Latest Posts by idkhbeetfm - Page 5

have u guys read the Apex Legends Museum Opening loading screen 😭 it has me in tears

Imagine when miguel is chasing after miles and instead of trying to stop him forcefully you just yell out “IM PREGNANT” instead.

the way miguel would crash into a car shocked, quickly turning around to face you with the most “i beg your biggest fûcking pardon” face ever. it’s just makes me cackle at the way this man would be like “seriously out of all times you chose to tell me THIS IS WHAT YOU CHOSE?!”

miles wouldn’t even have turned back. my dude would have skedaddled so fast from the scene, but not before yelling out a faint “congratulations” before continuing on.

miguel would have just stayed there frozen not sure if he should be running towards you or chasing after miles. you just stand then shimming around awkwardly wondering if you should specify anymore information or cha cha real smooth to the honking cars.

then everyone else just shows up all confused seeing miguel just stand there shocked as if someone just stole his left kidney. untill all of them see you and then just start nodding like “oh so you finally told him.” peter would be video tapping everything like “mayday first pregnancy reveal / chase” while making sure to have miguel’s shocked face in the video for blackmail <3

Vampire Spider-Man voiced by Oscar Isaac??? And you expect me to be normal ab this??? with THAT shoulder to hip ratio???? G R O W U P

lilac - chapter 4

miguel o’hara x f!reader

summary: you accidentally overhear a conversation between miguel and his ai at work.

wc: 4.5k

warnings/tags: domestic lifestyle, mentions of violence, mentions of choking and death, swearing, mentions of office sex, strippers, sex workers, strip club, private dances, cuddling

author’s note: he’s so lana del rey coded guys

Anybody with experience knew that trying to keep twenty third graders together was like herding cats. Anybody with further experience knew that keeping twenty third graders together in a sharp, sleek, trillion-dollar facility like Alchemax was like herding cats who were soaking wet and high on all the catnip they could have stuffed their stupid little faces with in the span of five minutes.

“Alexander,” you snapped as you helped your coworker count little bodies as they piled off the bus. “If I have to tell you one more time to keep your hands off James, I’m going to drive this bus myself back to school and give you a fifty-page packet while everyone else here has fun.”

While your words had the effect you hoped they did, you wouldn’t exactly classify a field trip to Alchemax as fun. It was a megacorporation that dabbled in exploits from clean energy to genetics to god knew whatever else they did in there between those fancy metal walls. The building looked as though it should have come straight from a sci-fi film compared to the other foundations on the block, all floor-to-ceiling windows and fifty-some floors and armed guards that stood at the front doors. Certainly not a place to take a field trip with a bunch of nine year olds. Again, you would have thought some place like the zoo or even an interactive museum would have been better, but when the principal wanted something, she got it.

To be honest, you had a suspicion she was hooking up with one of the guards here, but you had nothing to prove your theory.

Like the pack of raging little animals that they were, your students filed across the front way of the building and up the stone stairs to the doors, where they waited in a mass of wiggles and excited spasms. Each of them held their partner’s hand, a rule you pressed with each field trip. Going into a freaky building like this, you almost wished you had a hand to hold yourself.

“That’s all of them,” said your coworkers, one of the three teachers who had come to chaperone the trip. She looked up from her clipboard of names, double checking each kid as you both followed the crowd of children up the steps. “Christ, this is going to be a shitshow. I just know we’re going to be escorted out of here after… I don’t know, a molecular leveler gets demolished by tiny, sticky hands.”

You snuffed out a little snort, reaching up to adjust the necklace perched about your collarbones. In your free hand, you carried a coffee cup that still had the tab in; it wasn’t for you. “I think it’ll be alright,” you said, but not nearly as confidently as you would have liked. “We had an entire assembly over this.”

“And since when has that ever helped?” She followed your movements, her eyes trailing over your form. You blinked at her. “Are you wearing lipstick?”

“Hah! No…!” Quickly, before she could ask any more questions, you turned away and pressed your lips to your sleeve, trying to wipe off some of the excess lipstick you’d applied right before leaving the school. Fuck, it was too much, wasn’t it?

Definitely too much for popping in to visit during a school field trip when you should have been watching your kids.

After passing through multiple tall, sleek-looking metal detectors (and scolding a few kids for bringing their phones when they were specifically told to leave them at school), you met the man who would be giving the tour of the facility in the lobby. Overhead, modern-art-classified light fixtures hung from the ceiling like someone had captured starlight and crammed it into bulbs. A cafeteria filled with scientists and researchers and everyone in between stood to your left, each of them donned in a stark white lab coat. Some of them spoke on phones, others clacked away on laptops and futuristic-looking tablets with such an intensity you would have thought they were taking a test for their lives. A few of them spared a glace or two at your group, but they didn’t last long. Apparently field trips to designated areas in the building were normal.

You heard the tour guide talking animatedly to the kids, but his words didn’t quite register as you kept your head on a swivel, searching out something specific. After a moment, when you leaned back on the heels of your feet, you found what you were looking for; the elevators.

“Hey,” you said to your coworker as the kids began to move deeper into the lobby, “will you cover for me? I’ve got to run to the restroom real quick.”

After they had moved along to where they couldn’t see you, you grasped the coffee cup tighter in your grasp and made a beeline for the elevators. Your footsteps against the polished marble seemed deafening as you quickened your pace, realizing the cup wasn’t as hot as it had been earlier. How fucking humiliating would it be if you brought him cold coffee? There was a part of you that knew, really, he wouldn’t mind, but the larger, more insecure bit insisted he would mentally cringe and throw it out the second you left.

Fuck, you thought. This man had you whipped.

You had just reached the elevators, reaching out to tap the call button, when a voice called out to you from your left. “Excuse me,” said a woman sitting behind a large metal desk you hadn’t seen in your haste. She eyed you from behind thick lenses, brow quirked over the top of her monitor. “We do ask that you stay with your group, if you’re here for a tour.”

“Oh! Uhm…” Gripping the cup tight enough that you felt the cardboard bend ever so slightly against your fingers, you padded closer to the desk and put on your best tight-lipped smile. “I’m sorry. I was just bringing a drink to someone who worked here. He’s, uhm… he’s -”

Before you could force your tongue to get out some kind of excuse, some kind of title, the woman was pulling out a small paper sheet from a drawer beside her leg. “Are you a significant other?” she asked, pulling a visitor sticker from the sheet and leaning forward to press it to your shirt. She didn’t seem to want to wait for an answer before sitting back down and clicking away at her screen. “Just a security question before you go; name and floor number?”

Goddamn; suddenly you were so fucking glad some people sucked at their jobs.

Taking a breath, you inhaled and plastered on a grin. “O’Hara,” you replied. “Floor three.”

“Alright,” she said without looking up again. “You’re free to go up. Please stay in the public hallways.”

The entire elevator ride up to the third floor, you were unable to keep a goofy, surely stupid-looking smile from your face. You liked the idea of being called Miguel’s ‘significant other.’ It made your stomach clench, made your pulse race and your heart thunder and your core throb with a dull ache. For just a moment, you allowed yourself to imagine that kind of role, being deserving of such a title.

Coming home from your teaching job not to immediately race to do your makeup in loud, flashy colors, but to stay in the warm, basking glow of a house or a roomy apartment each evening. The keys would always fit just right in the lock, never click or jump. The air would be filled with the sound of a little girl’s quiet giggles from her bedroom, along with the smell of dinner cooking on the stove. Small soccer cleats by the door. Trinkets and photographs and everything else that made the house a home strewn about the rooms. And a tall, sinewy figure that towered over you there to greet you when you walked inside, all warm smiles and wide, calloused hands on your hips and full lips to press against yours with enough gentleness and passion and adoration to keep you on your toes the rest of the night.

A bed big enough for the both of you, with enough blankets and comforters that you wouldn’t be cold even if you couldn’t afford to keep the heat on. Sheets and pillows that knew your white-knuckled grip, that would mold to your hands as you laid out bare for him and allowed him to worship the very ground you walked on with his mouth, his fingers, what lay beneath his slim, narrow hips…

By the time the elevator reached the third floor and the doors opened with a gentle chime, your cheeks were hot and your palms were sweaty enough you were sure you’d heated the coffee back up to steaming.

Wandering through the halls of Alechmax’s third floor and feeling incredibly out of place amongst the scientists flipping through reports and chattering on calls, you shuffled from office to office, searching for that familiar name that made your stomach flip. It seemed an awkwardly insane amount of time before you finally spotted his name on a plate beside a door left slightly ajar. You approached and smoothed out your shirt, preparing to present the coffee, when you heard voices inside.

“This isn’t like you, boss,” a woman was saying, her voice slightly warped from speaking over a computer. “You’re always preaching to the others that messing with canon events and triggering changes that aren’t meant to happen is wrong. You know it’s wrong.”

From across the room, a voice you recognized as Miguel’s scoffed. “This one is different. I’m balancing out the changes. I’ve got it under control.”

“Some control you’ve got. You do realize you’ve already altered enough canon events that even this universe itself doesn’t know where it’s going anymore? The bad guys here aren’t supposed to be in jail. Things aren’t supposed to get better. You know why? Because here, there is no Spiderman.”

Spiderman? Your gut clenched slightly as you inched closer to the gap between the door and the frame. If they were talking about Spiderman, then surely - he must have come from here. Some of those conspiracy theorists were right.

“Like I said, Lyla,” Miguel replied, his voice a touch deeper than it had been just a moment ago, “I have it under control.”

The woman named Lyla went on despite the dangerous rumble in Miguel’s throat you’d never heard before. “Here’s another one. That friend of yours? She was supposed to be engaged by now to her boyfriend. Her actual boyfriend. They’re supposed to have the whole angsty proposal thing, go back and forth for another three months, then end things. When he ends her. Asphyxiation by choking for approximately seven minutes, by the way.”

For a long, long while, there was silence. You realized you had been holding your breath, trying desperately to connect these pieces that just refused to fit together. What on earth were they talking about? Universes? Spiderman? Someone getting choked to death by their fiance? It sounded like a bad movie plot.

“Lyla?” came Miguel’s voice.

“Yeah, boss?”

“...Shut down and mute all alerts.”

Again, there came that horrible, palpable silence. Lyla seemed to be in some kind of shock. “Boss, I’m not sure that’s really what you want. You’re in a state of denial. Maybe you should take a break there, come back to headquarters. Jessica’s tried reaching out. Peter and Ben, too. I advise spending time with friends to decrease levels of -”

“Shut down. Now. I’m not going to tell you again.”

“...Yes, boss.”

When you heard his footsteps crossing the room, you took a small step back and clutched the surely-lukewarm coffee to your stomach. You’d never heard him take such a tone before, always used to that warm, content baritone that rumbled comfortably from deep within his throat. This kind of voice you’d just heard was cold and emotionless, without an ounce of feeling in a single one of his words.

You took a breath and exhaled it softly.

Then, as if he heard it from inside his office, the door was opened at an alarming rate to reveal Miguel on the other side. His brow was furrowed and a line had appeared at the corner of his mouth with his frown, obviously expecting one of his coworkers to be intruding at his door. Yet when his gaze met yours, when his frame towered over your smaller one, he realized just who you were, recognized that gleam in your eyes when you locked stares. His gaze softened like an airbag deflating. That line by his mouth disappeared. His tensed figure slowly relaxed, his shoulders coming down from where they’d been set.

For a short moment, you simply stared at one another. You were forced to admit to yourself that tone he’d spoken with had intimidated you.

It reminded you of the one Ferris used when he cornered you and threatened to take off for good.

Finally, Miguel’s lips parted. “Hey,” he breathed out, like he was trying his damn fucking best not to let that tone leak through to you.

You swallowed and slowly allowed yourself to relax. He wouldn’t ever speak to you like that. You didn’t know how you knew. You could just sense it in the warmth that poured from him, from the gentle honey of his dark eyes, from the way he held himself and carried his weight and set down each step like he knew the outcome of each and every movement he made. “Hi.”

Miguel inhaled, as if he were relieved you decided to speak. “Sorry about that,” he said and gestured over his shoulder into his office. “We’ve been testing out some new AI lately. Throwing it curveballs to see if it can keep up.” A small smile graced his face, close-lipped and sweet. Again, you realized - he never smiled with his teeth. “It hasn’t been going well.”

Like a dam breaking and letting a flood of water into a canal, relief rocketed through your systems and worked to ease your stress. Of course he had been talking to a computer. You doubted he could ever speak to a woman like that, much less anyone else. And that also explained all the wild things they had been discussing. Universes? Some poor chick getting murdered by her fiance?

Just the complicated workings of an out of sorts AI.

“I have to admit, I was wondering,” you let yourself laugh. “But, you know… who am I to question Alchemax’s best geneticist?” You watched in fascination as the corner of his mouth quirked upward and one eye squinted with the smile. God, you could watch him do that all damn day. Suddenly remembering the coffee in your hands, you held it up to him with an embarrassed grin. “I meant to bring you this while it was still hot, but I guess you know how hellish it can be getting a bunch of third graders on a bus.”

He took the cup with a rather confused expression.

“The field trip,” you said and folded your hands in front of you, because you knew if you didn’t, you would surely reach out and touch his face. “It’s today. You signed the permission slip about a month ago.”

Miguel blinked a few times, then took a breath and lifted his face. “Right. Right, sorry. Must have slipped my mind. I’ve - heh.” He shook his head and reached up to scratch at the delicate skin of his throat in that way he did when he spoke to you. “More going on than you would know.”

“Believe me,” you said softly, looking down at your shoes. You thought of dishes still in the sink, and band practices in your living room, and threats of leaving you all on your own because, really, that was truly your worst fear. “I know.”

You thought from there you would smile and turn, say something like, ‘Well, just thought I’d stop by,’ and leave him in the doorway of his office so that he wouldn’t see the yearning swimming in your irises. Maybe if you were feeling bold, you’d reach out and touch his wrist for just a moment before pulling away and practically sprinting back to the elevators.

