a smoke cloud through their nose as their gear up to sprint. The fingers tapping on the steering wheel as they remain in the school parking lot are like drumrolls before a battle reenactment (she saw one during a history class field trip last month). "We've talked about this so many times. No piercings, no guitar, and no tattoos until you're a bit older. And aren't you going to ask why I'm picking you up today instead of your step-dad?" Scary pouts at the familiar words and looks out the window, avoiding her mom's burning gaze. "Ugh! Can't believe a mother would bully her precious daughter like this--" The girl sputters at the question. She forgot for a second that Terry should have been here. Scary got lost in the fact that her mom was instead (after barely seeing her this week). She turns away from the window and looks at her mom, checking her expression for clues on how serious this might be. Her mom has a few new wrinkles and small gray hairs. Her eyes say "I'm tired" and her straight posture in the seat could mean too many things. Scary is crossing her arms still, but it feels more like she's hugging herself now. "Terry's okay, right? I mean not that I care. But, w-what's going on?" Seems her response is enough to get her mom to relax and move to hold one of her daughter's hands. Scary doesn't stop her but doesn't squeeze her hand either until she gets a response. "Oh! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound like that. Terry's not hurt, he's just stuck in traffic. I was trying hard to finish up early today to surprise both of you anyway. Headed over here instead of to the house when I got his call." "Really?" "Really, I promise he's okay. I just...work's been a lot and I had some bad news for clients and maybe I'm carrying that stress into every conversation lately? I'm really sorry about all of this, the nagging, and the missing breakfast stuff too. I'm really messing up this mom stuff lately, huh?" Its not the first time her mom's mentioned stuff like this and Scary gets it. But still doesn't know how to make it all better. She moves to hug her mom instead of responding with words, thinks about demanding Terry be extra nice to her mom later too. They sit in the parking lot like that for another ten minutes, before they head home. Her mom's other car, the one Terry was borrowing, is in the driveway. The house smells like various spices and the dinner is delicious. Scary keeps stealing glances at Terry throughout the meal too, wondering about the traffic thing. Thinking about that one night that she held his hand and he cried even though he'd been mostly gentle and all smiles before. After dinner, her mom volunteers to wash the dishes this time. Both her husband and daughter say they'll take care of it at the same time. She smiles and puts her hands up in surrender, giving Terry a quick kiss and hugging Scary one more time after the girl makes a grossed out face at the parent pda. The dishes are done in silence until Scary interrupts to ask him if he's chill or whatever. He takes a few minutes to say yes, looking intently at the suds on the plates. They meet up at night again, both having woken up past midnight to wander the house quietly. Scary stops in the hall, looking at the chip bags in his hand while he stares right at the hair dye box in her hands. "You didn't see anything, Terry." "Guess I didn't see it and you didn't see the chips either. That's a shame though." Terry pauses in his soft speech to smile and point to the box as he continues talking. "Because I could help you use that, hun. I've dyed my hair with that brand before." ----

So, she ends up sitting in front her step dad's weird floor-length mirror that night, finally looking at her reflection in the glass. Terry's right behind her with a fold-up table. She watches as he gently works to turn part of her dark hair to a bright pink. It makes her feel different, cool, seeing the obvious, self-decided change taking place. The girl looks up at the engraving of Stud on the mirror and smirks at it.

The two talk a little too, the chatter turning into many a heated whisper. Its part of why Terry suggested going into the storage room anyways, so their talking wouldn't wake her mom. They argue quietly about best chip flavors, top 5 kidzbop hits, or about the awful ice skater tier list they both saw online the other day. Scary doesn't ask if he's okay again, because he's amused and lively look in the reflection is enough to convince her. Scary, against all hater urges, is starting to look forward to these nightly truces where maybe having to get used to a step dad doesn't bother her so much.

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[heli0s-writes]

lights up*

A/N: Stucky (primarily Steve)/Reader. 2k words of idkwhatthisisi’msorry. There was a prompt from six months ago that I wrote this for but I lost the message and I can’t remember! All mistakes are my own, please stop reading if you are not 18+

brooklyn after dark masterlist

You wake up in scattered shock.

Knee-jerk reaction to fast hands sliding between your thighs, fingers carelessly ticking sensitive skin.

You wake up to a groggy voice, slurred with sleep and raspy-raw.

“Baby,” it croaks from between your legs, “Honey, sweetheart, sugar. Please, please, please let me eat your pussy.”

Wha—

A few disbelieving blinks as you scrabble for your bearings—can’t see shit—still dark—head throbbing.

“Oh god, I wanna sosososo bad,” and then hands are between your knees, spreading your legs apart. “So… damn... tasty. Uh-huh… Come to daddy.”

Who the fuck is—damn it, Bucky.

In the dead hour of four-something when nothing should be moving so intentionally, an unsteady moan tumbles out of him when he starts groping for your ass.

“Buck!” You whisper, kicking your leg to shake him off. Grabbing the covers with one hand, you reach under with the other, swatting his head and trying to get a firm hold on him. Slippery fucking man.

He pauses for a second before his body goes limp, half hanging off the foot of the bed and you groan at his weight. Idiot boy. Two hundred pounds of horny somnambulist dropping like an anchor on your poor legs.

Fiddling now with how to get him back up to his regular spot, you try to do it quietly, the warmth radiating next to your left shoulder a compelling incentive. Even with your wits barely about you, you know better than to wake—

“Whassit? Whas goin’ on?”

Steve. Ah.

“Nothing,” you sigh, reaching over and stroking his arm absently, one foot tapping against Bucky’s waist to urge him upward. “He’s just sleep-talking again.”

Steve makes a groggy noise of comprehension. “Sleep-talking or sleep-fucking?”

“Just sleeping now. Ugh… didn’t mean to wake you.”

He’d come in late again—meetings and paperwork keeping him well after hours. Not even able to do it from home, which would have been nice. At least here you could make sure he was eating, or drinking enough water, or at least be in the presence of good company.

Instead, you and Buck watched a movie, took a few rounds of shots (because he likes the taste and how you look dancing all over the coffee table), fooled around in the kitchen, and turned in around two—Steve nowhere in sight. Some jobs were Captain-Only, which meant you’d have to make peace with being useless.

That’s generally not a task that goes over well. The amount of untamed energy Bucky exudes without Steve’s guidance is… close to being categorized as a natural disaster and trying to stay up with him is always a double-edged sword. Lots of fun, sure, but he requires less sleep than you do and can finagle you into getting piss drunk with a single smirk.  

“Wish you’d been more responsible.” Bone-tired and Steve’s still bossy. His arm is heavy as it snakes over your tummy. “You know he needs direction.”

“Hey, I tried.”

“Issat right? That why your panties’re on the counter? Shirt in the sink, too. Come home close to four and still gotta clean up after the two of you.”

His raspy breath tickles, plump lips crushed just below your ear—enough to start a chain reaction of shudders.

“Go back to sleep,” you huff, embarrassed. It was only a few hours ago so your head’s still a bit fuzzy—vague memory of playful touches before hearing, hop up, baby, from Bucky. And you, tittering and zealous the whole way, kissing him like he’d never been kissed before.

YouTube blinking on the T.V., stuck on some ad because the streaming’s a snail’s pace from when Steve set up the internet and tried to pinch pennies at the same time. Bucky’s specially crafted “Wine, Dine, and Sixty-Nine” playlist refusing to load even half a song afterwards so neither of you could spare your neighbors from hearing all the noises.

Hopefully the laughter was loudest, and not the primal fucking, or the crashing when you slipped off the counter and knocked Bucky on his ass.  

You giggle at that. Years and years together and some nights still feel brand new.

“Have fun without me?”

There’s no real jealousy in Steve’s voice, but there is greed behind the question. A single night away and he acts like he’s never been kissed either.

Your eyes start fluttering when his fingers curl around your hipbone. Je-sus. Hell. It’s too late—early—for this.

You grumble his name, asking him to save it for a couple more hours when your brain doesn’t feel pried free, but, Captain-Only mode activated and he’s not deterred. A bloodhound on a fresh trail.

The hand on your hip turns inward and you’re suddenly aware of him pressed against your body, that hot line of him, pulsing on your upper thigh. He tilts forward, one knee rubbing up your leg. Bucky stirs a little and makes another declaration about how he’s fit for the CEO position of Eating Your Ass, but nothing more after that.

“He do you good?” Steve wonders, apparently not giving a fuck about whether Bucky’s dead or alive down there and instead only worried about repositioning you, rolling you on your side, “That why you’re so happy to get me out of the house? So you two can fool around unchecked as much as you want?”

“Steve, you know damn well—"

His hand slips around the side of your neck, four thick fingers drumming over the ridges of your throat. “Watch your mouth,” he whispers, “before you get yourself into any more trouble.”

He gets mean without enough sleep. And no one would ever guess, but other than working over some poor punching bag that’ll never see the light of day after he gets his hands on it, Captain America likes to fuck it out. You and Buck have properly come out of a few sessions barely alive, feeling like two ends of a slinky that’s taken one too many tumbles down a flight of stairs.

You squirm as he palms your bottom with his free hand, kneading the bare flesh a flimsy pair of sleeping shorts can’t cover.

“Gotta be quiet,” he tells you gently, “Can’t wake him, can we.” Christ help you. What a time to play a game. You mumble under your breath, “Do I have a choice?”

A prod at your already sore entrance, and Steve says, annoyingly convinced, “I think you’ve already made your choice.”

He stills for a second when Bucky flops around on the mattress and then he starts pressing his mouth to your back, your shoulder, other hand holding you steady with expertise. It’s Steve’s favorite position when he wants to be in charge—you, writhing and turned away, usually leaned about 50 degrees and pawing at Bucky’s chest—this morning, feebly snatching sheets instead.

It doesn’t take any buildup. He’s achingly ready; you’re willingly wet. Clothes moved just enough out of the way and his two fingers slide upward, pushing barely to spread you before he quickly replaces it with something much thicker. It’s only been a few seconds. He’s too fast for you to get a word in edgewise, your brain still muddled, body cooperative.

“Huh,” Steve mumbles, slowly feeling his way into position, “A bit fucked loose, aren’t you?”

“Steve,” you hiss in reply, clenching up reflexively the same time mortification bursts across your scrunched- up face. “Don’t say that.”

“Hush, baby.”

“I’m trying—”

“Try harder.” And he’s evil incarnate, you swear. Satan himself packaged up in the neat body of a demigod. He rolls his hips slowly until the tops of his thighs are pressed against your ass, fingers holding so tight you think he’s going to spear right into bone. “Stay still or you’re gonna knee Buck in the cheek.”

You twist your head around, instead, shaking your chin free from his hand, hoping that once he sees your pitiful expression, he’ll find it in his heart to maybe not pound you into oblivion with bells on.

Of course, Steve’s not looking anywhere but down the line of your back and further to where he’s opening you up, bottom lip tucked into his teeth.

You constantly rib him about how he’s making up for all the years he spent with the two working eyes of a mole so now he’ll break his neck to watch. Bucky’s confirmed it multiple times to Steve’s chagrin, cackling at the way Steve goes purple defending himself. You love the stories they tell and retell; you try to spend most your time making up for all those years you weren’t there to find out.

Who isn’t in this relationship? Violently horny like teenagers, the three of you, spending every idle hour mishandling for each other like it’s the first time. Excitement primeval like animals in heat, apparently instinctual enough for one of you to do it in his sleep. Years and years and it still feels brand new.

The bed’s rocking surprisingly moderately for Steve’s usual pace, and it’s a bit heartwarming to know that he’s doing it because he really doesn’t want to wake Bucky, but he ramps up his game. He starts whispering again, meaner, hotter, the damn mouth on Steve Rogers continuing to give you hell this early morning.

He pinches your nipple hard, letting you gasp at the brief sting before he goes back up to your chin, your mouth, and then he puts the entire hand over it.

“Quiet. Not another fucking word out of you. Gotta teach you how to behave this morning, don’t I?” He’s working himself up, working you over, even pulling you back on him by the hips and then wiggling you up and down on him like he’s adjusting you on a saddle. Motherfucker.

Your toes curl, knees grinding, legs folding up to get simultaneously closer and away from him and it feels—it feels so excruciatingly good—the effortless glide of his cock, the burn of friction dragging itself out the more you wriggle. Whatever indelicate sounds falling out of your mouth are getting mashed back in, Steve ramming himself into your body, shaking your brain further loose.

He’s probably louder than he intends to be—you know how he gets when he’s close— bombs could be dropping two feet away and Steve Rogers would hear nothing but the roar of his own wanting, chasing it until he crashes into bits. You’re chasing too, both hands clamped around his wrist, arching your back to near breaking.

“Yeah,” he rasps out, “That’s it, that’s good, baby. Ugnn—back up on me, stay—right there.”

More uneven jerking, he releases your face and starts rubbing your clit, saying, you like it like this? Like me givin’ it to you good like this? And you’re shaking in his arms, the both of you tipping over the edge.

-

“I wasn’t serious,” Steve says later after a few moments, lips all soft and gentle on your neck, rather than fierce like before, “Bout you bein’—” you can feel him shrugging, “Y’know… fucked loose.” He whispers the last part like it’s a sin.

You snort, “You turning decent on me? After railing me to death?”

“You sound pretty lively to me.” He pokes your side, “I just… woke up and remembered how much I missed you last night.”

“I’m not going anywhere. You’ve got both of us here—shit!”

“Steeeeeve,” and the sound of it slaps both you back to reality. Sleep-smashed, more tipsy than any alcohol could make him, Bucky’s giggles break the steady pattern of muffled conversation. His vibranium hand pats around for a new destination, undeterred by the disruption of his previous mission.

You can’t believe it. He’s still asleep.

“Steeeevie,” Bucky mewls again, “Lemme— lemme suck your dick, sweetheart.”

What a menace. Your shoulders start quivering as you poorly hold it back, pfffftppblffpt’s kickstarting Steve into a tizzy right alongside you.

Bursting laughter finally wakes him up. Bucky yelps once, twice, flailing like a cat caught unawares and rolls himself right off the goddamn bed.

Two hundred pounds of newly conscious pervert wallops the hardwood floor and you’re sure the entire apartment complex—if they didn’t hear the ruckus last night—certainly heard it this morning.

[kashimos-hajime]

no regrets (8/8) | r.b.

summary: For the first time, he thinks of a future he could have, and someone who loves him, and there’s something bright in his heart. Or, Reiner finally understands what peace is.

WARNINGS: MANGA SPOILERS!!! angst, mentions of violence, we get our happy ending :) pairing: reiner braun x fem!reader word count: 6.7k

a/n: welcome to the last chapter!! thank you so much for being on this journey with me. there are a few callbacks to previous chapters so see if you can catch ‘em all heheh 

masterlist

crossposted on ao3 x

Few months ago ymir asked if I could let her write one last letter to krista, and I did let her. I stood over her shoulder the whole time, watching her pen down all this sappy shit and I kept thinking about you the whole time, behind those walls. What you were doing, what you were thinking. Maybe if you thought about me. I dont know.

I’m starting to see the appeal of wrting what youre not strong enough to say to a persons face. I never thought Id find myself on the other end of this stick. for some reason, I thought that I could stop myself, resist the temptation, or maybe that I didnt feel for you as strong as I thought I did once I was away from you. I was wrong.

What do I even say? I mean shit, I can barely see, my limbs are barely in tact, and all of it—shiganshina, it haunts me, even though I cant really remember it that well. Half of it goes black and then I remember hearing your voice, I remember Bertholdt, I remember you screaming.

You couldve walked away. why didnt you walk away? It doesn’t make sens. Why did you think to cut me out? Why did you try to save me? Im trying to make it make sense inmy head. It’s not working.

Fuck I dont know what I was thinking when I asked for a paper and pen. Why am I asking you questions? Its not like ill ever understand. At this point, I think it’s pity thats letting Zeke let me waste ink on trying to write straight. He doesn’t know what im doing, but thats better this way. Better than sleeping—better than eating. I just wanna talk to you and this is as close as I can get. Its my own damn fault, but I dont care. 

I completed my mission. After this, im done. ill give up the rest of my term. I dont want any of that glory anymore. I dont want to be a hero. Im just done.

Fuck, my head hurts so much. I dont really know if what im saying is making sense. Im hoping you never read this.

im sorry. I wish I could explain it to you some day, but chances are, ill be dead soon. Whether for treason or because they need to pass on the Titan, and I wont be able to see you again. Which means youll never know how sorry I am. How much I

Thats okay. I dont think youd believe me now even if I did say anything.

I remember your dream to live by the lake with a bunch of kids. You know I started to wonder if youd mind if they were our kids, not just some orphans who needed a home. I’d imagine one of them with blond hair. Imagine them swimming in the lake.

Never told you that was my dream too. Never knew i could have a dream of my own, something only I wanted and not just something to further marleys damn agenda, til I knew you. Sounds stupid but its true.

I think youd like Marley, if we weren’t sworn enemies. Just want you here with me right now. make me sleep easier knowing you’re there when I wake up. 

Dont want secrets either. Fuck I miss you so bad. I feel s o tired all the time. 

I rember when i first saw you all could think about was how you were the most prettiest girl id ever seen. I don know if you know thats why I tried to distance myself. Knew I couldn’t get distracted from my mison. happened anyway. Wish I could tell you that. 

wish I could tell you I love you. Wish I could see the look on yur face when you try lobster for the first time. Youd love it. Not sweet, but tons of desserts here too.

Shit. And the ring on your finger. ill put a ring on your finger. I promised. i swear ill go home and buy a ring for the moment I see you again. Might not be pretty but will do the best I can.

Olnly wnat only wnat only want to see you again and beg for your forgiveness. Let you know if I had a choice, I wouldnt have done it. Would take it all back, nd stay. i wanted to stay, stay with you and the others. I used to want to spend the rest of my life in those walls, now I think im sick and tired of them dividing people who arent even that differnet.

