Nearly 3,000 words in and I'm beginning to think I'm not very good at pwp. I mean, it's not detailed enough to be considered actual plot, but the smuts only just getting started so I think I officially can't tag my Absolute SuperBat fic as pwp anymore.
I feel like I'm stalling, but I'm not I swear. I'm just building it up so I can live up to the pwe tag!
This fic will probably be done by tomorrow or the day after though(if I don't decide to finish it rn, I probably won't, probably).
Since I've begun writing on my pc, I haven't been able to write on mobile and as a result am working on the story a lot less often than I'd prefer. The biggest issues I've had with being a pc writer is that I'm not with my laptop all the time and my stories aren't entirely mobile friendly anymore.
On pc long paragraphs tend to feel really short, but then you open the story mobile and the paragraphs look long. So I may go through and try to shorten stuff, if not I'll probably do a test run with two different versions to see which does better.
If you decided to read all this, than congrats! You get a sneak peak! If you've been stalking me for my story, than hang in there I promise I'll be posting it soon and thanks for being invested lol
Sneak peak:
Two smooth hands run down the outsides of his thighs, pushing his pants down more. Bruce's insides clench and slick trickles down the inside of his thigh. He knows he makes an indecent sight, cock flush and hard, legs sticky with his own fluid. It's embarrassing and not a sight he's ever shown anyone before. Bruce grows more anxious the longer he stands here, like this. He knows he's not the ideal omega, too big everywhere and covered in too many scars. Kal deserves someone better-
Bruce flinches as Kal presses a kiss to his right thigh, just below his hip. "Beautiful..." He murmurs, and suddenly Bruce's eyes sting again with the need to cry. He feels like there's something stuck in his throat, and so many emotions rush over him that he can't quite make them all out. Beautiful, no one ever called him beautiful. It just wasn't the right word for a man his size.
Kal pushes to his feet and wraps an arm firmly around Bruce's middle, the other cups his jaw and gently pulls him down so they can rest their foreheads together. "You're beautiful, Bruce. Absolutely stunning." Kal says, and his voice is so honest and full of awe that Bruce can't argue. Kal runs his thumb under Bruce's watery eye, and his body practically vibrates when a tear slips out. "Beautiful." He repeats once more, before softly connecting their lips.
(P.s. I have no beta so I apologize in advance for any grammar mistakes.)
Instead of six sentence sunday I bring you this ficlet for the shiny au because I couldn’t help myself. And by ficlet I mean it’s over 2k because me.
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The problem, as Qui-Gon saw it, was Syvris.
Well, that was perhaps not entirely fair, as Syvris was a perfectly nice and habitable moon that merely had the misfortune of being the target of a particularly enthusiastic band of cutthroats and mercenaries. And, in the name of continuing fairness, it certainly wasn’t Syvris’ fault that when Anakin, under strict supervision, carefully set their ship down outside the base camp they were met by Boil instead of Obi-Wan.
Anakin had barely finished powering off the various systems before he was bounding out of the cockpit and landing in front of an unimpressed Boil with only minimal stumbling. Qui-Gon didn’t begrudge Anakin impatience—it had been a long flight—but it did leave him to slowly make his own down, and his landing was considerably less graceful than Anakin’s.
Anakin caught him by the elbow when his right leg threatened to buckle. “Sorry, Master,” he said quietly.
“It’s all right,” he said once his equilibrium returned and the pain in his hip faded. “I must admit I was also looking forward to getting some fresh air.”
And the air was fresh. Syvris was sliding from its summer season towards autumn, and so there was no biting cold or heavy humidity to wreck havoc with his joints. Biomechanics had progressed greatly in the past decade, but even they were still at the mercy of the weather.
“Master Jinn,” Boil said, helmet tucked under his arm and his remarkable mustache on full display. “The boss is waiting for you at HQ. Good to see you again, kid.” The last was directed at Anakin, who beamed in delight before catching himself and trying to school his expression into something Qui-Gon suspected he considered—or was told—was more appropriate for a Jedi. It was another reason why Qui-Gon had requested this mission.
“Sergeant Boil,” Qui-Gon said, inclining his head. “I understand that we’re at a standstill at the moment.”
Boil snorted. “If that’s what you want to call it.”
Qui-Gon did as he suspected Boil’s choice of words would be more colorful than was appropriate for Anakin, who had an unfortunately good memory for profanity.
“And it’s lieutenant now,” Boil added as he led them through the camp, setting a sedate pace most likely for his benefit, and Qui-Gon did his best not to resent it; Boil was only trying to be considerate.
“Then congratulations are in order.” The camp was far more complicated than it looked from air, and Qui-Gon could see why a guide was sent to keep them from getting lost. Anakin’s head swiveled right to left, eyes gone wide as he took in the temporary buildings and the troopers going about their duties. He was going to hate the temple after this. “I wasn’t made aware of your promotion.”
