#like is it hard to acknowledge you got the idea somewhere else
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There's nothing more that I hate then when you put your heart and soul in art (fanfics, gifs, anything creative) and someone sees your idea, decides they want to do it as well, do so, don't credit you and get twice the amount of reaction on it
#Look#It sounds bitter I know#but I've been a fangirl for longer than a decade now#and it keeps happening in several fandoms#but especially in f1#and I'm so sick of it#like is it hard to acknowledge you got the idea somewhere else#f1
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I’m so not normal about how you write alpha!abby I need more😩
Palestine: what can you do
Thank you for your req, I've missed writing alpha!abby it was so fun!(although this one is sappy)
Fri(end)s
alpha!abby x omega!reader
Tags: dead dove: do not eat. a/b/o universe (female alphas have dicks), modern AU, hurt/comfort, "alphas and omegas can be friends!!" delusion, they really stretch the definition of friendship. No full smut but they get horny.
Inspired by "Friends" by V.
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People say there's no such thing as a friendship between an alpha and an omega. You disagree.
People just need to embrace the inherent lust that comes with being friends with your opposite and you can be great friends. Instead of fearing to make everything awkward when you both smell your attraction, you should acknowledge it and laugh about it. Be each other's ego boosters. It's not that hard.
For example, you and Abby - you've been friends for years. It did start with Abby hitting on you, but she backed off immediately when you explained that you're not interested. Anyway, Abby stayed and asked to be your friend, and you agreed - Abby was cool and smart. It later became a running joke between the two of you where Abby'd jokingly hit on you just to get on your nerves or make you smile.
That's pretty much how you overcame the awkward barrier: you started being honest with each other about everything. You formed a bond so intimate between the two of you that people often mistook you for a couple. You didn't mind. It wouldn't happen anyway, since Abby was a player.
You had no idea how many omegas Abby's fucked in her lifetime, but you rarely saw the same omega twice. Abby kinda had a reputation around campus. She was aware of it, but what could she do? It wasn’t her fault her dick was good. And listen, Abby wasn’t an asshole, no one could catch her disrespecting omegas or talking who and how and when she fucked. People just knew. Well, it was hard not to know when her partners reeked of her after, but the point stood - Abby was a lady, not a prick when it came to privacy.
She fucked omegas that no one would believe to even have such dirty thoughts/time to fuck around/ability to feel sexual attraction or whatever reason insecure incel alphas kept telling themselves - and Abby always stayed discrete if omegas asked her too. Because that was how you got pussy, you fucking morons, not by insulting and being entitled.
So Abby didn’t care that she had a reputation - she only cared if her partners felt safe and enjoyed themselves, and as long as it stayed this way, Abby was happy.
And you knew all of this, because you were her best friend. She told you all of it during one night when you were drinking wine and you asked her about how she felt about her reputation.
Then Abby asked about your deal, and you honestly told her that you didn't know: you loved the touch and flirting but you felt like you didn't have space for relationships. That you haven't met anyone yet who'd make you want to make an effort - of course Abby joked about her being the one and you laughed.
“Well, if I ever need help, I'll come to you.” You winked and Abby laughed as well.
It was easy between the two of you to what some would say, an alarming point where the boundaries of friendship became blurry.
It wasn't a rare occurrence when you'd be at a party, pleasantly drunk, and then after what felt like an hour of dancing, you'd find Abby, sitting somewhere and sipping her whiskey, looking unapologetically hot in her muscle tee and jeans, and you'd get onto her lap, hugging her neck while she'd support your weight by grabbing your thigh. Her scent would get stronger and you'd smile into her shoulder, teasing her. Sometimes, of course, you'd find Abby with another omega already, her hands exploring and grabbing her partner, and you'd grin and go do something else. You always expect yourself to be upset, but strangely, you never are - Abby is your friend and you're happy she is getting some.
Tonight is a little different. You're sleepy and horny and overall, want to feel someone's warmth and touch. So you find Abby and straddle her. She doesn't even lift a brow, just holds you by your waist and keeps you safe. Abby smells your arousal and chuckles, but you stick your tongue out.
“I fucking hate being an omega.” You say and start playing with Abby's hair while she is caressing your back. It's soft and cosy despite you being all horny. It's not flirty, it's not subtle: you two just love being close, and Abby radiates her presence, making everyone look away in fear of challenging her. Abby locks her arms behind your back and you arch into her.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Wanna fuck so bad.”
Abby laughs and looks at you with her red eyes: she can't control it when she is drunk and has you on her lap. Abby smells your scent and smirks, her canines growing longer, her presence getting stronger, scaring other alphas away.
“Well, you know I'm always available for you.” You smack her on her shoulder and Abby laughs.
“Don't fucking tease me, bitch.”
“We can make out if it'd make you feel better.” Abby shrugs. You think for a second.
“Yeah. Let's make out. I bet you're a good kisser.”
“Five stars reviews, baby.”
You laugh, but Abby is already cupping your cheek and guiding you down to her level so she can kiss you. You go pliant when her warm lips touch yours: Abby is a good kisser. She is slow and gentle, but you feel the power and control behind her movements. She is holding you with one arm on your waist while she is grabbing your neck with the other one, her thumb stroking your jaw.
It doesn't feel like you two are toeing on some kind of line you're not allowed to cross: it feels natural and normal, like you've done it a million times before. Maybe you feel this way because Abby is confident and knows what she is doing, but she also doesn't push you further. You're just lazily making out, her warm tongue is on top of yours, exploring your mouth. It feels good.
You feel Abby getting harder under you and you grind against her crotch just to be a little shit, and she stops kissing you.
“And I'm a tease?”
“I love seeing you suffer.” You grin and Abby kisses you again, holding your hips down so you won't be able to grind anymore.
It's affirming, it's an ego boost: you love seeing Abby, hot and amazing alpha, being so weak around you. Abby loves knowing she is the only one who you allow to touch you - loves smelling how horny she can get you. So you keep making out and talking for the rest of the night, existing in your own little bubble. It’s beautiful.
After, Abby takes you home and you cuddle in her bed before you fall asleep, Abby's strong arm pulling you close, her hair making a cloud of her scent around you, keeping you safe and protected.
In the morning you wake up with her hard cock pressing into your thigh and you sigh - you want to sleep more, not being humped by a sleeping alpha. Abby shifts and grinds against you in her sleep, and your cunt throbs: you've never been so close to an alpha who is aroused. New experience, but this is Abby, and you want to fucking sleep.
You just shake her shoulder and she grunts, unhappy.
“Come on, Anderson, you have a morning wood.” You tell her, still sleepy. Abby shifts and turns on her back, taking you with her so your head is on her chest and if you could've been bothered and opened your eyes, you'd have seen the outline of her cock under the covers.
But you go back to sleep.
So this is how your friendship is: you're so close there's almost no boundaries between you. You're not afraid to smell horny around Abby and you feel good about yourself when you smell her being horny about you. You're never upset about her hookups and she doesn't growl at every alpha who looks your way. It's perfect.
The smell of love comes early into your friendship, and you both tease each other about it, “can't believe you love me it's so embarrassing”. Abby is your closest friend and you love her, and you two are proof of an alpha and an omega capable of being friends.
You're comfortable with each other to the point where you complain about your cycles and how fucking horny and unsatisfied you both are during this time: usually it's you who complains because Abby fucks through her ruts. You always tease her about smelling like her lucky omega, but Abby just smirks, still rut high. She looks deliciously dangerous after her rut and the smell of attraction grows stronger between the two of you. Usually Abby’d invite you for a bottle of wine after her rut ends and your drunk makeouts would get more passionate too, since Abby wouldn't hesitate to grab and knead your ass, making you grind on her cock. This is the only time when you let awkwardness fill the room: Abby doesn't control herself and you have to stop her before it goes too far.
(This is the only time when your heart flutters and your hopes rise. This is the only time that threatens to ruin your perfect friendship.
You know if you sleep with Abby, you'll never be friends again. You'll get territorial about her, and Abby doesn't need it - it's a question of incompatibility between the two of you.
So you stop her.)
But the universe doesn't like anything that is perfect - it's against her nature. The balance is in imbalance, and it tries to restore itself.
For the last few months your heats have been getting worse - you’re stressed, you can’t sleep and you feel like shit. Your mood swings start to get worse as well - if before you’d just get a little sad and then fall down into the horny fog of a heat, now your mood stays longer in the sad space. It’s tiring.
And this heat hits you very hard. You're not horny, you're in pain and sad and it's hard to maintain your mind. You wish you were just horny - you could just bury your nose in Abby's hoodie that she always lends you before your heat and you'd keep fucking yourself until the heat wave would pass.
You do bury your nose in Abby's hoodie, but it makes you cry even more. You feel so alone and so useless, like no one truly needs you and you'll never find your happiness, like you're bound to die alone. It's terrifying and makes you sob, and you can't be bothered to be horny because what's the point of it if you will be alone all your life?
Abby:
u ok?
You scramble to your phone and cry harder: Abby cares. Abby knows about your last struggles with your heats and she checks on you. You're not alone.
So you call her.
“Doll, I'm not doing phone sex-” Abby says jokingly, but then she hears you sob loudly. “What happened?” Abby's voice shakes. “Where are you? Fuck, talk to me-”
You take a big breath before Abby'd worry herself into an early grave.
“I'm fine. I'm home.” You sniff. “I just- It's so bad, Abby.”
“Are you hurt?” Abby is still worried.
“No. It's a mood swing.” You cry again, feeling so broken. “I feel so fucking alone. And you texted me and I- sorry, fuck.” You wipe your tears and hug her hoodie, pressing the phone closer to your ear. You feel ridiculous - you know it’s your hormones talking.
“Hey, I'm here.” Abby says, trying to soothe you, but you cry harder.
“What if I end up alone? What if I never meet my person? I spend all those fucking heats alone and it's so hard, and I can't think of doing it for the rest of my life all by myself.” You fall into another fit of sobs. Abby is silent for a moment.
“I'm coming over.” Abby says, dead serious, and you suddenly sober up.
“I'm in heat, Abby, you can't come over!” You sit on your bed, worried.
“I don't fucking care! You're hurting and you're alone, I can't let this happen.” You hear Abby rustle around. “Can you do something for me while I'm on my way?”
“I can try.” You say without any hope.
“Go drink some water and take a shower. And send me some pics so I know you did it, okay?”
“I'm so not sending nudes, Abby.” You chuckle without any bite. Abby huffs.
“Go drink your water.” Abby ends the call and you stare at your phone for a second.
You try to keep yourself together - you send Abby pictures of an empty glass and a hem of a towel when you're done, but it takes five minutes before your mood swings again. You shake and try to breathe through another spiral into hell, but it's so fucking hard. You get to the point where you start rocking back and forth like an anxious child, trying to self-soothe. You feel like you're in some kind of trance until you hear your doorbell.
You fly to the door before your dam would break: you open the door to Abby who's panting loudly - she probably ran up the stairs.
It takes a second for both of you to comprehend the situation before Abby throws everything on the floor and scoops you in her arms, and you break, sobbing into her chest and clinging to her shoulders. Abby's scent soothes you, protectiveness radiating from her while she holds you tight and kisses your head.
“I'm here.” She murmurs and you cling to her harder. “I'm not going anywhere. I'll keep you safe.”
It takes five minutes of breathing Abby's scent for your hormones to calm down. You sniff before moving away, but Abby doesn't let you, still holding you.
“How are you feeling?”
“Better.” You say honestly and Abby lets you go.
Her eyes are red and she tries not to breathe too much, and you feel ashamed - she got here to comfort you but you stink of heat. Of course Abby reacts to it, she can’t help it, and now she will be stuck between taking care of you and taking care of you. It’s unfair to her.
“I will take scent blockers.” You turn to go to the kitchen, but Abby stops you, gently holding your bicep.
“No. It's not the heat. It's the hurt.” You wince: you know it's hard for alphas to smell hurt on omegas. “And I have pretty good self-control.”
You chuckle and let Abby take her shoes off. She is in joggers and her favourite hoodie, looking cosy and comfortable. You want to cuddle her, and this is exactly what Abby does. She makes you drink another glass of water, feeds you a banana and takes you to your bed.