But when you went to turn, he beat you to all of that. He reached out to touch your upper arm, the tips of his calloused fingers brushing along the fabric of your shirt, and he asked if you’d like to come inside, sit down for a minute. And inside his office, he told you what his department was working on, explained it in ways he knew you would understand. He spoke of a molecular collider that, in theory, would open a doorway to parallel universes.

You could have spent hours sitting in that office that smelled like his cologne, listening to him talk.

But life moved on. You were forced to pull yourself away, travel back downstairs and hold Gabriella’s hand like you hadn’t just thought about Miguel folding you over his desk, hushing your desperate cries, and gripping onto your hips with a hold that would bruise. You were forced to drive home and argue with Ferris about dirty laundry and his new keyboard girl constantly texting him. You were forced to land in the dressing room at The Menagerie, carefully dotting rhinestones to your collarbones in the mirror while the other girls buzzed around you.

“And he brought you flowers, too?” asked Shawna from where she was spread out on the couch across the room. She sighed deeply and hung her head over the armrest. “Girl. When are you going to stop playing and give that little girl of his a new mom?”

“You know why I can’t,” you replied as you pressed a small plastic rhinestone to your skin.

Zara met your eyes in the mirror as she grabbed the back of your chair, already dressed in her colorful, skimpy outfit and her mask. “We know why,” she hissed, but not at you. “That Ferris dude has got you held under the water, babe. Serious ball and chain kind of deal here. You really need to do something.”

If you could have found the strength to, you would have rolled your eyes at their words. But you really couldn’t. You were nothing short of exhausted after the field trip today, so much that you wouldn’t be surprised if you were unable to keep your eyes open while you were on stage. God, you loved your teaching gig, but sometimes it was so, so stressful. And so was this job. Teaching, dancing, disciplining, teasing. They all collided into one big, neverending hurricane of fatigue.

“Maybe in another universe,” you found yourself mumbling under your breath, remembering everything Miguel had told you about this morning, “I could have been a flower shop keeper.”

Behind you in the mirror, a few of the girls looked at you with strange expressions.

Before you could go back to applying your rhinestones, one of the newer girls entered the room and pushed her mask up so that her face was visible. She looked to you. “Boss said you’re canceled on the stage,” she said, and you hoped for a moment you were going to go home early, before she added, “Guy paid for a private dance in Room 7.”

“Goddammit.” You groaned and leaned forward to rest your forehead on your arms. You were way too fucking tired to do a private dance right now.

“M’sure he won’t be that bad,” said Shawna as she let herself slip further over the arm of the couch.

Grumbling beneath your breath, you stood, finished off your rhinestones the best you could, and slipped your cold porcelain mask over your features. At least like this, your customer wouldn’t be able to see your exhausted eyes and lost expression.

The beating, thrumming music of the club seemed to vibrate your very soul in your chest as you wound your way past patrons and around the stage, sure to throw half-assed smiles at the people you were forced to wiggle past just a bit too close. The short corridor leading to the private rooms were lit with neons, playing with shadows across your costumed form as you found Room 7 and gently knocked on the door. You blinked a few times to clear the blur from your eyes, then cleared your throat and stepped inside.

“Hi, handsome,” you said as you turned to shut the door - your classic line, no matter who the buyer. “How are you doing tonight?” You turned around to face your customer, then came to a complete stop. Even your heart jumped a beat or two.

The man you’d seen in the shadows that night of the robbery, the man with the little scar on his collarbone, had gotten to his feet from his chair when you entered the room. He wore that same spider mask, still had his dark hair slicked back over his head.

You swallowed thick as you felt his eyes traveling over your form behind the gaps in his mask. “Hello… Spiderman.”

He hesitated for a moment, like he was lost on just what to do. “Hey,” he said in an equally soft voice. It was muted in the same way it was behind his spandex mask.

You placed your hands behind your back as you leaned up against the door - and locked it. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

“...You asked.”

“Did I?” Putting on your best flirty, coy smile, you slowly crossed the room to meet him. “I thought all I said was… if you stopped by, to ask for me.” You reached out to touch the edge of his shirt, past his dress jacket, and skim your knuckle over the tan skin of his exposed collarbone. That scar sat just where you’d seen it before. “But you’re here.”

“...I’m here.”

There was a soft lilt to his voice, one that you had not heard before. Then again, you hadn’t spoken to him much, just in the bank and on the rooftop. But it seemed long enough to know that it wasn’t normal.

“What’s wrong, Spiderman?” you asked gently, taking a step closer. Your knees brushed against his, and when you gave him a gentle push on the shoulder, he sat back in the chair positioned in the center of the room. You gingerly climbed up so that your knees rested on either side of his thighs, so that your center was just inches above his. You didn’t miss the slight hitch in his breath, the way his eyes widened ever just so behind that spider mask. “Have a bad day? Some criminals get the better of you?”

You knew, in a way, that he wasn’t going to do it himself, so you took his wide, warm hands in your own and rested them on your hips. They stayed there for a long, long moment. Then they moved not down, toward your ass and your core, but up. They felt tentatively along your middle, his thumb tickling your stomach just a bit, and stopped just below your breasts before sliding back down again.

“No,” he replied in a low, raspy voice. He paused when you slowly lowered yourself so that you were seated on his lap now, your hips pressed against his. You felt his thigh twitch beneath your ass. “Pretty good day, actually. Just… heard some bad news.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You hummed, letting your fingers drag along the delicate skin of his throat, just barely shaded with stubble. “What can I do to make you feel better?”

You expected him to hesitate, then make a request. Strip for him. Dance. Whisper in his ear all the things you wanted to do to him.

But there came none of that. Instead of touching you like you were used to, his hands - which were still respectfully resting against your middle - slowly slid across to your back and gently, gingerly, pulled you against him so that you were lying against his front. So that your chests were pressed together. So that you were slumped comfortably in his lap. He held you there against him, one hand on the small of your back and the other on the base of your neck.

“Just this,” he murmured.

You were stunned, to say the least. This was not the first time a customer just wanted to hold, or be held, or anything of the sort. But even then, those touches were desperate and needy, clingy and awkward. But this was everything they were not. This was gentle and considerate, kind and… romantic. Like he didn’t just need to be touched, he needed to be touched by you.

When you inhaled you thought you recognized the scent you breathed in. But with his body so close and his hands holding you so securely, you dismissed it like a runaway thought.

“Here.” Spiderman pulled you back for just a second, raising his fingers up to pull at the ribbon keeping your mask on your face, mindful not to catch any hair. Your breath hitched when he set the monarch mask aside, your face now bare as you stared down at him. This was against the rules. You were not supposed to do this. Customers were not supposed to see your face, know you like this.

But this?

This was far beyond any rules.

Your lips parted and your heart thundering in your chest so loud you were sure he could hear it, you found your own fingers slowly reaching up to graze at his porcelain mask. Your fingertips grazed the edge, began to hitch it up…

He caught your wrist in a hold that was so gentle, yet so commanding, that you immediately let your hand drop. But there was no venomous feeling there, no edge. Just a warning. A soft, quiet warning.

Exhaling, you wrapped your arms around his neck and settled yourself against his wide, powerful frame. Your face nestled itself into the crook of his neck, your chin resting atop his shoulder, as his hands came back to hold your form against his. One of his thumbs glided across your shoulder blade, sending goosebumps rising across your skin.

Gripping onto his jacket collar, you opened your eyes to look at yourself in the mirror that faced the back of the chair. Here you couldn’t see the mask over Spiderman’s face, just his slicked-back hair and his broad shoulders keeping you caged against him. His head tilted toward yours, your temples resting together.

For a moment, in your exhaustion and fatigue, you thought he resembled someone else you knew. But you let the thought pass, instead shutting your eyes and basking in his soft, gentle, perfect touch.

tags: @mooomeadows @twentysomethingwereyote @screamforyani @fangirlreice7 @axdjelx @ornamentalnecromancy @faust-pda @ilikethemoon28 @mrm-pachypoda @wadafrick @natthernandez @bakgoktski @soupsexsunsalutationsss @roxannarichie @lovagirlxxx @soggyeyeballsss @yoyoyoyoyo55555 @sophipet @quaintii @lavnderluv @cookiezxx @euphorica @its-a-polyglot @nicalysm @maxi-ride @exzidss @crappwr0m @femme-is-dead @bitch-onthemoon @hier—soir @takayomi @kirke-is-my-name @d1lf-loverrr @might-be-a-rat @brooks-lin @maki-z @bookfreakk @act1839 @dollscircus @sleepingaway @anxietybutterfly @bioticboot @mxkn @freeingrebels @digitalcreature404 @aimee777 @hunnaye @blahbahed @cyanide-mustard @impettywhenyouare @mental-illness-is-my-friend @bobfood

Are you alive

Don’t ask me no personal shit like this

lilac - chapter 3

miguel o’hara x f!reader

summary: your boyfriend doesn’t have the time anymore. good thing both miguel o’hara and spiderman do.

wc: 5.2k

tags/warnings: domestic dispute, unhappy relationship, pining, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of violence, allusions to suicide, mentions of strip clubs

author’s note: got a lil carried away with my emotions for this one ngl

Your pink pen pressed harshly down on the science quiz you were grading, smearing a pit of the sparkly ink as the searing noise of an electric guitar being tuned submerged your little apartment from the floors to the ceilings. You glared up from beneath your brows, a predator chained just inches from her prey, as Ferris and his band of four barked and howled between themselves in your living room. From your perch at the tiny dining table, you watched them, your knuckles paling around your pen. They had moved the furniture around to make room for their equipment, shoved your couch, your armchair, your coffee table - fuck, even your television stand - against the walls so that they could spread out and practice for a gig the drummer had managed to score; probably by going down on the manager of the place, but you’d never say that out loud.

Unless they provoked you - which, with every ticking, prolonged minute that passed, you were getting closer and closer to your inclined tipping point.

Sniffing quietly, you shook your head and tried to go back to grading your quizzes. So far, your class had done a fairly good job. A few percentages below eighty, but not many. No matter what score they got, however, you were sure to place a sticker on the corner of the page. Of course, as you had expected, Gabriella O’Hara’s score was a perfect hundred. A small smile graced the corner of your lips. She was a bright kid, you’d give her that. While she needed a little extra help in mathematics from time to time, she practically excelled in every other subject. You scribbled out a little note praising her for a job well done before beginning to move on to your other papers.

From the living room, another glass-shattering, skin-crawling shriek was raised from Ferris’ guitar. You twitched in your seat, subtly raising your eyes to watch the band. Your boyfriend was downing his second beer of the day, despite it being barely eleven in the morning, and he had his feet propped up on some chick’s - the new keyboard player, because the last one stormed out of the group after realizing what a bunch of asswipes they were - and idly strummed a lazy medley on the taut strings of his guitar. It was hooked up to the speaker, so every note that he twanged out was amplified tenfold.

Downstairs, your neighbor knocked against their ceiling with a broom. Telling you all to shut the fuck up, no doubt.

Taking a deep breath, you put on your best smile - which looked more like a grimace, actually - and cleared your throat. “Babe,” you said tightly, drawing Ferris’ attention away from the keyboard player. He regarded you with a roll of his head and hand on the strings to stop the vibrations. “Maybe it’s time to pack it up. You’ve been…” You hesitated. “Practicing for almost two hours now. Why don’t you save some of the music for the paying customers tomorrow instead of the neighbors?”

To your chagrin, like he was dumping fuel across the little flame that had flickered to life in your chest, he shrugged a shoulder and went back to his guitar and the girl across from him. “We’ll leave when we’re done,” he replied nonchalantly, eyes never meeting yours again. “Still got some more songs to run through.”

“Yeah,” you scoffed and went back to your work. “You look real fucking busy.”

“If you’re so tired of listening to us,” your boyfriend snapped suddenly, “why don’t you find somewhere else to go? This is my place too, you know.” He exhaled a venomous sigh and downed another swig from his bottle. “Always on my ass.”

By now, the rest of the apartment had gone silent. The other band members glanced between the pair of you, movements suddenly stiff with tension they had no idea how to release. It felt like no matter what they did, it would light the fuse on either one of you.

Feeling your cheeks heat and your palms become sticky with embarrassment, you swallowed thick and nodded your head slowly. Then you stood, began to gather your papers, and stuffed them into your purse.

“Hey,” said the band’s drummer, a pudgy guy with thick lenses that had, actually, always been nice to you despite their leader’s obvious intentions, “if you need us to clear out, we can. We can find another place to set up where we’re not bothering you.”

You released a short huff, sounding more akin to a snarl than anything else. It seemed your judgment in men really was shit; you’d chosen the wrong fucking band member. “That’s okay,” you spat as you tugged on your shoes and checked that you had your keys. The drummer’s face flashed with guilt and you felt bad for a moment, but then your eyes flickered to where Ferris had wandered into the kitchen to fetch himself another drink. Like a raging wildfire, the flames in your ribcage roared and seared your insides, making them feel like you’d implode upon yourself if you stayed here - in your own damn home - any longer. “I’ll go somewhere else.”

With that you exited your apartment and slammed the door behind you, not stopping your frantic escape from Ferris’ snarls and rolling eyes until you hit the street down below. Before you on the road, traffic moved at a sluggish pace. Horns blared and street lights flickered. Shop fronts gleamed in the sunlight and bells over doors jingled. As you took a long, deep inhale that granted your lungs a wave of fresh air and your eyes with a certain wetness in the corners, you realized your crumbling relationship with your boyfriend was such a trivial little thing in this city. Nothing was going to stop, halt in its tracks, just because your world was falling apart.

Life went on. There was nothing you could do to stop that.