My eyes are beginning to burn. Worse because the skin is sitll growing back. Fucking hell god I miss you. miss your smile more.

I know i dont deserve your forigvneess forgiveness. I want you to be angry with me. I deserve as much, and I cant ask you to, but 

With love,

Rienr

You fold the letter, eyes closing as your fingers trace where the ink bled, the old tear stains wrinkling the paper beyond measure. Some are older than others, and you trace over his name again, your eyes burning, your throat tight enough to suffocate.

You’re leaning against the wall as everyone disembarks. They had taken Eren off first, Hange and the others getting ready to depart for the city while Connie and Jean lift a covered stretcher too white for the vivacious girl that lays dead beneath it.

They pass you silently, and you catch sight of a certain captain approaching, his pale eyes nearly swallowed by the shadows haunting his face.

“Captain,” you say, straightening. Placing the letter back into the tin, you slide it back into your pocket as he folds a green jacket over his shoulder. You give him a nod.

“You made it out alive,” Levi observes. He stops beside you, eyes more focused on what’s ahead. No doubt he’s not looking forward to having to take Zeke to wherever he needs to go—somewhere far, far away from Eren. You cross your arms. 

“It’s good to see you, too, Levi,” you intone. Sighing, you step in beside him and look out at the Walls you can’t see in the distance, your entire body wrought with a strange fatigue that’s only sewn into muscles by adrenaline leaving the body. “I think I’m going to stay.” He tilts his head to you, eyes flickering to your face, and you mirror the shift, your arms tightening. “I can’t leave this unfinished. Not after Liberio.”

“The farm will have to be abandoned,” he points out. “The kids, too.”

“I’ll make sure I move them where someone can take care of them. Somewhere north, far away from the brothers,” you assure, although still, your heart begins to sink and you close your eyes, exhaling deeply. “I have to hope they understand.”

Levi only nods, and you open your eyes as he wordlessly takes the jacket off his arm and offers it to you. Grasping it wearily, you open your mouth to ask questions but he only sets off, back towards the cabin where Zeke is still being held, and you snap your jaws shut, looking down at the jacket.

When you unfold it, you swallow the hard rock in your throat at the blue and white slipping beween the folds of olive green before there’s a sharp whistle. Looking up, you see the carriages already beginning to load up, and you glance back at the door where the captain has disappeared through before jogging down the ramp.

You slither your arms through the sleeves and shuffle the fabric along your frame as something thumps against your thigh, and you frown, reaching down into your pocket and coming into contact with something smooth and hard.

Withdrawing, your lips part at the green bolo tie gleaming in the lights of the port and you, without another thought, pull it over your head, letting it fall against your breastbone. 

“For your services to the Survey Corps.”

There’s no time to second-guess now. No time to debate.

“Good to have you back,” Hange murmurs as you walk towards the carriage taking Mikasa, Armin, and the others back to the city. You tug the lapels of the jacket tighter around yourself and flash them a weak smile. 

The Wings of Freedom on your arm feel like a brand, and it prickles your skin as you climb in after them.

.

Distantly, he remembers flashes. 

Eren reaching forward for Zeke, the exhaustion ripping him every which way, the sound of ODM gear whizzing in his ears as he tries to make sense of the punctured sensation in his armour.

How he had softened his nape, intending to die then. At least, let his death have some meaning, he had thought. Let him make one last effort to repent for everything he did to Paradis, and to his friends who’d been more family than his own mother.

He slips in an out of consciousness for the next few days. He doesn’t know what is up, what is down, but he does recognize his surroundings blearily, the way his head spinning somehow slowing when he presses his temple to the wooden floor.

How can he almost hear your voice in the echoes of the panels, countered by someone who almost sounds like Annie before he drifts off again.

When Reiner finally regains consciousness again, he wakes to someone crouched down in front of him. Jerking up, he lets out a sound before a palm slaps over his mouth and your face is shoved against his own.

“Shut it,” you whisper fiercely. “It’s just me.”

Your name muffled by your own hand, his eyes begin to burn and you lift your palm away as he sits up and you draw back. You’re dressed in clothes that look like they’ve seen better days but you’re relatively uninjured as you pull back. New lines adorn your face—one of the many prices of their damned war—and you only look exhausted. 

Sitting up, Reiner’s whole body groans as he leans against the wall, but he can’t tear his eyes away from you. Your hands are hovering around his body like you’re scared he’ll collapse and there’s a fracture in your mask.

Something gleams on your finger and his eyes flit to it, his heart lurching when he realizes what it is.

The ring. You’re wearing it. You…

For a moment, a glimmer of their teenage selves shine through and he wants to reach for it—touch it so he can remember what it’s like to be happy. He thinks it’s an awful like now; the swelling of his heart so big he can’t breathe; the way his lungs are static in his chest; how he can’t say anything because there are so many words that want to come out first.

“You’re here. You’re alive,” he finally settles on raspily. Your eyes glint with a youthful pain as you nod.

“So are you.” 

And he doesn’t know who moves first—you or him. Nothing is forgiven as their bodies crash in an embrace that lacks grace, but they cling onto another like the world is ending and they’re the only ones left standing. 

Maybe they are.

He buries his face in your neck, and your arms are so tight around him your fingers dig into his shoulders as your body melts against his and his skeleton sags in his own body.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers against your skin, eyes fluttering shut. “I‘m sorry.” A hand against your neck and an arm around your waist, he wraps his legs around your own and traps you against him. You seem to only sink into him even more.

Is that enough? I don’t want you to hate me.

You suck in a breath, and then it comes out shuddering. “You can spend the rest of what life you have left repenting for making me fall in love with a man who was always supposed to die.”

Softly, in his mind, your voice cools the searing heat of hatred inside him. It’s enough. It has to be.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. It’s like they’re the only words he knows. He can’t remember ever meaning it this much. For him dying, for making you love him, for ever coming to Paradis. For loving you. For loving you. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know. I know.” Your face turns to press against his own. Your lips brush against his jaw and his eyes slide shut, tears rolling down his face. “I read every single one of your letters.” Drawing back, you cup his face in his hands and your fingers smear his tears all over his cheeks as his palm rests against your neck. Thumb stretching up to touch your chin, he feels sobs shuddering in his throat at seeing you again—looking at him almost like you used to. “I can’t begin to understand, but I know you are. And I know you love me.”

Choking, he gasps, “You should hate me.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I should.” You’re crying, too, voice thick, tears stubborn on your cheeks as you give him a watery smile. “I should hate Marley, too. But it’s beautiful there. The water by the sea… I want to be there with you next time. We need to go together, before you leave me alone, okay?”

Reiner doesn’t quite hear you. He hears Marley, and beautiful, and he’s never noticed how beautiful you are when you cry, but right now, it’s the simplest truth he knows. 

“Okay.”

When you tilt his chin up and kiss him softly, something inside him explodes from the gentleness that makes him want to crack in the palm of your hands. It sears him from the inside out, makes him grab onto you like you’ll disappear—this is another dream, isn’t it? 

It has to be. 

You can’t be kissing him again after four years. He doesn’t deserve it. You’re an illusion, something his mind made up to deal with the pain. He’s finally cracked for good, just like Bertholdt said he would, and he’s the devil, not you.

But then you pull away just for a moment to smile, eyes barely open as you look at him with a sad tenderness that wraps him in an invisible embrace, and he is faced with the heart-wrenching reality. 

The sky is falling, you are holding him tightly again, and they’ve lost their years. But you’re here. With him. 

He knows that this isn’t a dream as he feels the coolness of the silver band on your finger and the heaviness in how he knows he hasn’t repented a damn thing. 

Why him?

As you run your hand through his hair, you press their foreheads together.

“And I do want a family with you, by the water if you’d like,” you murmur fleetingly against his mouth and his eyes widen, cheeks burning, entire face crumbling as he turns his face in to your shoulder, crushing you in another brace. Sobbing into your neck, his fingers dig into your shoulders, wrap tight around your waist, squeeze you so close he isn’t sure where you end and he begins and your lips brush the shell of his ear. “Reiner, say it.”

“Please,” he whispers thickly into your skin, and you cradle the back of his head with a hand. He’s nothing more than shambles. “Please, don’t go.”

“I’m not letting you out of my sight again,” you promise. His breath is hot against his own face as you pull his head back and cradle his face again, thumbs brushing away the tears from his red face. “Just a bit more. A bit more and then it’ll be all over, you know?”

And he understands, then, what you want from him. Struggling for breath, for his lungs to stop seizing in his aching chest, he cups your face that turns into his palm on instinct, your face wet with your own tears as, for a moment, they try to pretend this isn’t where they really are.

Like they’re still in that afternoon in Trost, a thousand years ago, with the kids flipping coins into the water fountain and a cream bun between them. Like they’re under the tree, apple juice on your wrist and his lips on yours.

Like it’s those trips to the city, the walks on the Walls. Honey is dripping down your chin and he’s pretending he doesn’t want to kiss you, or there’s grease smeared on his forehead, and you’re reaching up to wipe it off his skin.

Like a thousand moments all at once, and he nods to himself as you brush your hand over his temple. The world outside is startlingly quiet, as if the universe itself stopped everything itself to watch this moment, and Reiner takes a breath that bruises his sternum before he’s holding your left hand where that ring still sits.

And slowly, he pulls it off, whispering as firmly as he can. He’s sure he fails—he’s shaking all over from your presence alone.

“When this is over, I’ll put that ring back on your finger. I promise.”

The smile that splits your face is dazzling. It’s the smile he’s missed since the day he left it.

“We have a lot of things to work out, Reiner Braun.”

And your fingers barely brush his jaw before you’re leaning to press a sweet kiss against his mouth. It’s sugary on his tongue, like honey and apple slices.

.

Your back is warmer when you’re pressed up against Reiner’s. The ship is quiet, and their pinkies are just barely hooked on oen another’s as you stare blankly at the empty space between Connie’s boots. You don’t speak, and Reiner’s gaze is only on you. He can’t look at anything else now that you’re back by his side again.

There’s a cut on your cheek from the fight just half an hour ago, and there’s dried blood along your hands where your knuckles had split open, but everyone seems too exhausted to clean themselves up. 

Reiner himself has a blanket pulled over his shoulders, and he sighs, slouching in his own sack of flesh.

Your head tilts towards him, enough that your temple presses against his cheek. His eyes close and he leans into your touch. Not a word passes by, but their hold on each other’s hands tightens. And Reiner thinks. 

For the first time, he thinks of a future he could have, and someone who loves him, and there’s something bright in his heart. Something that hasn’t burned since he left Marley as a child.

Reiner thinks he doesn’t want to die anymore. He doesn’t want to miss you for another moment.

.

Raising from the steam, you groan, your hands searing from the inside out as you touch your face where you swore every inch of your skin had been stretched, but nothing seems out of sorts as you glance around. Everywhere, all your friends who had turned just as you had are in various states of disoriented. The air is still hissing, crackled with surprised screams and shouts of names as people look for one another across the field. 

It smells like cooked meat and burnt hair, a none-to-pleasant mixture that turns your stomach.

Getting to your feet, you wipe at your face, trying to ignore the weird feeling underneath your nails and the ache seizing your muscles. Trying to ignore the remnants of Eren lingering like a ghost that won’t really leave you alone. You shiver, and a strange cold sweat takes over your body.

He had taken you to the sea, except it wasn’t the shore you were familiar with. There was a cabin nearby, with blonde children running, chasing after one another and a man with golden hair standing on the porch, firewood in his arms as he calls out silently. Or maybe you had been standing too far to hear.

“Eren… where are we?”

“Wherever you think you are,” he had said. “I just brought you where you wanted to be.”

A voice, quiet as a memory, catches your attention. “Here let me help.” A soft wind blows throw the mist, cooling your scorching face as you feel a presence stand behind you.

“Oh, thank you.” You look over your shoulder to see a tall boy, and your heart stops. Mouth dropping open, you stare at his foggy image, but he only smiles fully, a smile so tender it reaches every corner of you as you stumble forward, fingers stretching for him. “Bertholdt!”

His smile grows only that much more, eyes squinting a bit and a flash of teeth before he’s looking at your hand that passes through his chest. All at once, all the hope built up in your chest crumbles, and your hand snaps back, trembling just before him. He lays a hand over your own and your eyes begin to burn, tears slipping down your cheeks.

And then, softly, you barely whisper, “I miss you.”

Bertholdt’s smile merely grows, as if to say everything he couldn’t say before. As if to show he’s at peace now—that your last memory together isn’t every part of him, and your lips press together, trying to stop yourself from shaking.

 Shadows form in the fog, and together, the two look as a freckled boy and another girl steps out of the mist a distance away, beaming like the sun. Connie and Jean stagger to their feet just behind you, and your heart lurches into your throat when you recognize them.

“Marco! Sasha!”

Someone calls your name and you turn around just as arms scoop you up and you let out a surprised noise before settling into Reiner’s arms. Looking over your shoulder to look at Bertholdt, your heart only sinks.

He smiles and Reiner lets out a sharp breath beside you, settling you down. “Bertholdt…” More shapes emerge. A shorter boy accompanied by another taller one, both alike in their features. You recognize one as the Jaw Titan holder before Falco, but the other—

“Marcel!” Reiner chokes out the name, hand stretching out to the fog, but the boy merely tilts his head and waves.

Closing your eyes, hot tears streak over your cooling flesh as you fling your arms around Reiner again and press your face into his neck. He cradles the back of your head, and he feels… somehow weaker, but still, there is that impassable strength in his core that wraps around you as he watches over your shoulder, still clinging on despite your clothes hot enough to burn.

I’m alive, I’m alive, I’m alive, I’m alive. It’s the only thought in your head. Your last clear memory had truly been the others taking flight, and the pain that had ripped apart your body before sewing it back together again in unjust proportions. Your limbs had been too big, your blood racing too warmly through your head as your legs pumped but your brain screamed to stop. 

Your fingers had sank into Reiner’s legs to pull him down and you had watched—watched Jean take a bite out of him—

You shiver and Reiner’s arms tighten around you instinctively, constricting enough to let you know that his attention isn’t on you quite yet.

Boots shifting on the ground tentatively, your knees feel gummy as you draw back long enough to look at him. He still looks over your shoulder, and you follow his gaze to watch the mist retreat. Bertholdt and the other two boys fall into a pool of fog, and your lips part in a farewell, but it’s already too late.

He’s gone.

A wind sweeps through the battlefield, tickling your sweating neck and cooling your boiling blood.

“Hey,” a soft voice croaks.

Their eyes meet in tandem. He regards you softly, like you are the reason the sun rises and the stars hang at the sky. Overwhelmed, you can only cup the back of his neck and pull him into a deep kiss. Your other hand along his jaw, it takes all you can not to pull him into a bone-crushing embrace that’ll send them both to the ground.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” you whisper hushedly against his mouth, throat swelling as he lets out a soft noise of surprise as you pull him into another tight hug. You don’t care that you’re crushing him, just that his heart is pounding against your own chest. “I couldn’t stop myself. I’m so sorry.” 

His eyes widening, he wraps his hands around your wrists and pulling you back just enough to kiss your fingers that crumple against his mouth. Clasping one of his hands in both of your own, you close your eyes and he uses his free fingers to brush the tears off your cheek before reaching into some dented tin you don’t recognize.

Eyebrows furrowing, you feel the heat leave your entire body, sapping your energy too, and your eyes snap to Reiner who steps back, cracking it open and presenting it to you. 

“You’re not the one who has to be sorry. I don’t think I’m the Armoured Titan anymore,” he whispers. “I don’t know if I get the rest of my life back, but either way, I want to spend the rest of it repenting to you in any way I can, if you’ll allow me to.” A weak smile. “Truth.”

Your throat closes up, and you stare down at the ring so protected, gleaming despite the destruction around them. It looks almost out of place amongst the grime smearing your skin, the sweat drenching their skin, the smell of blood and metal clinging to their clothes, but Reiner only watches you with a tenderness you can barely meet. It’s so overtly overflowing with devotion that your heart is resting on your tongue, seizing control of everything. 

You barely nod, chewing on your lip, trying not to cry even harder as his eyebrows rise in relief and he lets out a long sigh.

He lifts the ring out of the tin, snapping it closed before sliding the band back home onto your finger and all at once, everything floods you. The exhaustion, the pain, the hunger, thirst, grief wrapping around your bones and chaining you to the ground.

It’s over.

The minute he put the ring on your finger, it would mean it was over. No more blood, no more fighting.

Just like he promised.

You barely croak out his name before you fall to your knees. You trust him to catch you, and he does.

[THREE YEARS LATER]

Just after the Rumbling had stopped, you had gone back to Paradis alone and came back with three children to a man who was still uncertain in a world that was changing. 

Since then, you’ve learned so much about the world, about yourself, about Reiner. 

How he’s seized by night terrors even now, just like you, and how one thing that soothes it is going out for a walk while the sun still simmers below the horizon, the sky a dark navy blue spliced with orange rays. The intricate details like him making a point to tie his own tie because his father never taught him how or the way he has to chug his coffee so he has enough energy to get through the day.

And some days are horrible, haunting, but now, it is far outweighed by the good. He teaches Xav how to dress smart, takes the girls out shopping. Sometimes, he’s spotted around Liberio with a flame-haired boy riding his shoulders, you trailing behind hiding a smile behind some ice-cream.

Different nations, foods, cultures surround you now—citizens of countries coming to settle down roots, spread cuisine to Marley. The idea before, of humans so different than you but still similar at the root of it all, existing, still blows your mind. The technologies that you had never seen before, languages you’d never heard, sights you’d never seen, had all swarmed you as you stepped into a new world with him.

But there is always one thing you’ll come back to.

Leaning against the railing in the port city Reiner told you was the harbour he had left twelve years ago, and returned to seven years ago, you watch the clouds travel in slow drags across the pale blue canvas hung high above your head. The water spans for as far as you can see, glimmering under the sun and gorgeous enough to take your breath away. You pull at your coat across your chest absently, ignoring the tender growl of your stomach. 