Abby stops when she sees her hoodie on your bed like she didn't expect you to actually use it. (Like she totally doesn't use your hoodie when she is too sad to find a rut buddy). But Abby doesn't say anything and just tugs you to the bed, enveloping you in her arms and her scent. It's warm and beautiful and you bury your nose in her skin.
You don't talk. Abby caresses you and kisses you head from time to time while you get upset again.
“I fucking hate being an omega.” You sniff. Abby presses you closer, her scent gets stronger, reacting to your distress. “There's something wrong with me, I swear.”
“You're perfect.” Abby murmurs and you blink your tears away.
“It's so hard, Abby. It's unbearable. With every heat I get more worn out and upset.” You cry quietly. “I will go on suppressants, I don't want to suffer like this anymore.”
Abby swallows. Suppressants are no joke, they ruin people’s health - that’s why they’re taken in emergencies. For everything else there’s scent blockers that don’t disturb cycles and don’t put people in danger.
“We will figure it out. We will get you back into normal horny heats and you’ll complain about it to me, I promise.”
It soothes you and you fall asleep, your scent slowly changing to your usual love scent, the one that Abby loves the most.
Abby knows that sometimes omegas go through their cycle with a lot more pain than normal, but seeing you, the fucking light of her life, suffer like this is torture. She’d honestly prefer to hold herself back from fucking you because you’re in heat, and not wipe your tears while you tell her how scared you’re of ending up alone.
Abby watches your calm face and caresses your cheek. If you only knew.
“I’ll always be here.” Abby murmurs, knowing you won’t hear her. “I’m yours.” She kisses your forehead.
When Abby moves away she is met with your wide eyes.
Her heart stops. You’re silent, lost for words, but something starts happening: your scent gets stronger and Abby can see golden sparks as your eyes start to change colour.
“Fuck.” You sigh. Your chest gets tighter and your cunt starts pulsing with need. “Ab-”
Abby kisses you roughly, pressing your head into the pillow and she shoves her tongue into your mouth, her hands gripping your waist, and now you’re lost in her scent and touch, arching and whimpering into her mouth. It feels amazing, you’re soaking your pants while you cling to Abby and relax under her, submitting to your alpha. You’ve never felt so good during your heat and you want more. You buck your hips into Abby and she grinds her cock on your pussy, making you shudder and moan. The kiss gets messier, there’s a lot of spit on your chins, but you don’t care - you want Abby closer, you want her in you, stretching you on her cock, knotting you.
“Abby-” You moan into her mouth and Abby growls. “Fuck me, please.”
Abby growls louder and licks your neck, her canines brushing against your skin and you whine, desperate. But then Abby stops kissing you neck, stops moving and her grip on you eases.
“Fuck.” Abby sighs into your neck. She smells how worked up and desperate you are, and she has to fight herself to not fuck you right now. “You’ll regret it. I’m not going to hurt you like this.” Abby rasps and your heart breaks.
You feel rejected and the smell of hurt fills Abby’s nose. She looks at you and her heart breaks from seeing you cry, knowing she did this. You can’t just reject an omega during their heat - it messes them up and then they won’t be able to keep you in their lives after, too hurt and ashamed.
“I want to, doll.” Abby tries to console you. “I really fucking want to, but I need you to be sober before we do anything. Look at me.” You obey and Abby kisses your tears. “I promise you, if you agree to this when this wave subsides, I’ll do whatever you need me to. For now we can keep kissing.”
It makes you feel better and you nod, tugging Abby down to kiss her again. You still are very horny and Abby has to pin your hips so you won’t grind against her, but you want to cum and you keep squirming under her while Abby tries to slow down the pace of your kiss. She is so gentle and careful, and eventually you melt and relax, the heat wave going away. It takes a solid twenty minutes of kissing and Abby holding you down before your head gets clearer. You break the kiss and sigh, relieved you’ve finally got a break. Abby looks like she has everything under control and she totally didn’t have to fight you and herself so you wouldn’t make a mistake. Her scent though tells you how much she has to restrain herself - it’s thick and heavy, aggressive, domineering. Abby didn’t lie when she said she wants to fuck you as much you want her to fuck you, and it makes you hormone-crazy heart feel better.
“You weren’t lying when you said you have amazing self-control.” You murmur and brush Abby’s hair out of her face. Abby chuckles.
“Are you feeling better?”
“I’m not all sex crazy right now, if this is what you are asking.” You keep caressing Abby’s hair. She blinks a few times, but the red doesn’t leave her eyes. “Thank you for handling this so well.”
Abby smiles and kisses your cheek. The question hangs in the air.
“I’m-” You take a deep breath full of Abby’s pheromones and it messes with your head, but you try to find the right words. You don’t want Abby to feel rejected too. “I’m not ready to spend my heat with a partner.” I won’t be able to let you go if we do this.
Abby does smell of regret, but she smiles at you.
“Of course. But call me if you get upset again. I don’t want you to be alone.”
You nod and walk Abby out, kissing her goodbye. You lock the door after her and sigh, knowing what is ahead.
You spend three days fucking yourself to a memory of Abby saying I’m yours.
Only after you’ve recovered and got back to yourself you’re hit with a realisation that Abby actually told you she is yours. You try to find a way to justify her words, to connect it with your friendship and how close you two are, but even your levels of almost no boundaries can’t create a good excuse.
You were not meant to hear her. She thought you were asleep. It was her secret.
So Abby didn’t say it to make you feel better or trick you heat-brain into calming down - her scent and touch already did it. There was no reason for her to say it unless she fucking meant it. You don’t know what to do. You never thought Abby’d be interested in something like an actual relationship with you.
Your perfect friendship was built on two opposing facts: Abby is a player, and you’re fine being alone until you meet your person. And now you’re not fine being alone because deep down you know she is your person, and Abby said she is yours without wanting you to know.
You feel like you’re going crazy. You’re terrified of any awkwardness that will inevitably come with this whole ordeal. You know you won’t be able to hide your uncomfortable, shaking discovery from Abby - she is your best friend after all, she will know something is up with you.
You manage to act normal for a week without Abby getting suspicious - you two are still flirty, but now when Abby touches you, you feel like she sets you on fire with how your cheeks burn. Now there’s a hidden meaning behind her touch - the one you were not supposed to know.
The song on the radio makes you break.
Abby is driving you two to the Korean restaurant she found and wanted to show you, and you two sit in comfortable silence - Abby is focused on the road and you stare out of the window, taking the view of this part of the city, when this song comes on the radio.
You're in my head / I had plans for the weekend / But wound up with you instead / Back here again / Got me deep in my feelings / When I should be in your bed
Your cheeks burn. It is a weekend and Abby spends time with you, taking you, her best friend, to the restaurant. Does she want to be in your bed?
You and I go back to like '09, it's like forever / And you were there my lonely nights, yeah / Keeping me together / So wouldn't it make sense if I was yours? / And you could call me your baby / But we say we're just, say we're just-
You breath hitches. This song is stripping you of any kind of pretence. Your smell changes and Abby looks at you for a second.
Friends, just for now / Yeah, but friends don't say words that / Make friends feel like more than just / Friends, just for now / Now, I'm over pretending / So let's put the "end" in friends
“You okay?”
“Yeah, just remembered something.” Abby hums and doesn’t ask you further.
Friends are not supposed to get too close / And feel emotions that / We're feeling now, now, now / We ain't slowing down, down, down / But once we cross the line / There's no denying you and / I can never turn around, 'round, 'round / Know we'll never be the same
You take a shaking breath when you think back to your heat, begging Abby to fuck you. Yes, you will never be the same. But you have a choice to make.
“This song is about us.” You chuckle nervously.
“Really? Sorry, I didn’t pay attention.” Abby laughs, but starts to pay attention now, while you wait for the traffic light to turn green.
You and I go back to like '09, it's like forever / And you were there my lonely nights, yeah / Keeping me together / So wouldn't it make sense if I was yours? / And you could call me your baby / But we say we're just, say we're just-
Friends, just for now / Yeah, but friends don't say words that / Make friends feel like more than just / Friends, just for now / Now, I'm over pretending / So let's put the "end" in friends
Abby clears her throat. She doesn’t joke or flirt - she understands.
“Yeah. It is about us.”
Abby doesn’t say anything more, but her scent gets a little spicy - she is nervous as well. You also don’t say anything - she is driving, after all. Not the time for this conversation. It’s the first time in your friendship when there’s so much thick, nervous tension between you.
Abby parks the car and you just sit for a moment, feeling like you need to talk about it right now. Abby clears her throat again.
“So do you want to put the "end" in friends?” Abby asks quietly, not knowing why did you bring it up - do you want to stop being friends or do you want to be something more?
You chuckle, endeared by Abby’s nervousness - she is always confident and calm, you’ve never seen her like this.
“You told me you’re mine.” You start, fidgeting with your fingers. You’re scared to cross this line and change everything, but you want to. “It made me happy. And very fucking confused, because- You know what I mean.” You cringe - you’re not going to include Abby’s sex life in your confession. “Were you serious about it?”
Abby lost any filter right after she heard “it made me happy”, so she just bursts, spilling all her feelings for you.
“I’m in love with you. I wanna marry you and have a fucking picket fence and a dog and two and a half children with you.” Abby says while her scent becomes ten times stronger with love. “You’re the one for me.”
You blink your happy tears away and look at Abby’s face, full of love and devotion.
“Maybe we should start with a date?”
Abby smiles and takes your face into her hands, kissing you with so much love you can swim in it.
“A date sounds good.”
#abby anderson x reader#abby anderson x you#abby anderson#alpha!abby#player!abby who is whipped for the reader? my favourite fucking trope
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the truth is this
pairing: bucky barnes x curvy!reader (friends to lovers)
warnings: fluff, kissing, very slightly edging on heavy petting, mention of an erection, no smut but still 18+ only.
words: 2.9k
notes: loosely based on these prompts: platonic forehead kisses starting to give u the feels. LIKE ITS SOMETHING MAGICAL. and "is that really all 'A' is to you?" thank you so much to @anthony-sharma for the request!
thank you in advance for reading and as always, feedback and reblogs are more than welcome and so appreciated!
"So you're telling me you didn't notice the way she was looking at you just now?" Sam asked skeptically.
"I'm telling you I have no idea what you're talking about," Bucky rebuffed, his brows furrowing in agitation.
"Well I do know what I'm talking about. I'm talking about you and her finally pulling your heads out of your asses and realizing you like each other."
"No shit we like each other, Sam. She's one of my best friends."
"Is that really all she is to you?" he questioned pointedly.
Bucky stopped in his retreat as he took in Sam's words. He instantly knew his answer, but still told himself had to think about it. Because although his thoughts were flowing with all of the things you were to him, all things that went way beyond the scope of just friendship, he was still too scared to admit it to himself, let alone anyone else.
Sam watched as Bucky swallowed hard, his jaw tightening and brows furrowed even more. It looked as if he was blinking away his thoughts when he finally looked back at Sam. An annoyed look taking over his features once again. He didn't say anything, just grumbled in response before he continued out of the room.
For nearly three hours after the little confrontation he had with Sam, Bucky raged with himself in the privacy of his own room. His head was swirling and he could barely keep track of what part of him was winning the argument until a knock came on his door.
Not just any knock, your knock. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was expecting you, he had just lost track of time with the internal struggle he had been trying to sort out.
Something changed, though, when he heard you. All thoughts of not acknowledging his feelings, in part to not wreck what he already had with you, went right out the window.. kinda.
He could accept the true depth of his feelings for you, but he'd be damned if he spoke them aloud until he knew that there'd be no shot at hurting your friendship if you didn't feel the same.
Sam's words came back to him as he considered that you didn't. The way she looked at you...
How had you looked at him? Were all the signs there and he was just blind to them? Well, he'd be sure to pay close attention tonight. See if he could see what Sam saw.
He got to the door and opened it for you, greeting you with a smile as you walked into his room and instantly wrapped your arms around him in a tight hug. When you pulled back ever so slightly, peering up at him with sparkling eyes, Bucky swore he felt himself get weak in the knees.
Your smile was the most beautiful thing to him. He'd do anything to get one out of you, though he really didn't have to try all that hard. Your usually stoic demeanor, or resting bitch face as Kate had called it, was rarely ever broken; but as the rest of the team noticed long ago, Bucky seemed to have a knack for breaking it quite easily.