Plopping yourself down on the bus stop bench, you placed your head in your hands and tried to keep yourself from crying anymore. You couldn’t let anyone else see you cry, because what if they did, and they turned out to be like Ferris? Told you that you were being dramatic, that you needed to pull yourself together and be a girl? Fuck, you didn’t think you could handle someone else telling you that. You didn’t need anyone else against you; it already felt like the entire world was.

What you needed, desperately, terribly, pleadingly, was someone else in your corner.

In your pocket, your phone chimed with an incoming text. Wiping away the tears sitting heavy against your lids, you pulled it out. It was an unknown number; your cyber security app had blurred the message, waiting until you accepted to see it. You swiped on the blurred screen, then clicked open the message.

Hi, it’s Miguel O’Hara. I hate to cross any lines here, but Gabriella is having a hard time understanding the homework assigned for this weekend. I tried to help, but it’s beyond me. Some sorry excuse for a geneticist I am, right? Anyway, I was texting to ask if you’d be able to meet us somewhere today and help Bri. I was thinking the public library? We’re going to be headed to the park afterward for soccer practice… you’re welcome to come along. She’s eager to show you a new trick she learned yesterday. Again, excuse my forwardness. We understand if you’re not available. :)

You sniffled slightly, rereading the text over and over again, trying to stuff down the fluttering feeling arising past the flames inside you. Your head snapped up and you were on your feet in less than a moment, hailing the first taxi that passed you. When you climbed inside, the driver asked you where to.

“The public library,” you said, and managed a smile at him in the mirror.

Half an hour later, you sat at a desk in the middle of the study section of the New York Public Library, already having drawn out fresh sketches and examples of the mathematics homework you had assigned for this weekend. Your foot bounced with anticipation under the table, and you found yourself constantly glancing over your shoulder at the wide, arched doorway that let into the private section.

You’d tutored students outside of class before, so you shouldn’t have been so excited. You’d met with them in diners and cheap restaurants, outdoor pavilions when the weather allowed, hell - you’d even sat with them outside their cramped apartment buildings on overturned milk crates and used cardboard as a back for the worksheets while their parents were busy working three jobs and balancing five other kids on their hips at the same time. You weren’t one to judge; you knew how hard it was out here for some people. You were a teacher; it was your job to love and nurture and teach your kids, no matter who they were or where they came from.

So you shouldn’t have been this excited to tutor one of your students. Even if she did have a smoking hot dad.

Small, quick-paced footsteps - like thunderclaps along the ground in the nearly-silent room - pricked your ears and turned your attention to the doorway. A wide, easy grin broke across your lips as you spied Gabriella breaking away from her father’s side to rush toward you and your table. In her arms she carried a wrapped bouquet of flowers. When she reached where you had risen from your seat, she pressed her face into your belly in lieu of a hug.

“Hi, Miss Y/N,” she said, rather loudly, then presented the flowers like they were sterling silver encrusted with diamonds and jewels unimaginable. An ear-to-ear smile stretched from one of her ears to the other. “These are for you.”

Miguel arrived behind her, a backpack slung over his shoulder and a gentle grin of greeting gracing his beautiful face. He tilted his head at you for a moment, then ruffled his daughter’s hair and said, “What are they for?”

“A thank you,” Gabriella rushed to say as you accepted the bouquet. “For coming to help me.”

You tried to squash the butterflies that fluttered through your stomach when he smiled at you, instead pushing your focus to the flowers clutched to your chest. They were fresh blooms, a collection filled with pinks and purples and a few yellows here and there. “Well, thank you so much, sweetheart,” you said as she rounded the table to go and sit by her father. “They’re beautiful.” You took your seat again and carefully set the gift beside your purse. “And you don’t have to thank me. I was already out today anyhow, so it wasn’t any trouble.”

“Really?” said Miguel. He pulled the bag from over his shoulder and gave it to Gabriella for her to begin pulling her schoolwork out. He quirked one of his thick brows, his sad-looking eyes meeting yours. Jolts of excitement, and pleasure, and adoration went sprawling down your spine all at once, like back to back shocks of raw, untamed electricity. “I figured you would have been staying in during a tourist weekend like this.”

You wanted so badly to tell him just what you were doing out, why you weren’t at home enjoying your two days of free time between your two jobs - one that required every bit of your soul and heart during the day, and another that required every bit of your body during the night. You wanted horrendously to confide in him the troubles plaguing you like an illness only he could cure you from, wanted him to secure those thick, sinewy arms of his around your form and hold you tight, assure you in that husky tone that everything would be alright.

But instead, all you said was, “Can’t let tourists drive us locals from our stomping grounds, can we, Mister O’Hara?”

The corner of his mouth quirked upwards, his eyes stuck upon your form even after you’d pulled your attention to the worksheet Gabriella had pulled out.

For a long while, the three of you sat at that table in the library. You taught Gabriella the maths lesson over again as many times as she needed it, helped her with the more challenging problems on the worksheet, then made up a few on the spot to give her for the extra practice. You even tilted around your textbook so that Miguel could see it and gave him a rundown of the next few lessons so that he could help her the following week, should she need it.

It was perhaps an hour or so later when you sat back in your chair, watching as your student set to work on the few practice problems you’d given her. You shut your eyes for a moment, exhaling a long breath, and allowing your brain to shut off for a moment. You’d succeeding in getting Ferris and his stupid, stubborn fucking attitude off your mind for a time, but now you were faced with the realization that sometime today, you’d have to go back home. You’d have to see him again, most likely get into another argument that would lead to one of you sleeping on the couch the next couple evenings.

Most likely you.

“How are you doing?” came Miguel’s voice from across the table.

You thought for a moment he was speaking to his daughter, looking over her work, but when no reply came, you opened your eyes and realized he was talking to you. You blinked a few times, watching as he smirked kindly and crossed his arms over the table. Fuck, he was so easy to look at. He was wearing a t-shirt against the sunny day today, giving you a generous view of the muscles in his arms. They sloped down to his elbows, and further still to wrists wrapped in Gabriella-made friendship bracelets, to large, wide hands that were callused at the fingers and bruised at the knuckles. You wondered briefly if he boxed during his workouts.

Sliding your hand up your face, you gave him a tired smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. Despite only speaking to one another a few minutes every time at pick up and drop off, you felt you could talk to him better than even the girls at your nighttime job. “I’m alright,” you said, then added, “Just… tired, is all. Lots on my plate right now. Work, stuff at home, the whole ‘masked vigilante swinging around the city’ thing. Well… you know how it is.”

It was not the last detail that seemed to faze him. It was the second. “Is everything okay?” he asked, tilting his head to the side slightly, like that of a curious puppy. The lines beneath his eyes deepened a bit, the untamed hair atop his head slipped to his temple. “Sorry if I’m overstepping a boundary, or anything like that. I just -”

“No, you’re alright.” You reached out to finger at a petal on one of the flowers in the bouquet, fondly brushing the delicate thing as if it would disintegrate if you handled it any rougher. His eyes followed your movements deftly. “And, everything’s… okay. Sort of… okay.” You sighed and pulled away from the flower, instead opting to rub at your temples. “Just drives me out sometimes, you know? Everything… happening in those walls. Sometimes it gets too much.”

“You’re never out on the streets, are you?” Suddenly his gaze had turned serious and stony, his mouth set into a hard line across his chiseled expression.

You swallowed thick, feeling the dropped baritone of his voice hit the bottom of your belly and head south to your core. You shifted slightly in your seat, crossing your legs over one another to mask the subtle movement. “No, never.” Forcing yourself to chuckle, you dropped a hand to the desk. “You don’t have to worry about me, Mister O’Hara. I’m just fine.”

Before you realized what was happening, Miguel had reached out to brush his long, thick fingers over your knuckles. Your skin was suddenly alight with a blaze you didn’t even know existed. He leaned forward slightly across the table, lowering his voice so that only you heard it in the cage between your ribs. “It’s alright to ask for help, you know,” he murmured quietly. You were caught in his gaze, unable to pull yourself away. “If you ever need something, some place to stay… our door is open.”

Your tongue had ceased its ability to work, your heart its ability to beat properly. You could only stare at him, wide-eyed, as he settled back in his chair. Miguel O’Hara had just offered you his home. Fuck - he knew. He had to have known. Maybe he could see it in your eyes, hear it in your voice when you whispered; maybe it trembled too much. Or maybe he could just sense it, feel it from the bottomless pit in your soul screaming out for someone to pull it back into the daylight.

Just when you trusted yourself to speak again, both your and Miguel’s phones alerted at the same time. Across the study section, other devices went off, as well. Simultaneously, you pulled out your cells and read the messages scrawled across the screens.

“Jesus,” you muttered upon scanning the message. A kidnapping had just taken place not a block from the library. Car details and plate numbers were attached, along with an urging for anyone with information to call the authorities. “This city gets worse every day.”

Miguel glanced up at your words, hesitated, then looked down at Gabriella. She was still busy with her work, tongue stuck out gently between her pink lips. You sensed him tense from across the table.

“...Miguel?” you asked, tentative to use his first name. “Is everything okay?”

After a short, brief moment, he seemed to make up his mind about something. He stood from his chair so abruptly that it squealed softly against the tile floor, throwing the backpack over his shoulder and rounding the table. “Excuse me just a second,” he said, already heading toward the doorway. “I have to make a call. Ten minutes, tops.” Then he was gone, jogging too quickly and hurriedly to be making a phone call - or so you thought. You wanted direly to follow him, see what he was doing, but you couldn’t. You had your student to take care of.

Inhaling shortly, you turned to Gabriella only to find her staring at the doorway her father had disappeared through. You were quick to find something to change the subject. “These flowers are so pretty,” you told her and nudged the bouquet slightly. She met your eyes, your gentle smile, and it seemed Miguel’s sudden absence was wiped from her mind. So was the inner workings of a nine year old.

“I got to pick them out,” she said proudly, then went back to her worksheet. “But it was Daddy’s idea to get them for you.”

Your heart skipped a beat in your chest. You did your best to maintain your smile, trying not to grasp at your chest and stop the oncoming heart attack making its way through your systems. It had been Miguel to get the flowers? “Yeah?” you said in a small voice.

Oblivious to your strained tone and the excited bouncing of your leg under the table, the little girl nodded and hummed. “Uh-huh. He like-likes you. He told me so.”

Holy fucking goddamn son of a bitch.

You cleared your throat because you knew if you talked about this any longer, you would explode into a little cloud of confetti. Then you’d never even get to see him again, look at him in this new light because fuck, was it a new light. It was a new light you could dance under, twirl and sing and jump under, because no one was going to judge you anymore, and even better, now you could invite him to be under it with you. And you knew you just might have a chance of him saying yes.

And fuck, what a dance that would be.

“Are you excited for the field trip to Alchemax on Tuesday?” you asked her, recalling the months it had taken Washington Elementary’s principal to get permission to bring classes there. She had insisted it was an important place for them to visit, considering all the work they were doing as of late. You guessed your suggestion for a trip to the zoo had been vetoed. “Your dad works there. Maybe we’ll see him. You can brag to all your friends that he’s a fancy scientist.”

“Maybe,” she said, scratching out a wrong answer on her paper. “He works on the seventh floor. I’ve seen his work badge thing. We probably won’t be able to go up there.”

“Here’s hoping we can,” you said to yourself beneath your breath.

Ten minutes passed since Miguel’s sudden disappearance, and then another. Thirty minutes was just approaching, as was the beginnings of sundown, before you sensed him approaching you from behind. Turning in your chair, the first thing you noticed was that he was out of breath, sweating at his temples and down his neck slightly. God, he looked good like that. But then your rational side kicked in. Had he been running somewhere?

“I think that’s enough homework for today,” he said as he reached the table and ruffled Gabriella’s hair again. She batted his hand away, but nonetheless began to pack up her things. As she did so, he switched his gaze to yours, tilting his head in that way he did. “We’re going to head to the park, kick a ball around for a while. You’re welcome to join us, if you like.”

Numbly, because now that you knew he not only liked you, but like-liked you, you heard yourself accept and follow them out the doors of the library and onto the street. The deep purple sky felt a bit brighter than before, and the steps you took together, side by side, seemed a little closer than necessary. The sidewalks were cramped, sure, but not enough so that your hands needed to brush every few seconds. Not enough so that your shoulders bumped when you stepped off curbs to cross roads.

The park was quiet this time of day, occupied only by a few elderly couples leaning against walking canes and teenagers out past their curfews sprawled out on benches making out like they knew they were going to die tomorrow.

How long had it been since you had kissed Ferris? The saddest part of you knew that you couldn’t recall.

For hours, you sat on the sweet-smelling grass of the park’s lawn and watched Miguel and Gabriella scrimmage, kicking around a ball worn by years of scuff marks and green stains from fields. The breeze blew their matching hair this way and that, the dying sunlight illuminated their identical smiles as they round about one another in only a way a parent and a child could know one another. You cheered when either scored a goal. You laughed when they called one another names. And when they urged you to come join, even though the night was throwing itself over the sky and the stars were beginning to wink down at the park, you got to your feet and played.

You realized, through your aching laughter and the grass stains on your knees, that you hadn’t been this happy in a very, very long time.

That night, after you had wished Miguel and Gabriella a goodnight and walked home, after you had found Ferris crashed out in bed and the dishes still in the fucking sink, you found yourself sitting on the rooftop of your apartment building. It wasn’t quite silent up here, not with the helicopter chopping in the distance, or the occasional honk of a car down below, or the dog barking three stories down, but it was better than facing the quiet of your own home. You knew you would go mad in between those damned four walls, listening to your boyfriend snore and the clock in the kitchen tick and the floorboard creak when you walked to the bathroom.

You couldn’t face the quiet, not after the wonderful, deafening, blaring joy of this afternoon.