Breathing in the salty wind, you feel your chest expand at the litle fishing boats a little ways out.

Reiner was right. You don’t get sick of the sea. You never will—not of this much water. You still remember the first time you had swam in it, the salt-water making your hair crisp, the cold sweat forming on your your sun-warmed skin.

You feel a hand on your shoulder. Looking up, you spot blonde hair and warm eyes and smile. Your heart flutters a bit. You shift on your feet.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Reiner leans down beside you, and you clasp your hands, letting the sea wind curl against your neck. Reaching to slip his hand in between yours, he sighs and you lean against his shoulder, glancing at their pile of interlaced fingers. “Are you okay?”

“Of course,” you whisper, although even still, you can feel a numbing at your fingertips. You remember what it was like to be a Titan, even now. The sensations haunt you—flashes of your own mutated body, the grotesque meat of your hands sinking into the ankles of the man beside you, the bloodcurdling roar spilling out of your throat.

Glancing at their fingers, you watch the flashes of silver of the rings play in the sunlight, your band now having a matching counterpart on his own hand. You grasp his hands tightly, bringing them up to your lips and his own grip tightens when you dust a kiss gently along his scarred knuckles.

“No,” you finally say at length. “I’m not okay. Going back to Paradis makes me nervous as hell, but we’ll manage.” He nods slowly, and you let go of his hands to wrap your arms around his neck. His own encircle your waist, pulling you flush against him and your eyes close at the familiar warmth—a warmth you’ve woken up next to most days for the past three years. 

“Have you eaten yet?” he murmurs, and your fingers play with the soft edges teasing at your pads as his nose presses against your cheek. Your eyes flutter at the soft heat emanating from his skin, and you shake your head, melting against him. With one arm still around you, he slants his body away from just enough to pull a bag out of his pocket and it crinkles as he hands it to you. Taking it, you frown and look inside.

A cream bun. You can’t help the crumbling in your expression and Reiner holds your face in his hands carefully, kissing the corner of your mouth.

“Let’s stay positive,” he whispers. “We don’t know the situation until we get there and Historia briefs us.”

“I know,” you whisper and his entire expression eases at your words. His eyes gaze at you as if you’re the sole centre of his universe, and he cups your jaw more insistently, pulling you in for a gentle kiss, one you ease into, your eyes fluttering shut as his tongue traces the seam of your mouth. Laughing, you feel his little nose scrunch and your heart bounds up into your throat as he pulls back only to kiss you again, softer this time.

“Get a room!” A sharp female voice ruins their moment and you pull back just enough to see a red-headed boy running towards them and Reiner crouches down just in time to scoop Xavier up.

“When are you getting married?” he demands. “I was promised cake when you guys got married.”

“I dunno. When you move out of the house I guess,” you tease and Xavier pouts, rubbing at the side of his nose with the heel of his palm.

“Besides, you got cake for your seventh birthday, buddy,” Reiner groans as the boy twists in his arms. “You’re getting heavy. What are you feeding him?” he adds, smiling roguishly at you and you roll your eyes as Alina and Anya approach, sun hats protecting them from the glaring sun. Alina, grocery bags in hand, waves. Anya, who’d been the one to shout, tucks her coin purse back into her bag before flashing you a great big smile.

Only fifteen and seventeen. You can barely recall what it’s like being that young anymore, but you’re grateful they didn’t spend it the way you did. They get to know beauty, and no limits at all. The former comes naturally, the latter is partially because Reiner spoils them rotten.

Alina picks a flower with velvety purple petals from a bouquet she cradles in her arm, extending it to you.

“For good luck,” she says. “And protection.” Your heart melts at her words and you pause for a moment, looking from the gorgeous bloom to Reiner, occupied with the boy in his arms making silly faces at him. Then, without another moment, you sneak the flower behind his ear and he reaches up immediately to hold it against his head, turning to you in surprise. 

“To protect the both of us,” you explain.

“Thank you. I’ll be extra careful now.” He looks at the girls, setting his free hand on Alina’s head heavily and she flushes, smiling grandly. “You three behave while we’re gone, alright?”

You nod. “Listen to Levi.” 

“And listen to your sister,” Reiner adds to Alina and Xavier. The former rolls her eyes, the latter sticks out his tongue. “I’ll miss you.”

This is their home—their family that tumbles together into a huge hug, and you can’t help but stand back, watching how they all seem to merge into one unit, unaware of where one part of their reach ends and another begins.

As Reiner pulls you into the hug, your heart soars through your body, effortlessly pounding in your throat and in your fingers and everywhere at once. Liquid heat pools everywhere as Xavier screws up his face when you kiss his cheek, the same way Reiner does after he’s eaten something sour.

And maybe it’s a bit different, or a bit broken, the shards of their bloody history still poking at their heels whenever they think you’ve forgotten them, and it’s most definitely not perfect, but you would rather have it like this then anything else.

“Hey, guys!” Breaking apart, the family look over to see Armin, Annie, and Pieck walking over. Gabi and Falco meander a little bit behind, pushing Levi in his wheelchair, and Jean and Connie are running not far behind them, shouting at one another. You stifle a laugh and Xavier shimmies out of Reiner’s hold to run towards them. The girls follow after him, trying to hold back their runs but the closer they get, you can tell the more frantic they are to say goodbye.

So this is what they’ve made a peace. Something, you hope, is good.

Annie bypasses them quickly, making her way over to you and you survey her face as Reiner squeezes your shoulder, walking over to their friends. Her blue eyes are fixed on your face, and you feel your lips curving into a smile as she shoves her hands in her pockets. Her hair is swaying in the wind, gleaming flaxen, and you remind yourself, not for the first time, that Armin and Annie’s kids, if they ever decide they want them, will be gorgeous.

Hope for the future, and all that.

She stops in front of you, tucking a strand behind her ear.

“So,” she says at length, “we’re going back to Paradis. I’m surprised you decided to come with us. You don’t owe any of us anything.”

“I know. But… you’re my best friend. You do the talking, I fly the getaway plane, right?”

“Yeah. There used to be a time when it probably would’ve been the opposite.”

You nod, and they stand in silence for a moment, watching each other. Two women who should not have been friends, but were against all odds. You don’t think you would be here today if it weren’t for Annie.

Your heart lurches and you take a step forward just as she does, her mouth open to say something. You throw your arms around her and she lets out a noise in surprise as you close your eyes. Arms coming underneath yours, her hands dig into your shoulders and you smile against soft hair as she sighs, easing into your hug.

“Finally working together on an actual assignment,” you mumble and her head tilts as her small frame shifts, a hand patting you on the back as a sign for you to back up. “Just like we always said we would.” 

Bluntly: “Just don’t do anything stupid.”

“You, too.” Pulling back, the two look at one another for another soft moment before you remember the bag in your hand and you shift the bun up in the bag, extending it towards her. “Want some?” Her eyebrows rise in faint delight, before she’s reaching over, pinching and tearing a piece off. 

You grin and do the same and you gesture for her to come stand by the rails with you, stuffing the bag into your coat pocket. Leaning against the warm metal again, you hear a seagull call. The plane you’ll be flying to Paradis floats on the water, the technicians giving it the final check before you take off.

If anything goes wrong while you help prepare and oversee accommodations for the rest of the ambassador group, you’ll remember to fire the black signal flare, but you trust Historia. You trust your friends.

You glance over at them, all laughing, and you notice that the flower has gone from Reiner to Pieck, who’s taking it out of her dark hair to tuck it into Jean’s, and his cheeks redden as he brushes it more securely behind his ear.

Annie catches your attention again, pointing out idly that they’ll have to separate soon when they finish with the plane, and you tell her to just wait a couple minutes more as Reiner catches your gaze. Setting Xav, who has somehow wormed his way back into his arms, down, he walks back over to you, and his hand trails purposefully over your back before resting at the nape of your neck, a reassuring weight on your body.

“You guys okay?”

“We’re fine,” Annie replies. “You have a clingy boyfriend,” she tells you. 

“I think it’s charming.”

She rolls her eyes. Reiner smiles, and you pat the railing beside you—silent invitation. He leans in on your other side, clasping his hands and watching the fishermen pull themselves to shore, singing a tune to each other—one familiar to all three of them and one that you wish you could get out of your head. 

“Soon may the Wellerman come…”

A faint breeze tickling at your fingertips as a sharp call for embarkment splits the harbour, you simply sigh and look over at Reiner. “I just want these last few moments to last.” His eyes meet yours, and he leans forward to press a kiss between your eyes. Annie lets out a soft noise of disgust and you bump your hip against her as Reiner pulls back.

Closing your eyes and lifting your head to the wind, you can almost imagine the one person missing standing on the other side of Annie, dark hair like spun, stained bronze and eyes like warm chocolate. He’d smile and tell them not to worry in that sincere way of his that makes you believe every word he says—as long as they were careful, they wouldn’t walk into any traps.

Your chest aches, and your lips tug into a heart-wrenching smile as you begin to sing along. Reiner slips a hand in between yours, pressing his temple against your head and you loop your other arm through Annie’s.

She rests her head on your shoulder, listening to your voice, eyes on the sailors bringing in their haul below them. Reiner hums the shanty softly, distractedly, eyes cast across the sea.

You tilt your head up to the sky, at the stars you cannot see but will join one day, and smile.

[swbumblebee]

“Stop it.”

Mace Windu was a Jedi Master, and as such had years of training resulting in near limitless patience.

A limit, however, that his closest companion and partner in time-travel was testing with his constant pacing. And huffing.

Plo Koon ignored his request. Mace sighed.

“Would you just sit down? You’re not going to bring them home any quicker and you’re wearing down my rug” he warned.  

Plo looked at him, looked down at the rug, and continued pacing.

“I don’t know what you’re worried about” Mace continued, happily ignoring the sulky silence. “We know their mission goes well, we’ve done this before!” he exclaimed. “It’s a resounding success and half a planet ends up with a crush on Obi-Wan.” He said matter-of-fact.

He felt a reluctant pulse of amusement from Plo in the Force, as much as the man tried to keep it off his face. Mace could always tell.

He stood up, joining him in front of the sofa.

“Nobody gets blown up, nobody gets injured.” He reminded gently. “The Tume agreement is signed, as it is every year, and they both live to worry us another day” he said kindly.

Plo shook his head.

“I know how it went last time. I remember the debate” he corrected. “But things could be different my friend, we have changed the timeline. The smallest difference could be vital, and we have made a very large difference.” Plo explained, in his usual measured voice. “We have altered young Anakin’s temperament; Force only knows that he’ll do. And Obi-Wan has much less to prove.”

Mace frowned. His friend was making some irritatingly good points, but he remembered the two boys standing in the council room not one week ago; a familiar determined glint in Obi-Wan Kenobi’s eye that, in the coming years, would move planets, and Skywalker looking up at all the Masters as if they hung the stars.

“They will not disappoint us” Mace said surely.

Plo stopped.

“I know” he sighed. “I just…worry. It is most unbecoming of a Jedi” the Kel Door admitted.

Mace smiled.

“We are no longer typical Jedi my friend, and you are not the only one.”

It was true. Despite his words of reassurance, waving the two off in the hanger had brought a distinct clench in his stomach, and the training droids in the dojo had had a very long week.

Both froze, two very familiar force presences making themselves known, and not a moment later Mace’s commlink chirped shrilly.

They grinned at each other.

“Windu”

“Master, Knight Kenobi and Padawan Skywalker have just requested permission to land” the unidentified voice on the other end of the call informed them professionally.

“Thank you, Windu out.” He closed the link without a second thought, already grabbing his cloak and joining Plo, standing impatiently, by the door.

“Wait – we can’t both go!” Mace exclaimed, the thought suddenly occurring to him as Plo reached for the door control.  

The other Jedi looked at him, clearly irritated.

“Why not?”

Mace rolled his eyes. One of them had to be sensible.

“Plo, how’s that going to look? Two senior council members waiting for a new Knight and a Junior Padawan? People already think we’re too close” he exclaimed, frustrated with his friend.

Whilst they both had a wildly different attitude towards the A Word (developed over the course of the war and in their new situation) appearances were something they had to be mindful of.

Whilst his expression did not change, the Force around Plo expressed just how much of a toss he gave about appearances.

His friend folded his arms.

“Alright, we can re-convene at the flat later. I will meet them in the hanger.” He said calmly, as if it was some kind of compromise.  

Mace raised one eyebrow.

“Any why do you get to welcome them home?” he asked archly.

“You waved them off” Plo said simply. “It is my turn.”

“Ah that’s not how-Plo!” he cried out, outraged as Plo quickly opened the door and strode out into the corridor, pushing Mace gently back with the Force whilst he made his escape.

Leaving the Master of the Order spluttering at the injustice of it all, in his wake.

---

Plo was working hard to keep his happiness behind his shields as he strode into the hanger just in time to see the temple shuttle land. He ran a critical eye over it, having a sudden vision of Skywalker’s battered old ship in that first timeline. As liable to explode as it was to put the wipers on.

Thank goodness that was a bridge to be crossed in the future. He made a mental note to keep an eye out for Anakin adopting ships.

Obi-Wan ruffled young Anakin’s hair, laughing as the boy tried to squirm away, as they descended the ramp. The playful scowl on Anakin’s face transformed into excitement as he sensed Plo and turned to him, held back from running over for his usual hug by his Master’s lightning quick reflexes, grabbing a wrist and holding him back.

Plo sent a wave of welcome over to them both in the Force as they came closer, a genuine smile on Obi-Wan’s face and Anakin practically buzzing with excitement.

Obi-Wan bowed deeply in respect, clearly nudging Anakin through their training bond to do the same, and the boy hastily followed suit.

Plo held a hand up and nodded at them both as they rose smiling. Both looked absolutely fine, perhaps Obi-Wan a little tired, but Plo had a feeling that was more to do with the energetic ten-year -old he’d just spent a week with, than the challenge of the mission.

“Welcome back” Plo once again pushed his pleasure at them in the Force. Predictably, Obi-Wan’s eyes slid away from looking him in the face, but he smiled gratefully all the same as Plo plucked the bulky pack out of his hands and shouldered it. Anakin nearly skipped as they all headed towards the exit and made for the Kenobi/Skywalker residence.

“Thank you Master, it’s good to see you-“

“Master Plo, it was so wizard we went in a hyperlane and the pilot let me sit up front and Chose was awesome Master it was hailing when we got there, like really hard rain! And they had massive beds and loads of puddings and me and Master Obi-Wan went to a play with singing-“

As the child rambled excitedly on, Plo shared a bemused look with a resigned Obi-Wan, sending him a wave of amused sympathy at him in the Force. Received with a dry raise of the young man’s eyebrows.

It must have been a long week for the twenty-three-year-old.

Content to let the child’s happiness wash over him, and Obi-Wan appearing to enjoy the lack of expected contribution for once, the journey to the flat was mostly uneventful, only a few Jedi casting them amused looks at Anakin’s wild gesticulating.

“Anakin, Obi-Wan!”

They were stopped from keying in the door code by Mace’s cry of greeting as he rounded the corner towards the little group. Ignoring Plo he went straight up to the boys, Anakin beaming at him and Obi-Wan bowing once again.

“Master”

“Hi Master Mace! Guess what? We saw hail on Chose and-

“Anakin” Obi-Wan blissfully interrupted before the whole recount could begin again. “Why don’t we get inside and get the tea on and then you can tell Master Mace and Master Plo all about our mission” he suggested firmly, in a way that was definitely not a suggestion.

“Yes Master”

Obi-Wan keyed in their code and stepped inside, Anakin following happily kicking off his boots by the door.

Mace, still giving Plo the cold shoulder, stepped inside first. And made a distinct noise of surprise. Plo followed curiously looking over his shoulder.

“Obi-Wan – what happened?” he asked, aghast.

Plo held back an unseemly laugh.

The flat was a tip.

There were robes on the floor, he spotted two pairs of boots sticking out from under the sofa and a discarded pack under the table. What looked like the entire Temple’s supply of mugs were scattered on almost every surface, alongside precariously stacked datapads and flimsy piles on the tables and on the floor, some of which had fallen over.

As he picked his way across the room, avoiding random bits of droid and one or two power tools, Plo could spy a half-eaten bowl of cereal on the kitchen counter when he peered inside, and about three days worth of washing up. A laundry basket was sitting next to the washing machine, overflowing with brown and beige.

The two young Jedi stood awkwardly in the middle of the flat.

Obi-Wan flushed a little.

“Ah, we left on quite short notice” he offered.

“I don’t think it’s that bad really” Anakin offered with an awkward shrug, slyly kicking something further under the sofa.

“This is….” Mace was lost for words. Whilst Plo hadn’t spent much time in Master Kenobi’s home the first time around, he had always thought the man to be fastidiously clean, and what he had seen had been very tidy.

Anakin however, was no surprise.

Plo could sense Mace doing the same thing he was, adding “domestic help” to the Obi-Wan Support List. They’d been so focussed on studies and their boy’s personal development they completely forgot that the Knight had never lived by himself before, never mind taken care of a youngling!

Obi-Wan apologetically shoved some pads and an old robe off the sofa to make space and disappeared into the kitchen to put the kettle on.

The two Masters sat down gingerly. Anakin on the floor opposite.

“Your mission was a success?” Plo asked conversationally as Obi-Wan reappeared with the mugs of tea. Plo caught Mace peering at the rim for signs of prior use, and gave him a look.  

“Yeah” Anakin answered before Obi-Wan could get a word in “the Chosians didn’t like me at first but they really liked Master Obi-Wan and they spent ages talking. And people kept giving him stuff.” The boy explained with a disgusted expression. “Flowers and cakes and-“

“Yes thank you Padawan” Obi-Wan interrupted loudly, his ears turning a rather bright shade of pink. Mace smirked at him and Plo sent his partner a mental swat.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat.