It was like you just couldn't help your smile when he was around. You'd always get more talkative and seemed a lot more approachable than when you were alone. It wasn't like you were a mean person, far from it, you just had a bit of an intimidating presence most of the time. You were a quiet person and weren't typically the most open. It wasn't something you put on, it was just your natural disposition. One of the reasons you and Bucky had gotten so close so quickly was because he was one of the only people to not have been put off by your introversion; he wasn't hesitant to talk to you, in fact, the moment he had seen you, he just had this feeling that you and him would get along swell. And he was right.
He'd gone up to you and introduced himself, and you gave him your name with a small smile in return. You and Bucky had a lot in common and though it took you a little while, you soon found yourself more comfortable around Bucky than you had been with anyone else...ever.
You guys could talk for ages and never bore, or you could sit in each other's silence comfortably for hours on end, not needing anything other than each other's company.
Neither of you realized how close you had gotten or how you appeared inseparable until it started getting pointed out by everyone else.
Repeatedly.
Over and over again.
Whether it was playful jokes at your mutual expense during meetings, or pestering whispers in your ears by your friends trying to bring your attentions to what everyone else could already see, to what everyone had seen from the very start of your and Bucky's friendship: That it was so definitely more than just friendship.
He wasn't sure what it was about Sam's comments this time that finally had him taking it seriously. Maybe it was because he felt it too. And truthfully, he always had, but maybe he just couldn't keep pushing the thoughts away. Maybe... maybe it was because he knew deep down, the love he felt for you was way more than just platonic. Maybe he finally realized that he was well and truly in love with you, and maybe he had a bit of hope burning bright that you felt the same way.
Bucky collects himself as he gazes into your eyes, feeling like if he stares too long he'll lose himself to you completely. But he really doesn't think he'd mind one bit. You pretty much have him already.
"So," you breathe as you begrudgingly pull away from his warmth, "did you decide? Movie or tv show?" you ask as you step past him further into his room.
He shuts his door before turning and following you to the kitchenette where you easily find the stash of candy Bucky keeps for your "movie" nights.
"Uhhh, you pick," he says as you pass him once again, heading to the couch and throwing your stockpile of sweets on the coffee table before you as you get comfortable.
"Okay," you agree, grabbing the remote and scrolling through the titles to find something at least halfway decent to put on.
Your eyes flick over to Bucky and you realize he's still wearing the clothes he had on earlier while you're in your pajamas, like you always are on movie night.
"Why are your clothes still on?" you ask as you peer up at him from your spot on the couch.
Bucky's breath catches in his throat as his heart nearly stops beating entirely, heat rising to his cheeks. In the same moment your eyes widen as you hear yourself and your breath stutters for just a second. Why did you say it like that? you chide yourself. Wishful thinking, some other part of your brain snickers. You push the thought away. Inappropriate.
"Huh?" Bucky asks, though he heard you full well.
"I mean, you're not in your pajamas," you clarify.
"Right, yeah, I uh, I was a bit distracted before you got here," he admits as he absentmindedly rubs the back of his neck. "I'm gonna change, you put something on. I'll be right back."
Bucky changes his clothes quickly and returns to you just as you find something to put on.
You watch him enter the room and laugh as you note that you're kinda matching now. You're both in gray sweats and as you wear a black long sleeve v-neck, Bucky has on a short sleeve v-neck in the same color.
Bucky notices as you do, "I swear this wasn't on purpose," he chuckles as he settles down next to you.
You titter as you start the movie and adjust in your seat to get more comfortable. And by more comfortable, you really just meaning scooting over to be closer to Bucky.
Bucky watches you as you move to be closer to him, smiling to himself as he realizes you're trying to be cool about it, trying to not make it too obvious. It's cute, but he really doesn't mind. In fact, the closer you are the happier he is. Your thigh brushes his as you keep a bit of space between your upper body and his chest.
Bucky fights off the urge to grab your legs and pull them into his lap but he can't fight the urge he has to pull you in closer.
His arm comes around your right side as he pulls you into him. You look up at him in a bit of surprise, but he doesn't return your gaze, he keeps his eyes set on the screen before him.
You blink in wonder before you look back at the screen too. You bite your lip to keep from smiling at his unexpected action and settle into his hold, scootching closer as you recline against him and let his hand rest on the curve of your waist meeting your hip.
You feel like you’d been dropping hint after hint, purposefully, these past two weeks after a long night of talking with Sam and Nat when you were finally able to put a name to your feelings; the realization you had entirely fallen for your best friend was maybe a bit pulled out of you by them but it was true nonetheless.
You’d stopped holding yourself back the way you normally did when it came to touches and hugs lately, hoping maybe Bucky would get the hint and you wouldn’t have to say it outright.. at least not first.
Admittedly, you could feel the tiniest bit of awkwardness - or maybe tension was the better word, between you and him at the moment. Not entirely unpleasant, but still it was there. At least it had been for a minute. But soon as Bucky settled his hand on your hip, that all faded as soon as it appeared. It was completely comfortable, it felt right, being this close to him. Though, truthfully, it always felt right when Bucky around.
As you fought your smile and Bucky’s hand gently squeezed your hip unconsciously, your heart warmed. Maybe he was finally picking up on what you were trying to do and hopefully the reason why.
Sam and Nat had been sure to let you know it was obvious that he felt the same for you, but still you were nervous to come right out with it.
Slow and steady, you remind yourself. No need to rush things anyway. You’d rather him come to the same realization you had on his own time, not yours.
But god, you hoped he really felt the same.
Bucky takes a peek down at you once he feels your eyes are off of him. He smiles to himself at how perfect this is. How comfortable you both are with the more intimate touches, despite neither of you bringing it up. It just feels natural.
So natural, he isn't really thinking much when he leans down and places a gentle kiss to your forehead. When he catches himself doing it, he zeros in on your reaction to it. It's not like he hadn't done it before, but any time he had it was usually in parting, as customary for you guys as a hug.
This was clearly more intimate. A show of affection he wanted to give you, no other reason than that.
He admires the soft fluttering of your lashes and the way you lean further into him, letting your head rest on his chest.
For half a second, he sees you worry you've made a mistake as he pulls his arm from around you but when he gently takes hold of your chin and turns you to face him, time seems to stand still as you gaze at one another.
You wait with bated breath as you search his bright eyes that are gleaming down at you. He can hear the change in the rhythm of your heartbeat and as he lets his eyes flit to your lips, he swears he hears the sharp intake of air you breathe as your eyes fall to his own lips before returning to his stare.
The next thing he knows, Bucky is holding your gorgeous face in his hands before he leans in closer and takes your lips in his. It's slow and gentle as he takes his time savoring your first kiss. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registers your hands on his as you return the kiss, and it quickly turns a bit more fervent. Like you've both been waiting forever for this exact moment to happen.
You pull your legs up onto the couch as you turn and move closer to Bucky. You're not thinking as you straddle his lap, the kiss only growing deeper and more intent with each second that passes.
Your hands leave Bucky's as you move them to stabilize yourself without full on sitting in his lap, one hand behind his neck and the other on the couch behind him. Bucky's own hands find their place on your hips before he pulls you down, forcing you down on his lap.
You moan into his mouth as he grabs a handful of your ass and you feel him growing slightly beneath you.
You have to break the kiss to breathe, both of you panting heavily as you press your forehead to his, nose to nose as you breathe one another in. You can't help the smile that breaks out on your face as you laugh breathily, gripping his neck as you shake your head in disbelief.
You place a soft kiss to his lips once more as he holds you to him.
"Sorry," Bucky begins, though he looks to be the furthest thing from it as he smiles that charming smile of his. "I just.. I think I've wanted to do that for a while now. It just felt right."
"You don't have to apologize," you smile softly in turn as you play with the stray hairs curled at the nape of his neck. "I think I've wanted you to do that for a while now. And it did," you breathe with a nod, "it definitely felt right."
"I wanna do more of this," he murmurs against your lips after he places another kiss to yours.
"Me too," you agree with a peck of your own. "I think I wanna make out with you," you muse.
One side of his mouth slants up in a smirk as his hands run up your sides, "I think I want you to make out with me, too," he says, amused before going in for another kiss. You both smile into it and you swear your heart is near bursting as your tummy flutters in your happiness.
"There's something I need to tell you first," he says seriously as he parts just slightly from you.
His hands rubbing up and down your back keep you from worrying as he effortlessly soothes you.
He maintains eye contact as you wait for him to continue.
"I think, - no, I know," he corrects himself. "I love you," he breathes your name as part of his confession.
You move your hand from the couch and gently hold his stubbly cheek instead, thumb rubbing over the skin of his cheek softly.
You smile again, holding his eye as you lean into him before you kiss him slow and deep, trying to get all of the things you're feeling across to him, but most namely, the main one. The love.
You part from him gently as he follows you, mindlessly chasing your lips before catching himself.
He blinks up at you as you perch over him slightly.
"I love you, too, Buck," you nearly whisper as you caress his cheek. "This doesn't change anything, ya know," you add.
He furrows his brow in slight confusion at your words.
You laugh lightly at his expression before continuing, "You're still my best friend. Nothing's gonna change that."
"Wouldn't expect it to," he smiles.
It's quiet between you for a moment before you speak again.
"Promise," you urge softly.
"Promise?"
"Promise nothing's gonna change that," you say as you look down at his chest, moving your idle hand to play with the chain you find there.
"I promise, hey" he says sincerely as he puts two fingers under your chin and has you meet his eye once more, "I promise."
"I don't wanna lose you."
"You won't," he reassures you before suddenly turning you both and flipping you on your back as he leans over you. You gaze up at him a little breathless as you titter.
"Okay," you whisper your trust, your arms reaching up to wrap around his thick neck, pulling him down closer to you.
"Okay," he echos before brushing his lips against yours once more.
The movie is long forgotten as you and Bucky spend the rest of the night completely wrapped up in one another. Talking, touching, just being with each other. The way you were always meant to. It was comfortable, easy. And you couldn't ask for more as you felt entirely whole and at peace in his strong arms promising to never let you go.
#bucky barnes x curvy!reader#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x plus size!reader#bucky barnes fluff#bucky barnes drabble#bucky x plus size!reader#bucky x curvy!reader#bucky x reader#best friend!bucky x reader#friends to lovers#another day another drabble that turns into a oneshot despite my best efforts#bucky barnes one shot#bucky barnes fic
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truth or dare — s.h.
pairing: best friend!steve harrington x reader
warnings: smut, lapdance, striptease. vaginal sex, creampie, unprotected sex, fingering, dirty talk, cursing, steve being a big simp for you
word count: 1.8k
summary: you finally admit to the sexual tension between you and your best friend when you play truth or dare.
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“Y/n, you-“ Steve drunkenly exclaimed as he pointed at you, “you are an amazing friend, you know that?” he grabbed your head and kissed it aggressively. Friends. You were just friends, nothing more. But were you? If you asked this exact question to anyone around you, they would most likely disagree. To the outside world, the sexual tension between the two of you is undeniable; both of you simply refuse to acknowledge it.
“I know” you cockily replied as you shoved him off you, giggling at his drunken state as you were feeling a little tipsy as well. It was your weekly movie night, which included many snacks and some drinks. You looked forward to it every time, as you were able to let go of all your worries while you were with one other.
The movie you were watching ended a while ago, the two of you now just sitting on the couch in silence as you read through a magazine, your head resting on his shoulder.
“Let’s play truth or dare” Steve suddenly suggested, a mischievous smile on his face. It caught you off guard at first, but you were bored and desperately wanted to do something, especially given the intoxicated state you were still in. You nodded, intrigued by the idea.
“Let me go first! I want to choose dare” you insisted, anticipating what he would dare you to do. He paused for a second to think before his face shifted into a naughty expression.
“Okay, I think I know something” he winked while he laughed drunkenly, taking a sip of his drink.
“Oh no, should I be worried?” you questioned, raising your eyebrow at him. Steve was unpredictable at times, coming up with spontaneous ideas to kill boredom, but that’s what made being his friend so fun.
“Maybe. I want you to give me a lap dance” he said as he eyed you with the cockiest grin you’ve ever seen. You spat your drink out before staring at him with wide eyes, uncertain if he was serious or not.