You let your legs dangle off the edge of the rooftop, sitting back on your hands and staring at the glaring screen of your phone. Your thumb ached slightly from scrolling through anything and everything you could find to keep yourself distracted. The newest clean energy replacement from Alchemax. The latest from politics. The child that had been kidnapped this afternoon, now home and safe, thanks to Spiderman snatching the kid from the backseat before plowing the speeding car with the kidnapper into a metal gate.

There came the soft, muted noise of a weight landing on the power box on the rooftop behind you, and you whipped around to find a familiar - but no less startling - red and blue figure sitting perched on the metal edge. Spiderman tilted his head at you, balanced on the balls of his feet despite the hulking frame of his muscles.

“Just came to check up on you after the other day,” he said through the mask. His eye lenses moved as his eyes roamed your figure. “Didn’t know you were this far gone.”

Clicking your phone off anxiously, feeling your heart thunder in your ears, you gave a little laugh and looked down at the drop beneath your feet. “I think if I was ready to end it,” you joked in return, “I’d go for something a little less traumatizing for pedestrians.”

Spiderman was still for a moment. Then he extended his wrist, and a string of web shot across the rooftop to stick to the space on the lip beside you. He used it to yank himself across the tarmac of the roof, landing again on the balls of his feet on the edge. He shifted himself, resting his forearms overink his thighs, and turned his masked gaze to the city before you both. Golden lights twinkled from skyscrapers and apartments and office buildings, creating a constellation of life between windows. The night air was crisper up here - as crisp as it could get, what with the smog from arsonist fires and churning factories and gas emissions - and the stars seemed to shine just a touch brighter.

“So… how are you doing?” the vigilante asked, keeping his gaze on New York. “After the robbery, I mean. Something like that, it can… stay with you.”

There came a fluttering in your heart. But rather than express such a sensation, because you had every right to be wary about giving yourself away anymore, you said, “It wouldn’t be the first thing like that to happen to me. And I’m sure it won’t be the last.” You lifted a hand to the star-lit city, crowded to the rim with life and hatred and love. “We’re in New York. What more can you expect from a city like this?”

For a long while, neither of you said anything more. It was strange being so close to the man everyone had been talking about for the couple weeks he’d been active - so close you could lean right over and pull that mask off. But you kept your distance.

Spiderman took a breath and said, “Couldn’t sleep?”

You shrugged a shoulder. “As if I typically sleep at this time anyway.” Then you turned to face him again, locking your ankles together over the edge of the rooftop. The breeze swayed your hair back and forth, like you were suspended underwater. The tension in your lungs certainly felt that way. “Did you enjoy the show the other night?”

He was still for a moment. For two. Then he met your gaze through his mask, his eye lenses narrowing. Even through the cover that hid his face, the heat of his eyes scorched holes through you. “What do you mean?” he asked.

Feeling slightly bolder than you had a moment ago, you lolled your head at him. “You know what I mean.” You sniffed, leaning back on your hands. “Did you follow me? Or was it just a coincidence that Spiderman showed up to my club the day he saved my ass?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“...Sure.” You felt a flutter of embarrassment within you, of doubt and guilt. What if that hadn’t been Spiderman that night at The Menagerie? What if it was some other guy, with some other scar on his collarbone, and you had gotten it all wrong? Despite your sudden worry, you refused to let your confidence waver. “So… do you make it a habit of checking up on every person you help?”

For the first time, you watched and listened as he cracked a smile and chuckled. The lenses over his eyes narrowed as his cheeks rose and his mouth spread into a smirk. You watched the bit of mask over his lips stretch. “You got me there,” he drawled in that low, husky tone of his that made you cross your legs a bit tighter, squeeze your thighs tighter. “Just… couldn’t really get you off my mind. You’ve got courage, saying no to that guy. That’s admirable.”

You felt your cheeks flush. Spiderman? Calling you brave? What an ironic sense of humor the universe had.

“I guess someone has to stand up and say no,” you murmured into the breeze.

“Yeah. Someone has to.”

Moments turned into seconds, and those turned into minutes. You almost wished you could stay like this forever; here, on the rooftop with Spiderman, with the breeze rustling your hair and the car horns beeping and the rest of the world forgotten.

But all too soon, it was over.

Spiderman rose to his full height in a seamless transition, turning his head to face the street away from you. “Should get back now,” he said, then switched his gaze down to you. You wondered, behind that mask, what color his eyes were. “Sure you’re not going to jump?”

You felt yourself smile. “Promise, Spiderman.” You watched as he nodded his head, then prepared to catapult himself off the building and swing onto the next one. Before he could, however, you called out. “And hey,” you said, drawing his attention, “if you ever drop by the club again, ask for the Monarch.”

He stared at you for the longest moment. Then he turned, stepped off the lip of the rooftop, and disappeared.

You didn’t bother leaning over, watching him spring a web from his wrist to flip through the air and parade down the street above the cars and streetlights. Instead you looked back to the city’s skyline far above yourself, silhouettes of buildings framed by a rich violet horizon.

Perhaps one day, you would see what it looked like without all this smog and the army of dark clouds hanging over it.

But for now, you were content with watching it darken until it was nothing but black and purple.

tags: @mooomeadows @twentysomethingwereyote @screamforyani @fangirlreice7 @axdjelx @ornamentalnecromancy @faust-pda @ilikethemoon28 @mrm-pachypoda @wadafrick @natthernandez @bakgoktski @soupsexsunsalutationsss @roxannarichie @lovagirlxxx @soggyeyeballsss @yoyoyoyoyo55555 @sophipet @quantii @lavnderluv @cookiezxx @euphorica @its-a-polyglot @nicalysm @maxi-ride @exzidss @crappwr0m @femme-is-dead

(strike through means blog could not be tagged)

🕷

The Bartender || Octavio ‘Octane’ Silva || PART 1

Request: Surely a Octane x reader one shot? Make it angsty, maybe reader is looking at making it official with another legend and Octavio isn't having a bar of it. He wants to prove that he is the one she wants to be with make it smutty hehe

A/N: I had so much fun writing this but unfortunately ya boi loves porn with a plot so the first part is all plot and part 2 will be unadulterated smut lmaoooo

I also tried something a little different, rather than having normal Y/N prompts there’s none present, I feel like it takes me out of it sometimes so I hope its still easy to follow !

Pairing: Octane x f!reader

Warnings: Swearing, Bitta angst!

Word Count: 3.4K

Being friends with the Legends was both a blessing and a curse. The upbeat bartender had found herself a job by quite literally falling into the Paradise Lounge one particular evening, managing to charm her way through the charismatic owner and getting herself some fun and secure work.

Since then with time passing, and more Legends joining the Apex games (given her coworker was literally a Legend) she had come to see familiar faces, ones she held close to her heart. Some considered as close friends — some closer… Much like her boss, Elliott.

With having a cast of famous friends she had been briefed over and over again about etiquette and how to interact with them after hours. It was all so meticulous and boring, half the time she didn’t care for it too much and opted to ignore it mostly. After all, she was merely a bartender and wanted to just do her job.

The Lounge itself was particularly busy, with two functions happening at the same time and the usual mob of Legends that visited the bar. It had become quite stressful, despite Elliotts four decoys helping the poor woman keep up with it all.

“Dude there is something in the drinks tonight,” her exhausted voice called out over the ruckus and atmosphere, in her hands she slid over a full tip jar to Elliott with a confused look on her face. He tilted his head, almost as shocked as she was at the array of tips they had been receiving for the evening.

It wasn’t too unusual, but the tips had been directed toward the bartender entirely which was incredibly weird.

“Uh-oh, Elliott seems a little jealous you’ve taken all the attention.” Anita smirked, bringing her drink up to her lips. The comment made the bartender shoo her off bashfully, following up with a wink and sliding over the mercenary another drink when Elliott had his back turned away.

“What can I say, I’m just better than him in every single way.” The bartender's smug smile reaffirmed her joking comment. She loved nothing more than stirring up the man, only because he reacted so well to her jabs and endearing insults.

Kairi held up her beer bottle in a toast and bowed her head, “I’ll fuckin’ drink to that.”

With that, the night continued on as per usual as people came and went, the functions slowly siphoned people and closing time was upon them. ‘Closing time’ — which usually meant the bar was shut off to the public for an unknown amount of hours while the remaining legends and bartender stayed in to drink themselves into a stupor.

The bartender found herself seated comfortably on one of the couches in the lounge area, her back flush up against the arm and her legs were draped over Elliotts lap. His hand was softly stroking the underside of her legs, almost in a trance as the group of people talked amongst themselves.

She would be lying if she said that the attention wasn’t nice, in fact over the past couple of weeks she had come attuned to the little gestures Elliott started doing and considered that maybe they were meant to come off as more than what a friend would do. It was nice, considering how her heart ached after the birthday she had, it was best to move on and keep herself distracted.

It wasn’t just her who noticed these things, it was some others who had picked up on it as well. Often asking amongst themselves if the two were a couple or not.

“Hey,” her soft voice caught his attention, she brought over her hand to run through his hair as she did so, “what’s on your mind El?”

Truth be told the man had no clue what thoughts travelled through his mind, he rather enjoyed the company his bartender accomplice provided as well as the additional retorts she had stacked away to keep up with him. Sure she was attractive, had the wit and charm to keep him on his toes but he wasn’t even sure if he was willing to pursue it.

Noticing the man had struggled to even find an answer, she got off him and moved closer, placing a hand on his, “do you wanna talk someplace else?” Regardless of any feelings, she cared about him and had grown to care for the rest as time went on.

Some of the others had paused conversations to momentarily look at the two, Ajay had been deep in conversation with Octavio about a lot of things; the two of them had known each other so long now, but their conversation stopped as - like the others - stopped to watch Elliott and their friend interact.

“That looks serious O, yuh better make yuh move now or else Witt will take off wit’ her.” Ajay’s voice was hushed, the last thing she wanted was to arouse suspicion amongst the others and knowing how much of a chatty bunch the Legends could be — she didn’t want to humiliate Octavio like that. Lord knows he deserved it half the time, but not now and not over this.

He ran his hands through his hair, soft green tips poking through the gaps of his fingers. The memories planted in his mind so kindly resurfacing as he was forced to remember one particular night not all that long ago.

Several Weeks Ago*

It was a typical night for the lounge, although the usual bartender had the night off for her birthday. Spending this special occasion surrounded by the majority of the legends she drank to her heart's content and danced on as many tables as she could. Granted she fell off more tables than she could stay on one.

The last table she felt herself falling off of, she at least had someone down below to catch her. His turquoise coloured hair was the first thing she caught sight of and then it was the crooked grin spread across his lips.

“You should watch where your dancin’ chica! I won’t be able to catch you all the time!” He had shouted over the loud music. Her arms had fallen around his neck as he carried her to the safety of a lounge booth.

“Maybe I like it when you hold me,” her words were slurred ever so slightly, matching the goofy look on her face and the glazed look in her eyes. Nevermind she was drunk as ever, the words made him feel giddy, his palms beginning to sweat and his heart hammering.

He placed her down on the couch, her stubborn grip unmoving despite his best efforts. He chuckled to himself, feeling the weightlessness of the alcohol consumed, “if you don’t want to sit here, where would you like to go?”

She rested her head on his shoulder, breathing in his scent which smelt mostly of pinewood with a vanilla fragrance and a hint of his own natural musk. She hummed to herself in a dazed thought, enjoying the warmth of the man that held her with little to no effort.

“How about we get you some fresh air chica?” He began heading upstairs to the rooftop balcony, knowing that if he had walked her out the front door like that it would raise some questions he wasn’t up to answering.

“I like this colour on you,” she mused, running her fingers through his hair.

The compliment alone lit a fire burning inside of Octavio, he never felt more alive than when he was with her. Something about her was just so exciting and intoxicating altogether. That feeling was just about mutual for her as well, finding the moments spent with Octavio were ones she always remembered.

He was grateful the night air chilled the heat he began omitting, seating his companion where she could overlook Solace City as the night drew on. He admired her features, the way the ambient neon lights bounced off her skin in a heavenly glow. She had an uncanny ability to light up a room with her smile alone, and her laugh was something he wished he could wake up to every morning.

It had been sometime ago Octavio caught feelings, he couldn’t quite place when or where or even how… But they were there and he was always first through the door at the lounge and ever so eager to make company alongside his favourite Bartender.

“Oh! Hermosa, I almost forgot!” He exclaimed, breaking the peaceful silence as he pulled out a small hand sized package from his pocket. It was a surprise to mostly everyone when the man arrived dressed up, considering his resentment towards functions like this.

She cautiously grabbed the box, surprised he had given her anything at all. But nonetheless grateful, the brisk air had begun clearing the fog in her mind, a smile pulled at the corner of her lips, “O… you didn’t have to do that.”

“Of course I did! I wanted you to know how much you mean to me — uh us! How much you mean to us,” he stumbled, recovering rather well despite how hard it was to control his blubbering mouth. He wondered if this is what it felt like to be Elliott, constantly tripping over words all the time.

An endearing expression pulled together on her face when the box was opened. The contents inside were photographs, capturing the night they had spontaneously explored the harbour of Solace City, swimming around and causing a ruckus. Another captured the night they had stowed away the woman on the drop ship when they were headed to Psamathe.

Many memories relived for her, reminiscing on the trouble particularly her and Octavio got up to together. The two caused nothing but trouble and yet they were a pair that complimented one another to an odd degree, considering the bartender had a uniquely boring life outside of Bartending.

Behind the final picture was but a simple necklace with an intricately designed charm, beautiful as it was, she put a hand to her heart and looked at the aloof man.

“Tavi… Thank you so much.” She stood up, pulling him into a hug, she inhaled his scent in more as her arms tightened around him. Her muscles relaxed when he hugged her back with equal enthusiasm, the two merely enjoying the moment together alongside the authentic noisecape of Solace.

It was a rather long drawn out hug, one that exceeded the normal timing of anything friendly. When she pulled away, she couldn’t seem to pull completely away, resting her hands on his chest as she continued looking into his eyes. The way the outer corners would crinkle every time he laughed or smiled, even that twinkle in his eye that was ever present was something that ignited a feeling of excitement within the young woman.