“No reason you would be,” Boil said, unbothered. “It was a field commission. Turned out that fu—”
Qui-Gon pointedly coughed.
“—fuck up on Naboo was good for something after all. You need some water, sir?”
He sighed, ignoring Anakin’s grin. “No, thank you. How far is our destination?” His hip was beginning to ache, which meant that he would need to rest soon unless a speeder was sent for them.
“Just about,” Boil said. He stopped to bark at a few troopers in armor so white it nearly shone, and the poor men executed sharp salutes before scuttling along.
“Did they do something wrong?” Anakin asked.
“No,” Boil said, “but you gotta keep the shinies on their toes, especially if we’re expecting some action. Worst thing for them is if they get into their own heads.”
“Are we expecting an attack?” Anakin looked far too excited by that prospect.
“Wouldn’t be here otherwise.” Boil pulled back the flap of the temporary HQ. “Got a delivery for you, boss.”
It was a hive of activity inside, troopers hunched over their stations while more came and went, everything and everyone in constant motion, although none of it was without purpose. In the center of it all was Commander Cody, leaning over the shoulder of an officer dressed in the grays of a bridge office rather than the usual frontline armor. He raised a hand in acknowledgment but didn’t look away from the data pad the officer was holding.
“Thank you, Boil,” Cody said. “Go coordinate with Jesse. I want squads from both Ghost and Torrent stationed on the perimeter.”
“Sure thing, boss,” Boil said, sliding his helmet on as he took his leave.
Cody’s own helmet was set to the side, and Qui-Gon didn’t know if that was out of deference for his and Anakin’s presence or out of personal preference. From his experience, most troopers preferred to keep their helmets on, but then it wasn’t until Naboo that he had spent any significant amount of time among the brothers.
“How confident are you on this?” Cody asked the officer, ignoring them completely.
Qui-Gon tucked his hands into the sleeves of his cloak and waited. Anakin, less patiently, imitated him.
“I have a batchmate in intelligence,” the officer replied. “It’s good.”
Cody sighed. “Rex should be back from recon. Make sure he sees this. Oh, and Kenobi, too. He’ll be with Rex.”
“Sir,” the officer said, and hurried out.
Anakin, who perked up at the mention of Obi-Wan, stepped out of the man’s path. Cody turned to the holo display, pulling up maps of the main city and the surrounding area, switching between them so fast that Qui-Gon was unable to make out any details. There was still no acknowledgment of their presence.
Qui-Gon politely, and pointedly, cleared his throat.
Cody paused at one map, frowning, before shutting it all down. Qui-Gon, patience fraying, was just about to speak when Cody said, “I was under the impression your council had decided to send Master Plo Koon to liaise on the mission.”
“Unfortunately, Master Koon was needed elsewhere,” Qui-Gon said. “As I and my padawan had previously worked with you, we were sent in his stead.”
Cody’s eyebrows rose very slightly. Cody, he was quickly remembering, had no tolerance for incompetence or, as Boil would charmingly put it, bantha shit. Perhaps even more importantly, Cody was not a man easily swayed or impressed.
“So you were,” Cody said, “despite my recommendation to keep Jedi presence limited during this operation.”
Clones were hard to read at the best of times, and Cody was damn near impenetrable, his professionally polite expression refusing to crack even under Qui-Gon’s best infuriatingly placid stare. Cody’s composure was impressive.
“What’s wrong with us being here?” Anakin demanded. Qui-Gon placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“There’s a reason the military and the Jedi are separate entities,” Cody said, softening just a little. “You are not soldiers and we are not peacekeepers. It’s best to keep it that way.”
“You speak true,” Qui-Gon said, and Cody’s gaze swung back towards him. There was a faintest fissure in his expression, as if he had a definite opinion on Qui-Gon himself but no plans to voice it. Interesting. “But we are here to assist in any way we can. And to do that we need to know the current situation.”
If Cody was bothered by the reproach he hid it well. He turned the holo display back on and pulled up the map of the city. “They’ve blockaded nearly the entire city and have shielded the northern sector.”
“That’s not where the local government is located,” Qui-Gon said.
“It’s the residential sector,” Cody said.
“Oh,” Anakin said. “They’re using them as shields.”
That was what it took for Cody’s professionalism to crack, and Qui-Gon found himself exchanging a significant look with the man.
“Yes,” Qui-Gon said, gently. “They are.”
Anakin’s face went terrifyingly blank, and Cody said briskly, as if he were speaking to one of his men, “That was well observed, Skywalker.”
Anakin’s attention snapped back to him. “Thank you, Commander,” he said, swelling with pride. He leaned closer to the maps. “Are those heavy canons?”
“They are,” Cody said.
Anakin briefly worried his lower lip, a habit he still fell back into before catching himself. “I didn’t think they’d have something like that.”