“Me?!”
“Do you see anyone else in this room right now?” he chuckled. A lap dance? You contemplated for a moment, but you simply couldn’t deny the sexual tension between the two of you. Fuck it. You got up from the couch without saying a word, grabbed a chair and placed it in front of him.
“Sit here” you instructed, a smirk on your face as he slowly rose to his feet, mouth gaping open, stunned that you were actually going to do it.
He sat down, anticipation raging through his body as you began, not touching him yet. You walked around him, teasing him a bit by touching him up and down, the erection in his pants slowly growing. After teasing him for a while, you sat down on his lap, already feeling his hard boner under your throbbing core. You moved your hips, grinding slowly on him as he hissed at the sensation. He gazed at you with hunger in his eyes as you slowly unbuttoned your shirt.
“H-hey, I meant a lap dance, not a striptease” Steve pointed out as his eyes widened, not wanting you to do anything you don’t want to.
“Oh, sorry Steve, I didn’t know you minded” you teased with a grin on your face, regret instantly written all over his face.
“Well, actually, I did mean a striptease” he quickly added, his eyebrows raised and a smirk on his face. He reached for your shirt, attempting to unbutton it when you slapped his hand.
“Then you aren’t allowed to touch me” you grinned at him as you continued unbuttoning your shirt, your black lace bra making Steve drool at the sight. You tossed your shirt somewhere in the room before moving your lips to his neck, nibbling on his skin while grinding on his lap.
“Holy fuck, Y/n. You- you know, I’ve always had a thing for you” Steve stammered, having trouble breathing as you didn’t stop your movements. You moved your lips to his ear while wrapping your arms around his neck.
“Hmm I’ve wanted to have sex with you for so long, Steve” you whispered as he groaned, his hands gripping the chair, almost losing control. You stood back up and slowly took off your skirt, his gaze not leaving your body for one moment. You were now standing in front of him in nothing but your black lace underwear, his boner becoming noticeably harder as his breathing became more rapid.
You ran your hand from his head all the way to his thigh while dropping down to your knees. He bucked his hips in desperation, making you chuckle.
“So desperate”
“I don’t think I can take this any longer, Y/n” he hissed, fighting the urge to rip your lingerie off, throw you on the couch, and fuck you hard right then and there. But he tried to control himself, wanting to savour every moment of it.
You stood back up and turned away from him, gently removing your bra and tossing it across the room, hearing him growl in frustration. Your fingers then carefully slid down your underwear, bending down in front of him and flinging it across the room, leaving you completely naked.
You turned around, slowly approaching him again as you removed his clothing, his attention fixed on your body and his mouth slightly agape, making you chuckle.
“Oh. My. God. You’re so beautiful” he groaned as you continued removing his clothes until he was fully naked as well. You sat back down on his lap as he placed his hand behind your head and eagerly kissed you for the first time ever. You could feel the hunger and lust in the kiss as his hands crept to your soaking core, rubbing slow circles on your clit. He then pushed two fingers inside you, causing you to moan into the kiss as you gripped his shoulders. His fingers curled up and hit that one spot within you, making you break the kiss and moan loudly as he simply snickered in response.
He removed his fingers after a while, unable to control himself any longer, “Please, Y/n”
You placed your hands on his shoulders, hovered over his lap and sank down on him slowly, making you both hiss at the feeling. You paused for a moment, attempting to adjust to the sensation of him deep within you, before slowly moving up and down, his eyes fluttering shut and his head thrown back.
“Y/n, oh my- oh my god” he moaned out while he grabbed your hips, nails digging into your skin.
“F-fuck!” he cursed loudly as you were just about to increase your speed, gripping you harder while feeling a pool of warmness inside you. Your brows furrowed as you stopped abruptly, confused of what had just happened.
“Did… did you just- did you just cum?” you questioned, your eyes widening in surprise. Steve didn't respond right away. He stared at the ceiling, his head still thrown back as he attempted to catch his breath.
“N-no? What are you talking about?” he stammered, a shocking look on his face and his eyes telling everything you needed to know. You glanced down and watched his sperm slowly leaking out of you before returning your gaze to him, bewildered.
“Yeah, okay, so maybe you are right. I uh… I just couldn’t control myself” You carefully rose from his lap, a disappointed expression on your face that you attempted to hide. You were about to walk away when he abruptly grabbed your arm, spun you around and lifted you up as you wrapped your legs around his waist.
“You didn’t think we were done, did you?” he taunted, a lustful expression on his face. His hot breath sent shivers down your spine when his mouth came close to your ear.
“Listen, I will fuck you until you’re really full with my cum. Until you’re screaming my name. Until you can’t walk anymore” his words gave you chills all over your body as his cum began to leak more, making a mess all over your legs. He walked over to the couch and placed you on it before dragging his hand over your legs to collect the dripping cum. He moved his hand slowly to your lips, putting his fingers inside your mouth as he watched you lick and suck on them with dark eyes.
“Fuck, you’re too sexy” he grunted, shaking his head with a smirk on his face before he positioned himself at your entrance again, maintaining eye contact as he entered you once more, making you feel full with his dick and cum simultaneously. Him, inside you, felt so good, even better than the first time, both of you experiencing tremendous levels of passion and lust. He started slow, making you feel him in every part of you, massaging your walls perfectly.
“God, you look so beautiful like this” he managed to mutter in between his thrusts, making you moan loudly as he increased his pace.
“Moan for me baby, I want to hear you moan for me. Let me know how good I’m making you feel” you grabbed his shoulders, your nails digging deep into his skin, encouraging him to speed up even more as you moaned his name loudly. His lips moved to your neck, giving you kisses all over as his hand crept to your core, rubbing fast circles on your clit all while still maintaining his brutal pace.
“Steve, oh- oh my fucking god” you barely managed to say, making him smirk.
“Let go for me, baby” he whispered into your ear as his fingers moved faster, sending you over the edge as you arched your back while moaning his name loudly.
“Hmm, good girl” he increased his speed as he gripped the couch with all his might, moaning your name while his orgasm hit him, emptying himself inside you once again.
The two of you lay there for a moment, trying to regain your breath before Steve helped you clean up.
“That was- that was amazing Steve” you exclaimed, trying to catch your breath.
“Holy shit, Y/n. You, are amazing” Steve remarked as he shook his head. He had fantasized a lot about having sex with you but this has exceeded all his expectations. It was much better than he could ever imagine.
“Also, I’m sorry about uh, disappointing you when-“
“No no, don’t even apologize, you definitely made up for it already”
comments and reblogs are always appreciated !!
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tags: @jexnrey @raccoonsstinkybunns @xoxoluna @missonaryjjm @drayslove @milkyoatz @nycitrains @slutforjohnmulaney + @my-my-only-angel
#❥ my works#steve harrington#steve harrington smut#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington x you#steve harrington fic#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington imagine#stranger things#stranger things smut#stranger things imagine
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Line of Sight [3]
JAKE ‘HANGMAN’ SERESIN X READER
Summary: Jake gets competitive. You happen to find that incredibly sexy.
Warnings: language? frank conversations? mostly just fluff <3
Notes: PART THREE AT LAST !!!!! thank you so so so so so much to @roleycoleyland for the encouragement and friendship during the very long writing process for this one, this is for u hehehe <3
Masterlist
You have to stop and blink down at your phone in confusion when it starts ringing at 3pm on a Saturday afternoon. After complaining last weekend to Hangman that you didn’t have his phone number, he’d made sure you didn’t leave the bar without it.
You never expected that he would be the one to call first.
“We’re going mini golfing at six.” Hangman informs you matter of factly down the line, not even giving you a chance to greet him when you pick up.
“Yes, hello, Hangman, it’s good to hear from you, too!” you say as if talking to a preschooler. You can practically hear his eyes rolling as the sound of a phone being adjusted crinkles in your ear.
“It’s just Jake,” he ignores your attempt to tease him, and for a moment your heart sinks in an all-too familiar way. “And get ready, it’s already five.” he adds, his tone full of faux sternness.
“Is this your way of being nice to me? I think I liked it better when you ignored me…” you joke, rolling your own eyes. On the other end, Hangman is silent for a beat and you think he must have stopped moving entirely, because all background noise has ceased too.
“David has invited us for a double date, apparently he didn’t get enough of his ass handed to him last week.” He says then, as if suddenly remembering this fact. You start, jolting in your spot, your features automatically turning down.
“He what?!” you demand, before suddenly realising Hangman must have exchanged numbers with David at some point, how else would they have organised this apparent double-date.
“We’re going mini-golfing with David and Yas. We’re going to destroy them, remember?” He asks as if you’re the one losing your mind.
“Yeah! At pool, Hangman! You already did that! I don’t wanna go mini-golfing with David!” you try your best not to sound like you’re whining, but even you can hear that it's a lost cause. Wherever Hangman is, you hear him tut and let out an exasperated breath.
“It’s just Jake. Besides, you said, and I quote sweetheart; ‘nothing left to bury’. I’ve got tone and now I’m just confirming the kill!” he reasons, but it only serves to confuse you slightly.
“Why are you being so insistent about this?! He’s my ex!” you stress, voice rising just a little in your frustration.
“Exactly!” Hangman’s volume matches your own, and it quickly silences any other protests you might have. You might have heard him get rowdy at the Hard Deck before, but you have never ever heard him raise his voice above a friendly call.
He doesn’t speak again immediately after that, and it’s quiet for so long you have to pull your phone away from your ear to check if the call is even still active. Just when you’re about to relent and apologise for shouting, Hangman sighs again, and you can almost perfectly picture him dragging his hand down his face.
“Just let me do this for you, alright? You won’t even have to do anything except look real pretty and maybe kiss my cheek whenever I get a hole in one!”
You have to blink at his sudden switch up, both seemingly pleading with you and blatant flirting within the same ten seconds.
Your mind still lingers on what he’d meant by ‘exactly’, you struggle to understand why he’d have any particular skin in this game any more. He’d already trounced David last weekend, maybe you were mistaken, but you can’t help but feel this new rouse is too much effort for a guy who seemingly didn’t care to acknowledge you properly for the first year you knew him… still, no matter how much you hated the idea of wasting a night in David’s company, or even worse, wasting Hangman’s limited down time before he was shipped off somewhere again, the idea of spending it with the aviator of your affections, watching him thoroughly wipe that condescending smile off of David’s face, is fast growing on you.
Softly you let out a breath you didn’t realise you’d been holding until now.
“Are you sure?” You ask softly, falling victim again to your need for this man to just like you. Hangman scoffs and you hear what sounds like keys.
“About the kisses? Absolutely.” He replies too fast for it to not have been slightly planned, and you can imagine his smirk now. You realise you shouldn’t count yourself short, a month ago you’d never been on the receiving end of one of his infuriating Cheshire grins, but these days it seemed to be the only expression he wore around you.
You roll your eyes and huff.
“You should be so lucky.” You say with absolutely no conviction.
“For my smokin’ hot girlfriend to fawn over me every time I humiliate her piece of shit ex-boyfriend for her? I’d agree. I would be very lucky, sweetheart.” Hangman’s voice is surprisingly effective down a crackly phone line, deeper and with an inflection you aren’t sure of. As if he knew something you didn’t. You find yourself surprised by how much it doesn’t annoy you, how much it instead makes you want to jump his bones here and now. You were much too aware that half your desire for Hangman to look at you twice was because you had a crush the size of his ego, but you’d become so used to his cold treatment of you for so long, that feeling a sliver of arousal shoot through you is almost strange.
“I really like mini golf.” You tell him abruptly, desperate to distract yourself from that line of thought. “In my hometown, we had this incredible putt-putt place, it was honestly plucked from Disneyland or something. It was that cool…” you ramble on, reminiscing about the good ol’ local Holey-Moley.
“Did you go a lot?” Hangman asks, his voice unreadable. You let out a sad little laugh and shake your head even though he can’t see you.
“Nah. I remember I always wanted to go for my birthday when I was a kid, but the cost was through the roof. When I got a bit older I guess… I guess I could have gone but, more importantly I’m not sure it’s so fun to go mini-golfing alone.” You chortle at the thought, but part of you wishes you’d done it, at least once.