Neither of the two could quite recollect the night to the most accurate detail but it was Octavio who had leaned in first. Unable to break away from the enchanting way she looked that evening, her eyes, her hair, the way she dressed… It was all too much for him to not do anything about.

Their lips brushed together, the feeling alone sent tingles through both of them as they paused in unison with hesitancy. Ultimately it was Octavio’s companion that continued the delicate moment, sealing it with the most passionate of gestures as the space between them finally closed.

He had fucked up.

He was the one that ghosted her the weeks after that, unable to live with the possibility that their friendship could’ve been ruined. He refused to go to the lounge alone, in fear that he would be confronted with a face that was heartbroken. Yet, he watched on as Elliott drew that little bit closer to her as time went on, and now watching the two interact made his stomach drop and his heart ache.

It was his fault he pushed her away and now if he didn’t make amends, he would suffer in silence for far longer.

“O, yuh can’t pull the same shit with her like you do with me, ya hear?” Ajay was always so honest and blunt, it was the only way she could get through to her childhood friend. She knew his habits better than anyone.

Over by the couch, the comfy duo had gotten up and left the group which resulted in murmurs, granted they were just heading over to the bar and storage room, so hardly out of sight from most people present.

“El, you got me worried — what’s up?” She queried now out of earshot. His behaviour was more than questionable considering he was ever the charismatic charmer and never shut up about anything.

“Y-yeah I just… I’m just… Can we talk?”

She looked around, one of her eyebrows raised, “uhh… we’re talking now.”

His arms slumped by his side as he gestured to the storage room, making her go wide eyed and groan internally for her inability to pick up the subtle lingo, “oh of course.” Her cheeks flushed bright red as the two stepped out of view of the others present.

“Is everything okay?” She brought a hand up to Elliotts face, trying hard to read his eyes. His beard prickled the pads of her fingers, he slightly leaned into her touch and exhaled a deep breath.

His mind was a whirlwind of confusing and conflicting emotions, thoughts and feelings. Ultimately he came to the conclusion in his mind after so much thought, that this had been a mistake -- it was the first time in a long time he needed to not act out on impulse. Despite the banter, the small touches and gestures shared between them, Elliott was swiftly reminded of how things could end up if this ended poorly.

“I’m-I’m sorry —“

It was just too little too late, had he been just a second quicker his companion may not have read into things all too much. Seizing the opportunity to capture his lips in hers with a kiss.

Despite his futile attempt to take the moral high ground, he couldn’t help but melt into her touch, deepening the kiss as he put his hands on her waist. She could feel her heart hammering into her chest, knowing that the move she made was risky but it was definitely rewarding.

The two were so incredibly engrossed in the moment that it was no surprise neither had heard the door open, it was a loud curse that ruined the moment. Tearing the two apart from one another as both heads snapped toward the intruder.

“Are you fuckin’ for real?”

Her face fell upon seeing Octavio in the door frame, how upset he seemed to look having witnessed Elliott and his girl kissing. Regret, then panic and then anger happened upon her face, recalling the night of her birthday and the weeks proceeding it. A vivid callback to the way the speedster treated her.

“What the fuck’s your problem?” She backed away from Elliot, pointing her anger toward Octavio. How dare he? Come barging in, like he had the right to police her every move after ignoring her for weeks.

“Well I don’t know, maybe seeing your tongue halfway down Witt’s throat is my problem!” He shouted back, redirecting the same energy back onto her. A lot of emotions hit him when he opened that door, but none more than sadness. It was always such a pity that he had difficulties expressing the right emotions when it came to confrontations like this.

“Why is that a problem, you’re the prick that ignored me for weeks! You made your point crystal-fucking-clear!” She spat, her chest was heaving and her heart was hammering through the aches. If she looked him in the eyes she knew she would most likely break down into tears.

Poor Elliott looked between the two fighting parties, sure he was well equipped for the games and had dealt with his fair share of sibling fighting, but he had absolutely no idea or approach to alleviate this current situation. He was at least privy to the context of what happened a few weeks ago, he also remembered spending a great deal of time getting his bartender back to the cheerful and happy face he came to like so well.

Octavio was silent while he paced, he was aware he was the one that was to blame and he just couldn’t help but feel angry seeing anyone else with their hands on her. “You need to leave,” His tone was eerily calm, an arm outstretched as he pointed out the door, his eyes narrowed on Elliott.

She stood between them with a fierce look, “I think you need to leave, you don’t get to barge in here and act like you’re mad and upset!”

“It—it’s really fine… I’ll call you later…” Elliot knew that the best way for things to mend was for the two to talk it out — grateful that Octavio saved him from having one awkward conversation in the event things went south between the two.

He squeezed past the two, giving Octavio a polite pat on the shoulder on his way out, finally inhaling seemingly fresh air after being stuck in the tense room.

“Are you fucking serious, am I about to hear some fucking rehearsed bullshit like ‘oh you’re mine’ and ‘you can only fuck around with me’? New flash pal, we weren’t ever dating, we weren’t anything because you left me hanging.” She was pacing, fighting the urge to break down right then and there.

Her words were harsh, but nonetheless true. Octavio let out a deflated sigh, knowing if anyone was going to see through him it was most definitely her. It still angered him, the image of her and Elliott so close was scorned into his mind, “at least show some respect — Elliott, really? It’s like you’re trying to piss me off on purpose,” he folded his arms over his chest, eyes following her every move.

She scoffed, “you don’t get to be mad about that, asshole — I thought we had something… And now when I try to move past it, you pull me back into your bullshit.” Her finger was poking his chest to emphasise her point, he merely swayed subtly with every poke.

“Yeah and I thought it was pretty clear to everyone else that you’re my girl — imagine my surprise when I see Witt making his move on you, huh?”

“I’m not your anything!” She threw her hands up in the air, a pained look morphed onto her face. Emotions and thoughts clouded her mind and if she stayed too long on them, she was sure the tears would follow.

“Fine, then prove to me that I’m not the guy you want,” his movements were lightning fast, snatching her wrist at record speed and yanking her toward him. She stumbled slightly, pressed flush up against his chest and arms not holding onto particularly anything.

She wasn’t panicked, despite it all she still trusted Octavio and being this close to the man had always been comforting no matter what. But her anger at his attitude was hard to wash by, gritting her teeth and balling her fists up, “I don’t need to! you already—.”

His lips tasted like a mixture of the craft beer he had been drinking (no doubt one of Ajay’s picking) and the aftermath of the gum he had long spit out. Her anger subsided momentarily, lost in the heat of the moment while breathing in his scent and becoming putty under his touch.

“Fuck you,” She grumbled against his lips, her final act of defiance before she fully succumbed to the moment, to the feelings and listened to the butterflies in her stomach.

He deepened the kiss, guiding her until her back hit the storage shelves. Her hands cupped his neck and head desperately, as if he was going to leave her again. But for the first time in his life, Octavio wasn’t moving and he wasn’t going anywhere.

She nibbled on his bottom lip, earning herself a breathy groan from her companion. As he pressed into her, she could feel how hard he was, breaking away from the kiss and pressing meticulously placed kisses down his neck and across the nape of his neck.

As her teeth nipped a little too hard in one spot, Octavio jolted back, a chuckle escaping his lips, “you might wanna settle down Hermosa, I won't be able to control myself.”

“I’m counting on it.”

𝐑𝐨𝐦-𝐂𝐨𝐦 𝐆𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐖𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 || 𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐞 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐌𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞 [𝐀𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞]

𝘖𝘤𝘵𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘰 𝘚𝘪𝘭𝘷𝘢 𝘪𝘴 𝘚𝘜𝘊𝘏 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘹. You find yourself in a fake relationship to prove something to your ex.

Also on AO3!

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞: 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠

“I said I don’t—”

“What’s that? I’m already on my way up!”

That is all it takes for you to press the bright red button on the screen. Then you throw your phone on the bed before slumping down with a groan.

Octavio Silva is such a pain.

Then again, maybe that is on you for staying friends with your ex. 

You still remember the last time you saw him. He was standing outside your door, looking amazing in his neon green hoodie. But all you could think about was how someone else had just been wearing it before he got there. So you told him to leave.

His hazel eyes widened as you shut the door on his face. Then you stood there by the door with bated breath as you listened for disappearing footfalls. 

Would the high-speed daredevil slow down, just this once, just for you?

He did. 

He knocked on the door and called your name again and again, but you just curled up into a ball and cried yourself to sleep. Then you woke up two hours later to a message from him asking if you could still be friends.

You still don't know why you said yes. One thing's for certain, though: now you have nothing but regret for that decision.

“You know, you could always block him,” your best friend Elliott Witt reminded you when you complained to him about your situation one day. The rational part of you that still exists agreed with Elliott. Yet you couldn’t find it in you to block Octavio. But now, in the midst of deep breaths, you decide it’s never too late for rationality. 

The loud knocks at the door almost make you drop your phone.

“[Y/N]!”

You shuffle towards the door and peer through the hole. Sure enough, Octavio stands outside, swaying and holding a red solo cup in his hand. He’s not wearing his mask. He never does when he’s around you, which used to make you feel special. But you push the feeling away this time.

Never mind that he remembers your room number even in his state.

“Finally!” Octavio cheers as you open the door. “Thought you’d never open the door!”

You roll your eyes. “So why did you go here specifically?”

“Just felt like seeing you, hermosa,” he says. A wink thrown in your direction catches you off guard and takes everything in you not to throw your arms around him and bury your head on his chest and just weep.

“Well, now you’ve seen me,” you say instead. “Happy?”

He leans on the door frame. “Yes,” he breathes out. His eyes are dancing as he gazes at you.

Don’t you know that you don’t have the right to do that to me anymore?

You get the urge to shut the door in his face once again. But the breeze is getting cooler and the night is dragging on and his gaze is starting to lose its focus and yet his eyes still search yours like a puppy wondering if it’s going to get kicked out once again— 

You find yourself letting him right back in.

***

You can’t sleep. 

How can you sleep, anyway? Octavio—your ex —is sleeping on your couch and you can hear the sheets rustling and your room smells like him and—and—

And you still love him. 

That, you’ve always known. You just don’t like admitting it to yourself, let alone out loud. So when Octavio calls your name in the dark, you resist the urge to call him by his nickname. You simply respond with a “Yes?” 

“How have you been?” he asks.

You suck in a deep breath. “Great. I’ve been doing great. Uh, what about you?”

“Amazing! I’m still getting lots of likes,” he brags.

“I’m happy for you.”

“Uh-huh. You haven’t been liking my photos.”

“You know I don’t use social media much anymore.”

“You?” He chuckles.

“Yes,” you insist. It’s true, you’re currently undergoing a social media detox. And although you miss watching funny videos and looking at pictures of cute animals, you know it’s for the best. You can’t risk seeing Octavio’s posts; you know you’ll only end up wallowing in self-pity.

Yet here you are now, sleeping in the same room as him. Granted, nothing that shouldn’t happen has happened. And you’re making sure it stays that way. But you roll over on your side to face him and he’s already looking at you.

"Tavi, I—"

“Are you dating anyone now?” 

Ways NASA Studies the Ocean

We live on a water planet. The ocean covers a huge part of the Earth's surface – earning it the name Blue Marble.

The ocean is one of Earth’s largest ecosystems and helps moderate Earth’s climate. NASA scientists spend a lot of time studying the ocean and how it is changing as Earth’s climate changes.

In the last few years, NASA has launched an array of missions dedicated to studying this precious part of our planet, with more to come. For World Oceans Month, which starts in June, here are new ways NASA studies the ocean.

1. Seeing the colors of the ocean 🎨

A new NASA mission called PACE will see Earth’s oceans in more color than ever before. The color of the ocean is determined by the interaction of sunlight with substances or particles present in seawater.

Scheduled to launch in 2024, PACE will help scientists assess ocean health by measuring the distribution of phytoplankton, tiny plants and algae that sustain the marine food web. PACE will also continue measuring key atmospheric variables associated with air quality and Earth's climate.

2. Surveying surface water around the globe 💧

The SWOT satellite, launched in late 2022, is studying Earth’s freshwater – from oceans and coasts to rivers, lakes and more – to create the first global survey of Earth’s surface water.

SWOT is able to measure the elevation of water, observing how major bodies of water are changing and detecting ocean features. The data SWOT collects will help scientists assess water resources, track regional sea level changes, monitor changing coastlines, and observe small ocean currents and eddies.

3. Setting sail to understand interactions between the ocean and atmosphere 🚢

With research aircraft, a research ship, and autonomous ocean instruments like gliders, NASA’s S-MODE mission is setting sail to study Earth’s oceans up close. Their goal? To understand ocean whirlpools, eddies and currents.

These swirling ocean features drive the give-and-take of nutrients and energy between the ocean and atmosphere and, ultimately, help shape Earth’s climate.

4. Building ocean satellites the size of a shoebox 📦

NASA’s HawkEye instrument collects ocean color data and captures gorgeous images of Earth from its orbit just over 355 miles (575 kilometers) above Earth’s surface. It’s also aboard a tiny satellite measuring just 10cm x 10 cm x 30 cm – about the size of a shoebox!

5. Designing new missions to study Earth’s oceans! 🌊

NASA is currently designing a new space-based instrument called GLIMR that will help scientists observe and monitor oceans throughout the Gulf of Mexico, the southeastern U.S. coastline and the Amazon River plume that stretches to the Atlantic Ocean. GLIMR will also provide important information about oil spills, harmful algae blooms, water quality and more to local agencies.

6. Taking the ocean to new heights ⬆️

The U.S.-European Sentinel-6 Michael Freilich satellite is helping researchers measure the height of the ocean - a key component in understanding how Earth’s climate is changing.

