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writing! (...hopefully :)

[whofellfrommars]

Small Favours

(Poe Dameron x GN!Reader)

Summary: "You'd honestly expected that to be the end of it.

No, really--

You could count on one hand the number of times you'd ever seen the Commander on base before that day; so running into his droid had been more an accident than anything else.

You'd noticed an issue; you'd solved it. The whole thing should have realistically been a pleasant anomaly in your otherwise straight-forward life as a mechanic....

Well, in theory, at least."

Notes: Much like with my last post, this was just an old bit of writing that's been collecting dust on my Ao3 for years... I've been working on some new drabbles for the first time in forever, though, and felt like putting up some of the older stuff might motivate me to finish those; so enjoy! And, again, please pardon the lack of editing lol! :)

"See? That's the fun part: he never even needs to know." The words came out slightly garbled, consonants slurring around the tool held between your teeth.

A series of incessant beeps followed your assertion.

You snickered.

"Well," Free hand skimming along the shapes to your left, you drawled, "Then just say you don't know how it got there."

The droid opted for a long 'whirr' at that.

Your brows furrowing, you kicked yourself backwards to visually inspect where your hand had been.

One beep.

Gaze flickering down past your nose, you gave a light-hearted huff, yanking the screwdriver from your jaws before turning again towards the BB unit.

"Thanks, bud."

You moved to fasten the last few bolts.

"Listen, your gyro-unit needed replacing anyway. The sensor was shot-- which, yes, he would have noticed sooner or later; but It would be irresponsible for me to just leave you like this when there's such an easy fix." You reasoned.

"Besides, he would have taken you to a service droid and all they can give you is the standard issue," You drew back, voice lowering to an exaggerated, stage-whisper, "And between you and me, the range on those things is downright archaic."

Wrist twisting one final time, you moved a foot or so away to survey your work.

"Might as well just cart you off to an antique stall at that point-- And we can't have that, now can we?"

A pause. Then, a reluctant noise of agreement.

You spun around, retrieving BB-8's missing outer panel before returning to him.

"Lovely! Then we're on the same page: the commander never finds out; you get a much-needed upgrade--"

The piece now back in its proper spot, you tossed your tool back on the table, grinning.

"--Everybody wins!" The phrase was punctuated with a flourish of your hand, followed by a decisive clap, "...Ready?"

With a confirming beep from the droid (accompanied by the few, excited movements he could accomplish on such a small surface) you pushed the button that lowered your work-table

The moment he was once again at your feet, the unit hit the ground...

Well, not 'running', but certainly 'rolling.'

He eagerly zipped about the room, a flurry of mechanical motion and high-pitched sounds that told you your work had been more than successful.

It warmed your heart.

...And also moderately raised your blood-sugar. Because, cute or not, the droid was more-or-less a loose cannon in a room full of very fragile tech.

"Okay, okay--" you chided, palm raising to smother your chuckle, "Don't go breaking the merchandise, kid."

Feet pushing you towards the doorway, you hit the keypad and directed the BB unit towards it with light encouragement, "C'mon; I've kept you cooped up too long. Go wreak your havoc."

BB-8 wasted no time, looping twice around you with appreciative chirps before promptly racing off down the hall.

Your eyes rolled, arms crossing in feigned exasperation. Ultimately though, the upward quirk of your lips betrayed your clear affection.

"Yeah, yeah. You're welcome, buddy."

.

You'd honestly expected that to be the end of it.

No, really--

You could count on one hand the number of times you'd ever seen the Commander on base before that day; so running into his droid had been more an accident than anything else.

You'd noticed an issue; you'd solved it. The whole thing should have realistically been a pleasant anomaly in your otherwise straight-forward life as a mechanic.

...Well, in theory, at least.

It seemed that, practically speaking, the universe had other plans; because, not two days later, the orange droid had been back to your station to visit. And, well, that had allowed you to notice the chip in his paint.