“The mission was a success and the Tume Agreement has been updated and signed.” The Knight took a sip of his tea. “We will not need to go back for a while, it should be valid for another ten years” he finished casually as if accomplishing something no Jedi had managed before, on his first mission, was an afterthought.

Mace and Plo shared a look.

Just like last time.

It was a huge relief that their presence had had no adverse effects on the Negotiator’s skills. As Plo sat and listened to Mace congratulate the blushing young man he had a thought.

What could these two, The Team; the best Jedi of his generation and the most powerful force user ever, accomplish with the support of Mace and Plo this time around?

The Sith had better pack their bags. He thought smugly.

---

To get a feel for the whole set up of Obi-Wan Anakin’s first mission when they were assigned it “the first time around” read this Snippet Of Nothing, which is the mission being discussed, and is from the councils point of view. 

[wkemeup]

Start Again II

summary: You and Steve deal with the aftermath of the pollen pairing: steve x reader word count: 5k warnings: SMUT (18+), perceived sexual assault (by steve), self loathing af steve rogers, making up for lost time, a very fluffy ending a/n: ok last and final part! Thanks for indulging me in my steve fantasies. You can read part one here 🌟

The more Steve thought about it, the more he wished that Hydra agent had just shot him.  

He could still feel the sensitivity pulsing in fluttering beats between his legs, forcing him to adjust his pants in search of relief. He could still smell the slight tang on his fingers, on his thighs; could feel the residue on his skin. His stomach was still twisted and warped and tied into knots as he struggled to keep still in his seat while he shot cautious glances back towards the loading dock, waiting for you to return.  

It took a few minutes after he’d started digging his nails into his palms until he heard the softened footsteps, head perking up as you appeared at the back of the jet. You slowly made your way up the ramp and pressed a hand to the retractor, signaling Sam you were ready for takeoff.  You were silent as you passed the seat beside Steve, the one you usually occupied, the one closest to him, and took your place across the aisle. Legs crossed, leaning off the furthest edge of the seat.  

It was then Steve noticed the subtle reflective marks on your cheeks, a redness straining into the whites of your eyes, a sniffle in your nose as you brushed a hand over your face. You only nodded, jaw clenched, when Sam called back from the pilot seat in his usual light-hearted banter that he was approaching takeoff. You didn’t so much as a crack a smile.  

So yeah, Steve wished that agent had just shot him instead.

Hours later, after the jet touched back on solid ground and he’d put as much distance away from you as he could manage, Steve found himself standing under scalding hot water. It showered down over his back, his right hand propped up against the wall for support, wet hair and trails of water streaming down over his eyes.  

It burned. The steam itself was suffocating. The water only washing away the sweat beading on neck. But it was all he could do to rid that room from his body, the pollen from its talon-sunken holes clawed deep into the furthest corners of his mind.  

It wasn’t you he was trying to rid himself of. Never you.  

No—it was the remnants of the violence etched into his skin, the devil in his desires, the monster in his movements.  

You couldn’t look at him. You’d tried to force it back in the vault, calling his name, making sure he was alright even after what he’d done, but that was just who you were. Kind beyond what he deserved. Loving to a fault. He knew you were putting on a brave face, but you could hardly stand over wobbling legs.

So, he left. He gritted his teeth and gave you as much space as he possibly could, tried to spare you the grief of having to be in the same room, to breathe the same air, as the man who—

Christ.

He couldn’t even say it.  

He stayed there, standing under scalding water, long after it lost its warmth, until it was so cold his skin had numbed and his teeth were chattering.  

Nothing seemed to be enough to rinse the monster from his body. He wondered then if he ever would, or if it was just a part of him now, if it was engrained deep into his soul, if maybe it had been lying in wait under the surface all his life, waiting for the right moment to be release and rip away the very thing he adored most in this world and –  

Knock knock knock.

Steve froze at the edge of the bathroom. He looked down to find navy blue pajama pants and a thin t-shirt covering his body, the cotton a little damp from the shower. His hair was dripping onto the collar of his shirt, leaving small patches of darkened cloth behind. 

He blinked a few times, trying to pull himself back to his body. He glanced back at the shower. He didn’t even realize he’d turned it off, didn’t register when he’d gotten out and started to change.  

Fuck. He was losing it.  

He exhaled a heavy breath, starting to make his way back to the bed when the knocks came a second time.  

Knock knock knock.

A little more urgent this time. A slight shift in the floorboards outside his room. A nervous kind of energy.  

Steve swallowed, slicking back his damp hair and slowly padded his way over to the door.  

But then, the sweet scent of coco butter caught his sense and he stilled. His heart was suddenly pounding in his chest, thunderous, like it might burst through the surface and fall broken and battered to the floor at his feet.  

He was stone. A statue. A breath of wind could have knocked him over.  

“Steve?” your voice called gently, muffled by the door between you.  

He couldn’t speak. He could only stare at the small cracks in the wooden frame, the broken splinters from where he’d nearly ripped the door from its hinges the night he heard you scream through the night terrors plaguing your dreams. Tony always offered to replace it but Steve wouldn’t let him. The small broken fragments made it easier to listen for you.  

“I know you’re in there,” you murmured. A soft tap followed and he could practically picture you setting your forehead to the wooden frame. “Please, just talk to me.”

A crack in your voice. A lump in your throat. You'd been crying again.  

“Stevie, please... don’t shut me out,” you whispered, voice barely audible but it tore through Steve’s chest like you’d screamed it. Your hands dragged along the door until they stilled on the knob. It was unlocked. It always was. A habit he’d come to find after you’d started showing up in his room late at night when you couldn’t sleep.  

But the door didn’t open this time. You didn’t peer your head in cautiously, fingers grazing on the edge of the frame. You didn’t call his name sweetly with that nervous smile on your lips. No—you waited. Waited for him to open the door himself.  

And still, he couldn’t move.

He hated himself for it.  

It wasn’t until he listened for the deflated, broken sigh as the floorboards squeaked gently beneath your bare feet, your hand falling away from the door as you started to leave, that Steve finally found the courage to move.  

He was at the door in two steps, hand on the knob and swung it open. You flinched in your surprise and Steve instantly stepped back, made himself as small as he could manage. The last thing he wanted was to scare you. It was the only time he’d ever wished to rid the serum from his veins; make him the scrawny, unintimidating boy he was before the war.  

He didn’t know what to say as he stared at you. Your hair was damp like his, arms folded over your chest, holding the edges of your robe securely over your body and while it could have easily been because of the chill of the air conditioning in the hallway, Steve took another step back, certain you were hiding yourself from him.

His eyes fell to the ground.

“Can we talk?” you asked sheepishly.

Steve nodded, stepping aside. 

You slipped past him and made your way to his bed, though you paused before you sat down. It was familiar, a habit, for you to rush into his room and plop onto his bed with handfuls of popcorn and M&M’s and watch movies for hours on end. But things were different now. You clung tighter to your robe.

“You can sit. If you... um... if you want, I mean,” Steve said awkwardly, his voice broken from disuse. He wasn’t used to feeling so on edge around you and it left behind a sour taste in his mouth. He cleared his throat as he sat on the edge of the bed, giving you as much space as he could.

You nodded, offering him a short smile. You tucked one leg under you, the other hanging off the side of the bed as you turned to face him. Steve could feel you watching him, though he was determined to keep his focus on the bristles of carpet under his feet.  

“Steve, I—”

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, the words falling past his lips before he could quite gain control of them. His jaw ached from how tight he’d been clenching his, his hands restless from pulling and twisting at his fingers until the skin was red and raw.  

He didn’t notice the surprise on your face, not though the tears brimming in his eyes. He didn’t notice as you crept closer to him along the bed, gently calling his name, couldn’t hear as you called for him so sweetly it ached and bled.  

“I’m so sorry, Y/n,” Steve cried, pushing the heels of his hands to his eyes. “I never—I never should have given in to that stuff and now—now you can't even look at me and I feel so fucking selfish because that’s what scares me more than anything else. More than what I did in that room. The fact that I might have just lost you because of it and I—fuck—I can’t lose you because I’ll go out of my goddamn mind. I can’t.”

“Steve,” you called again gently, trying to interject, but he was too far into his own spiral of guilt and self-loathing to hear you.  

“I hate that this happened and I hate that I did this to us and I—I hate that everything is in fucking pieces right now and I don’t know how to make this right, or if I ever can, and—and I know I have no right to ask for forgiveness but—”

“Steve!”

Your hands were on the sides of his face, a firm hold of stubble along his jaw rubbing against the inside of your palms, wide blue eyes staring back at you in shock. Glossy in color, reflective marks of tears on his cheekbones, touching against your fingers. All he could focus on was the startling warmth in your hands, the tenderness in which you held him as you forced his gaze to you, and he choked back a sob brewing up the base of his spine.  

“Oh, honey. All this guilt you carry... it must be so exhausting,” you sighed, gently wiping the tears under his eyes. There was an ache in your voice, a love, that ripped straight through his chest. You smiled for him, something so soft, barely lifting at the corners of your mouth, but it was enough. “I was there with you, remember? You asked for my consent a dozen times. I said yes. You warned me it would be rough. I still said yes. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Steve was unconvinced. He remembered how tightly he’d gripped your hip, how he left bruises behind and how your skin was scraped and burned as it rubbed against the table. He remembered how he’d pushed you down, a hand firm on your back, how he’d used you for his own pleasure and lost a part of himself in the chase.  

You must have seen his mind wandering because you settled in closer to him, releasing your hold on his face, though your hands never traveled far. Instead, they ran gently down along his arms until they landed on his hands. Fingers curling under his palms, tugging them to your lap as you carefully traced the lines in his skin, over old scars and the lifeline running in an elongated arc to the center of his wrist.  

“You're a good man, Steve,” you said, still staring down at his hands. “Most men... they wouldn’t have held off as long as you did. Wouldn’t have asked permission, either. You forget that I know what the effects of the pollen feel like, too, Steve. I was begging you. God, I felt like I was going to die if you didn’t do what you did. So, if you’re going to sitting here and blame yourself for what happened, then you better blame me, too.”

Now that, he didn’t see coming.  

You were smiling at him when he dared to meet your eye again, though there was a sadness there. You squeezed his hands, slowly bringing them up to your lips and pressing a gentle kiss along the knuckles. He watched you in awe, heart stammering, and he did his best to memorize the feel of your lips on his skin.  

It took Steve a minute to respond, too focused on how warm your hands were around his. The two of you were close, yes, but you’d never done anything like this before. Even in the nights when you crawled into his bed, there was space between you. Always teetering on the edge of something more and never daring to cross the line.  

Until the line was ripped to shreds and tossed to the gutter.  

The goddamn line didn’t even exist anymore.  

“You alright?” you asked sweetly, because of course you were worried about him. You always were.  

When he didn’t respond, you released his hands, letting him pull them back into his own lap, and a chill started to prickle at his skin. Cold, in your absence. He was always cold when you weren't there.  

It used to be enough to be near you, to be close enough to smell the coco butter lotion on your skin and see the faint discoloration on scars from past missions. It wasn’t enough anymore.  

Steve took in a heavy breath, trying to find the right words. “It just... It shouldn’t have been like that."

You narrowed your eyes, confused.  

“Our first time. It shouldn’t have been like that,” Steve admitted, digging his nails to his palm. When he looked up at you again, you were staring at him with wide eyes, lips slightly parted, shocked. He smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I had this whole plan, you know?”

You shook your head, just barely, but enough.  

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I... uh... I’ve been making reservations at this fancy restaurant downtown... the one Stark won’t shut up about. Been doing that every Friday night for the past two months. Just in case I worked up the courage to finally ask you on a date. A real date.”

The words were spilling out faster than he could hold them back, but there was a relief in it, a waterfall in the admission that swept through the tension in his muscles and drew away the unsettling ache in his bones.  

“I think about it a lot. I think about how we’d talk all night, like we always do,” he continued, in an almost dream like voice, “but there would be expensive wine. Red, I think. We’d order two bottles and earn some angry looks from the other tables because we’d be laughing too loud. We’d eat something good. Something recommended by the chef. I’d pay—”

“--with Stark’s card?”

Steve paused, turning to find you smiling at him, genuinely smiling. Enough to bite down on your bottom lip to try and suppress it, though it did no use. It pushed lines up by your eyes, a glow in the way you watched him, and suddenly, his whole chest was warm. He nodded.  

“Of course,” he chuckled, surprised how easily it came. “Always on Tony’s dime.”

You laughed, and he was certain it was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.  

“Then what?”

“I’d walk you through Brooklyn. Show you all the places I grew up. Probably stop by an ice cream joint because the portion sizes at expensive restaurants are pitiful,” Steve said, grinning as you struggled to contain your laughter, your shoulder bumping into his. He sighed, watching you for a moment, before he let himself say the words he’d been trying to say for years.  

“At the end of the night, I’d—” he paused, stealing a quick glance at you before he found his remaining courage. He exhaled a heavy breath and admitted, “I’d tell you I’ve been head over heels for you for as long as I can remember. I’d tell you that you’re my best friend but I... I want you to be more. And I’d tell you I’ve wanted it for a long time.”

You froze, smile faltering for just a moment, stunned. “You would?”

He nodded, his cheeks burning a little pink, but he didn’t mind. “Then, when we got back, I’d walk you back to your room, be a proper gentleman about it and, if you’d let me, I’d kiss you. Something short. Something a little chaste. Because I wouldn’t want to push things too fast and risk messin’ this thing up because… this is it for me. You're it for me.”

Steve had never seen you rendered to a stunned silence quite like that before. He was used to fighting for a word in because you always had something to say about everything. He liked when you rambled and lost yourself on long tangents, wondering how you got from the missing Thin Mints in the freezer to the state of Greece’s economy. He found it endearing, but for once, he had a moment to talk. So, he took advantage of it.  

“We’d go on a few dates,” he continued, with a soft smile, a casual shrug, like he hadn’t been thinking about it for years. “I’d hold your hand in public. Bite the head off of any reporter that asked too many questions, but I’d want people to know that I was yours, so I wouldn’t be shy about it. I’d wrap an arm around you on the couch on movie nights and wouldn’t care when Sam teases me about it because you’d be in my arms and that’s all that would matter.”

Steve swallowed, his heart beating a little faster. “And then, only when the time was right, when we’d found a trust that extended beyond the missions and the Avengers, I’d linger a little longer by our hallway before I said goodnight. You’d do that thing where you bite your lip because I know you’re waiting for me to make the first move, and I’d ask if you wanted to stay the night.”

"And if I said yes?” you asked quietly, inching just a little closer to him, enough that he could feel the warmth of your skin against his thigh.  

“I’d kiss you in the doorway,” Steve exhaled a heavy breath, picturing it in his mind the way he had dozens of times before. “Something slower, enough to leave you feeling breathless. I’d kiss you enough to memorize the taste of you on my tongue, slip my hands into your hair and drag my fingers over your scalp. I wouldn’t pull away until I felt you whimper against my lips.”

When he glanced up at you, your eyes were near black, pupils dilated enough for the colors of your iris to be left in thin rims at the furthest edges. You swallowed, lips slightly parted, a dangerous kind of look about you.  

“Show me.”

Steve swallowed, staring at your lips, how you tugged them between your teeth in anticipation. He exhaled a steady breath, searching your eyes for resistance, and when he found none, he let his hand slip up along your arm and nestle into your hair. You shivered under his touch, chest rising a little faster, as he slowly leaned towards you.  

He paused, nails tenderly massaging at your scalp, just enough until he caught the flicker of lust woven through the startling colors in your eyes. Then, with more courage than he’s had in a long time, Steve met his lips to yours.  

Slow. Wet. Starting at your lower lip, pulling it between his own and sucking sweetly. Then, a flicker of his tongue along the lines of your mouth, waiting patiently, and you parted your lips a little further for him. He swept his tongue along yours as he kissed at your upper lip. Sighing into the touch, the muffled sound of a whimper escaped and Steve smiled against your mouth.  

“Then what?” you gasped, a little out of breath as Steve began to kiss along your cheekbones, your jawline, then to the sensitive parts on your collar.  

“I’d lay you down on my bed,” he whispered against your skin, warm to the touch. You leaned back to the pillows, pulling your legs up onto the bed as Steve followed in suit. He laid beside you, a leg between yours, his lips never once leaving your body.  

“Then,” he continued, pulling back for only a moment, though your huff of disappointment didn’t slip his notice. He chuckled as he crossed his arms at his waist and pulled his shirt up and over his head. “I’d start getting rid of the fabric between us.”

Steve paused, eyeing you, waiting for permission, and you nodded at him. A smile lifted at his cheeks as he crawled back down over you, pressing a kiss to your clavicle. His lips trailed along the bone, until he met the cozy fluff of your robe. He inched it off your shoulder, kissing at the skin between.  

“I’d take off your clothes, but I'd do it slowly because I’ve already waited so long and what’s another few minutes when I can have you whining and needy by the time I’m done,” Steve teased, unwrapping the belt at your waist and letting the fabric fall open. 

You giggled under him, muffling the sound against his shoulder. Underneath, you were dressed only in a tank top and panties; so thin he could see your pebbled nipples through the thin fabric.  

“Keep going,” you sighed, arcing up for him as his eyes lingered just a little longer on your chest.  

Steve nodded, pinching up at the ends of your tank with his thumbs, slowly bunching up the fabric towards your ribs. He leaned down and pressed his lips to your stomach, touching over curves and edges, over scars and freckles, discovering the most beautiful pieces of you he could find.  

“I’d kiss every inch of you,” he exhaled, pushing the fabric up further as his lips made their way to your ribs. Then, over your breasts as you helped him discard the top over your head and toss it to the floor. Steve sighed, staring in awe. “I’d have to take a minute when I finally saw you because you’d be more beautiful than I ever pictured in my head. You’d laugh because you wouldn’t believe me and you’d try to cover yourself--” he raised an eyebrow as your arms moved to shield yourself from his staring eyes though you froze when you realized what he said, “-- like that.”  