This mission, which launched in 2020, has a serious job to do. It’s not only helping meteorologists improve their weather forecasts, but it’s helping researchers understand how climate change is changing Earth’s coastlines in real time.

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

u know whats wild. everyone on here like 20 and when i first joined everyone was like 14 15. u ask anybody n they been here for years. nobody new on here. staff locked the doors n were all Stuck Inside

Dealing with auditory processing disorder

LAWFUL: take the parts you heard and turn it into a clarifying question, e. g. "you saw your cousin where?" or "she's writing a what?"

NEUTRAL: "what did you say?"

CHAOTIC: take a wild stab at what the person said, e. g. "you want to baptize a mackerel?"

i will admit i have looked upon men with a lustful gaze in my time

well life just isnt fucking fair is it humpback whale 85

not now sweetie mommy’s bearing the curse.

A Fond First

Being a medic in the GAR means long hours of hard work, but it's rewarding. The clones are almost always polite, despite their obvious disdain for medical treatment. When you meet Wrecker, your attraction is mutual. You're not supposed to fraternize with the clones, and they're not supposed to fraternize at all. It happens anyway, but you've never broken that particular rule before. Neither has Wrecker.

You decide to give him a first time he'll remember fondly. You certainly won't forget it.

First time posting a fic to Tumblr; give it a read!

A Harmless Drink

Summary: After an exhausting day, Commander Fox decides to pay you a visit with a bottle of wine he isn't supposed to have

Pairing: Commander Fox x Senate!Reader

Word Count: 5.2k

Tags: Mutual Pining, Alcohol, Friends to (eventual) Lovers

! link to ao3 !

’Panic’ isn’t a word in Commander Fox’s vocabulary.

And even now, as he rushes through the wide corridors of the Senate Building, swiftly dodging oncoming senators and wandering droids, he isn’t in a state of panic. If anything, Commander Fox is just annoyed. As per usual.

Fox knows he’s getting weird looks from people, a few senators even gasping as they stumble out of his way. The Senate has had its fair share of security breaches, all of which the Commander and the rest of the Coruscant Guard have handled with the utmost efficiency.

It’s not a strange occurrence to see one of the Guards running through the halls, presumably going to deal with some emergency… but Fox guesses this is the first time they’ve seen a member of the Coruscant Guard running through the halls not with a blaster in hand, but with a rather large bottle of the Chancellor’s most expensive wine.

Fox is sure he hears another clone laugh at him as he skids around a corner and rushes down another hallway. Muttering a few curses underneath his helmet, Fox ignores all the different reactions his hurried appearance has caused. Right now, he has more pressing matters to worry about, well, one matter actually.

Despite many scheduled meetings and appearances, Chancellor Palpatine opted to spend his afternoon catching up with some old friends from the Chommell Sector, who decided to spontaneously drop by. Fox can’t recall every time he either clenched his jaw in annoyance or rolled his eyes during the guest’s time with the Chancellor.

‘Who are these people?’ He thought to himself, knowing that both he and the Chancellor had much better things to do than entertain guests ‘You can’t just stroll in and decide to chat to the Chancellor for a few hours’.

Well, as it turns out, you can. Or at least these people can.

After hours of reminiscing on old times, they finally left. But just when Fox thought the disruption was over, Palpatine sighed, taking out the bottle of wine and loudly proclaiming he meant to give it to his departing friends but completely forgot.

With the Commander’s luck, he was then picked by the Chancellor to quickly catch up with the group and give them the present before they boarded their ship.

This would have been an easy task to complete if the guests had just left but a lengthy ten minutes had already passed by the time Palpatine realised he still had the wine and sent Fox on his mission. The second the Commander was given the bottle of wine and left the Chancellor’s Suite, he began his sprint, knowing it takes approx. 12 minutes to get from the Suite to the closest landing pad.

Hearing some loud farewells from around the corner, Fox presumes he’s made it just in time, breathing a sigh of relief. Dashing out to the landing pad, he abruptly comes to a stop.

A confused group of Vurk politicians suddenly halt their goodbyes and turn to face the Commander, confused looks spreading across their faces. One of the older Vurk’s peers down at the bottle in Fox’s hand. “Oooo is that for us, Commander?” He asks, fingers twitching with anticipation.

“Kriff” Fox mumbles to himself, shoulders deflating as he realises he’s completely missed the Chancellor’s guests and that they’re probably exiting the atmosphere by now.

“Hmm?” Another one of the Vurks asks, not quite catching Fox’s response.

With his grip tightening on the bottle, Fox huffs, turns on his feet and leaves. He’s in no mood to deal with politicians right now, the thoughts of returning the bottle to a disappointed Chancellor deepening his annoyance.

If he didn’t look like a fool running through the corridors of the Senate Building beforehand, he sure feels like one now. Trying to look as if he’s walking with purpose, Fox holds the bottle tightly beneath his arm with no real plan of what to do now.

Judging by the orange hues of the sunset glaring through the windows, Fox only has another ten minutes on shift. After that, he’s supposed to have seven hours to eat, sleep, shower and do any additional paperwork before the beginning of his next shift. Though being the Commander of the Coruscant Guard means Fox rarely gets those full seven hours without some kind of call to duty.

Slowing his pace, Fox starts to think of a plan. If he takes a slight detour then he may not make it back to the Chancellor’s Suite in time.

Of course Fox is aware this doesn't fix his slight problem, only prolonging the inevitable sigh of disappointment the Chancellor will give him. If Palpatine isn’t informed that the bottle of wine didn’t reach his guests today then he will be tomorrow… but on this occasion, Fox prefers it to be tomorrow.

Turning down one of the smaller side corridors, Commander Fox heads in the opposite direction of the Chancellor’s Suite. His steps become quick and confident. Fox knows exactly where his detour will take him.

***

Why are you still here? That’s the one question your mind keeps going back to. The last Senate meeting was over two hours ago and even that, you didn’t need to attend in person. You did simply because you had nothing better to do.

Your days have recently become boring and you hoped that attending the Senate meeting in person might liven things up. Unfortunately, it didn’t. In fact, the most exciting thing you’ve witnessed all day was Senator Binks walking into a door… which admittedly happens more often than not.

Leaning back on your chair, your eyes leave the paperwork scattered on your desk and glance around your office. You’ve been appointed senator of your homeplanet for just over a year now and yet your office still looks foreign to you, as if this is your first time entering.

The dull grey walls blend in with the ashened floor, making the office look more like a prison cell. In fact, the only object that actually distinguishes your office from the empty office spaces a few corridors away is the couch the previous senator had brought in.

He was old and apparently had back problems and so he spent most of his day lounging around on the oddly shaped couch. You, on the other hand, rarely sit on it and instead prefer to stay hunkered down by your desk.

And yet despite how dreary the room is, here you still are, spending your evening skimming through policies and motions other senators hope to put forward.

What a life.

You’re about to go through another pending motion when there’s a sharp knock at the door. You immediately sit up straight, eyebrows raised at the sudden noise.

“Yes? Come in” you call out, your fingers drumming on your desk.

The durasteel door slides open and familiar maroon armour enters the room. It’s an automatic response when you rise to your feet, an act of respect to a man with such high authority. “Commander,” you greet “is everything alright?”.

Fox stops just short of your desk. His hand twitches for a moment and he has to stop himself from saying “At ease, soldier”. Usually they’re the only people to ever show him this level of respect, with many senators seeing him as an armoured assistant most of the time.

But not you, you’ve always given Fox the respect he deserves.

Maybe that’s why he constantly feels a pull towards you, always wondering where you are in the building and what you’re doing. Respect, and of course, he has to think about you for security purposes too. But that’s it, or at least Fox has convinced himself those are the only two reasons why you constantly invade his brain.

He clears his throat “Yes, everything is fine, I just… I uh”.

Goddammit, why is he here? Fox has had all this time to think of a reason to visit you on his walk here and yet the very thought is only crossing his mind now. Thankfully, you speak again, brushing past his awkwardness.

“Is that wine?” you squint your eyes, convinced your gaze must be deceiving you.

Letting out a laugh, you continue with your barrage of questions “Commander, are you drinking on the job?”.

He watches as you raise an eyebrow, your eyes glued to the bottle in his hand. Fox would feel flustered if it isn’t for your disarming laugh. Hell, if droids had your laugh instead of repeating ‘roger roger’ all the damn time, Fox is sure he would have forgotten how to shoot and died in his first encounter with them.

The ghost of a smile graces his lips as he finally manages to reply. Lifting his arm to look at the bottle, he simply asks “You think I’m a wine drinker?”. You laugh again and it makes his chest tighten.

Although you’ve overheard many troopers complain about the infamously ‘by the books’ Commander, you enjoy his company. Unfortunately, a lot of people don’t give clones a chance, practically viewing them as droids with heartbeats. You, on the other hand, much prefer their company over the likes of senators or even some jedi.

You’ll always remember the first time you officially met the Commander of the Coruscant Guard. Beforehand, one of the other senators pointed him out to you, warning you to steer clear as it was well known Fox was very cut and dry, never kissing the asses of pretentious senators who believed they were the chosen one. But when you actually met Fox, it was after you had already befriended Thorn and Hound.

Since you were genuinely interested in getting to know the clones, Hound thought it would be a good idea to show you their private quarters, assuring you it was all above board and not a breach of protocol… yep, that was a lie.

You spent all of 5 minutes in their private quarters, listening intently as Thorn gave you a very in depth review of their nutrition bars, a food they must rely on as a snack to get them through their shifts. He even gave you a few to take with you but that’s when Commander Fox appeared behind you. Sheer annoyance emulated from him and within a few seconds, he was escorting you out of their private quarters.

Neither of you knew it then but that was the start of a beautiful friendship, one where you often annoyed the Commander yet he always put up with you.

“No, I never imagined you as a wine drinker,” you admit, crossing your arms as your posture becomes more relaxed. Although his eyes briefly flick down your body, Fox tries to ignore how your hips sway with your change of stance. Thinking for a moment, you conclude “You’re definitely more of a cocktail kinda guy”.

For the first time today, Fox rolls his eyes not out of annoyance but in an affectionate way. “Very funny” he comments sarcastically.

“So why are you carrying around a bottle of wine, Commander?” You query, lips tugging upwards when you hear an audible sigh leave his helmet. That’s a normal indication from Fox that you’re in for one hell of a story.

Fox steps forward, placing the wine on your desk and subconsciously leaning against the solid structure, his body weary from the long day. Taking this to mean the formal part of his visit is over, you sit back down, your head propped up by both of your hands as you eagerly wait for him to begin.

Maker, if you could see yourself; a relaxed smile on your lips, body instinctively leaning in his direction and your eyes, kriff, your eyes, sparkling with curiosity as you give the Commander your undivided attention. It makes his heart stutter, heat rushing to his cheeks.

Usually he only gets this kind of attention from senators when they’re yelling at him to do a better job or expecting him to save their ass from whatever threat happens to grace the Senate.

Fox starts from the beginning, describing how obnoxiously the Chancellor’s guests wandered in and telling you everything that’s happened until now. You laugh at various parts, especially when he goes off on a tangent about how arrogant the guests were.

This is one of your favourite things about Fox, his rants are always so hilarious. Not many people laugh at what the Commander says and most of the time Fox doesn’t see the humour in his rants either. But that only makes it funnier to you.

He’s so blunt in his description of the Chancellor’s guests, not hesitating to mention how one was obviously trying to hide their bald spot and how another spent half the time trying to fish some snot out of their nose.

Usually Fox doesn’t elaborate this much when speaking to others, keeping his renditions brief but when it comes to telling you about his day, he likes to add in little comments or mention details he normally never would.

Besides, if mentioning some extra details means you’ll keep your attention on him for just a little bit longer, then it’s worth it.

Once Fox tells you why he took this detour, you gasp dramatically “Commander, it’s not like you to ditch your duties”.

He scoffs, his plastoid shoulder pads rolling as he shrugs “I’m not ditching my duties… technically, I’ve been off duty for the last minute and a half”.

“And before that? When you were still on duty and complaining about your dear old Chancellor’s guests?” you goad, though you know you have a better chance at beating Count Dooku in a lightsaber fight than getting the Commander to admit that he was, in fact, ditching duties.

“I was informing a senator of the current proceedings within the Senate,” he replies, authority laced deep in his voice as he gestures to you “it’s imperative that senators such as yourself are aware of any unidentified guests entering the facility”.

Goddammit he’s good. “Touché, Commander,” you reply “and the wine? What are you going to do with it now?”.

“I’ll have to return it to the Chancellor tomorrow when I relay what happened to him,” he states “I’m sure he’s already retired to his private quarters for the night”.

“Really?” you try to hide the slight disappointment in your voice but Fox is quick to pick up on it.

“Why?” he scans your face, trying to identify what he’s said wrong “What do you propose I do with it?”.

You have the perfect idea in mind but first you shrug, wanting to downplay your plan “Well I’m sure your brothers would appreciate a bottle of that size, it’s sure to lift a few spirits”. That earns another scoff from him, just as expected.

“Or…” you continue, looking at the time on your holopad “you are off duty and Maker knows you deserve a drink and I don’t know, maybe you could share some with your favourite senator?”. You flash him a cheesy smile to seal the deal. This is a hard bargain to sell, you’re well aware of that but if you don’t try then you’ll never know.

Fox thinks for a moment, his helmet tilting down at the bottle. How do you have such a hold on him? When the group of Vurk politicians even suggested taking the bottle, Fox was well and truly over the idea but with you? He can’t believe he’s actually considering it. I mean, would the Chancellor really know any different if Fox simply didn’t mention it again? Surely he would just assume the bottle was given to the guests and that would be the end of it.

Damn it, is he malfunctioning right now? Fox can feel your gaze on him and before you can backtrack your idea, he says “I guess there’s no harm in it…”.