Cody nodded in approval. “They shouldn’t. This is military grade hardware. Not even Ohnaka or Bane have anything close to this firepower.”
Now Cody’s attention was back on him, and Qui-Gon got the feeling he was being tested. “Are you suggested someone is funding them, Commander?”
“They had to get it from somewhere.” Before Qui-Gon could question him further, Cody said, “Kenobi’s returned. You can speak with him, if you wish.”
That was a clear dismissal, and Qui-Gon took no insult from it—this was Cody’s operation, after all—and he and Anakin followed yet another trooper back out into the camp and to the eastern edge. The recon squad had returned, judging by the speeder bikes neatly parked to the side, but presumably the rest of the men had been dismissed as only Obi-Wan and Captain Rex remained.
Obi-Wan, he realized with an unpleasant sinking of his stomach, was nearly unrecognizable. Obi-Wan had lost both the braid and the tail when he was knighted, and in the intervening months since Naboo his hair had grown from the short cut, although he had decided to keep it slicked back. Qui-Gon remembered what a nest of curls it could turn into if left to its own devices.
But it ultimately wasn’t the hair that had rendered Obi-Wan nearly a stranger; he was dressed in trooper armor. It wasn’t a full kit, as he had eschewed the chest plate and pauldron, but there were vambraces on his arms and greaves on his legs, and he even wore a pair of the sturdy boots the clones favored. The pieces carried none of the shine of new and unmarked armor, having already picked up several scuffs and what suspiciously looked like blaster burns, but Obi-Wan hadn’t gone so far as to slap paint on it. Even still it was apparent that this was not something he had done on a whim. He wore the armor comfortably, confidently. What had he been getting up to?
Obi-Wan, not yet aware of their presence, stood with Captain Rex, their heads bent together over a data pad presumably delivered by the officer Cody had sent to them. There was a strange ease to the two men’s postures, a familiarity that sent off the faintest alarm bells.
“Obi-Wan!” Anakin cried, effectively ending Qui-Gon’s convert study. Anakin practically ran over, and there was the faintest shiver through the Force at their reunion.
Obi-Wan spun, hand momentarily reaching towards his hip where a blaster hung alongside his lightsaber. “Anakin?” Obi-Wan’s eyebrows rose even as he gaze snapped above the boy’s head to Qui-Gon. His posture, so loose and easy before, stiffened. Captain Rex slipped into parade rest.
Anakin skidded to a stop. He tucked his hands into the sleeves of his robes and solemnly bowed. Obi-Wan, schooling his expression to match, returned the bow, although he did not wear his robe. Lost somewhere, most likely.
“Hey, kid,” Rex said, and he and Anakin clasped forearms in the way Qui-Gon had observed troopers doing.
“Master Jinn,” Obi-Wan said when he straightened, and Qui-Gon just managed to keep from wincing. So their parting had not entirely smoothed over any potentially injured feelings. “I thought Master Koon was being assigned here.”
“A last minute change,” Qui-Gon said. “You know how these things go.”
Obi-Wan’s expression said he did know and also he thought Qui-Gon was, to put it mildly, full of it. Qui-Gon had missed him.
“Can we help you, sir?” Rex said, expression not quite as professional as Cody’s; he kept glancing between Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon.
“Apparently so,” Qui-Gon said cheerfully just for the pleasure of Obi-Wan’s expression souring further. “Cody sent us over. I believe he wanted you to finish briefing us on the situation.”
“Of course he did,” Obi-Wan said, pinching the bridge of his nose, and then proceeded to mutter something that Qui-Gon couldn’t make out but caused Rex to cough as if he was smothering a laugh.
“I feel as if I’ve missed something,” Qui-Gon said, which was true in more ways than one.
“It’s nothing, sir,” Rex said.
Qui-Gon raised his eyebrows, but Obi-Wan said, “I’ll finish briefing them. Let Cody know I’ll be by as soon as I’m done.”
Rex looked to Obi-Wan, and apparently satisfied with whatever he said, nodded and said, “I’ll pass along your regards.”
“Verbatim, if you would be so kind,” Obi-Wan said, and Rex flashed a grin before battening it down under that trooper professionalism. “We’ll be in the mess, if you need us.”
“Master Jinn,” Rex said. “Padawan Skywalker. Good to be working with you again.”
Obi-Wan snorted.
“Likewise,” Qui-Gon said, hand back on Anakin’s shoulder to keep him from vibrating away in excitement. When Rex left for HQ, Qui-Gon said, “I had hoped the good captain would join us.”
“No you didn’t,” Obi-Wan said, and then, to himself, “I really need a cup of tea.”
“I'm sure that can be arrange,” Qui-Gon said, and Obi-Wan made a noise in the back of his throat and set a quick pace that Qui-Gon was hard pressed to match. He couldn’t tell if Obi-Wan was doing it on purpose or not, though it hardly mattered.
What an interesting assignment this was turning out to be.