Steve chuckled, waiting for you to relax your arms back to your sides. “But I’d be determined and I’ll want to make sure you know how serious I am. So, I’d take my time with you, kiss you everywhere but where you need me most, even when I feel you searching for friction at my thigh between your legs.”

You paused, not even realizing you were trying to rub yourself on his leg, but Steve was smiling so wide, you couldn’t help but return it. There was no room for embarrassment, not with no much love in his eyes.  

Steve lowered himself to your breasts, the heated flush of his breath touching your skin. Then, his tongue dipped to your nipple, circling the bud for a moment before he pulled it onto his mouth, sucking sweetly enough to pull a whine from your lips.  

“Oh, Steve,” you moaned, hands sinking into his hair, guiding him, arching up into him. His hand worked at the other breast, kneading and brushing his thumb over the sensitive bud. He didn’t let up until you whined, “Stevie, please. I need you.”

He pulled back, a teasing smirk on his face as he glanced down your bodies to find your panties wet at the center, damp to the navy plaid pajamas on his thigh where you’d been rubbing yourself. He could smell the sweet, tangy scent of the wetness between you and he licked his lips.

“Not this time,” you urged. “I need you, Steve. Please.”

“You’re skipping steps in my plan, sweetheart,” Steve smirked. “I didn’t tell you yet about how I was going to kiss along your thigh, just up to the crease of your leg, kissing at your folds until I dipped my fingers between them and touched the wetness there, parted you enough that I could run my tongue along your slit.”

You shivered; lips parted in a breathless gasp. Steve winked, hooking his fingers in the band of your panties, pausing until you rolled your hips up for him, and slid them down your legs.  

“I would have slid my tongue into the deepest part of you, tasted you,” he continued, a dark kind of sin in his voice that swept up your spine as he pulled down his pants, freeing himself from the fabric and letting his cock stand out against him, press up against your thighs. “I would have wrapped my lips around your clit as I slipped two fingers inside of you, three if you were ready enough. I would have sucked and kissed and licked at your clit as I pumped my fingers into you, waited until I felt your walls clenching around me, until you were digging your hands through my hair and became a withering, moaning mess. I wouldn’t stop until you cried out my name, and maybe not even then. I’d make you come at least twice before I even pulled my cock from my pants.”

You whined, jaw clenched, hands running along his chest. His cock edged at your entrance; thick, full, aching in its pulse and the pre-cum dripping at the tip.  

“Steve?” you finally managed to mutter, wrecked.  

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

You took a heavy breath, eyes darkening over. “Stop talking, will you?”  

Steve grinned.

Then, he sank into you.  

The stretch was unlike anything else; the pulse of it against your walls tighter than you’d been within Hydra’s vault, the absence of the pollen in your system giving way to a whole new kind of high. No longer overwhelmed by the lust and cravings and sensations buried deep inside you, but instead, memorizing the slight ache between your legs, the feelings of the thick vein that rang down the underside of his shaft as it pressed up against this glorious sweet spot at your opening, the touch of his breath warm and moist to your skin, the low hums and moans of a man you adored.  

“Oh God... Steve...” you whined, knees lifting higher in search of that perfect angle that brought him deeper inside you. He choked back a groan, muffled in the crook of your neck.  

His hands encased around your shoulders, hips slowly beginning to rut further inside of you before he slipped out, just to the tip. Filling you, stretching you, sinking into where he belonged.  

“Fuck-- sweetheart, I—” Steve let out a growl, his right hand running up along your curves to find your breasts, fingers pinching and teasing over hardened nipples. “You feel so good, baby. So fuckin’ good.”

Your hands raked along his spine, nails digging just enough into the skin to pull a hiss from his lips before he started kissing along your neck, your jawline, hips picking up in pace. Steve slid his hand down the edge of your curves, over your stomach and between your legs where your bodies met. The pads of his fingertips dipped to your core, swirled over the drench of wetness there before they carried just a bit higher to your clit.  

You gasped, clenching around his cock as his trusts began a little less gentle a little more desperate; the cry of the bedsprings and the labored breaths between you filling the room, joining the salty tang of sex in the air. Steve grinned against the crook of your neck, kissing at the dip in your collarbone sweetly in startling contrast to the rough snap of his hips. He circled at the bundle of nerves at your core, bringing you closer to your release as your walls started to cave in around him.  

“Don’t-- Don’t stop,” you gasped, the coil at your core tightening and drawing to the edge, “oh fuck, Steve!”

Muffled cries into his shoulder, Steve kept up his pace, not relenting for a beat as you rode out the peak of your high. Nails digging into his back, dipped into his shoulder blades as you bit on the edge of his collar. His hips started to lose their rhythm, his breaths heavy and labored, moans slipping from his lips as the haze began to leave you and you pressed kisses to the lining of his jaw, whispering, “that’s it, Stevie. Come for me, honey.”

He nodded, hot breaths to your skin, and with a strangled cry, he released into you, filling you whole, before he chased a few more thrusts and stilled. His body fell to your chest, sinking you into the mattress as he rested his head against your heart. Arms circling up and under your shoulders, curling you in close to him, you could feel his smile curving up against your skin.  

You grinned up at the ceiling, a laugh bubbling in your chest as your fingers started to rake gently through his hair, combing through the beads of sweat left behind on his forehead. He sighed at the feeling, eyes fluttering closed as he pressed his lips to the hill of your breast before settling in.  

“I should get up,” he mumbled, though he made to effort to move.  

“I like you where you are,” you replied cheekily, squeezing your walls around his softening cock and laughing when you felt him jolt against you at the shock of it.  

“Watch yourself,” Steve warned lightheartedly. “You’ll work me up again.”

“Maybe that’s the plan.”

Steve lifted his head from your chest, catching your eye for just a moment, and the smile on his face nearly captured the air entirely from your lungs. Impossibly sweet. Gentle. Loving in a way you never thought you’d see nestled in the pale blue of his eyes. He leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips.  

“We missed a lot of steps, didn’t we?” Steve sighed, his smile softening to something sadder, like something precious had been taken from him. The first date. The first kiss. The nervous parts in between. He wanted them all.  

“Doesn’t mean we can’t go back and start again,” you grinned, cupping the side of his face as you pulled him back to your lips, kissing him until you could feel him start to smile again.  

You started to edge him off of you, slipping out from under his weight as he protested in a whine. He rolled onto his back, sheet draped over his lower half, elbows propping him up against the pillows as the sunlight peaking in between the curtains cast of his skin. Warm and inviting. Soft.  

You leaned against the bathroom arc, just admiring him for a moment before you said, “be ready by seven tonight.”

Steve narrowed his eyes, raising a brow, though the smile on his lips was still as dreamy, still caught up you. “Why?”

“We’ve got a first date, Steven,” you winked before disappearing into the bathroom. “Don’t be late.”

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

[imaginesbymk]

“Find Me Under The Giant Rabbit.”

Reservoir Dogs/Pulp Fiction One Shot

SUMMARY: I read a Reddit fan theory that Mr. Pink survived, escaped the cops, got arrested and was then put on parole - leaving behind his old life and lying low as a waiter at Jack Rabbit Slims. What happens when you show up to the restaurant one night?

PAIRING: Mr. Pink/Buddy Holly waiter x Reader

TAGS: swearing, smoking + mentions of basically everything that happened in reservoir dogs which is the heist, violence, etc

NON REQUESTED

WORD COUNT: 2,870 (it’s long i’m sorry)

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this is probably the cheesiest thing i’ve ever written, and it’s nothing tarantino would ever put in his films, also there’s no way PF and RS can legitimately tie in together 100% even though there are some factors to support otherwise, but i wanted to write this and see something lol :( leave a like/reblog + feedback!!!

[gif credit]

YOU put your car in park, shutting off the engine, and observed it from afar. It was one hell of a big restaurant, almost a bit too cartoon-like. There was a giant anthropomorphic rabbit on top, and the lights claiming the name were glowing a bright red and yellow. Mind you, this was in Los Angeles, so who wouldn’t blame you if you took one look at Jack Rabbit Slim’s, and mistake it for a restaurant at Six Flags? 

Dozens of bikers came in with their motorcycles, yet their engines couldn’t even overpower the chatter coming from newcomers left and right. You ignored a heavy tattooed biker dressed in all leather and denim catcalling you from afar, and you reached the front desk. 

A man dressed in uniform, most definitely in character, tipped his hat at you and led you to a table with only two chairs. You weren’t expecting anyone to join you in the other seat across. So what if you went for dinner by yourself? You didn’t bother asking anyone to join you for that matter. Not anyone you could think of at the top of your head would be any less boring.

You began tracing your fingers around the rim of the ketchup bottle when not even five seconds after sitting down, a lady approached your table with ruby red lips. 

Of course, you thought. Servers were dressed up as icons from the 50s era.

“Marilyn,” you say in awe.

“Close enough,” Instead of being seated in the Marilyn Monroe section being served by a Marilyn Monroe-looking Marilyn Monroe, you were greeted with a tall Mamie Van Doren, who is just as breathtaking as Marilyn refilling everyone’s coffee mugs from the other side of the restaurant. “How about I get you started with drinks?”

Ricky Nelson’s performance on stage came to an end when Mamie arrived with your food. You looked around the place while eating. People weren’t eating by themselves. Families, friends, dates, all of them occupied their seats. Now that you’ve noticed, you sort of wished you brought someone with you, otherwise the seat across from you is used as a footrest. 

So there, you propped your feet on top, and relaxed… then you sat upright. Your eyes fixated on the waiter in his section, which were the cars back in the 50s used as booths. You watch him walk towards one of them. The couple was a young woman in a blunt bob cut with bangs, and a man wearing a black suit with long black hair tied back.

You squint your eyes. It couldn’t be...

“Hi, I’m Buddy. What can I get ya?”

You blinked, dropping the half bitten French fry from your mouth. Holy fucking shit.

It was all coming back to you. The news broke out about the heist going wrong at the wholesale, all dead except for one, a cop who laid dead on the ramp inside the rendezvous was identified as Mr. Orange. Since he wasn’t supposed to know where you were from, Mr. Pink never turned up to your door as an emergency hideout, or to drag you with him on his getaway because he never had one. You never heard of him ever since. 

Here he was, Mr. Pink, alive and well, wearing glasses. What the hell happened? How long has he been working here? Is he supposed to be Buddy Holly?

“How do you want that cooked? Burnt to a crisp or bloody as hell?” you hear him ask the man in the suit who ordered a steak.

“Bloody as hell, and oh, yeah, look at this- vanilla coke.”

You noticed the irony. He left you in a black suit - and he comes back in white. Like he’d ever want to be caught dead in white, or pink.

“What about you, Peggy Sue?” he asks the woman, jotting in his notepad. You recognized the pun.

“I’ll have the Durwood Kirby burger, bloody. And… the five dollar shake.”

Were you about to laugh? Call out his name? That was enough for you to get antsy in your seat, but you didn’t want to draw attention. You saw him again while finishing up half of your meal, giving the couple their drinks and disappearing back into the kitchen. He was doing his job, but it wasn’t like he was giving his one hundred percent. For someone who preached to the Gods about professionalism, Mr. Pink sure lacked work ethic. Every employee was on point with their character impersonations as if you had travelled back in time. Meanwhile, he acted like himself and seemed bored while wearing an emotionless face, as if he hated his job and epitome of his existence. It was never a dull moment for him whenever he was with you, though.

You got up to use the restroom.

“We’re lucky we got anything at all. I don’t think Buddy Holly’s much of a waiter,” you heard the man at the booth tell the woman as you walk past them, spotting their food from the corner of your eye. It’s no surprise hearing that. Mr. Pink never looked like the type to work at a job like this.

You sat back down and soon, Mr. Pink reappeared, standing over to the side and watched the announcement of the twisting contest, smoking a cigarette. You see him eyeing two pretty blonde women walking past him, and he looked back his way, now in your direction.

He finally did what you wanted him to do, and he stares at you for nearly a solid minute.

You waved awkwardly. 

Mr. Pink tosses the cigarette in a random person’s ashtray and disappears behind the door once again. You darted out of your chair, and marched your way to where he headed, just as the couple he served got up on stage to participate in the twisting contest.

A Zorro waiter jumps in front of you. “Stop right there, mi amor!” his eyes darted at you through the cheap black mask he was wearing. “I believe the bathroom’s on the other side of the bar.”

“Where’s Buddy?” you ask Zorro.

“I’m afraid Mr. Holly is taking a quick break from unenthusiastically serving love birds in their cars.”

“Can you tell him I’m looking for him?”

“Once I see him.” Zorro then took out his sword and pointed it at you, a grin plastered on his face. “Now, shall I escort you back to your dining spot?”

Although you were aware this guy was only in character, you didn’t wanna risk getting kicked out, or having a realistic looking sword ripped through your body. You sighed and turned around, heading back. You noticed at your table a folded napkin beside your empty plate. Mamie Van Doren was last seen there, her back facing you with her heels clicking away on the tiles.

“Excuse me!” you called after the waitress. She ignores you, smiling down at new customers at an umbrella table.

Cocking an eyebrow, you used your finger to flatten the crease and read the note in bold handwriting.

FIND ME UNDER THE GIANT RABBIT. - BUDDY 

You threw the door open and ran outside, precisely under the giant rabbit of the Jack Rabbit Slim’s sign, just like he said on the napkin. You felt like an idiot checking every direction to find no one. Not a lot of the bikers were seen riding or hanging out around the parking lot, some people were coming and going, but you couldn’t find Buddy Holly.

Defeated, you turn to walk back inside. 

Mr. Pink rushed out the door and caught his breath. It looked like he was chasing you down before you could take off. A song used for the twisting contest kept playing from inside.

You didn’t run up to him and jumped in his arms or anything dramatic in that matter. You both stared at each other.

A few days before the heist you two stood across each other waiting for Mr. Brown and Mr. White inside the hideout. It was a quiet moment, not an awkward one. He just took that opportunity to study you, as you did him. It took him that moment to realize he was warming up to you. 

“Well hello there, Buddy,” you smile smugly.

YOU and Pink loitered at the side of the eatery, where the back door to the kitchen was located. He had taken off his fake glasses, showing his full frame.

“Okay,” you watch him lean against the wall, lighting his cigarette. “Talk to me. What happened to you?”

“What the hell do you think? Cops tagged me when I tried driving away. I was put behind bars, and by some fucking miracle this place took me in when I needed money.”

“You didn’t know any other crime bosses looking for a lanky dude?” Pink rolls his eyes at your joke. “I know the heist went terribly wrong, I saw the news. Everyone’s dead as Dillinger.”

“That briefcase had a shit load of two million dollars worth of stones,” Pink blew smoke out. “I swear, if that asshole undercover cop was never sent to set us up, I could have been enjoying a cocktail in Santorini. You’re lucky you called in sick that day.”

You shuddered, remembering how god-awful the illness was. “Never again. I felt like I was being hot glued to a sauna.”

You remembered the day of the heist. In fact, you mentally prepared yourself for something that you’ve never done before. You braced for what was supposed to go smoothly as Joe promised. Instead, you were woken up by the worst case scenario above 38 degrees. You were thankful Joe took it easy on you and promised another job next time. 

“All right, your turn. What did you do after that shit show went down?” Pink asks you.

“Just did my own thing. I wasn’t there so the cops never searched for me.” Pink took a slow drag, staring at nothing. He didn’t really look the same as before. Still lanky, except his hair was a bit more darkened and styled in curls, possibly because Buddy Holly had it permed that way. But his face read that he had been through a lot. Normally you felt zero pity for assholes like him, but you managed to blurt out, “I missed you.”

Pink, blowing out smoke in the air, eyed you up and down and furrowed his brows. “Likewise.”

Not only did it suck not being able to make money, you also couldn’t do it with Mr. Pink. As much as he kept his professionalism to a T, he squeezed in time to get along with you. It was no wonder Joe hired you - you were different than the guys, you moved differently and never felt small. Mr. Pink was drawn to that. 

Maybe that was just an understatement. He grew intimidated by something he expected to experience the least from in the job, and of course, straight out of a fairytale, you had to stop and ask yourself if you felt the same way, and if what you felt was right. Neither of you had any idea. It was against the rules to give out personal information to each other, and Mr. Pink took those rules very seriously, even if it was just one job that he most likely wouldn’t come back to unless a higher pay was involved and Joe Cabot liked him enough to recruit him again. 

If Mr. Pink grew too attached, if he let his guard down for one second, God forbid something would have happened to you. Without a doubt, he would have heavily blamed himself and walked away from the job without saying another word. 

His options were to wait until after the robbery to make a move, or do his job, get paid and leave. Whether or not it was out of selfishness was out of the question. Mr. Pink is already selfish in an intuitive kind of way, he’d rather avoid spiraling into a wave of emotions for one person - so he chose the latter.

“What?” Pink looked at you, feeling a bit tense. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Huh? No. It’s nothing,” you blinked, realizing you were staring at him longer than you should have. You shook your head, most likely shaking off the intrusive thoughts. Maybe this wasn’t a good time to tell him what’s on your mind. 

If anything, he’s most likely sleeping with the Marilyn Monroe waitress. “It’s just… you shaved the goatee.”

Pink nodded, looking a bit annoyed that there was no facial hair left on his chin to rub. “Buddy Holly had a clean face. For the record, the only advantage of this job is that I’m under disguise. Other than that, this place is a circus. I’m zooming back in time whenever I clock in.”

“It’s a 50s themed restaurant,” you state. “Working here sounds like fun. At least you get to dress up and experience pop culture.”

He scoffs. “No, fuck the 50s. Shit was all I Love Lucy and those puffy ass dresses.”

“They’re called poodle skirts, Pink.”

“Like I give a fuck what they’re called.”

“You know Buddy Holly smiled. He was a singer and a guitarist. If you keep up the attitude, no one’s gonna tip you. Nice Guy Eddie told me about your rant on tipping.”