“Mmh. No smoking girlfriend to kiss your cheek when you win.” Hangman says, and you can’t help yourself, you laugh loud and unabashedly. You think you can hear him chuckle too, but it could have been peaking static for all you know.
“Golf is at six. Send me your address and I’ll pick you up at ten to, alright?” Hangman tells you, his voice not exactly soft, but not demanding like it had been earlier either. You hum, but before you hang up you call out.
“Wait, Jake?” You hear shuffling, like perhaps he hadn’t heard you.
“Yeah?”
You pause, unsure of exactly how to say what you want to, and choose to settle on the simplest way.
“Thanks. David sucks.” You tell him gratefully. You hear silence for a moment before his voice comes back again.
“Don’t mention it. We hate that guy.”
—
As it turns out, you didn’t need to worry much about seeing David or him making you feel any type of way. It’s only when you and Jake have settled at the venue’s bar and ordered a round that his phone buzzes sharply and makes the blond frown down at the screen in front of him, before he pockets it again.
You watch him take a hefty swig, and still frowning, he fixes you in his gaze, making your stomach involuntarily flutter.
“David and Yas aren’t coming.” He states. You struggle to read his tone, though you think he might sound a little annoyed, and the fluttering in your stomach immediately ceases.
“Oh.” You say dumbly, blinking rapidly down at your hands, and then to your drink. You also take a big sip, now avoiding your companion’s eyes as you let the disappointment roll through you.
After a few moments you feel a large hand land on your back, between your shoulder blades, and you glance over to eye it’s owner, who seems to be doing his best version of apologetic while rubbing his hand in soothing motions up and down over your sweater.
“Hey, that’s a good thing isn’t it? We hate that guy,” Jake asks, his eyes flicking back and forth over your face, but you aren’t sure what he’s looking for. You hum, noncommittal, and down another large mouthful of your cocktail, missing the way Jake’s lips turn downward at your reaction.
All too soon his big hand is gone from your back, and you almost cringe at how much you miss not just the warmth, but the feeling of his touch.
“I’ll take you home, if you want me to,” he says, tone unreadable to you now, and you can’t help but look up at him again. Jake stares back, his brow furrowed, but he bows his head a little to the side when you meet his gaze, now avoiding you.
“I just thought…” he trails off, shutting his mouth sharply, the muscles in his jaw clenching as he stares over your shoulder.
You feel the urge to comfort him then, as you realise this whole mess is Hangman’s version of doing a nice thing for you. It occurs to you then that he’s aware of how obvious this fact must be to you in the light of things not going to plan, and almost want to laugh at the idea of him feeling shy about how much he’s really willing to do for people he likes. It makes some sense, considering you’ve seen how little he’ll do for those he seemingly doesn’t.
You do crack a smile at the thought of him trying to hide how much he cares, and make a note to watch for it in the future.
“What? That you’d get away from being destroyed by my slice?” you ask, pushing off the bar with a combative smirk. Your words immediately draw his attention again, and almost like you’ve uttered the magic phrase, his whole demeanour switches up. He’s smirking now, in that infuriating way that makes it seem as if he knows something you don’t, and where you’ve stopped leaning, he takes it up, resting his palm flat on the bar so that his bicep flexes impossibly taut. Briefly the ridiculously bulging muscle draws your eye, and you can’t help but ogle him slightly, from his arm up to his neck and by the time you reach his eyes, you know you’ve been caught.
Jake’s smirk is almost mean with how wide it is, and you nearly jump when he leans in to you slightly, cocking his head derisively.
“Honey, I would love to be destroyed by your slice,” he tells you like it’s a joke you clearly don’t get. He knows he has your attention now, and he makes a show of finishing off his beer, taking the opportunity to get even closer to you when he places his empty bottle down, his eyes purposefully looking you over. You think he must enjoy how wound up he makes women, and considering you told him the last time you saw him that he made you hot and bothered, he appears to be pulling out all the stops. You take a deep breath, and quickly finish your own drink, enjoying the way he dares his hand back to your body, once more at your back, but this time he drops it lower, easily turning you so you can grab your clubs and begin putting.
“I have to warn you though,” he continues, never moving too far from the spot right behind you, even though the venue is packed full. “I’m known to be a bad sport about these things. Too competitive,” his voice holds an element of humour still, but it’s receded enough that you can hear the real hesitation in it. It makes you wonder if he’s had dates in the past go poorly because of something similar. The idea makes you scrunch your nose as you approach the first putting course.
When you turn around to reply, Jake seems just as taken aback as you at your sudden proximity, not entirely unfamiliar, though it feels different from the last time against the pool table given that his hand still lingers at your back, now seemingly holding you together. You stare at one another for a moment before you remember what you were going to say, hesitating for a few seconds longer before committing to telling him.
“I like that– about you, I mean,” you manage to say without stuttering, your confidence growing some when he can’t seem to stop a small frown appearing between his brows at your words. “I like how confident you are… you don’t have much doubt about your ability, and…” you trail off a little as he meets your gaze, looking almost bewildered that you would be so open or honest about such a thing. It almost makes you laugh again at this silly man and the games he likes to play, never really saying what he means.
“I think it’s kinda hot when you’re good at things, so I really won’t really mind if you’re a poor sport about it…” you admit, laughing a little awkwardly at yourself. Jake seems to blink back to life then, like you’d hit his hard reset button, and his smirk somewhat returns, though it glimmers between a proper smile and his usual cheshire like amusement.
“I guess you can’t lose then, huh?” he purrs. “Also means it won’t matter if I help you like last time.”
You nearly jump when his grip on you tightens briefly, but he quickly brings both his hands to your hips, and turns you back away from him. He gives your waist another squeeze before his hands move to slip down your forearms and then over your own, his grip firm and unbelievably arousing to you. You actually have to force yourself to take in air normally and not let your eyes roll back slightly when he kicks your feet further apart, and his little chuckle lets you know he knows exactly what he’s doing.
“This better be the best shot of all time, Hangman, cause I actually know what I’m doing this time,” you warn weakly, even as he gently pulls your arms back and helps you swing, stunning you slightly when your ball sinks an immediate hole in one on a three par course. You can’t help but pull away from his hold so you can look up at him in surprised shock. Jake simply lifts an eyebrow and returns your gaze, his chest seemingly puffing a little when you settle back against him. He chuckles when he uses you to sink another perfect shot of his own, and you hum, murmuring a quiet ‘well done’.
“And to think I coulda been doing this months ago…” he says after you’ve both moved to the next course, and he’s gotten comfortable once more with his arms draped around you like his only function is to be a very smug blanket.
“I have to say, most men don’t get away with wasting so much of my time,” you say with so much faux haughtiness you almost apologise. Luckily for you, Jake appears to enjoy it when you’re mean, this time one of his arms circles your waist, the other lazily taking a shot that sinks itself just as quickly as the last.
You’re suddenly glad that you’re not playing him properly, for as good as you’d become from practice, you know for a fact you’ll never be this good.
“Don’t want you lowering your standards just for little ol’ me, honey.” Jake says right by your ear, forcing you to repress a shiver.
“Most men also don’t ignore me for the better part of a year, so I guess you’re special,” you reply quickly, though immediately regret it when you feel him shift, perhaps a little uncomfortably.
He doesn’t speak again until after he’s placed his own ball down and is lining up his shot. When he swings it doesn’t go right in, making you look over your shoulder at him only to find his eyes barely focused on the task at hand. He doesn’t even seem to realise he’s got another shot to take, and so this time when you pull away from you, you take his hand, gaining his attention again as you lead him over to where his neon green ball waits.
You see him look between it and the hole a few feet off, but before he can move gain, you tuck yourself back into his chest, where he at last relaxes, though you feel the movement of him swallowing thickly just before he begins lining himself up.
“I didn’t want you to not like me…” he says softly, so quiet you almost miss it.
“You thought I wouldn’t like you if I talked to you?” you say questioningly, leaning up to look at him just as your own words make you realise his exact mindset. You stare at one another for a few moments, before Jake clears his throat, and looks away, taking his second shot and finishing above par even as you keep staring at him.
“What happened to all that confidence, huh? How could I not like you?” you ask, nudging him a little. His eyes snap to yours, and a funny little smirk crosses his features.
“You’re so honest,” he comments instead of answering you.
“Maybe if we’d been on speaking terms for more than two hours total you might have known that,” you roll your eyes. Jake ignores your snark and tightens his hold around your waist.
“Seems you're winning,” he says, guiding you almost blindly toward the next hole, and positioning you back between his arms. “Looks like I can’t lose either.”
#jake seresin#jake seresin x reader#jake 'hangman' seresin#jake 'hangman' seresin x reader#hangman x reader#jake 'hangman' seresin fanfic#jake hangman seresin x reader#top gun fanfiction#top gun maverick
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Hello! Can I ask a jealous Hiccup bc f!reader spends time with the rest of the team (especially Snotlout)?
Plus, if you like, he does his best to get her attention and you end up confessed to her (a little bit of angst would be nice) <3
Thanks! I love very much how you write, I hope you have a nice day~
The Jealous One
Pairing: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Fem!Reader
Words: 1,861
An old friend starts to act odd. Snotlout is slightly less so.
Tags: fem!reader, jealousy, beginning of Snotlout friendship, ambiguous Post-first movie pre-httyd 2 timeline, part one
Next>
You continued your march up the ramp to the docks, very certainly ignoring the small form of Hiccup and his Night Fury fading off into the distance behind you, choosing instead to focus on the pushing and pulling of the waves against the hard wood beneath your feet.
You wished you had someone else to hang out with.
You wished you had some larger rocks to kick, too.
You eyed every other person sourly as you meandered up to the hall, feeling sort of potently, upsettingly upset in a way you felt shouldn’t have been natural.
So intensely that you you’d no idea where you headed, too focused on looking back at the people around you and suppressing the nasty, lonely tears that wanted to burst to the surface.
You ran chest first into another, falling hard onto your butt, nearly falling backwards down the Great Hall stairs.
“Gods,” You hissed, biting your lip as you brushed your stinging butt off. You got up, running your hands down the backside of your skirts, looking forwards, squinting in an effort to make out the mysterious person you’d just run into.
“Watch it,” Snotlout grunted down at you as other people came and went, passing through the doors of the Great Hall like schools of fish.
“What are you doing here?” You groaned.
“What am I doing here? What are you doing here?”
You noticed very quickly that Hookfang was gone. Absent, more like, for the time being.
“None of your business. And, you still didn’t answer my question,” You grumbled, feeling petty, “Besides, don’t you have somewhere to be?”
“I’m here to get some grub,” Snotlout scoffed down at you, “That’s where I have to be. Again, not my fault you’re too busy skulking to watch where you’re going.”
“You’re kidding?” You asked incredulously. You didn’t skulk.
“Not in a million years. Unless you’re offering something, then I got no time for you, small fry.”
You weren't sure why, or maybe you were, but you didn’t have the mind to acknowledge the maliciousness of it, but you suddenly felt a whole lot better.
“Like you’re much of a catch, either,” You shot back gleefully, rolling your eyes and grinning for the first time in what felt like a long while.
Snotlout scoffed condescendingly as he spoke, looking up at you with his arms crossed and stance stout, cocky as ever.
“I don’t have a dragon,” You grumbled under your breath, tossing down the Terror maybe a bit too roughly, wincing as it caught on your sleeves and twisted midair as dragons often did in order to land on its feet, quickly grabbing hold of Snotlout’s face.
You winced, loosening the straddle of the log between your legs, gripping it tightly with your thighs, deeply so to the point that you could feel the bark of the tree digging through your pants legs.
You watched as an already grump, irksome viking teen became frantic.
The Terror screeched as Snotlout hurried to try and push it off, shouting and irritated, both flailing around scrabbling at its claws, digging into his jaws and cheek in turn.
You didn’t feel too bad about it, though. You were more grumpy over the fact that you'd been dragged along and you had to deal with him.
A lady; a tall, burlish woman with a crying babe in arm and a toddler’s hand attached to the sleeve of her other, rushing the two of you through the introduction to some quest or other.
She had been quite standoffish and brash, too preoccupied and frazzled to take a close enough look at your face to tell you weren’t a rider. One of the more warrior types, covered in armor with large spiked helmets. The kind who, when they eventually had children with the least suited fathers, looked awfully out of place, busy and regretful.