That kind of thing only took a minute to remedy. So, really, where was the harm?

Then a week after that you'd happened upon a new processing chip that you were sure would be perfect for him.

That one was a no-brainer too; I mean, the thing would just go to waste otherwise.

And, if an optics upgrade followed that, who could really say? Certainly not you.

Around a half of a year later (and with about thirty different upgrades you'd long since stopped rationalizing), you had come to just accept the droid's presence in your life.

"I think you're just paranoid." You remarked one day, scrolling through your schedule for the week, "There's no way he'd even notice."

If he was capable of expression, you were sure BB-8 would be leveling you with an unimpressed one as he trailed alongside you.

Pushing your data-pad back into your pocket, you both rounded the corner to the section of hall containing the cafeteria. "Okay, fine:" You relented, "No disco lights. But, don't come crying to me when you're finally ready to live a little."

A couple of somber-sounding beeps filled the air.

Laughing, you reached an open doorway and looked to check how long the line for the caf machine was.

"Have you at least considered the blasters--?"

You then found yourself frozen.

BB kept rolling, but slowed, turning to face you in light of your sudden stillness.

Commander Dameron, among several other pilots, were sat at a table in the center of the room.

Now, it wasn't as if you'd been purposefully avoiding the guy up until that point. In fact, you hadn't even properly considered the possibility of you meeting, really; Dameron was practically the poster-boy for the entire resistance, for kriff's sake. And you were...

Well, just you.

Even if, admittedly, you'd grown pretty attached to his droid, the Commander had always just seemed like a hypothetical, third-party that you'd been working under the nose of.

So, entering the room with BB-8 at your side to find him actually, physically there...?

It was a bit of an unexpected reality check.

And, ultimately, it was one that saw you promptly turn tail and run out of there.

.

The following morning as you approached your station, you were somewhat surprised to find a familiar, orange sphere waiting for you at the door.

Residual embarrassment from the previous day warmed your cheeks. Still, you tried for a sheepish smile, nonetheless.

"Beebs," You called, "To what do I owe the pleasure, buddy? You're not due for another day or two."

Only one chirp was the droid's reply.

Your brow quirked upwards, "Uh... Okay...?"

Now further perplexed given the vague nature of the droid's response, you made a slow move for the door, "Listen, you know you don't need an excuse to visit me anymore right? I think we're a ways past--"

And you're hit with quite the case of deja vu.

Because, upon entering the code to your door and seeing it open, you're immediately rooted to the spot.

Two cups of caf sat in the middle of your work station-- Which was cause for some concern given no one other than you and a small, handless machine really went in there.

But, arguably more alarming was the person holding them, sat casually in your chair as if he owned the place.

"Morning!" He chirped.

And you found yourself once again gawking at Poe Dameron.

.

"You planning on running from me this time?" The pilot smirked. He pushed himself off the wall before handing you your cup, sidling up next to you as you walked towards your station.

You rolled your eyes.

"First off, flyboy:" You drawled, accepting his arm as he offered it to you, "That was one time--"

"Twice." Poe cut in matter-of-factly, "You did it twice. In less than twenty-four hours, mind you."

"The first time doesn't count! You didn't even see me!"

"Doesn't mean it didn't happen. Besides, I'm pretty sure I felt it." His face contorted into a look of feigned distress and he moved his free hand to rest over his heart. "Heartbreak will do that to a guy, you know?"

"Once again," Your elbow playfully dug into his side and he broke, allowing a soft chuckle out when he swatted your arm in return. "You wouldn't even know it'd happened if the droid hadn't have ratted me out."

You considered a moment, "And really, I'd say the second time was warranted given you broke into my shop."

"I didn't break in; BB-8 gave me the code."

"Well, then you raised a traitor."

Beaming at you, he shifted to loop an arm around your waist, "We raised a traitor." He corrected.

That got a laugh out of you, sarcasm coating your responding, "Oh, goody."