“Ha! And? You will never find me up on that stage performing That’ll Be The Day, moving like a fucking animatronic.” Halfway finished, Pink tossed his cigarette aside and looked at you. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

You felt your cheeks flushing. Fuck. “I am?”

He nodded, putting his Buddy Holly glasses back on his face. “Yeah. It’s a breath of fresh air seeing you here.” He stares down at his wristwatch for a moment.

“Your break’s done?”

“It’s been done,” he says. “Fifteen minutes ago.”

You shook your head, chuckling. “You’re so fired.”

“This isn’t the first time I stopped caring, so my boss isn’t gonna bat an eye.” He had his hand wrapped around the back door which was supported by a wooden block to keep it open. “Look, I’ll see ya arou-”

“Pink?” Your heart rose up to your throat.

He turned back to you. “Hm?” 

You just had to do it. You reached up and kissed him softly. Pink didn’t shove or curse at you. His features softened, pulling you close to him and kissed you deeply. Even when you two pulled away, his arms didn’t unwrap from your waist. His forehead was pressed against yours now.

“My name’s Y/N,” you tell him.

He stares at you, no snarky, sarcastic comment left for him to give.

“I know you’re not willing to give your name up just yet, you can’t fully trust me, and I get that, but I won’t tell anyone what happened. You got lucky, I think… but I’m really glad you’re okay.”

“You don’t have to-”

“I’m serious.”

“Y/N,” he says your name for the first time. “You don’t have to go all sappy for me. Karma came in hot. Jesus Christ, I mean, I left you.”

“Not really. You didn’t know me. The cops had the place staked out the entire day, there was nothing you could do.”

He looked down at his shoes. “All right. But still, I feel shitty. Can I at least make it up to you?”

“How?”

Pink shrugs. “I get paid tomorrow.”

“Good for you,” you reply. “Save it like you’re gonna lose it.”

“I’ve had this job for a while now, I got enough to last. But once I win the lottery, I’m gone.”

“To Santorini?”

“With a cocktail in my hand. But that’s besides the point, right now I got enough to take you out on a date… if you’re down.”

“Where would you plan on taking me? Here?” you laugh.

“You’re funny. How about the movies? Overruled, I’m taking you to see a movie. I gotta know where you live first. It’s okay to know now.”

You nodded, you couldn't argue with that. Besides, you two would just be making out in the dark the entire time.

His hand was back on the handle of the back door. Pink pulled it open, looked back at you and smiled for the first time tonight. That warmed your heart, and you were certain it warmed his. He watched you stuff something inside his pocket square as you told him your address. He went back inside, shutting the door on you. You walked back to the front of the restaurant to pay for the bill, and went straight home. 

Mr. Pink shuffles past the chefs in the kitchen, feeling through his suit pocket to pull out his notepad and whatever you stuffed inside just moments ago.

I didn’t even serve them. Is this supposed to be for Mamie Van Doren? He stares down at the dollar bill crumpled in his hand. His frown suddenly transitions to a small but genuine smile. 

Fuck it. Nothing could stop him now. He definitely owes you a date night. He quickly stuffs the tip back in his pocket square, and comes out the sliding door. 

THE END

—

TAGLIST: @locke-writes​ @aryn-the-bearheart​

[willadisastercry]

When the dust clears and you almost wish it hadn’t...

tw: emetophobia warning (brief but there), depictions of being trapped/pinned, broken bone, head injury, blood, threat of being crushed, threat of drowning.

The paladins respond to a distress signal on a foreign planet and make quick work of getting its civilians to safety, but on their last sweep surface side, shit hits the fan. Pidge and Lance are hurt but Shiro is trapped and can’t help them. On top of that, the conditions they’re stuck in are only getting worse. With no access to the coms and no tools to help them, the trio is forced to get creative and make some sacrifices.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

Dust rained down in a continuous sheet, the tiny particles lit up in beams where the brightness of the day outside peaked through the mottled roof of debris now sheltering them. It seeped through their shattered visors and cacked their lungs making whatever ragged breaths they took after they realized they’d finally stopped falling harsh and desperate.

Shiro was the only one who hadn’t been knocked out after the initial collapse, more just dazed in momentary shock from the suddenness of it all, his visor most in tact and his com emitting static output that would catch a few garbled words every now and then.

The planet they were on had sent out a distress signal when the galra outpost stationed in their solar system had somehow managed to pull their moons out of alignment, and like on earth, their moons had significant influence over their tides.

Before they arrived, the land had only been hit by minor floods but as soon as voltron and the castleship entered their atmosphere, the unruly currents ramped up tenfold and small tremors could be felt from somewhere deep underground.

The abnormal weather phenomena hadn’t yet delved into anything seismic, just tidal, but they’d only been planet-side for ten minutes before alarms started blaring and the locals emerged from their homes frantic and scared.

Evacuation via lion had actually gone relatively smoothly, the paladins able to relocate the citizens before the trembles of the shifting plates became truly dangerous.

It had started off pretty tame, the rumblings far between and only enough to shake the windows and trees. But they steadily amplified the longer the evacuation went on until shaking became shuddering and soon trees were swaying and buildings were groaning.

After everyone was loaded onto the castle outside of the planets orbit Pidge flew the green lion flew back down to the surface stowing Lance and a lionless Shiro. They were in charge of carrying out the final sweep to check for stragglers, though the only thing they’d actually found was themselves caught in the height of a particularly large quake.

They were in the city center attempting to make it back to Green who was stationed at the beginning of the tree line on the outskirts of the city, antsy and waiting. But they would never get there because the intense trembling brought them to the knees before they’d even caught sight of the lion.

It would’ve been alright if the solid ground they thought they were on was truly as solid as it appeared, but it wasn’t, because the cracks splitting the pavilion open splintered towards them before they could even cry out and then the last thing they could hear was a roar almost as deafening as the sound of the planet ripping apart beneath their feet.

The fall wasn’t long or else they wouldn’t be alive to choke on the sheer amount of crap in the air, their helmets not surviving the broken bits of sediment that accosted them on the decent, cracking their visors and damaging their com systems.

Though cumbersome and clunky, their paladin armor was also sturdy and could withstand the weight of the rubble they were more or less sandwiched in. Their suits were ultimately what saved their lives in the initial collapse but it beat their human bodies to hell in the process.

Their senses returned with the panic of not being able to breathe, the moment they realized the ground beneath them was rough with rubble and uneven uprooted earth that wasn’t quite earth audible, marked by disoriented cries of surprise at the debris still falling while the quake that brought them down tapered out.

Pidge and Shiro came back to themselves first, raucous coughs pulling each other to reality over their ringing ears as they worked to clear the soot from their mouths and lungs. It was hard work. The air was dense with all kinds of minuscule specks of ruin that silenced them for a good minute while they struggled against the dryness in their throats.

It was Pidge who tried to move first. She was slumped over a chunk of what used to be a stone pillar from the building that was sucked into the chasm of non-earth along with them, her legs tucked awkwardly beneath her. She stopped abruptly to let out a strangled wail when she went to push herself up.

She hadn’t felt much of anything when she first woke up, just incredibly dazed as she fought to open her eyes under the layer of dust encrusting them. But when she put pressure on her arms she discovered that something was seriously wrong with one of them, collapsing back onto the jagged piece of stone to writhe as pain shot through to her shoulder and seized her back.

“Pidge?”

She barely registered the crackle of a low voice from somewhere nearby, her mind entirely consumed by panicking over the pain she was in as well as the unknown regarding the extent of the injury.

“Pidge is that you? Are you okay?”

It clicked then that it was Shiro speaking but she didn’t have air in her lungs to produce any answer other than a panicked whimper, too afraid to lift herself off of the injured limb to see the damage and incite another wave of agony. She didn’t have enough air to handle that again, sucking down what she could in too large of quantities for such a limited supply.

Shiro was going through a similar mental battle, though the first thing dawning on him as he registered his new surroundings was that Pidge needed help, not his own physical wellbeing. So naturally, he’d tried to get up as soon as he heard her call out only to discover he couldn’t move much because he was sprawled on his back amongst an ever growing pile of debris, his prosthetic arm likely crushed to shit under a sizable slab of stone with smaller chunks pressing against his chest and legs.

He was sufficiently stuck, pinned in place and unable to get to her but forced to listen as her anguished sounds continued.

“Pidge I’m trapped, I can’t—shit, I can’t get to you. And I don’t have visual confirmation from Lance yet so you’re gonna have to work with me here... talk to me, where are you hurt? How bad does it look?”

The sound she contrived then was like the ones before, except not for her own misery, not entirely at least. Because that meant there was still no sign of life from Lance which meant there was a very real concern that there wouldn’t be which left Pidge having to pull herself together and search for him since Shiro was otherwise incapacitated.

This would be sucky and not ideal at all, but necessary.

”Pidge?!”

Logic told her that bones mend and that pain was fleeting. That agony would be temporary, fear too, and once she found Lance it would be better, bearable at least.

And so with that resolve she willed her breathing to slow enough to form a coherent statement.

“It’s my arm,” she huffed quickly, the shrillness in her voice evidence of the severity of the injury.

“Okay, can you move? Is there something on top of you?” Shiro asked calmly, his voice level and sympathetic.

“No, I’m on top of it... if-if I move again—“

“Take a breath, it’s probably broken.”

Clearly, but Pidge was already ten steps ahead, her brain grappling with the notion of whether stabbing pain meant safe compounded fracture or gruesome and bloody and open fracture that would make her sick if she even caught sight of her own arm like that.

She shuddered violently at the thought and bit back a gasp when it jostled whatever lay beneath her.

“You’re okay, just breathe... are you sitting or laying down?”

Still so calm, somehow. So incredibly practical and disarming. It was almost unnerving how well he could do that, compartmentalize everything.

“S-sitting, sort of.”

“How?”

Awkwardly, Shiro. The man might be terrifyingly apt at rationalizing the impossible but seemed utterly incompetent in predicting the obvious.

“Folded over a rock and using it as my pillow... all my weight is on it—on my arm,” she ammended with a gulp.

Shiro took his precious time turning this information over in his head and the radio silence almost had Pidge worrying he’d passed out until his voice came back somehow even more blunt and pragmatic than before.

“That’s better actually. What I need you to do is hold your arm in place with your good hand, press it to your chest and use your shoulder to lean on as you sit back again. It should be less agitating that way—“

Shiro’s gentle instruction was cut off by Pidge’s cry as she sat up and away from the slab of stone like he recommended, her vision whiting as she cradled her arm against herself.

When she could see properly again she found her curiousity too overwhelming and spared a look at the mangled limb.

It was both better and worse than she had imagined. The forearm component of her armor was hanging on in pieces and clearly displayed the horrifying mess that lay under what remained. No skin was broken, but the tip of her bone was very visibly poking the already swelling flesh where the middle of her forearm sported a new joint.

The sight was overwhelming and her breaths soon came in short pants, the threat of passing out suddenly very real.

“Good Pidge, that was great. Take a couple deep breaths for me while you adjust,” he asked gently, his voice taking on a more solemn tone now.

She already knew what was coming next and began rearranging her legs beneath her, several deep breaths required to clear the black dotting her vision before she was confident she could stand testing their strength without them turning jelly.

“I know you’re in a lot of pain right now, but you need to find Lance... I’m not mobile and I haven’t heard him yet.”

“Already... on it,” she panted as she leaned on her knees before coming to a shakey stance.

The lighting was sparse in the pocket of nothing that the pavilion collapsed into after the fissure opened, barely enough to make out the terrain in front of her and then some. So she made her way slowly, toeing rocks and larger slabs before proceeding, checking for stability with every step as she slinked across the unnatural landscape.

“Follow my voice... I can hear you now... watch out for the crap still falling...”

Finding Shiro wasn’t difficult when his voice carried so well through the wreckage, even despite the shifting fauna and bits still crashing down and settling.

There hadn’t been another quake in the time that they’d woken up, but that only made finding Lance that much more important. If he hadn’t responded yet then it was more than likely he was pretty hurt, which would be even more dangerous for him to be alone if the rubble decided to rearrange itself.

“Hey...” Shiro laughed pitifully as she ducked under a slanted piece of stone to get to him.

Pidge saw his predicament immediately, he was looking at her from where he was propped up one elbow, his metal arm wedged underneath a piece of stone bigger than he was.

“Well, that’s not good,” she stated before coming down hard on one knee, clutching her arm extra close as she lowered herself to the floor for a better look.

“Let me see your arm,” he ordered in his leader voice, a futile attempt to deflect from his own issues.

“My arm is snapped, let me see if you still have one,” she countered expertly, pushing away his searching hand after once he’d laid back down try and examine the disfigured appendage now securely in her lap.

He sighed in defeat. Pidge had too many years of experience dodging brotherly coddling with Matt to concede to Shiro’s fretting and let him distract from her own triage efforts.

“How bad? Can’t really tell from this angle...”

“I’m not seeing much but there is quite a bit of space between the floor and the rock still so that’s kind of promising for the integrity of the prosthetic... let me get this crap off though—“

“No, you’re hurt don’t push yourself, it’s fine.”

But Pidge acted as if she hadn’t heard him and began to remove the rocks, turning over the more meager pieces of broken stone from his chest with her good hand.

“Pidge, it’s okay. I’m not hurt and you need to save your energy to look for—“

“Wait! Shut up...”

“Excuse me?!”

“Shhhh!”

Pidge held her hand up to Shiro’s face as she closed her eyes and listened for something. Shiro only heard a faint whooshing and a steady trickle until it happened again. A very guttural but human moan.

“Lance! Shit.”

“Go, he’s gotta be close, he was just beside me when we fell...”

Pidge moved swiftly, more nimble than she could’ve thought possible as she maneuvered around the rubble with only one arm to steady her.

“Lance, call out!”

Every time she moved her arm throbbed horribly, but slowing down was not an option, not when another quake was due and could occur at any moment.

“If you can hear me I need you to make a sound, throw something, anything!”

Her repeated shouts are what in the end got him to groan again, the sound of her pointed words coming closer making the pressure in his skull swell exponentially.

“That’s it, keep making noise...!”

As he tried to wake up and open his eyes he only succeeded in making himself more disoriented, the world seeming to spin even with his eyes squeezed shut.

It dawned on him then that closing his eyes when he had absolutely no idea what sort of life threatening situation he may or may not be in was a sort of really bad idea. He had no clue how he was oriented, no grasp of what was up or down, how his body was positioned, if he was hurt or not. He wasn’t even entirely sure he was alive but the second heart beat on the side of his head seemed to eventually convince him he was.

“Lance?!”

But then again the agony swirling around in his brain didn’t seem to care if it was stupid to close his eyes, nor did the intensity of the light above him that burned his retinas when he attempted to open them.

“Call out!”

Uh, no I will not, thank you very much.

Whoever was screaming in his face needed to learn some manners and stop. The sound pierced his ears like a thousand needles and traveled to the center of the heartbeat in his skull, another pathetic moan escaping his lips as he tried to reach for the spot.

“Oh, no—no, don’t do that.”

He was sprawled on his side, limbs askew and otherwise undamaged aside from his armor appearing nearly shredded in some places with how roughly he’d been tossed around in the fray. His helmet was missing and it took Pidge a few moments to locate it, almost wishing she hadn’t once she did.

The left side was dented, the visor cracked so severely that there was nothing but a few jagged shards left of it.

“You’re okay, I’m here Lance, it’s Pidge.”

Lance didn’t care that it was Pidge, she was screaming at him and it was making him nauseous. He couldn’t understand why she insisted on being so loud when he had such a bad headache or why she held his wrist so tightly.

“You’ve got a pretty nice gash there—” she muttered, her restricting hand releasing him to turn his head to the side “—a nice few gashes, actually.”

He must have made a protesting sound at the movement because she stopped and cupped his cheek instead, using the top of her thumb to wipe the tears making their way to his chin.

“Hey, you’re gonna be alright. Can you open you’re eyes at all?”

“Mmmmm.”

“Can you try? Only for a second, I just need to see something. C’monnnn, don’t you want to see my pretty face?”

He made a softer sound then and his eyelids began to flutter as he tried to pry them open, wincing at how painful even the dim lighting was once he did.

“Good, that’s good. Okay, I’m just gonna help you out here, don’t be scared...” she said as she moved her thumb and pointer finger to prop open one eyelid at a time and keep them still so she could get a good look.

His pupils were blown which was probably why opening them hurt so bad, more light was coming in than should be which couldn’t feel nice for his clearly rattled brain.

“Kay, all done... I think you have a concussion, but nothing else seems to be wrong aside from the still gushing head and facial wounds. Can you keep your hand there do you think? ” she asked as she brought it to where the bleeding was worst and pressed down, illiciting a hiss but no other resistance as he held it place.

“Great, you’re doing so great. I know you probably feel really out of it but we need to get you over to where Shiro is... and my arms kinda busted so I can only give you one hand...”

His groaning halted for a moment to let loose a low whine as he tried to open his eyes long enough to look at what she meant, his face scrunching up with concern when he finally managed to.

“You-your arm... s’hurt...” he choked out, more a restatement than a question, his tongue unwilling and his energy spent as he tried to form something coherent.

“Yeah, as I said, busted. But don’t worry about that now, just give me your hand.”

Lance seemed a bit confused at her command so she took up the hand that was limp at his side and moved it to his lap where she could reposition her own at his elbow.

“This is gonna be a tad tricky so just work with me, okay?”

He grunted a sort of ‘uh huh’ and returned with his own grip on her upper arm.

“I’m gonna stand up and lean back, when I do you’re gonna lean forward and stand with me...” Pidge detailed as she moved his legs so that they were bent towards his chest and in front of him.

It wasn’t that he was immobile. The rest of his body was free of visible injuries but his brain and his limbs seemed to be on different frequencies for the time being, the channels of communication disconnected and not taking signals from one another making his movements sluggish and sloppy.

“Okay, ready? Alright, up we go...”

What happened next was anything other than graceful. As soon as Lance was upright he lilted into Pidge who fixed her stance as he stumbled to keep standing, his grip tight on her arm and his weight almost entirely on her hip as he held his throbbing head.