You were sure, in a few years, her kids would be quite the hellions. You almost felt a little bad for them, between your efforts to wipe the spittle from your face and back away far enough with enough time to spare to keep your hearing intact.
You smiled as the terror left a particularly hard bite to his nose.
“You know what you need?” Snotlout complained, roughly tugging a branch from his shoe, hopping on one foot as he kicked aside a particularly feisty yellow-and-purple terror, “You need a dragon. It would be a lot more convenient. For me.”
You thought it served the little pest right for all the trouble it had brought.
“If you can get me one,” You rolled your eyes, picking leaves out of your hair as you were dragged along on another chore with Snotlout for what was probably the third time this week. It was becoming a pattern, “Trust me, I would be happy to have it. But I’ve not had very good luck yet.”
“Then,” Snotlout seemed to pause, but only momentarily before yelling again as the Terror launched itself at him again.
You shook your shoulders loose, then winced as you stepped forwards again, a bright shot of pain bursting dully through the sole of your foot and up your spin.
You lifted the offending foot, hopping and bringing up your sole to see a hefty thorn stuck right in the middle. And you squinted, using dull nails to pick fruitlessly at it, efforts half hindered by the setting sun and dimming light.
You glanced upwards.
“Meet me back here tomorrow. If I’m going to be stuck with you, then-” Snotlout lifted a finger into the air, before stumbling off the path. It was probably fine. The paths here weren’t that steep, you knew.
Sure,” You knew the riders got saddled with all the chores around town, but good gods.
You decided that whichever foul soul thought Terrors would be a great starting dragon for the kids deserved to be hung. You would give Hiccup a piece of your mind later.
“-Right, yeah, uh, so, I- well,” Hiccup said, shifting from one leg to the next, before stilling completely.
It looked like you’d caught him fresh from flight, as the browns of his leather were more mud than hide. His hair was a mess, more of an ugly bed-head than wispy and windswept, though you found it endearing all the same.
“Hey,” You scuffed your feet awkwardly into the dirt, eyes staring straight ahead, meeting his eyes head-on.
There was an odd, reddened, blotchy quality to his face in a way he hadn’t been since he’d just started riding Toothless, before soft, land-bound skin had gotten used to the winds whipping past his cheeks.
You were careful not to show it, however. Instead, you were more focused on keeping your basket, and therefore its content, out of view and out of discussion. You would loathe having to explain, or having to come up with an explanation.
It felt sort of wrong to announce it, something in your heart urging you to hold it preciously, and like most of your precious things, to keep it hidden.
“Let me just,” You shifted to the side. The two of you were standing face-to-face in the open door to the newly minted dragon stables.
There was plenty of space for you to move, though you did so more to graciously cut through the awkward atmosphere, to split the spell that had broken between the two of you as of late, though you were hard pressed to understand why.
Right,” Hiccup nodded, twitching to life suddenly as if he’d just come back into himself.
You crouched behind a sizable rock, one hand clutching tightly at a sharp, pointed ledge.
You felt dirt and sharp pebbled grind into your palm as you peered over the top, revealing a vibrant, blue-looking Thunderdrum. It was posted, standing seamlessly on all fours, in a small clearing with a healthy dusting of grass.
Its mouth opened oddly to grasp the small strands of grass and leaves, its neck clearly not built for that kind of consumption. It ended up tearing up dirt whenever it pulled too hard or bit too deep, and whatever it could get ahold of was roughly nibbled.
Despite its oddness, it was quite frightening. The dragon was sort of small in the back but its jaw was large enough to make up for it. And it had a large, beefy set of arms for a Thunderdrum, which made you a little nervous.
“Are you sure this isn’t going to be too much for us to handle?” You shifted the fish you held in one hand, which was getting to be uncomfortably gooey and warm. You hoped you’d be able to please at least something with your meager offering before it gave your fingers wrinkles, though you were afraid you were much too late.
“Like I said. I’m not gonna help you tame some lame dragon,” Snotlout scoffed, “I don’t do small fry, small fry. So are you going to tame it or what?”
“Okay, keep your pants on,” You scowled.
The two of you ran into each other often enough since the hall that you’d spoken to each other, and eventually the topic of dragons had come up.
The two of you had done the bare minimum to make sure it hadn’t been claimed yet, traveling to the far side of the island before finding a dragon to settle down with.
Thunderdrums didn’t come into the forest that often, so this was your lucky break.
You furrowed your brows with determination, setting your jaw assuredly, shifting on your feet behind the rock. Snotlout peered over the top too, horns sticking out obviously over the edge of it.
You had to sneak away from Hookfang, watching cautiously as if he knew the two of you were about to do something stupid.
“So I just, what- give it the fish?” You asked, half in a whisper, “Should I, like, toss it, or hand it over, or…?”
“How should I know?” Snotlout asked exacerbatedly, perhaps a bit too loud, “Do I look like the ‘Dragon Master’ to you?”
He asked that last bit mockingly, shrugging his shoulders exaggeratedly, using his fingers to make air quotes.
“Are you serious?” You asked, “But, you have a dragon.”
You vaguely noticed as the Thunderdrum became distracted by something, which you took as permission to lose yourself in the whisper-shouted argument you’d just begun with Snotlout.
“Well,” Snotlout shot back. The two of you turned to gripe at each other, barely noticing as you were overshadowed, though not caring very much as to what was doing it, “That’s wimp stuff. Hiccup did all the taming.”
You opened your mouth wide, tongues lit with a scathing rebuke. Before you could respond, a loud, malicious, echoey rumbling seemed to fill the air around the two of you.
Slowly, you looked up, shivers, dread and the phantom of a cold sweat gathering around your temples and your spine.
You heard the shifting of fur against helmet that dictated that Snotlout was doing the same.
“Oh Thor,” You peeped, staring up at a long row of sharp teeth and a wide, angry blue face.
#thanks#how to train your dragon#httyd#x reader#fanfiction#hiccup haddock#hiccup x reader#httyd imagine#toothless#fem reader#female reader
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baby, let's play house. rooster (part 2)
part 1
pairing ; bradley bradshaw x female!reader
synopsis ; marriage of convenience. you got yourself in trouble. bradley has a bit of a savior complex. together, you come up with what could potentially be the worst idea in the longstanding and illustrious history of bad ideas.
wc ; 6k
warnings ; angst; explicit language; explicit sexual content in later parts; pregnancy; mentions of Tom Cruise; unhealthy family dynamics
note: jesus this is so late... and it's so short.... I'm so sorry y'all???
Two weeks later, you marry Bradley Bradshaw.
The Miramar City Hall is a horrible building, all the worst aspects of suburban SoCal architecture wrapped into one. It looks like Disneyland trying to do stately, with the walls painted an indefinable color somewhere between salmon and eggshell. Massive white pillars protrude from the facade, and through the square windows, you can see rows of underpaid clerks poring over documents, computer screens, or jelly donuts. A long fountain stretches in front of the stairs, water bubbling forth in steady streams.
You stand under the sloping canopy of the front entrance, feet aching in the heels you dug out of the depths of your closet, seven out of ten nails bitten down to the beds, heart fluttering in your throat as the panic swallows you whole, and wait.
Bradley offered to pick you up, but you declined politely but firmly, insisting instead on driving yourself. Some weird, last stand for your independence, maybe. Or you had just needed the fifteen-minute drive to calm down, to let the wind whistling in through the rolled-down windows whip some sense back into you, to listen to the same song on loop until the routine of the rhythm, the repetition of the notes, lulled you into a false sense of security—either which.
All that forced calm is gone the minute Bradley climbs the last step and smiles at you. Behind that smile, though, barely concealed by a thin veneer of cheer, in his eyes, you can see his tension clear as day.
He’s in his dress whites, cap and all, and for some reason, that makes you want to cry. With the added breadth of the shoulder boards, he looks even broader than usual. You can’t stop staring at the ribbons pinned to his chest.
“Hey,” he says, his voice soft. “You look beautiful.”
It dumbfounds you. You glance down at the dress you panic-bought using your nest egg last week, at the open-toed sandals you got on sale for your senior prom. It’s hardly Vera Wang, hardly what you imagined for yourself.
Part of you feels sad for having missed out on the Say Yes to The Dress moment, on the champagne and the entourage and the lace and veil. Part of you wonders why you even care when there are so many more important things going on.
“Thanks,” you mumble, even though you’re pretty confident he’s lying. “You look handsome.”
Bradley acknowledges that with a twitch of his mustache. Then he turns and points at the man behind him.
“This is Mav. I don’t know if you guys have met….”
Mav is just as dressed up for the occasion as Bradley is, and you almost feel bad. With how focused you were on Bradley and the dread of the impending nuptials, you didn’t even notice him.
“Yeah, we’ve met,” Mav says, a wistful smile on his face as he leans forward to offer you his hand. You’ve seen Pete Mitchell around the Hard Deck pretty frequently since Penny and he started dating, have poured him the occasional drink. You get the feeling he used to be the kind of handsome hotshot aviator Hangman fancies himself to be these days, but to you, he’s always looked a little too much like Tom Cruise for comfort. “I’ll be your witness today.”
“Oh.” You shake his hand in a daze. Somehow, you’d expected Bradley to bring someone else. Anybody else. You didn’t even know these two had any ties except for their military ones, but now you can see the tether of familiarity between them. It’s glaringly obvious, and it makes you uncomfortable for reasons you can’t explain. “Thanks for that. It’s very nice of you.”
Pete chuckles. “No worries at all. Happy to be here. It’s not every day you get to watch a boy you’ve known since he was born getting married, can you?”
It’s light-hearted, affectionate, but it hits you like a fist to the stomach. You can barely breathe.
Oh God, you think. Oh God, what am I doing?
Suddenly, you feel so alone it builds like a lump in your throat.
“You ready to go?” Bradley asks, and you wonder if he can sense your profound discomfort or if he’s just eager to get this over with and continue with the rest of his day.
“Sure,” you say, fingers tangling in the straps of your purse. “Yeah.”
The city hall is cooled down to arctic temperatures. Outside the office, waiting your turn, you clench your jaw to the point of pain to keep your teeth from chattering. Covertly, you try scooting closer toward Bradley on the rickety chairs. The man radiates heat like a furnace.
Pete excuses himself to find some water after a while, but you suspect he might just be trying to give you and Bradley some space.
“You okay?” Bradley asks the moment you’re alone, twisting sideways in his chair to get a better look at you.
You don’t want to lie to him, but you also don’t want to tell him the truth: That you’re miserable. That nausea kept you up all night, ripped you out of bed at three am every day the past week. That you can’t sleep anymore. That your legs ache and cramp. That the guilt and the worrying are making you dizzy. That you’re fraying at the seams, unspooling, coming apart like an old sweater.
So you just shrug without looking at him, which isn’t an answer at all, and say, “And you?”
“I’m fine.” Bradley is quiet for a moment, and then he says, “Do you still want to do this?”
His voice is neutral, a blank slate, but you know what he means without saying it. If you want to call this off, I won’t be mad.
Maybe he’d be relieved, actually, some masochistic part of you thinks. Relieved to get away from you and all your chaos.
At least he should be if he is even half as smart as you suspect.
It makes you wonder how he would react if you actually were to leave him at the metaphorical altar. If you were to release your inner Julia Roberts right now and book it out of here runaway bride style.
Not that you could. These shoes definitely weren’t made for running.
Part of you wants to, though - just get the hell out of here. Leave this whole thing behind and never think of it again. Maybe it would be doing you both a favor.
But then you think of the baby. You think of free healthcare, of a house with a separate nursery, of the trust fund. You think of waking up in the mornings and not being alone.
Voice halting, words slow, you say, “Yeah. Do you?”
Bradley doesn’t hesitate. “I do,” he says, and then he’s reaching into his pocket and pulling something out. “Hey, I got something for you.”
It’s a ring. A simple silver band with a little diamond, nothing flashy, nothing big. Classic. Reliable. So Bradley Bradshaw it would make you laugh if this whole thing weren’t so goddamn sad.
Stunned, you stare at it for a moment, and then you say, “You… you bought a real one?”