An amused hum left him in turn.

"And I wouldn't blame the droid." Poe added, "He tried to keep your secret, I was just very persistent."

"'Persistent' isn't really the word I'd use."

"Daring, then?" His arm pulled you closer to his frame with each term he offered, "Bold? Charmingly persuasive? A fool in love?"

Your face turned crimson. It was suddenly very difficult to look at him.

"Menace. I would call you a menace." You peeked back at his face, softening when your eyes found his warm grin, "...And that last one wasn't even a synonym." You murmured in feigned exasperation.

Now fully tucked against him, you felt rather than heard the chuckle leave his chest. "What are you, a thesaurus? I'm trying to seduce you; stop critiquing."

The peck he placed on your head saw you melt.

"Believe me: It's working." You admit.

The two of you slowed as you reached your doorway, the conversation lulling now that your destination was in reach.

"...Pick you up for your lunch break?" He asked eventually.

You pivoted to lift your other arm around him, resting your cheek against him in an embrace that he easily returned.

Giving a sound of agreement, you both fell into an easy silence.

Then, a smirk broke out on your face and you pushed your head back slightly to look at him.

"Y'know... I have a spare hour today... I was thinking I could finally--"

Poe quickly pulled you back to his chest with a theatrically put-upon sigh, "You're not giving our droid disco lights."

[whofellfrommars]

Sweet, Sweet Crimson

(Wanda Maximoff x GN!Reader)

Summary: It didn't matter what the problem was; be it stubborn wounds or distant memories, you knew that Wanda would always be there to set things right again.

Notes: I wrote this nonsense, like, 5000 years ago before the concept of grammar and I became acquainted... At the time, I only put it on my Ao3 account; but I'm a tumblr guy now, too, so I figured sharing it here would be a fun first post (more trash incoming, I fear)... So, y'know: pardon any egregious mistakes; any future stuff should be a bit more edited! :)

Wanda's brows creased, her hands shakily grasping your arm as she lead you towards the kitchen.

"I can fix this." She assured gently. The phrase had become her mantra, a whispered, squeaky prayer that her voice absently repeated as she walked.

One 'I can fix this' while she cradled your hand as though it were a precious gem; another 'I can fix this' as she shuffled you onto the kitchen counter with exaggerated care; 'I can fix this' as she moved to turn the faucet on, all the while fretting with her bottom lip--

'I can fix this,' 'I can fix this,' 'I can fix this'--

And you knew she could. She always did.

So, while blood trickled over from your hand, a seemingly endless fountain of scarlet dripping onto the floor beneath you, you couldn't really find it in you to pay it any mind. Not when your lover looked as frenzied as she did; not when you knew Wanda would take care of you with every breathe she had.

Letting out a soft chuckle, you followed the woman where she lead without question, silently trying to work out how best to console her.

"It's just a scratch, Wanda." You chided once atop the marble counter. She was prone to overreaction-- of that, you were well aware. Especially when it came to your health. Her excessive protectiveness towards you was something that you'd been accustomed to as long as you could remember.

She'd retrieved the first-aid kit from beneath the sink and was quickly sorting through it in search of something.

"Hey," You tried, foot swinging to lightly tap her thigh, "I'm fine. Cross my heart."

Wanda glanced at you fleetingly, seemingly unconvinced.

Alright then, you internally mused. Guess it was time to switch tactics.

Face turning upwards in feigned consideration, you placed a flourishing hand to your chest.

"...You know what? You're absolutely right, Wanda: This is absolute agony!"

Though your tone had been embellished to the point of clear, theatrical exaggeration, the words had still caught Wanda's attention.

"Know what would make me feel better though?" You waggled a brow at the woman, your tone a playful softness.

No verbal response was given, but her hands paused.

You pointedly glanced at your bleeding hand, then back up to her, "...Kiss it better?"

Silence. Then a snort as she swatted at your shoulder.

"You're ridiculous."