“You good? Here, arm around my neck, just don’t touch my arm... there ya go. We’ll go slow, it’s not far,” she assured as she began to walk forward, Lance following in his own sort of zigzag next to her.

They made their way excruciatingly slow. Pidge moved with care, constantly analyzing the most doable path to lead Lance into, stepping on top of and over boulder sized bits of stone as he continued on whatever even ground she could find.

It was only when she was tapping her toe behind his knee to get it to buckle that he was aware they’d made it. He hadn’t heard Pidge asking him to sit, didn’t even register her hand on his face as he fought with the terrible heat on the side of his head that threatened to make his stomach act on how unsettled it was.

He let out a breathless ‘oh’ as his butt connected with the ground, a layer of recently upturned dust rising after him. Once he was safely seated Shiro removed his hand from his back from where he’d been assisting the transition.

“Shiroo...!?!” he gushed, the word sloshing in his mouth.

“Hey, Lance.”

Though he knew his friend’s demeanor was the result of a pretty gnarly head injury, Shiro couldn’t help but let a fond smile appear at his almost childlike vocalization.

“How ya feeling?”

“Oh, not good I think, right Pidge?—yeah, really not good...”

“Concussion, I checked,” Pidge provided after Shiro took Lance’s bloody hand away from the source of the bleeding to check the damage out for himself.

“That looks painful,” Shiro sympathized before returning his hand to the spot as gently as he could.

Lance processed that his hand had made contact again about ten seconds after which seemed to send his head realing because the next moment he was choking back a gag.

“Crap, it’s alright if you need to throw up. Just get it out, don’t hold it in,” Shiro ushered, his hand moving to Lance’s arm as he doubled over himself, his throat clenching against the bile rising and he sputtered.

He was sufficiently out of sorts and could hardly hold on to a coherent thought but he knew that he did not want to throw up. Not here in front of his friends, especially Shiro.

But the wave of nausea that was making his stomach cramp and his head throb was overshadowed by the sound of something crashing, like a stack of precariously placed objects falling over abruptly except much louder and followed by a sustained gush.

“Shiro..?”

The trepidation in Pidge’s voice made her sound so much younger, like how she did before Shiro left for Kerberos.

At the same time that fear erupted in his friend’s chests, saliva welled up in Lance’s mouth and he let out a pitiful sound, the new commotion having him seeing stars with how angrily his head pulsed from it.

“It’s probably just rubble settling, can you see anything?”

Pidge moved towards the biggest source of light from where the surface above them split apart, the scene hazy through clouds of dust and substantially obscured by larger breakages of sediment. She lifted herself onto her toes to try and makes sense of the destruction around them.

“No...”

Pidge couldn’t see much through the chalky blackness, just hints of structures here and there.

“There’s nothing there—oh.”

The gushing sound seemed to pull to the forefront of the concerning noises then, like a geyser of something had erupted and was emptying itself out into the chasm that had opened up beneath them and swallowed them down. This was concerning for a lot of reasons.

“Yeah, never mind we are so fucked.”

Lance wasn’t even trying to follow the progression of events going on around him, listening intently enough to make sense of a single sentence worsening the pressure behind his eyes while he stomach continued to flip.

The acid taste coming up his throat was putrid, but mixed with a grating layer of dust irritating the back of his throat, the presence of it while already massively disoriented was overwhelming.

“What is it?-crap Lance. It’s okay. You’re okay,” Shiro soothed, his hand secure on the other boy’s back while his frame shook from retching so hard.

“Pipe must’ve burst, well I guess not a pipe, more like a main...”

“A main? As in a water main?”

“Yes,” Pidge deadpanned, using her good hand to steady herself against a taller shred of stone as she continued evaluating just how fucked they were.

Shiro gulped, convinced he could actually feel the tons of weight on top of his foreign prosthetic growing heavier the longer he remained wedged under it.

“How much is coming in?”

He could hear it clearer now, like the rumble in your ears when wind rushed past them.

“Too much...”

With a hiccoughing whine, Lance pitched forward, nearly collapsing into the puddle of his own sick as he continued to gag.

“Woah, okay! You’re alright, I’ve got you... just do what you have to do bud.”

Shiro’s free hand on the center of Lance’s chest was the only thing keeping him upright as he worked through the rolling waves of dizzying nausea.

Pidge spared a cursory glance towards her friend, watching how his shoulders worked as he heaved for a moment before returning back to her internal spiral.

“Coms are wrecked but they’re out of range so it’s not like that really matters anyway... the air is pretty thin already, but the longer we’re down here the less viable o2 there’s going to be... and the crater we’re in is flooding so the more pressing issue is—”

“Pidge,” Shiro drawled slowly, his tone placating as he watched her pace back and forth, images of Matt doing the same thing surfacing in his mind as she did.

She might resemble her brother in appearance but their personalities for the most part could not be more opposite. Though during his time in the castle of lions Shiro had found that they actually share a lot of the same nervous mannerisms.

He knew Pidge probably had no idea how similar their actions are and he’s sort of glad only he does, suspecting the knowledge would only make her sad.

The only issue with this discovery is the fact that even though her reaction isn’t new to Shiro, dealing with it was, and once Pidge’s mind started working it was hard to get it to stop.

Lance was winding down then. His breaths still heavy and uneven, the stream of blood down his neck and front steady as ever, but he wasn’t gagging anymore.

“You’re arm is... fucked, my arm is fucked, and Lance’s head! Oh god, this is—“

“Calm down, we can figure this out.”

She spun on him abruptly enough that Shiro was scared for a second she might’ve given herself whiplash.

“Calm down?! How do you expect me to do that when we’re going to be underwater in an hour, hell maybe even a couple of minutes?!”

Lance’s shoulders seemed to slump somehow further from the volume of her voice and Shiro took a second before launching into his response to help him sit back on his heels and away from the vomit.

“No, I’m going to be underwater. You and Lance are going to start walking, climbing, whatever it is you have to do to get to higher ground—“

“Yeah okay, fuck that. We’re not leaving you—uh buh bah, save whatever case you were gonna make because I’ll promptly stop listening.”

The visage of Matt retreated entirely with Pidge’s indiscretion, her words seeding with irritation as she shut Shiro down.

“Pidge!”

“I’m so very sorry for my attitude but you really did just pitch us leaving you to drown, are you really that surprised?”

Shiro took a practiced breath, the kind he uses to ground himself because the pit in his chest was expanding and the last thing they needed was him devolving into panic.

He eyed the way Lance swayed as he sat with his legs splayed on either side of him, his hands limp in his lap and coated in blood from the gash on his head.

“You can’t stay here, not when Lance is hurt like this.”

“Okay.”

“Huh? Okay?”

“Yeah, okay. If you want to waste your energy trying to convince me to let you die, then that’s whatever because the reality is that you’re the one stuck under a rock and I’m the only one whose mobile. This is very much my call. Sorry big guy, but we’re sticking around.”

Shiro actually laughed.

He couldn’t ignore the way that his heart filled with admiration at Pidge’s defiance but it was overwhelmed by the burden of the fact that no matter how much pride he had in her for stepping up, he was still trapped and they were still going to watch him die.

He shuddered and Lance hummed at the movement, wondering vaguely if Shiro was hurt at all before the thought disappeared and the only thing he could remember was how insanely painful the knot on the side of his head was and how heavy his aching body felt.

“M’tired... think I’m gonna... mmmh, gonna lay down,” he managed with some concentration and put his hands on the ground to brace himself but didn’t make any further moves, his face scrunching up in confusion as he struggled to figure out how to maneuver himself down when his arms were so difficult to control and his head pulsed blindingly any time he moved.

“You can’t go to sleep yet, dude. Just sit with Shiro for now, I need you to keep an eye on him for me anyway,” Pidge instructed with a grin.

Shiro huffed and narrowed his eyes but it only made her smirk widen.

“W-why? Is Shiro hurt?” Lance asked worriedly, forgetting himself entirely and attempting to twist around to see.

The gravity of the action caught up with him a beat later, the groan that bubbled in his chest ungodly.

“Easy there, hot shot, I’m okay. Just a little stuck,” Shiro assured, stilling him with a firm hand on his shoulder when the surge of pain had him tipping nearly over.

“Kay... s’good,” he noted through clenched teeth before his eyes fluttered shut and his head began to lower to his chest.

A sharp pain from where Shiro flicked the side of his cheek that wasn’t cut up and coated in blood roused Lance from his attempt to rest.

“Ow. Rude.”

“Not rude, necessary. There’s no napping on the job.”

“I’m so tired though... just wanna sleep... you guys are so mean... why can’t I just—“

“Nope. You’ve gotta keep your eyes open for me bud,” Shiro chided, shaking his shoulder gruffly enough to have his bloodshot eyes shooting open.

“But why?” he slurred, the exasperation in his whine sort of heartbreaking, “I could just nap through... the worst of this, it’d be... it’d be so nice... wouldn’t hurt so much...”

“Since when are you all about what’s easy, you’re like the most stubborn human I know?”Shiro asked, his voice full of fondness.

“And you get enough beauty rest as it is, lover boy, you’ll live if you miss a few hours.”

The rushing water filled the ambient silence while Pidge made her way back to her friends from her watch post amongst the rubble.

“Are... we?”

Lance’s voice was a broken whisper, the gravel in it a painful attribution to the stress his throat had been put under between the abuse of the acid in the bile and coarse texture of the dust.

“Are we what, Lance?”

“Live... are we gonna live?”

The gush of moving water rose up in Shiro’s ears like roaring wind again but stronger this time, effectively tunneling his attention on those words, the innocence of them.

“Of course we are—“

“I want it on the record that I, Pidge Gunderson, am making no such promises.”

“PIDGE!”

“So loud... please... shhh...” Lance cried desperately, his hands almost comically slow to rise and cover his ears.

“WHAT?! I’m being honest!”

“You’re being negative!”

“Coming from the guy who just told me to leave him for dead!”

The fire in both paladins eyes was burning so brightly Lance could’ve sworn there was an actual glow with how horribly his head was beginning to hurt from listening to them.

“Alright, I might’ve had a moment of doubt, but we can’t—“

“Stop shaking me Shiro...” Lance whimpered as he drew his knees up to his chest carefully “—it hurts... please quit it...”

This broke the two out of their heated argument.

“I’m not touching you, Lance...”

“Then t-tell whoever is... to fucking stop!”

His chest hitched pitifully when punctuating the last bit with a pleading whine had his head swimming in vengeance. If it weren’t for the stability of hugging his propped up legs so tightly he would’ve fallen over with how dizzy he was.

Pidge looked at Shiro as if he’d know any better than her what the hell he was talking about.

Unfortunately for the both of them, he did not.

“Deep breaths, Lance. You’re probably just disoriented, it’s normal for head injuries to mess with your sense of balance and equilibrium—“

“Shiro...?”

He was beginning to hate hearing his name being called when it was almost always followed by something he really wouldn’t enjoy hearing.

“Yeah, Pidge?”

But she didn’t have to continue because he felt it then.

A steady thrumming from somewhere below.

A rumble.

“Quiznak...”

[soggy-platee]

What Do We Do Now?- Chp.2

Rating: M

Pairing: Din x Fem!Reader

Summary: When trying to collect your bounty, Din runs into some issues.

Read on ao3 here, and feel free to reblog! Thanks for the support on the first chapter!

…

It was not only just his stoic exterior, you came to understand, this guy really did not talk.

Like, not a single word. Beyond the threat he ground out at you in the cantina, he had yet to say anything else to you as he dragged you through the darkened streets.

It didn’t help that you were too scared to even let out a sound, keep quiet against the pain in your wrists as the cuffs ground into them. You knew they were bruised, or even bleeding. You wondered if they would scar.

Would that even matter?

Your mind began to race. Would he kill you when you got to his ship, or would that old wife beater do it himself when the Mandalorian delivered you to him? Or would he draw it out?

Would he make it hurt?

You shivered at both the thought and the cold, he had left your cloak on the floor of the cantina and it was a cold night in Mos Eisley. You wondered what he did with your other boot.

Although it was dark, you knew exactly where he was taking you. Out past the lights of the town toward the docking bays, toward his ship.

Toward possible death, your brain provided unhelpfully.

You passed by the docks one by one, 1-5, 2-5, and to your chagrin, he stopped you in front of the entrance of hangar 3-5.  If there was one person that would absolutely not help your situation, it was the owner of this dock. You bit back a groan as he did indeed drag you through the entrance. After winding you around familiar corners, his ship came into view.

It had…seen better days, to say the least.

You knew it was a pre-imperial gunship, but your knowledge of the craft stopped there. The copious amounts of carbon scoring along the hull somehow make you more scared of the bounty hunter currently hauling you toward the open mouth of the ship.

From inside, a voice called, “Finally! This little guy wasn’t gonna let me get any more work done without seeing his dad!”

What? Little guy? And more importantly, Dad?!

She couldn’t be talking about the Mandalorian behind you. You couldn’t imagine this bounty hunter managing to keep a plant alive, let alone a child. How did that even work? Didn’t Mandalorians never remove their helmets? There isn’t exactly a surplus of their kind around. Did he have a partner? Did that bother you? Why in the hell would that bother you-

Your mind went blank, however, when the owner of the hangar stuck her head out of the ship, still far enough inside to obscure whatever or whoever she was referring to as “little guy”. She made eye contact with you and groaned, you gave a sheepish grin in return.

“So I’m not the only one you’ve screwed over, huh?”

Peli Motto was one of the people in town who would have turned you over personally to the hunter if you crossed her path. You had arrived on Tatooine three months ago with a load of stolen ship parts from your last job and planned to get good credits for them, sell them to the various hangars here and live out comfortably before you had to move on. Only after landing on the planet did you realized that these parts were essentially junk. You stole the wrong stuff, but hey, you never claimed to be a mechanic.

That is, until you sold off the shit parts to Peli for way too many credits. At that time, you did claim to be a mechanic.

She chased you down with a wrench before you even had time to make it back into town. You ended up with no parts, no credits, and a seriously nasty lump on your head. You had sincerely apologized, you really didn’t like taking advantage of those who didn’t deserve it. You were just in a tight spot. You don’t think it made a difference to her.

“Th-those parts were legit, you’re the one who robbed me”, you responded weakly.

“A bad thief and a bad liar, I don’t know how the hell you made it this long”, she snapped back

She directed the next sentence to the silent figure behind you,

“Be careful with that one, she’s slippery”

“I know”

Peli didn’t seem surprised when he responded, you began to wonder if he just didn’t talk to you.

You didn’t have time to ponder this, as he began pushing you again abruptly. You were so unprepared for the movement that you tripped over your own shoeless foot. You were headed straight for the ground, unable to use the hands currently cuffed behind your back. You tensed in anticipation for impact, you face scrunching and turning to the side-

A large arm wrapped its way around your torso at the last moment and hauled you toward a strong chest, causing your body to fold around it while also knocking the breath out of you. Before you even had time to process that he was currently holding your ass flush with his, um, lower half, you heard a loud squeal of delight.

Your head popped up from its current position facing the ground and you make eye contact with the quite possibly the strangest creature you had ever seen, and, quite possibly…the cutest?

Your first thought was that there is no way that the man practically holding you up currently (Maker, he’s holding you!), could be the father of this thing. The image of the Mandalorian with the same large, green ears under his helmet made you let out an involuntary huff of laughter.

This movement made the Mandalorian release you, rather ungently, you might add. You barely managed to make it on your feet when he practically threw you at the ground. You tried to not be offended as you returned your eyes to the small green creature in Peli’s arms, who had made her way down the ramp to stand in front of the pair of you.

Its large brown eyes were fixed on the silver bucket behind your head, with arms reached out and a wide smile on its tiny face. Its ears were huge, stretching out from its head, almost doubling its width. It wore a small brown tunic with tiny, three-toed feet sticking out the bottom.

Your assessment of the little one was cut short when the Mandalorian side stepped Peli and the child to drag you up the ramp to the ship.

Why the hell were you admiring the child? Why were you thinking about anything else besides your possible death! You needed to form a plan to get out of this. Now. You began running through options in your head, commandeering the ship in flight, getting away once you landed, even causing damage mid-flight to buy you more time. Maybe if you could-

All your half-formed hopes were dashed when you caught sight of your worst nightmare. A carbonite freezer.

Maker, no. No. Please. Anything but that.

You couldn’t- You wouldn’t.  You would rather die than go under again. Last time-

A sharp push toward the freezer forced your thoughts from your throat. “No.”, you whispered.

He responded by continuing to pull you forward, toward the freezer.

Toward that dark, that never-ending cold and dark.

You braced your single boot and socked foot on the ground, saying louder this time, “No.”

This time he turned back to face you. He still didn’t speak, and you still kept your feet planted in protest. You heard a crackle of static from the helmet, he huffed, annoyed at your insolence.

He turned again toward the freezer, tightening his grip on your arm to a near bruising pressure, easily breaking your stance with another tug. You trip toward the freezer but recover quickly, throwing your shoulders in an attempt to break his iron grip. No such luck.

You were starting to panic. You threw your shoulders again and again, still not hampering your progress toward the vile thing.

The next noise of annoyance that came from the helmet was more akin to a growl as he used his other hand to hover over the blaster at his hip, all while looking rights at your face. It was a clear warning. You paused briefly, weighing your options. You knew already, though, that you would rather die than go under. Easily.

You continued to thrash, trying to remove his hand from your arm.

He pulled his blaster then and pushed it into the soft side of your torso.

You looked up into his helmet, where you hoped his eyes were. While your own eyes were watering with panic, you managed to give what you thought was a convincing snarl.

“Do it. I would rather die than go in.” you growled.

“That can be arranged” he said, emotionless.

Your standoff continued, your brows knitting tighter together and his blaster digging further into your side, so far it touched your ribs. You had no doubt he was serious about his threat, and you prepared for the worst.