Figuring that he might actually end up needing them, you’d given Bradley back his dog tags the night he proposed, and you hadn’t even considered the issue of a ring again. It was such a stupidly trivial thing in the face of everything else that’s been going on, the thought hadn’t crossed your mind.
Now, looking at it, it makes your heart skip a beat. It’s a beautiful ring, inconspicuous but lovely. Exactly the kind of thing you would have picked out for yourself if the situation had been different. If everything had been different.
“No, I… I had this at home.”
Confusion sets in. “What, you just have wedding rings lying around your place? Do you propose to girls a lot? Are you like… a habitual proposer?”
Bradley laughs and shakes his head. “Nah, I…” Then he’s clearing his throat, and he’s shifting in his seat, and your heart is racing. “It was my Mom’s.”
The panic ignites like a forest fire. You feel it everywhere, tingling in your fingers, snapping in your bones.
“No,” you say immediately, trying to push it back into his hands as you shake your head. “You can’t give this to me, Bradley, no, I.….”
“It’s fine,” he interrupts you. He’s smiling. “You can just give it back to me… after.”
After the divorce, your brain supplies helpfully, filling in the blanks he left in that sentence.
It feels like you can’t breathe. Your hands and feet are numb. The telltale burn of tears sears behind your eyes.
“Bradley,” you whisper, “this was your Mom’s.”
And it sounds like a plea. Like you’re begging. Like you’re saying, Please, don’t make me do this. Please don’t make me even worse of a person than I already am.
But Bradley’s still smiling. A soft, genuine smile as he closes your fingers around the ring. You feel the cold, circular shape of it against your palm.
“It’s fine,” he repeats, and he’s so calm about it all. How can he be so goddamn calm? “We want it to look real, right? No way I wouldn’t give this to my wife.”
And then you don’t know what else to say. Don’t know how to argue with him. Not when he’s the one pushing the whole thing.
So you give in. Nod. Hope that maybe, in some strange way, this will make him feel better. Even if it settles like a stone in your stomach, stacking on top of all the others.
You offer it to him on your open palm. “Maybe you should give it to me inside there, then.”
Bradley laughs, the sound a little sheepish, and accepts the ring back. “Right,” he says, “good thinking.”
Bradley is too nice for his own good, that’s what you’ve determined so far. Even if this might be a mutually beneficial agreement, you know he’s getting the short end of the stick. After all, you’re the one bringing all the baggage here.
A thought crosses your mind belatedly. “Does your Mom… not need it anymore?”
Almost imperceptibly, Bradley stiffens next to you, and you know right away that you’ve made some mistake, some miscalculation, even if you can’t tell exactly what it is.
Without looking at you, he says, “No. She’s dead.”
You open your mouth to say something, to apologize, to quell that horrible, sinking feeling in your stomach, but you’ve barely made it past a choked Bradley when Pete comes back, handing you a small paper cup.
“Here,” he says, “you should have some water. You look like you’re about to throw up.”
The smile he gives you is so warm it makes you want to scream. Can’t you see? you want to ask. Can’t you see I don’t deserve your kindness? Can’t you see I’m ruining Bradley’s life?
Instead, you accept the cup, nod, force an answering smile, and say, “Thank you.”
“Wedding jitters?” Pete asks as he sits down next to Bradley again, elbows braced on his knees to look at you. “You’re not getting cold feet, are you?”
“No…” you begin to protest, but Pete is already pushing on.
“I wouldn’t blame you,” he jokes, grinning at Bradley. The kind of mischief on his face could put the fear of god in women stronger than you. “This one is a handful. You know, when he was twelve, he….”
“Mav,” Bradley interrupts, tone somewhere between long-suffering, warning, and affectionate.
You never do get to hear the story because the door opens and your names are called.
Everything happens very fast after that. Your officiant is a bored-looking woman in her forties who manages a well-practiced but pleasant smile throughout the vows. You stand facing each other in a lackluster room with a painting of palm trees on one wall, with no one in the rows of wooden chairs but Pete Mitchell, a man you barely even know. Bradley won’t take his eyes off you, and you can’t look at him without feeling the guilt overwhelm you.
It should be a happy day, but it reads an awful lot like a tragedy.
You both say I do, Bradley slips the ring on your finger, and then the officiant is saying, “Congratulations. You may now kiss the bride.”
It’s lightning fast. Bradley leans over, leans into your space, leans so close you can see the streaks of gold in his facial hair, can see the apology flickering in his eyes, and then his lips meet yours. It’s the softest pressure, like the brush of a butterfly’s wings. It’s the coarse hairs of his mustache tickling your skin, the warmth of his mouth against your own. It’s the fluttering of your heart, your hands clenching into fists, your stomach swooping.
For a moment, time is frozen, suspended, moot.
Then Bradley’s pulling away, a shy smile crossing his face, and you’re dizzy, you’re spinning, you’re falling. You want to cry.
And that’s how you marry Bradley Bradshaw: In a city hall on a Tuesday morning, with something in your chest that feels suspiciously like foreboding.
+
“I promise I didn’t know about this,” Bradley whispers into your ear half an hour later. One of his hands hovers above the small of your back, and though he doesn’t touch you, the phantom pressure of it sends shivers down your spine. His breath traces over your exposed shoulders.
You let your eyes wander over the Hard Deck, only half full and populated with people from Bradley’s life: His old squadron, friends from the Naval Academy, a few from back when he apparently attended UVA. (You still don’t understand his CV one bit and decide to ask him about it later. These are the things you should probably know about your husband. These are the things you would know about your husband if any of this were real.) Everybody’s smiling and congratulating you, and a banner strung from the ceiling, dangling between the models of airplanes, between the beer jugs, spells out CONGRATULATIONS! in big, colorful letters.
It’s obvious, it’s glaring, it’s so visible it blooms a shame somewhere in your belly - that they’re all here for Bradley. Your parents didn’t make it to California on such short notice, and there hadn’t been anybody else to invite. The only people one could count as your side if they were being especially generous would be your co-workers from the Hard Deck, standing behind the bar and looking out of place.
The whole day is a stark reminder of it all. Of your loneliness, of your solitude. Lonely enough that you had no one to invite to that ceremony at the city hall. Lonely enough you agreed to marry a stranger.
“That’s okay,” you tell Bradley, and it’s only a little lie. “It’ll be fine.”
You don’t know what you expected to happen after the wedding. Maybe to get fast food from whatever drive-through you passed first and then spend the rest of the night curled up in your bed, trying to forget what you just forced Bradley to do. Maybe just to get out of these heels. Certainly not for Penny to discover her inner event planner and throw you a surprise party.
But there was something on Penny’s face as she went to embrace you, something about the way she looked when you told her you were getting married to Bradley. An expression she was trying to hide. A flash of hurt, maybe, or a trickle of frustration. You chalked it up to her being upset that a guy she’s known since his teens didn’t tell her about his relationship with her employee, but that reasoning seems threadbare now.
Phoenix wears a broad smile, warm, her hair for once out of the army-commissioned coil and spilling dark and glossy over her shoulders. She’s out of the usual uniform and slipped into a blouse and pants for the occasion. The whole picture of her as anything other than the put-together pilot you see usually unsettles you a little.
“Congratulations,” she says, moving to give you a hug. Then she leans back to look at you. “Or should I say condolences? I can’t believe you married Rooster. Poor girl.”
You force a laugh, but you wish she’d step away a little. Up this close, she might be able to see the shame. It must be written all over your face.
Penny starts handing out shots. The tequila rushes from the bottle into the glasses in a stream of clear liquid, splashes of it landing on the bartop. You stare at the lime wedges, the salt shaker, stare at everybody lining up shoulder to shoulder, and the panic flares in your chest.
“I have to pee,” you announce to no one in particular, and then you’re slipping toward the bathroom, pretending you don’t feel Bradley’s eyes on you.
When the door falls shut behind you, you turn the key in the lock and lean your forehead against the wood. The material is cold against your skin, and you blink at the patterns, at the stains running through the dark oak like veins. Press your finger to one, and your eyes closed.
With your heart racing, your hands shaking, you stand like that for a moment, bracing yourself. You hadn’t expected all the attention, all the pretending, and you feel drained before any of it has even begun. You’re not sure if you can really pull this off. Maybe you’ll just crumble under the weight.
What a mess, you think to yourself, rubbing the heels of your hands over your eyes, then panic when you remember the mascara you painted on earlier. You check yourself over in the mirror, reapply your lip gloss and smooth down some flyaways.
You remember staring at yourself in this very same mirror two weeks ago, the day you did the test. You remember thinking how strange it was that you still looked the same even after your entire world had changed. How the outside did not reflect the inside at all.
You still don’t look any different. But it seems to you you’ve gone from nothing to something by virtue of association - now you’re someone’s mother, someone’s wife.
Then why am I still here, in this bathroom, alone? The thought comes with a bitter taste spreading on your tongue, like blackcurrants bursting in your mouth.
Bradshaw, you think, and then you say it out loud, “I’m Bradley Bradshaw’s wife.”
You feel the shape of the words, feel as your tongue forms them, bounces them off the roof of your mouth, and then past your lips. Hear them echoing off the walls. Watch yourself in the mirror, the muscles of your face flexing and relaxing, your lips meeting to dispatch the bs.
And still. None of it feels real.
The room smells freshly cleaned, astringent in its intensity. Your nose tingles like you’re going to sneeze. Carefully, you slide the wedding ring off, put it on the side of the sink, place it with the quiet plink of silver meeting porcelain, and then you wash your hands three times. Just last month, you went to Costco with Penny and picked up a 20-pack of orange blossom-scented soap, and now you watch it lather to a foam, the water so hot steam rises off it, and your fingers burn. Watch as it spirals down into the drain, bubbles popping.
It shifts reality back into focus. You turn off the faucet, use a few paper towels to dry your hands, put the ring back on, and then you step back into the din of the crowd, where even friends suddenly look like strangers, and you don’t look into the mirror again.
Bradley is waiting in front of the bathroom, standing with his arms crossed over his chest and his head turned toward the ground. When you open the door, he snaps up immediately, unfolding himself from where he was leaning against the wall. His hands dangle uselessly by his hips.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi,” you echo. You don’t meet his eyes.
“I was wondering….” He trails off. You focus on his shoes - they’re shiny, shiny enough the light bounces off them, and you wonder distantly if he cleaned them for the occasion. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” you say and try to smile, but with your face still turned down, the effect is lost. Might be for the better, too - you have no idea what you look like. Your face is numb.
“I…” You glance at Bradley, at his furrowed eyebrows and clenched jaw. For a moment, it looks like he wants to say something stern, something probing, but then he changes course at the last moment. “Should I carry your bag?”
Instinctively, your fingers go to the strap of your crossbody bag. You rush, “No, that’s fine. It’s not heavy. I can…”
“Please,” Bradley says, reaching for the bag but not touching you. Leaving his hands hovering in the open air. “Let me do this for you.”
You want to tell him he’s done enough for you. You want to tell him he’s the only person, in a very, very long time, who’s done anything for you. You want to tell him that you’re sorry, that you’ll never forgive yourself, that maybe this was a mistake, maybe…
Some guy you don’t know squeezes past you and into the bathroom, winking at you and slapping Bradley’s shoulder as he passes, hooting something about wedding nights. Beer sloshes over the rim of his bottle and splashes to the floor.
When he’s gone, the moment has passed, and the need to tell him anything has been snuffed out by your own embarrassment. You slip off the bag and hand it over, watch as Bradley slides it over his shoulder. It’s a ridiculous sight: The dainty thing juxtaposed to his uniform.
It makes you smile.
“Thanks,” you say and mean it.
Bradley shrugs, but you catch sight of his expression before he turns toward the bar room again, and you think he looks pleased.
A few of his friends whisk him away as soon as you step back into the party. Somebody has turned on the overhead fans, and stale air circulates into a cool breeze. There’s a speaker system set up on the bar for once, playing more modern music than what the Jukebox has to offer, and out of the fog of your memory, of the whirlwind, haphazard thicket of the past few weeks, rises a single moment. Penny leaning across the bar, hand outstretched, saying, Let me have a look at your Spotify. I’m getting some inspiration for a musical update.
Suddenly, you feel warm all over.