You flashed your teeth at her, reminding her, "You love it."

Wanda hummed, then corrected: "I love you."

You noted the small smile she now wore which, hopefully, meant that, though she'd now gone back to her previous task of collecting bandages, your antics may have calmed her to some degree.

"And, really, isn't that just as ridiculous?" You teased back.

She gave another reluctant hum of agreement, much to your delight.

"Now zip it; I'm trying to work here." She said. She offered a quick, placating peck to the wrist of your wounded hand, followed by one to the corner of your lips.

A smirk painting your expression in the face of the affection; and you allowed yourself to be pacified into dropping the subject entirely.

.

The days with Wanda were a dream.

It was impossible for them not to be with her being who she was.

Your lover was scarlet, a warm and passionate red; she was the sickly sweet scent of strawberries, the rich, enveloping serenity of velvet smoothed across skin. Wanda was the crackling candlelight that sheltered you from storms, a being crafted from pure sunlight and unwavering love.

A glance in her direction could leave you breathless; her smile alone rendering you a sappy mess.

You adored the daylight with her.

But, moonlight was another story entirely; your nights, even beside her, saw dreams contorted into a nightmares.

Behind your eyelids hid visions where your scarlet red bled to metallic crimson, where the familiar warm of candlelight roared to wildfire, suffocating lungs and searing flesh with white-hot agony. In sleep, frigid night took hold of a once-lit-sky, robbing the air of any and all remaining life.

Unfathomable horrors seemed to rest, perpetually waiting dormant in the corners of your mind; and that fact saw you deliberately avoiding sleep more and more as time went on.

You were sure that Wanda knew: there'd been too many nights where she'd woken to you already out of bed; she'd known too many of your strained smiles, vague dismissals and hasty deflections.

Yet, for some reason or another, she hadn't once questioned you about them.

And, it was largely for that reason that, as you found yourself once again staring at your shared, bedroom ceiling, you were resigned to fend off the impending claws of weariness by yourself. Wanda worried about you enough without you giving her any direct cause to; you couldn't help but feel that keeping that the reality of your sleepless nights from her a little longer would be a small mercy, in a way.

It was a battle that seemed far simpler in concept than in practice, though; that bull-headed fight against weariness became so fraught when the arms of your lover were such a siren's call towards towards rest.

The whole thing was more or less a frivolous battle, really; even when already asleep, Wanda made it impossible to feel anything but serene. You were bound to lose your resolution eventually.

And so you would: first with the drooping of eyelids, accompanied soon by the steadying of your breath and followed closely by a gentle flurry of snores.

Before you knew it, you were being welcomed back into the depths with a frozen, covetous grip.

Lured away from the waking world, you were suddenly rendered a shell, a motionless husk filled with nothing beyond your own pained awareness. The usual, distinct beating beneath your chest was gone. In its place? Dull sensation; all at once, a reverberating, stabbing ache became the only sense that you were granted.

You felt unnatural; your chilled skin stretched across bone as if made of paper and your joints stiffened to the point of immobility. Every part of your body was sinking into a thick, unrelating pool of darkness as though it were made of stone as the world around you blurred into an incoherent, buzzing quiet.

You felt... Unnatural.

That state of being hit you like a freight rain: the wrongness. It overwhelmed your thoughts until all you could register was the fact that you shouldn't be alive. Not like this.

Faster than a gunshot, your numbed feelings were amplified into the realm of the unbearable. Blind panic consumed you; your mind desperately pleading with your body to move, to scream, to do anything--

You heard a gasp of your name.

.

Then, all at once, you were sitting upright.

Walls. There were walls everywhere you looked, claustrophobic even in their familiarity; everything felt suffocating and alien and--

Wanda.

You were shivering; but Wanda was there. And, if Wanda was there, you must be safe.

That was the reality that your brain quickly clung to, even in your frenzy: Wanda. You were terrified; but at least Wanda was there; you must be awake if Wanda was with you; everything must be right if Wanda had you.