A tingle of excitement surges through you. Now this is exactly what you need after such a boring day but you want to make sure. “Is that a ‘yes’, Commander?” You pry, holding your breath in anticipation.

“It's a ‘you’re an extremely bad influence’,” he corrects you before adding “but it’s also a yes”.

The second a bright grin spreads across your face, Fox knows this decision, while very risky, is completely worth it. “Yes!” you exclaim, jumping up from your seat and making your way around the desk and closer to Fox.

Fox holds the bottle steady and twists the cap off, breaking the seal before handing it to you. “I don’t have any glasses,” you caution, unsure whether that’ll be an issue “so I hope you don’t mind sharing”. You wait for Fox’s reply, not wanting to start downing the bottle without his blessing.

He gives a short laugh “That’s not an issue to me”.

With that as his sign of approval, you take a moment to brace yourself before bringing the mouth of the bottle to your lips. While you take your first gulp of wine, Fox moves his hands up to his helmet, unclicking it and finally taking it off. It’s something he doesn't do often while in the Senate Building but he can’t exactly drink the wine any other way.

As you bring the bottle away from your mouth, you're too busy dealing with the strange bitterness of the wine to notice his sudden change in appearance.

“Wow,” your face involuntarily scrunches up, your arm holding out the bottle to Fox “that’s a lot stronger than I expected”.

Fox settles his helmet on your desk, making sure to avoid placing it on top of your paperwork. “Too strong for you?” he teases, a smirk playing on his lips “Well, that’s really saying something”. Satisfied with where his helmet is placed, he turns to look at you.

Your mouth falls open as his gaze meets yours and for a second, you forget how to breathe. It’s strange to think this is the first time you’ve seen Fox without his helmet on, yet with the current situation the galaxy finds itself in, it’s not something you’ve ever found weird.

He doesn't look like the rest of the clones, well of course he does to some degree but unlike most of them, Fox understandably has many dark circles under his eyes.

Although he looks clean shaven, the inklings of a 5 o’clock shadow enhance his jawline. He has a few scars scattered across his face, the largest one looking like it came from some sort of animal. Perhaps that’s how he got his name.

But the Commander's most distinguishable feature is his hair, a salt and pepper mixture of the usual dark hair of clones with silver hairs scattered throughout, presumably from the amount of stress he’s constantly under. Maker, why does he hide under that helmet all day? Probably because of the amount of people who would be throwing themselves at him if he didn’t wear — oh kriff, you’re staring.

Fox looks at you with a furrowed brow, wondering just how strong this wine is. “Fox - uh, Commander - sorry,” you stutter, the words spilling from your mouth “um, here, it’s your turn to drink”. You practically shove the bottle into his hands.

Fox doesn't comment on your rattled demeanour, taking the bottle and deciding he should judge for himself how strong this wine is. Taking a swig from the bottle, he holds the liquid in his mouth for a few moments before swallowing. It’s definitely strong, a sharp pang hitting his taste buds. Thankfully, it doesn’t last long and the rich aftertaste helps ease the intensity.

“It certainly has a kick to it” he determines, taking a moment to examine the bottle’s shiny label before passing it back to you.

“Do you want to sit?” You ask, gesturing to that damn couch as you take the wine from him. Fox nods and you both get settled on the couch, the Commander sitting very formally with both feet planted on the ground in contrast to you, curled up with your feet tucked in by your body.

“Sorry for staring,” you blurt out, swiftly taking another drink before you elaborate “it’s just that I’ve never seen your face before”.

Fox smiles to himself for a moment before shifting his gaze to you, endearment in his eyes. “Yes you have” he corrects you.

“Huh? No, every time we talk, you always have your helmet on,” you protest, absolutely certain you’re right.

“You’ve still seen my face before this” he says drily and it takes you a couple of seconds to catch on.

“Oh,” your eyelids drop “just because I’ve seen other clone’s faces doesn’t mean I knew what you looked like”.

“That’s exactly what it means actually” he shrugs, taking the bottle from you. Fox knows he’s slowly starting to wind you up but it’s one of the few joys he has.

“You could’ve been a droid under there for all I knew,” you reply exasperatedly “besides, just because you’re all clones that doesn’t mean you all look like carbon copies of each other”.

Yes, it does, but after another gulp of wine, Fox is more interested in how you see it if not the obvious. “How so?” he inquires.

You have an obvious answer. Not every clone you’ve seen is as attractive as Fox. Although you’d love to give this answer, you haven’t had enough wine to start shamelessly flirting with the Commander just yet. Instead you opt for the teasing answer.

“Not every clone is greying as fast as you, Fox”.

Fox takes another large gulp of wine after that, his eyes rolling yet again. “That’s Commander to you” he mutters.

“Oh I’m so sorry, not every clone is greying as fast as you, Commander”.

You’re lucky Fox likes this about you. You can dish it just as well as you can take it, never shying from a confrontation or an opportunity to tease him. Placing his free hand on his knee, Fox mutters “That’s it, I’m going to see if Senator Amidala would like some of this wine instead”.

He doesn’t even get a chance to move before your hand is on his shoulder. “What? Wait! But I haven’t even told you about my run in with Senator Aak” you hastily reveal. It was only last week Fox had been complaining to you about the senator so you know he’ll appreciate a good story of how you got the better of him earlier in the day.

He doesn't answer immediately, trying not to draw attention to your hand still being on his shoulder in fear you’ll quickly remove it if he does.

Settling back down, he nods “Go on”. Fox tries to keep his face neutral when you remove your hand, instead putting your open palm in front of him.

He huffs, feigning annoyance as he gives you the bottle. Happy with your small victory, you take a hurriedly swig of the wine before telling Fox all about your earlier encounter with the senator.

It isn’t very exciting, especially in comparison to what Fox has to deal with but you know he’ll be happy to hear you won a debate against Senator Aak. After all, your mutual dislike of the senator is one of the many things you both happen to have in common.

As you tell him all about your interaction, Fox relaxes more and more, the both of you casually passing the bottle to one another.

Admittedly, Fox can’t recall the last time he’s had a drink. He knows it was probably at 79's but he rarely gets enough time off to genuinely unwind and whenever he does, he’s usually interrupted and called back to work. The more you talk, the less Fox pays attention, the warm feeling in his chest urging him to take this time to fully admire your features.

You blabber on with your story, subconsciously scooting closer to the Commander as you continue to relay what happened. Although you don’t feel too tipsy, the fuzzy feeling in your head is a clear indication the wine is finally starting to set in.

It feels weird to have the Commander’s attention on you. It’s something you’ve had numerous times in the past but to have it and actually see his face is a whole new experience. You can see exactly what he’s looking at and each small change of his expression, which is actually pretty daunting.

“You should’ve seen the look on his face,” you continue with your story, trying to ignore how his brown eyes shine like dews of honey “he was so flustered that I actually called him out and he was trying to think of a rebuttal but… wow, your eyes are really pretty”.

Ok, maybe you’ve had enough wine.

You watch as Fox realises what you said, the sudden shift of conversation catching him off guard. “Oh… that was the senator's rebuttal?” He questions, wishing he paid more attention to what you were saying.

“No, I uh, sorry, that just came out,” you laugh nervously, trying to do some damage control “sorry, that was unprofessional of me to say”.

Fox holds back a laugh, a smirk creeping up on his face as he swirls the remainder of the wine around the bottle “Yeah cause this is completely professional”.

You roll your eyes, playfully shoving him as you scoff “You know what I mean”. Fox’s smirk only gets wider, noting how you’re much more physical when you’re tipsy, seeking out any reason to touch him.

Could you possibly feel the same? Fox never truly saw that as a possibility until now, knowing duty must always come first and that he should never indulge in such fantasies… but if you feel it too then maybe testing out the waters wouldn’t hurt.

“No, I don’t think I ‘know what you mean’” Fox tests you.

You let out an audible sigh, knowing he’s being difficult on purpose. Fidgeting with your hands, you break his fierce gaze. How are you supposed to explain your sudden desire to compliment him? How can you let him know how much you yearn for him without blatantly saying it out of fear of rejection? Is that even possible?

“I just- you know how… I don’t know… c’mon, you have to know what I mean” kriff, it’s a struggle to get the words out.

Rolling his shoulders, Fox takes the opportunity to subtly lean closer to you. If it isn’t for the sensation of his hot breath hitting against your cheek when he speaks, you’re certain you would have missed what he says, his voice a mere whisper “You’re cute when you’re flustered”.

The comment makes you impulsively look back up to him, your eyes widening when you see his full attention is on your lips. You want to melt under his gaze, to pull him close and finally show him how you feel. “Commander…” is all you can get out, your throat tightening as you inch closer to him, eyes shutting.

Fox does the same, edging closer until his nose softly brushes against yours, the touch so intimate it almost makes him gasp with anticipation. He can hear the thudding of his heart thunder through his ears and he prays the thickness of his armour deafens the noise to you.

Your mind is whizzing almost as fast as the speeders outside but you try to ignore it, wanting to live in the moment and not think of the repercussions this might cause. Both of you continue on slowly, a warmth capturing your lips as his mouth hovers over yours.

Before the commander can fully press his lips to yours, a quick ping sound goes off, closely followed by a ringing noise you recognise. Fox sighs, knowing what it is too. Keeping his eyes shut, he lifts his arm up to his mouth, pulling away from you.

There’s a brief second you think there’s some hesitation in Fox but you know duty will always come first.

“What?” His voice is gruff, obviously not appreciating the interruption.

A familiar voice answers “Commander, there’s an altercation taking place outside the Chancellor’s Suite, sir. Senator Clovis is demanding to speak to the Chancellor over some, uh…”. There’s some scuffling and you hear Senator Clovis in the background, impatiently demanding they get out of his way. “Uh… some policy, I think, sir. We’ve already informed him that the Chancellor has retired to his private quarters for the night but he’s not interested in listening to us”.

Fox lets a few seconds pass before answering, mulling over what his head is telling him to do versus his heart. With restraint in his voice, he firmly replies “Keep him there, I’m on my way”.

Although this sort of reply is to be expected from the Commander of the Coruscant Guard, you can’t help the way your heart sinks. Yet, you force a smile as you quietly say “Duty calls”. Fox looks at you with sorrowful eyes, unsure how to respond and so he simply nods.

With the wine in his hand, Fox stands, suddenly feeling quite dizzy. He tries not to let it show, knowing he has a job to do.

You stand too, following the Commander as he goes to the desk to retrieve his helmet. Placing the bottle where his helmet was, Fox gives you one more sympathetic look before obscuring his face with the helmet, clicking it back into place.

Kriff, you miss his face already. Would it be unprofessional to rush over and take it back off? Ask him to comm his brother back and say he has more pressing matters at hand? You swallow, knowing this isn’t a viable option.

Turning to face you, Fox loosely gestures to the bottle “You can keep the wine”.

“You sure you don’t want to chug the rest before you go?” you joke, yet the disappointment is still clear in your tone “If you have to go deal with Senator Clovis then you might need the extra encouragement”.

“Chugging wine seems more your style” Fox teases, tearing his eyes away from your face and walking to the door. Like a lost puppy, you follow him again, not wanting to be without his presence.

With his hand hovering over the door’s command panel, he shifts his head to look at you one more time. “I…” Fox has so much he wants to say to you yet the words refuse to come out “thank you… for the drink”. He scrunches his eyes shut, glad you can’t see his face anymore. Out of everything he could have said, that’s the best he’s got?

He hears you shift and his eyes spring open, just in time to see you lean up and place a kiss on the side of his helmet. “No, Fox, thank you” you reply.

In a rare occurrence, the Commander is too stunned to speak. His brain short circuits and he has no idea how to respond. Never did Commander Fox think he would be envious of his helmet, but right now, he would do anything to have felt that kiss. Your lips so close yet so far away.

With an abrupt nod, Fox exits your office, waiting for the durasteel doors to shut behind him before taking a moment to process what has just occurred.

With Fox gone, a smile creeps up on your face, an electric feeling buzzing in your stomach. Proud of yourself, you walk back to your desk, sitting down with the bottle of wine in hand. Taking a quick swig, you revel in your small victory as for once, Fox didn’t correct you when you didn’t use his official GAR title of Commander.

If he’ll let you get away with that then maybe you should kiss him more often.

All of the fics from the Clone xReader Gift Exchange are up! If you missed some of the amazing fics written for this event, here is a list of them!! They are organized by character and are in alphabetical order by title. 

If you liked a story, consider reblogging it! Reblogs are a great way to show appreciation for an author’s work. reblogs to signal boost this list are greatly appreciated as well.

NSFW fics are strictly 18+ and are marked as such. 