The stalemate was broken by the sound of Peli’s voice calling for the bastard in front of you. His grip on your arm tightened painfully, briefly, before letting it go, using both hands to push you back to the wall of the ship, where your cuffs magnetized, effectively holding you there.

He moved in front of you, holding his blaster level with your brow and gritted out, “Stay.”

You sneered at him as he turned to leave. The moment he was away from you, however, your shoulders sank and you let out several shaky breaths.

Maker, you were scared.

You hated to admit it, even to yourself, but you were on the verge of tears that entire time. You wondered if he could tell. You wondered if he would even care.

You lifted your head toward the sound of Peli’s voice outside, once again too soft to hear. Her eyes flashed briefly over to you as she gestured with the hand not holding the child. They seemed to be arguing, the Mandalorian moving his hand in a striking motion. She held up the child in front of her, and his shoulders fell slightly, signally defeat.

You figured you should at least attempt to look a little bit intimidating before the Mandalorian returned, sniffling your runny nose and attempting to reign in your misty eyes.

You knew he still saw the signs, however, when he made his way back into the ship to stand in front of you.

He assessed you silently, and your feigned confidence quickly waned under the weight of his stare until you were as curled in on yourself as far as you possibly could be while your hands were cuffed behind your back.

He spoke, deathly quiet, “You try anything, I kill you. Clear?”

You nodded, eyes wide with fear.

Did this mean you wouldn’t be going in the freezer?

Apparently so, as the Mandalorian began making preparations to leave the hangar.

…

[cl-01-kestis]

A Gut Feeling - Tech x Mechanic!Reader | Soulmate AU | 2/2

Summary: After your sleepless night of meeting your Soulmate, you wake up the next day to find he’s leaving.

Warnings: angst

Surprisingly, you had the best sleep you had in a very long time. You didn’t toss or turn, or wake up randomly in the middle of your sleep, you stayed still till the late morning and you woke up to the sound of the bunker door being opened. All the clones were up and dressed, out on patroll which left you all alone.

Rex was the one who woke you up, patting your face softly since he wasn’t entirely good at waking people up. You woke up feeling not tired at all, you felt so fresh and ready for anything to be thrown at you. You got showered in the refreshers and quickly changed into a t-shirt and combat shorts considering it was a sunny day today on Anaxes. Your tattoos were on full display as you walked out of the bunker with a towel draped around your shoulders since your hair was still wet, rubbing your scalp and walking down the ramp which led to the large concrete platform of the Republic base.

Kix and Jesse walked with you to your station at the one of the many mechanic stations, making successful conversation with you as you ruffled your hair once more and looked out across the platform to the bit at the back of the base where Anakin and Mace were discussing things. You didn’t have the energy to work too much today, it had been drained from you the day before and you felt like you needed a day off - if Rex would let you.

“You seem in a good mood today” Jesse commented with a smile, his helmet wedged between his elbow and waist as he leaned against one of the clone carriers which was next to your station. You smiled at his comment, remembering the occurrences that too place last night and unable to stop the grin spreading over your face.

“A bit, yeah” You giggled, causing Kix and Jesse to exchange a look of curiosuty. This didn’t go unnoticed by you though, you only found it more amusing that they were oblivious as to what happened. However, you kept your mouth shut and leaned against your speeder as you sipped on some Caf that Kix fetched for you before getting here.

“Have your missions been difficult recently?” You asked, continuing the conversation on matters that excluded you as you watched the two clones with a smile. Jesse nodded, frowning, that didn’t mean anything good.

“We were assigned to a Separatist base on Anaxes; that Bad Batch were with us- I don’t like em’” Jesse grumbled, causing Kix to laugh and shove his shoulder playfully.

“Don’t get rubbed up the wrong way about them, Jesse, they’re not worth our time” Kix brushed off Jesse’s aggression and his gaze returned to yours. He noticed the way your face got a little dark with a blush, the way you chewed on your lip and tapped your fingers on your Caf cup before looking down at the ground and sighing.

“Something on your mind?” Kix asked with a raised brow. You shook your head quickly in response, sipping shyly at your Caf once again. Jesse exchanged another look with Kix, speaking with their eyes before Rex came out of nowhere to interrupt them.

“You’re requested on Bay 6, (Y/N), as for you two, come with me” Rex didn’t smile as he stared at his soldiers, causing them to immediately get in formation and put their helmets on before following him to wherever they had to go. As for you, you didn’t waste a moment as you downed the rest of the Caf and placed your towel on the seat of your speeder.

You let out another yawn as you walked across the massive platform of the Anaxes station, stretching your arms out and cracking your back as you passed many clones, shouting over and wishing them a good morning followed by waves and salutes. The morning sun kissed your revealed skin as you rubbed your forehead with your shirt, waving yourself as an attempt to cool off as you approached bay 6, noticing Hunter sitting down beside Wrecker who you hadn’t yet met.

“Morning Serg!” You shouted, catching his attention and Wreckers who jumped slightly at your voice.

“Morning (Y/N)! Sleep well?” Hunter asked kindly, patting the spot next to him which made you smile.

“Yep, you?” You seemed shy but surprisingly casual as you sat down next to Hunter, your knees bent as your elbows rest on them. Hunter and Wrecker seemed to be doing the same thing as you and enjoyed the Anaxes sun on their skin, the top half of their armour discarded and in a pile beside them.

“Wrecker slept like a baby, none of us could get to sleep last night with all his snoring” Hunter chuckled, nudging Wrecker who blushed at being called out by his Sergeant, shrugging off his comment casually.

“Pardon me if I’m wrong, but Captain Rex told me I was requested here?” You asked with a tilted head, scratching the back of your neck as you watched Hunters expression shift from a curious one to a smirk.

“Yes thats correct, Tech’s not been shutting up about you” He let out a breathy laugh, Wrecker joining him in the process as if the two of them had an inside joke. Without thinking, a blush swarmed your face and you made a small ‘oh’ noise.

“Where is he now?” You asked, Hunter replied by sticking his thumb up and pointing it behind him at the bunker behind all of you sitting on the ramp.

“Crosshair’s not in so take all the time you need” Hunter winked.

“O-oh, no it’s not like-“ You didn’t even bother to finish the sentence as Hunter and Wrecker smirked to themselves, watching you stand up and walk towards the bunker with a nervous frame. You chapped on the door a couple of times, calling out Tech’s name before it opened and a pair of strong hands pulled you in, the door immediately closing behind you.

“Maker!” You placed a hand on your chest, looking up and feeling immediate relief when you saw Tech.

“Morning sweetheart, sorry I scared you” Tech chuckled, removing his helmet from his head but he kept on his goggles as he bent down to give you a peck.

“Not at all, just a little susprised” You smiled, cupping his cheek and stroking it softly with our thumb. Tech placed his helmet on the nearest bed beside him and took off his goggles, placing them beside his helmet before wrapping an arm around your waist. Your heart fluttered at his romantic gestures and you looked up at his beautiful light brown eyes. You noticed a hint of honey swirled around the pupils and that only made him more beautiful.

“I’ve got a while till I have to leave, but I want to spend it with you” Tech said with a shy smile, taking something from his pocket and revealing a beautiful dark purple crystal that sparkled in the bunker’s lamp light.

“This is just a little thing I picked up on my way back to the base, I saved it for studies but I thought you might like it” He sounded almost nervous as he raised it to your view, offering you it with a slightly shaky hand. Without hesitance, you cupped the stone in your hands and delicately took it from Tech’s, staring at it with big eyes.

“This is beautiful, pelire” You gasped, clutching the stone tight to your heart and looking up at Tech with the most beautiful expression he’d ever seen.

“I’m glad you like it my dear, let’s sit” He offered you his hand, smiling from ear to ear as you took it and let him drag you to his part of the bunker which was filled with all different types of technology and materials. Tech was certainly the curious type.

“Wow” Your mouth gaped open when you spotted his data pad.

“This is one of a kind technology! I’ve heard all about this stuff, it’s so cool seeing one in person!” You started geeking out with your mechanic mind, sitting down on Tech’s bed and placing the stone on your lap before carefully picking up his specialised data pad. Tech sat down opposite you on the bed beside his and watched you with a beaming expression.

“Kamino was kind enough to offer me one, you can look through it if you want” He shrugged as he gestured to the data pad, folding his arms and leaning them on his knees as he continued watching you fiddle around with it.

“This is so cool- sorry I’m going through all your stuff without even asking you” You reached out to offer him his data pad but he raised a hand to deny it.

“Look through it, there’s loads of different photos from different missions I’ve been on if you want to check them out” Tech moved over to sit beside you, taking his data pad from your grasp and typing in a few things before bringing up a folder full of hundreds, if not thousands of photos.

“Wow...” Your jaw started to get sore with how much it was staying open, eyes darting to each photo to drink in as much info as you could. Tech wrapped an arm around your waist as he placed the data pad on his lap and started scrolling through the photos.

“This was when all of us were cadets” He chuckled, clicking on one photo in particular that revealed them as very young boys. You instantly recognised Tech and chuckled when you saw him whack Wrecker in the top of the head with a smaller data pad, they looked as though they were arguing in the photo whereas Crosshair and Hunter laughed.

You felt so comfortable in his arms, you were so glad he was opening up to you like this. You understood it would take him a while to do this with anyone else, that thought made your heart race. Seeing Tech in his childhood made you realise just how much he was like anyone else, that went for all the other clones. He was just like you, he had a life before he met you and you wanted to learn all about it, just like he wanted to learn all about you.

“What about that one?” You asked, clicking on another photo which showed a teenage Tech cuddling a very grumpy Crosshair as he slept. You giggled as Tech blushed and scrolled to the next one.

“It was common for us to cuddle, warmth is a survival tool after all” Tech tried to reason as he fought the redness off his face. You continued smiling at his words and thought of how cute he looked when he was asleep, not in a creepy way or anything.

“This one looks interesting” You pointed at the screen, your finger hovering above a young Tech as he aimed his two DC-17 hand blasters at a Separatist model on the clone training course.

“That was my final exam, all of us went through a different training program to heighten each of our abilities - I had to get into the system to shut down all the droids, it was prettt difficult though” He chuckled at the end, scratching his neck as he looked at the photo for a second longer before sighing to himself and swiping away from the photos. You looked up to Tech who seemed deep in thought, placing the data pad beside him on his bed before turning to look at you.

“I know this is a sudden question, but when can I next see you?” He sounded excited as he took your hands in his and smiled. Your heart skipped a beat just at the sight of his smile and you had to think for a moment, pursing your lips and frowning before raising your brows and sighing.

“I’ll be moved to Coruscant whenever Skywalker lets me, but I’m free whenever... what about you?” Your voice trailed into a soft whisper, your chest starting to sink with sadness when you realised Tech was going to leave today.

“I have no idea, we’re a busy troop... but I will visit as much as I can- here” Tech took a pen out of his pocket, looking around for a piece of paper. Rolling your eyes, you offered him your bare arm and let out a chuckle when you saw his frown of confusion.

“Make do with what you’ve got” You caused a smile to burst out on his face once more and he shrugged, taking your arm as if it were glass and scribbling down his holonumber on it before leaving a small ‘x’ at the end. You giggled at his gesture and looked at it once he was finished. He had such nice handwriting, even on skin.

“I may not always be around but I’ll always be one text away” He cupped your cheek, kissing your forehead lovingly before leaning his own against yours. You two stayed like that for a while, basking in the comfortable silence of the bunker and lacing your fingers together.

Everything felt so perfect. You couldn’t wait to tell your parents about this, especially your Dad and Brother. Having found your soulmate, you had such a more positive perspective on life and you couldn’t wait to spend the rest of your days beside Tech. You understood you’ve barely known him for a day but he immediately made himself a part of you the moment you both met. It felt like this was what the force wanted, even though you weren’t a Jedi or force wielder, but you heard the Jedi speak of it including Mace Windu, who had originally found you and recommended you to the organisation of Mechanics working at Coruscant.

You admit you weren’t ready to leave Tech just yet even though he needed to go, you had just met him only yesterday and you couldn’t stand the thought of anything happening to him when you two were apart. You wouldn’t forgive yourself if that were the case.

Tech seemed to notice your tense posture and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers grazing your skin for a while longer as if he was analysing how everything felt and what emotions he was experiencing. Tech was so brand new to this emotion called love, all his life he never desired such things but now he was face to face with it. He couldn’t run from it and he certainly didn’t want to, and it made it even more interesting considering you two were completely different in almost everything. But aside from differences, the two of you were surprisingly very similar personality and hobby wise. He loved using technology, you loved to make it. He loved exploring the universe, you had yet to see it at all. He loved learning new things, you were the one who taught him, and you were teaching him now what love really meant.

He cherished this moment with you as if it would he his last, and there was no telling whether or not that would be the case. Tech was a busy man and dealt with deadly missions that almost got him killed over 50% of the time. Things were difficult now because he had a thing to fight for now, he had someone in mind every time he was close to death and needed to fight back. You were the reason for all his doings now, every opinion and thought, you were behind it now. In some people’s opinions, it would be considered as a burden, but to him it was so much different from that.

His whole life, Tech was engineered to never feel anything to do with love or affection. That went for all his brothers as well. He shouldn’t feel this way, but he does and he can’t run from it. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger and he’s never felt so willing to fall at someone’s feet. What would he do if he ever lost you one of these days? Maker knows, Tech certainly didn’t want to know.

A fist slamming against the door of the bunker caused you and Tech to jump out of your skins. Your heart slapped against your rib cage as you tried to steady your breathing, trying to shake off the wave of shock your body was in from the sudden loud noise.

“Hurry up Tech! Times ticking!” It was Crosshair, sounding as irritated as ever. Your shoulders slumped and you looked down sadly as you picked up the stone resting in your lap. Tech held you close as he pressed his lips firmly against yours and cupped your cheek with his free hand.

“We should get going before they burst in” He sighed, standing up from his bed and starting to pack all his things for the journey ahead of him. You helped him back, taking things from his bed and hanging them to him so he could put in properly without damaging anything.

He had so many different gadgets, a mechanic’s wet dream completely. You found yourself staring at each piece of technology for a second longer than necessary and it made Tech smile to see you were so curious about everything he owned. Your hands grazed against each other more than once as you handed him his belongings and eventually ere was nothing else to pass on. Tech zipped up his backpack and stood up, slipping the straps onto his shoulders as he walked over to the bed he left his goggles and helmet on, picking them up before placing them on his head and letting out a hollow sigh.

You followed behind Tech, holding onto the crystal he gave you and hesitantly placing it in your pocket as you approached him. Tech turned around and enveloped you in a tight hug, stroking your hair and wishing he could give you another kiss but the helmet covering his head restricted him from doing so. Even so, you kissed the side of his helmet and earned a soft chuckle from him as he cupped your cheek and stroked it with his thumb.

“Come on!” You both frowned and turned to the door when Wrecker slammed it open, a scowl on his face which was quickly replaced with a shocked expression.

“I’ll be out in a minute” Tech said with a cold, frosty tone, glaring hard at his brother who nodded and closed the door shut once more.

“We should really get going” You sighed, pulling away from Tech and taking his hand as you walked out of the bunker, opening up the bunker door your gaze meeting with Hunter’s who’s arms were crossed and a smile was on his face.

“Come on lovebirds, we ain’t got all day” He smirked, nudging Tech’s shoulder with his own once he was close enough. You chuckled at the brothers behaviour and watched in amusement as Tech shoved Hunter back with a hint of irritation in his eyes, all whilst holding your hand.

You followed the bad batch to their ship, the Havoc Marauder, walking beside Tech and squeezing his hand softly when you finally approached the ramp and let him go. Crosshair, Hunter and Wrecker all boarded the ship after waving to you farewell and Tech was left standing on the stairs.

“I don’t want to leave you here” Tech sighed in disappointment, taking both of your hands and brushing your knuckles with his thumbs. You looked up at him with glassy eyes, your heart practically stuck to him him as he removed his helmet and brought you in for a deep kiss, startling some clones around you who were on duty. You kissed back immediately as a tear flew down your cheek, unable to control your emotions as you pulled away and wiped your eyes. Tech kissed away your tears and calmed you down by whispering sweet nothings in your ear and stroking your hair.

“Everything alright over here?” You jumped and turned to look and see Anakin Skywalker with his arms folded and a raised brow. You and Tech quickly pulled away from one another and you wiped away your tears.

“I guess” You answered, shuffling awkwardly in front of him as he looked between you and Tech with wide and amused eyes. Anakin took a step towards you, leaning into your ear and patting your shoulder.

“You know, if you want to join him it wouldn’t hurt anyone” He whispered, pulling back and sending you a wink before saluting Tech and walking off. You stood in your spot with a surprised expression, your tears of sadness were quickly replaced with a beaming smile as you turned to Tech and looked up.

“I’m coming with you” You beamed.

“You what?!” Tech exclaimed in excitement, screaming at Hunter to refrain from powering up the ship as he watched you run off to collect your things from your mechanic station. Your heart was racing, pumping with adrenaline as you lifted your tools box and collected all your things from the bunker including your clothes and washing products.

You were so quick in returning to Tech, one hand holding your tools box whereas the other held a backpack full of messily dumped clothes. Tech couldn’t be more happy as he looked at you though, taking the toolbox from your grasp and helping you on the Havoc Marauder as Echo and Crosshair came to see what was taking Tech so long, only to realise you were joining them.

2 new members in one day? Hunter liked the sound of it, even though Crosshair had a thing or two to say about it, his comments were brushed to the side and you were graciously assisted by Echo and Tech who helped you unload everything when you arrived.

As you looked back down the ramp, you looked to see Rex, Jesse and Kix all smiling in the distance. You walked down the ramp mid way and saluted them, immediately earning them back from the three clones who all looked sad to see you go. Giving them one last wave, you turned around and took Tech’s hand that was stretched out for you to take.

“Welcome to the crew, mechanic” Tech smiled, kissing your cheek as the ramp closed over and you were with your new family, the people who you really belonged with.