Wanda's palms skimmed over your shaking frame, her grip frantic. Her gaze searched you without rest, desperately seeking as if to find some kind of answer to a question you weren't privy to.

"I can fix this." She assured, eyes wild.

You found yourself giving a small, confused shake of your head.

Because... What was there to fix? You were awake; you were fine; she had you; you could breathe again--

But then you felt the moisture.

Your hand reaching for the strange substance on your abdomen, you blindly dabbed at the warmth of before bringing it back towards your face--

And it was red. Your palm was now coated in a heated, sticky, metallic-smelling red.

Your mind went into overdrive.

This wasn't right, you thought. Blood. Lots and lots of blood; you were supposed to be awake now, so why were you bleeding? God, why were you bleeding?

"Wanda," You choked, throat dry. "Wanda-- What's happening?"

"I can fix this." She repeated. Her voice chanted the phrase in rapid succession, her tone become more and more urgent and her grip on you tightening.

"Wanda...?"

This felt wrong. Why was everything wrong?

She hushed you, her hand smoothing over your hair.

This wasn't right; this was all wrong. You weren't supposed to be here; you weren't supposed to be--

Wanda's eyes brightened. Her hands glowed a deep scarlet and the blinding colour enveloped you.

Then, all at once, the roaring ocean stilled.

"I can fix this." A voice promised.

And you knew she would; she always did.

So, you followed her without question.

.

Crimson continued flowing a small stream down your hand; and yet its presence failed to register with you in that moment.

How could it? The distress on your lover's face was a far more pressing matter in your eyes.

"It's just a scratch, Wanda." You chuckled, your tone soft.

The words saw her worried gaze settle to yours. For the first time since the wound had made itself known, Wanda seems to calm, her posture deflating and attention coming to a point of focus on your face by degrees.

"I know, I know." She whispered. Wetness touched her eyes.

You sighed.

Your clean hand reached upwards to cup her cheek. She blindly leaned into the gesture, nervous movements coming to a wading stillness.

"I just..." Wanda's arms moved to loop around your waist and you returned her embrace without a second thought, "I can't help but feel like the universe is always trying to take you away from me and I--"

The noise abruptly fizzled out. Her face buried against you, her voice becoming unsteady, "I can't lose you."

The admission took an unrelenting, painful grip on your heart. Lungs deflating once more, you placed a gentle kiss onto her temple.

"You won't, Wanda." You murmured, "You won't."

You took to tracing absent patterns into her back as you considered your next words.

"I mean, c'mon-- Have you met yourself? I doubt the universe is capable of throwing anything at you that you can't handle."

You shifted backwards slightly, raising her chin upwards. Mustering up your best Trans-Atlantic accent once her eyes met your own, you added: "And with our powers combined, doll? We're practically unstoppable. So, you can go on and tell that universe of yours to take a hike."

The statement won you an airy laugh from the woman, and the sight alone had you beaming.

"You're right." Wanda said, lips gently lifting at the corners. She shook her head a little, "No, you're right: I won't let it happen. Ever."

The assurance gave way to the easy silence that followed, the two of you simply taking the next few minutes to bask in each other's warmth and relish in the feelings of love the moment brought forth.

For you? The action was second nature; It was familiar. Wanda's presence was a sweet, crimson ocean-- one that you knew all to well and whose steady waves were well-practiced at lulling you towards safety. You were certain that, if given the opportunity, you'd surely drown in it forever.

And, for Wanda? Well, she was inclined to agree.

All she'd ever wanted was a 'forever' with you; all she'd fought for was to build an eternity spent in some kind of 'happily ever after'.

So, just as long as you didn't mention the noticeably absent blood from your freshly cut hand? For however long you let that familiar crimson wipe away any memories of pooling red?

Then she was happy to continue pretending that she could have exactly that:

Her 'Forever'.