Across the Stars by @wanderer-six (NSFW)

Somewhere to Start by @cioneo

The Way You Look Tonight by @miseries-mistress

Untitled by @mayonnaisepudding

Always by @writing-positivelyexisting

i told you not to follow me by @burningfieldof-clover

Sunshine by @moonlight-sonata99

Untitled by @techs-ass

don’t you know by @221bshrlocked (NSFW)

enough for you by @miaowshacat

Heart Made of Flesh by @dragonrider9905

Just in Time by @pizza-writes

Meeting the Family by @haven-is-happy

Not Just For Show by @ghostofskywalker

By Your Side Tonight by @toomanybandstocare

Challenge Accepted by @of-stardust-and-dreams

Open Your Eyes by @tecker

Crescendo by @wizardofrozz

Insidious Visions by @agenteliix

Let the Sun In by @exxasperatedauthor

The Escape by @chicknstripz

A Match Made in a Classroom by @melliejellybellybean

Begonias by @diviluscorner

Bleed For Love by anonymous (hosted on @staycalmandhugaclone)

Don't Be Afraid by @echos-girlfriend

Growing Into Love by @ladysongmaster

Jealous by @knightprincess

Personal Tastes by @l-lend

The Force Works in Mysterious Ways by @staycalmandhugaclone (NSFW)

Yours & Mine by @embeanwrites

Falling For You by @masterjedilenawrites

Born For This by @arctrooper69

Lucky by @snippy-tano

i remember... by @221bshrlocked (NSFW)

Into the Forest I Go by @fives-lover

it's always been you by @obixwan

It's Gonna be Fine? by @loving-the-cambridges

Just This Once, Everybody Lives by @l-lend

Precious Soul by @wizardmando

Slowly But Surely by @ghostofskywalker

This New Reality by @angelltheninth

Circumstance by @captainpains

Jogan Rolls For Two by @theunderscorekinginyellow (NSFW)

Logical by @photogirl894

Pretty Boy by @manofworm

Don't Let Me Go by @rainydaydream-gal18

Fine Line by @homie-one-kenobi

Pack Mentality by @corona-one

I Like You a Lot by @imarvelatthestars

TBB Incorrect Quotes, Part 5

Omega: *standing at the top of the stairs* What are y'all doing at the bottom of the staircase?  Echo: I accidentally fell down.  Hunter: WRECKER PUSHED ME down the stairs because I refuse to pay HIS part of our rent!  Crosshair: Echo bet me fifty credits that I couldn't reach the bottom of the stairs faster than he did falling down it, so I slid down the banister to get my money.  Tech: I don't know how I got here. One moment, I was sleeping in my bed, three floors up, and then suddenly I was waking up here, just in time to get crushed by Crosshair.

Omega: *eating a cinnamon roll*  Hunter: Cannibalism.  Omega: *confused chewing noises*

Tech: What do you call quantums of electromagnetic radiation that don’t get along?  Hunter: What did you just say-  Tech: Foetons! *Laughs*  Hunter: Wh-what? 

Wrecker: I give up. I am so tired.  Echo: Get the emergency supply!  Tech: *carries Omega and places her in front of Wrecker*  Omega: *smiles*  Wrecker: AND I AM BACK BABY, LET’S GOOO 

Hunter: Crosshair, Wrecker, I love y’all and all, but can I ask what in the hell are you doing?  Crosshair, trying to stabilize a tower of folding chairs that Wrecker is sitting atop: Oh nothing much.  Wrecker: I love you too :) 

*In a group chat* Hunter: A pegan just flew into my window. Omega: Pegan? Tech: A what? Echo: Ah yes, my favourite bird, Pegan. Wrecker: I thought you said penguin for a second, LMAO! Echo: Just a normal day with flying penguins crashing into my window. Wrecker: You have pigeons flying into your window? Can't relate, I have penguins flying into my window. Hunter: I literally just made a typo-

Crosshair: How do Hunter and Tech usually get out of these messes?  Echo: They don't. They just make a bigger mess that cancels the first one out. 

*Tech teaching Wrecker to drive and taking Crosshair along for the ride*  Tech: That's a pothole. To the left!  Wrecker: Take it back now y'all *Drives into pothole*  Crosshair, sticking his face into the front over the center console: Cha Cha real smooth.  Wrecker: I don't think that's how the song goes.  Tech, crying and gripping the handle: Please just take me home.  Wrecker: Country Roads.  Crosshair: To the place.  Wrecker and Crosshair in unison: I Belong!  Tech, crying harder: What the fuck?

Hunter: BEHOLD, the field in which I grow my fucks! Lay thine eyes upon it, and thou shalt see that it is barren!

Wrecker, putting his hands over Crosshair’s eyes: Guess who!  Crosshair: It's either Wrecker or the cold, clammy hands of death.  Wrecker, putting his hands away: It's Wrecker!  Crosshair: Dammit.

Echo: So oxygen went on a date with potassium, it went... OK. Hunter: I thought oxygen was dating magnesium, OMG. Echo: Actually oxygen first asked nitrogen out, but nitrogen was all like NO. Wrecker: I thought oxygen had that double bond with the hydrogen twins. Crosshair: Looks like someone's a HO. Hunter: NaBrO. Tech: I'm done with all of you!

Crosshair: What doesn't kill me better start running, because now I'm fucking pissed.

Wrecker: Oh god, he texted you ‘hi.’’ Punctuation only means one thing, Tech. He's mad at you. Tech: No, it's Crosshair. He's just being gramatically correct! *meanwhile* Crosshair: And then I used a period so he'd know that I'm mad at him. Hunter: A period doesn't say 'I'm mad', it says 'you're dead to me'. Crosshair: I stand by my choice.

Echo: You really put aside everything and came all this way for me? How did you even get here so fast? Wrecker: Several traffic violations. Tech: Three counts of resisting arrest. Crosshair: Roughly thirteen cans of energy drinks. Hunter: Also, that’s not our car.

Tech: Hunter is late again. Echo: How did this happen? I called him at 8 o’clock this morning and pretended it was 11. Wrecker: I printed up a fake schedule for him saying we were starting at 9 instead of noon. Omega: I set his clock to say PM when it’s really AM. Tech: Oh boy. We may have overdone it. *Hunter bursts through the door* Hunter: WHAT TIME IS IT?

Tech: Would you slap Wrecker- Crosshair: Yes. Tech: I didn't even finish! Crosshair: Sorry, continue. Tech: Would you slap Wrecker for 10 dollars? Crosshair: I would do it for free. Wrecker: Rude...

Omega: Why isn’t the statue smirking at me? Tech: It isn’t smirking at anyone, they’re all just imagining it. Hunter: Three of us saw it, Tech. How do you explain that? Tech: *points at Crosshair* Sleep deprivation. *points at Hunter* Paranoia. *points at Echo* Delusional personality disorder.

Hunter: I think this might be a bad idea... Echo: Don't start thinking on me now!

Echo: Hey, no, you stay out of this, this is between me and Wrecker! Tech: So Wrecker knows about this? Echo, walking away: No, this is between me and me!

Echo: Wrecker- Wrecker: *sighs* Crosshair used to call me Wrecker... Echo: ...Because it's your fucking name.

Crosshair: Good morning. As you begin your day, remember that violence is always an option and often the answer. Hunter: Crosshair: Hunter: ...Please, go back to bed.

Wrecker: Do you mind if I slyly mention that you’re single? Tech: Do not do that. Wrecker: You won’t even notice! Phee, entering: Wrecker, you wanted to see me again? Wrecker: Tech's single Tech:

Hunter: I'm cold. Echo: Here, take my hoodie. *meanwhile* Omega: I'm cold. Crosshair: I can't control the weather, Omega.

Omega: Hey, wanna hear a funny joke? Crosshair: I only like dark humor. Omega, turning the lights off: What do you call a fake noodle? Crosshair: Omega: An IMPASTA!

Omega, trying her first ever cup of coffee: I am ENERGY! Hunter, an avid coffee drinker, on his twelfth cup of the day: Someone slap me awake or I am literally going to fall into a coma in ten seconds.

Tech: It's called cauliflower, not ghost broccoli. Wrecker, eyes wide: I know what I saw.

Omega: Hey, Crosshair? I need advice. Crosshair: I’m pretty useless at giving advice. Can I interest you in a sarcastic comment instead?

*Crosshair and Wrecker's house is on fire, but they don't know it*  Crosshair: Damn, it's hot in here.  Wrecker: I know, it's so hot there's smoke coming out of the vent!  Crosshair:  Crosshair: First of all, I'm assuming you have no idea what the problem with that statement is.  Wrecker: What?  Crosshair: Second of all, we need to get the fuck out of here, NOW. Wrecker: I think I did fairly well on my anatomy quiz! :)  Omega: I forgot I was doing a test.  Echo: Omega.  Omega: I said the vertebrae was the back stick because I thought it was funny....  Tech: Omega.

Wrecker: Hey, Hunter. Why did the chicken cross the road?  Hunter: To get to the other side?  Wrecker: You were supposed to say “I dunno, why?“  Hunter: Uh... fine. I don’t know. Why did it cross the road?  Wrecker: To get to the idiot’s house.  Hunter: ...Ok?  Crosshair: Hey, Hunter. Knock knock.  Hunter: No.  Crosshair: You were supposed to say “who’s there?”  Hunter: Fine... let’s get this over with. Who’s there?  Crosshair: The chicken.  Hunter: Crosshair: Wrecker: Hunter: Listen here you little shits-

Echo: You know what?  Echo: When I joined this group I thought you guys would be dealing with my bullshit.  *Crosshair, Wrecker and Tech continue screaming about mold water*  Echo: Not the other way around. Hunter: I dunno, sounds like you need to drink the mold water.

Echo: Don’t worry, I know exactly what I’m doing. Everything is going to be fine!  Tech: How can you still say that?  Echo: Because sometimes, when things get tough, denial is all we have.

Crosshair: Come on, Wrecker! How any times do I have to apologize?  Wrecker: Once!  Crosshair: ...No.

Echo: I keep a picture of all of us in my wallet. Whenever I face difficulties, I take it out and stare at the picture.  The Squad: Awwww-  Echo: And I tell myself "If I can deal with these idiots, then I can deal with anything."  The Squad: Oh.

Wrecker: Everyone thinks I'm this soft cute person but I'm not!  Tech: Wrecker, you cried for an hour after stepping on a bug yesterday.  Wrecker: It had feelings! It was probably going home to dinner and I killed it!  Crosshair: ...It was a bug.  Wrecker: It was a BEETLE, and its wife is definitely worried sick, wondering where it is, and I really don't get why you all think I'm so sentimental because I'm not!  Tech: ...  Crosshair: ...  Wrecker: Stop looking at me like that!

Tech: Did you win? Or just not die?  Tech: Either way, hooray.  Hunter: ...Is "no" a valid answer?  Tech: The hooray is redacted and you frighten me.

Hunter: I made lightly fried fish fillets for dinner.  Crosshair: Hunter, It’s 1:15 am, what the fuck.  Hunter: Do you want the lightly fried fish fillets or not.  Crosshair: Well, I mean yeah.  Hunter: So come downstairs while they’re still hot.  Crosshair: Wait, you just made them?  Hunter: Yeah, I wasn’t tired so I decided to make lightly fried fish fillets.  Crosshair: Say lightly fried fish fillets one more time Hunter.

*The Squad when asked about their earlier confession of love*  Echo: Yeah, you're lucky. I like you.  Tech: I'd understand if you didn't feel the same way...  Hunter: *has a panic attack* What confession?  Wrecker: *winks* I know, babe. You like me too.  Crosshair: So what? Are you going to date me or not? 

*Tech sends more than 5 messages in a row*  Crosshair: I ain’t reading all that.  Crosshair: I’m happy for you tho.  Crosshair: Or sorry that happened.

Omega: Problem, I can't tell if this food is over-sauced or undercooked.  Hunter: Solution, just pop it back in the oven for another 10 minutes. There's at least a 50% chance that'll fix it, right?  Tech: Result? Food has somehow become unpleasantly soggy and unpleasantly crunchy at the exact same time.  Wrecker: No better time than this to pull out my favorite word! Slunchy!  Crosshair: ...put it away. 

Crosshair: I’m quick at math.  Tech: Ok, what’s 38 times 76?  Crosshair: 24.  Tech: That wasn’t even close.  Crosshair: But it was quick.

Echo: While I'm gone, you're in charge Tech.  Tech: Yes!  Echo, whispering to Hunter: You're secretly in charge, but I don't want him to feel bad.  Hunter: Obviously.

Omega, piloting the Marauder: We have fun, don’t we, Tech?  Tech: I have never been more stressed out in my entire life.

Wrecker: *dangling from a rope over a pit of fire* Remember when I said I’d tell you when we’re in too deep?  Omega: Yes?  Wrecker: We’re in too deep.

Hunter: When life gives you lemonades, make lemons! Life will be all like "whaAttT?"  Echo: Life lessons that schools can't teach you.

Crosshair: We’ve been conducting an ongoing study to see what Wrecker will and will not eat.  Echo: Grass? Yes!  Crosshair: Moss? Yes!!  Echo: Leaves? Ohh, yes!  Crosshair: Shoelaces? Strange but true!  Echo: Worms? Sometimes!  Crosshair: Rocks? Usually nah.  Echo: Twigs? Usually!  Crosshair: Tech's cooking? Inconclusive!  Hunter: How did you… test this?  Crosshair: You just hand him stuff and say ‘eat this’ and if he eats it, he eats it.  Hunter: ... I don’t know how to feel about this.  Tech: IS THAT WHERE ALL MY SPARE SHOELACES WENT?

Omega, gesturing to Echo: Wrecker, look what you did! You made Mom upset!  Tech: Mom, please don’t cry, we’re sorry!  Wrecker: I’m sorry Mom... :(  Echo, near tears: I DON’T REMEMBER GIVING BIRTH TO ANY OF YOU! 

good morning my lovelies. may i interest you in some fresh out the shower crosshair?

Sanctuary Masterlist

A/N: So this is a prequel, if you like, to The Keldabe Kiss. I fell in love with this AU so much I had to write more. There will be more chapters and they will be my Tech Tuesday contribution 🥰 big thank you to @acourtofsnakes for letting me sound off about this fic!

Prefer AO3? I got you.

Warnings: 18+ written from reader pov but the Batch give her a nickname eventually. Mentions of blood, torture, slavery, nightmares, panic attacks, abuse, death, canon violence, illness and incorrect medical terms (I’m no medic), angst, fluff, comfort, found family.

Pairing: Tech x F!Reader (Stitch)

Chapter 1: Rescue

Chapter 2: Ord Mantell

Chapter 3: Negotiation

Chapter 4: Escape

Chapter 5: The Risk

Chapter 6: First Light

Chapter 7: Purrgil

Chapter 8: Medcentre

Chapter 9: Secrets (coming soon!)

Chapter 10: Arrival

Chapter 11: Fractured

Chapter 12: Recovery

Chapter 13: Papa

Chapter 14: Maridun

Chapter 15: Butterflies

Chapter 16: Faster

Chapter 17: Revelations