Hangman finds you by the bar, grinning ear to ear. There’s always been something wolfish to his grin, but you don’t fall for it. As much as Hangman likes to pretend the opposite, play up his flirting and his taunting and his casual cruelty, when it comes down to it, he’s harmless. A sheep in wolf’s clothing through and through.
“Honestly,” he says in lieu of a greeting or even congratulations. “You could’ve told me about this. Would have spared me a lot of trouble.”
“Hello to you, too, Jake.”
He dismisses that with a wave of his hand and places his glass on the bar top. Condensation drips off the sides, pools in a puddle on the wood as the ice melts, and the lime goes sliding away from the center. “You gotta admit it wasn’t entirely fair.”
You sigh and decide to indulge him and his games. “What wasn’t?”
Jake points a finger between you and him. “This. You’re breaking my heart, sugar.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” you say, frowning.
“I’ve been flirting with you every time I came down to Fightertown,” Jake says. “A whole year, sugar! You could have told me that all this time you were dating goddamn Rooster of all people.”
“Flirting,” you repeat, dumbfounded, at the same time as another voice says, “Don’t start harassing my wife, Seresin.”
Hearing it out loud pulls the rug right from under you. Bradley’s hand lands on your elbow - neutral territory, you think, inoffensive, harmless - and his mouth is twisted into a jovial smile, even as his gaze flickers over you like he’s looking for something. You blink down at your shoes.
“I’m not harassing her, Bradshaw. I’m flirting with her, not that you’ve ever heard of that.”
Bradley shrugs. “Aren’t they the same thing with you?”
Between their banter, you feel decidedly out of place. Just another reminder that you don’t belong into Bradley’s world.
“Anyway.” Hangman sighs, leans back against the bar and crosses his arms over his chest. For a moment, he glances between you and Bradley, prompting you to shift your weight, to step a little closer into the open fan of your newly-anointed husband’s arm. If you want to tell this story, you’re going to have to start selling it. Hangman’s mouth curls into a grin. “Jesus,” he says finally, “I can’t believe you knocked a girl up before I did, Rooster.”
The words run through you like lightning. If you had any liquid in your mouth, you’d spit it out right now. To your right, Bradley stiffens, his hand tightening around your elbow, then loosening again.
“What?” he asks, and his voice sounds like something got stuck in his throat. You can’t look at him.
Hangman’s grin remains firmly in place. “That’s why you guys did it, right?” Then he mimics somebody loading a shotgun, complete with sound effects. “Her dad’s got tone on you?”
“I…” Bradley’s sentence trails off like he ran out of steam. Whitney Houston bellows about wanting to dance with somebody from the speakers. Glasses clink, people laugh, cues hit eight balls. The sound of your own heartbeat in your ears is deafening.
Hangman laughs. “I’m messing with ya,” he says, clapping Bradley on the shoulder and giving you a smile that seems uncharacteristically soft. “You guys have been disgustingly in love with each other since you met. The baby on board is just the cherry on top of the perfect peanut butter chocolate sundae, right?”
“That’s not true!” you protest, and then promptly want to slap yourself. Somebody says you’ve been in love with the guy you just fake married and that’s the part you want to deny?
Laughing, Hangman shrugs and downs a tequila shot. “Keep telling yourself that, sugar,” he says, bending down to press a quick, sloppy kiss to your cheek. “Whatever. Congratulations to you two.”
He disappears into the mess of the night, whistling a tune, beelining toward a pretty, single girl at the back of the room. Bradley, stoic and silent and unmoving at your side, says nothing.
You watch the people, their easy joy, their thoughtless happiness. The way they smile without caveat, enjoy themselves without footnotes or guilt.
“Well…” Bradley clears his throat, but you don’t care to look at him. “I never would have predicted Hangman would be the first one to figure it out, right?”
“I guess so,” you agree, even though you think he’s wrong. Hangman is as perceptive as any Navy pilot has to be, quick on his feet and good at reading situations, people, lies. Even if you were never particularly close with him, you can tell this much.
“Is… are you okay?”
You shrug, shake your head before you can think better of it, then nod out of instinct. “Sure,” you whisper. In the breeze of an air vent, you shiver, moving to rub one hand up your bare arm.
Bradley springs into action immediately, moving your purse to one arm, unbuttoning his jacket and slipping out of it. “You’re cold,” he’s saying, obviously relieved to have found something to do, “here, take my jacket…”
“Stop!” Your voice is much too loud. Several heads turn in your direction and you duck your head, feeling the blood rushing into your cheeks, the wetness into your eyes, the blood in your ears. Everything feels shaky, like you’re on deck in a rough sea. Your hands twist into the fabric of your dress and you watch as you crumple it between your fingers. “Just… stop being so nice to me, Bradley. Just stop it. Please.”
From the corner of your eye, you watch as Bradley’s arm drops uselessly to his side, the jacket dangling from between his fingers. His feet shuffle along the hardwood floors. “Oh,” he says, the word soft and airy and so full of something like hurt that you bite the inside of your cheek bloody. “Well. I’m sorry.”
Another beat passes. You should say something, you think. Apologize or thank him or tell him that you’re stupid and mean and ungrateful and you don’t deserve someone as nice as him. But no words come. You’re completely empty, drained. You’re so tired and so confused and you don’t get it. You don’t get what’s happening here and what Bradley is getting out of it and how you even ended up here in the first place.
Tomorrow, Bradley is going to drive a U-Haul truck to your shitty apartment where your life has been shoved into boxes. You’re going to move out of your own space and into a house with a man you don’t know and you don’t love but whose ring you wear. You’re going to wait for a baby you never wanted, and you’re going to watch as your dreams and your plans wash away like water down a drain. You’re going to give up the person you used to be, shove her into the very back of your sock drawer, something to be marveled at only in private, only on rainy Sunday mornings, only when nobody else is looking. Tomorrow, you think, in a way, your life will stop being your own and start being somebody else’s.
So what you want right now then, more than anything, is to be alone.
Bradley says nothing else. You hear as he leaves, as he follows after Hangman, moving away from you, but you don’t turn to look. You stay staring into nothing, your heart in your mouth, a ring on your finger, a baby in your belly, and your life in shards on the floor.
Careful where you tread, you think, dumbly, you might be treading on my soul.
+
The first thing Bradley Bradshaw - your husband, you have to remind yourself, your actual, real-life husband - says to you in your new house is this: “I’m sorry about last night.”
He’s sitting cross-legged on the carpet in the living room, clutching a bottle of beer like a lifeline. The television is on to provide background noise, some talk show you’ve never seen before where twins separated at birth are currently being reunited. You sit curled-up in an armchair Bradley brought, knees up at your chin, hands on your ankles. A pizza box is unfolded on the coffee table, steam still rising off the sizzling cheese. Your mouth waters at the scent, but you’re strangely shy about taking a slice. Like tearing into this pizza is going to be the straw that finally breaks the camel’s back on this strained truce Bradley and you seem to have entered into.
“No,” you say, fingers tightening around your ankles. “I’m sorry.”
“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.” Bradley looks relaxed from his position, his back leaning against the couch. At home, here in this house for which he provided 90 percent of the furniture, 100 of the artwork. Mostly weird watercolor landscapes and one or two Hitchcock film posters you’d rather not ask him about. “I was being… overbearing.”
The thing is this: Bradley did help move your stuff into this new house. He loaded the U-haul and he lugged your meager belongings up to your room. He didn’t say anything about the water-stained mattress or the lack of a bedframe, about the peeling paint on your desk, the squeaking office chair. He hung the curtains you wanted and gave you a string of fairy lights to climb up one wall. This is your home now, you’d told yourself up in that room, staring at the powder blue walls, the floral bed sheets, the potted plant. This is it.
And still. It feels like you’re sitting in a stranger’s house, visiting from out of town.
“You weren’t,” you tell him, and you mean the words. “You… you’ve done so much for me, Bradley, and I…”
“It was nothing,” Bradley cuts you off. “None of… it’s fine. I’m not… I wanted to help, okay? So stop… stop thanking me or feeling indebted to me or like… I don’t know. Have a slice of pizza, okay?”
He hands you one before you can say anything, and you hold the scalding dough in your hand, watch as he bites into his own slice. A bit of cheese gets caught in his mustache. His throat moves as he swallows.
Out of nowhere, suddenly, without warning, you ask, “If I followed you on Instagram… would you follow me back?”
It’s juvenile. It’s stupid, it’s so dumb, and you have no idea where it even comes from, but you have to ask, feel it like a need that burns through you. You just want to know.
If Bradley is confused by the sudden change of topic, he doesn’t let it on. Instead, gaze still on his pizza, he says, “I already follow you.”
“You… you do?”
He shrugs. “You probably didn’t recognize me. I don’t think I’ve ever posted on there.”
“What, you don’t have a profile pic?”
Now he has the audacity to blush and you hate the way it makes you feel, hate that something in you twists at the sight. “No, I do, just… I’m not in it.”
“Who is, then?”
He opens his mouth, closes it again, and turns half away from you, like he’s trying to hide his face. You frown.
“Bradley?”
“It’s…” He sighs, curses, licks the cheese off his mustache and runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck it,” he mumbles. “It’s my Bronco. I have a picture of my car as my profile pic.”
A beat passes, and then, miraculously, you’re laughing. Actual, real laughter that bursts from you like water from a pipe. “Oh,” you choke out. “Oh my god.”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Bradley grumbles, but you see the tentative smile stretching his face, the probing, searching look thrown your way. “I’m a grandpa. At least I know what Instagram is.”
“Do you use the premade insta filters?” He doesn’t answer. “Oh my god, you do!”
Bradley rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” Then he leans forward and deposits another slice of pizza on the one you haven’t even eaten. Grease stains your fingers. “Here. You’re eating for two.”
He turns to stare at the TV, a furrow of concentration carved between his eyebrows, and in this living room, in this house, with him on the floor and you in the armchair, with pizza steaming between you and your things upstairs and his things everywhere, for a moment, just a moment, you think that maybe, after all, things might turn out okay.
#rooster#bradley bradshaw#rooster x reader#rooster imagine#bradley bradshaw x reader#top gun imagine#mine#f:blph
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What You Need | Kishibe (CSM)
When you find yourself in the midst of a marriage in shambles, Kishibe is willing to help you ease the ache- if only for a little while. Cw: cheating, alcohol, driving under the influence, fingering, unprotected sex.
Everything feels wrong. You know you shouldn't be here, but there's some small, screaming part of you that demands that it be paid attention to. You feel slippery and lucid, as if you're not quite real. There's music playing, but it's muffled by the sound of your thoughts as you make your way to the darkened corner of the bar where he sits, three drinks in and poker-faced as ever.
He doesn't say a word as you slip onto the seat next to him. Dark eyes barely acknowledge your presence, and he throws back what's left of the whisky, gulping it down like it's water.
"Started without me?"
"You mad or something?"
You scoff as he signals to the bartender to bring two more drinks. "At you? Never."
"Right there's your first problem," he says, giving you a little bit of side-eye. He doesn't look directly at you. He hardly ever does; he doesn't like the feeling of someone being able to really look at him and see everything.
"Got a little tied up with the kids," you say, toying with the corner of a cheap, papery napkin.
"Right. Thought we agreed not to bring that up."
Your face grows warm and you suck in your bottom lip. "We did. My bad," you say, the guilt of it all gnawing at your stomach. With your thumb, you trace the indentation of where your wedding ring usually sits on your finger and take a deep breath. He knows you're married– you know he knows, but you still remove it anyway. It's tucked away in your change purse, a solid reminder that you belong to someone else.
Tonight, you'd rather not be reminded.
"Whatsa matter, you got cold feet?"
His question makes you twitch a little; you're brought out of your reverie and give him a flirty, bashful kind of smile. The corner of his lip barely lifts, but you see the glimmer of mischief clearly in his eyes. "No. I just…never imagined I'd be doing something like this."
Thankfully, the bartender brings your drinks, and you're temporarily occupied by the burn when you take a sip. Kishibe lights a cigarette, takes a drag, then offers it to you. For a moment, you hesitate, but your fingers touch his when you take it from him and you're reminded of why this was your idea in the first place.
"It's your circus, babe. I'm just your monkey.
That earns a laugh from you. Kishibe watches as you put the cigarette between your lips, a hunger in his eyes that you've seen a handful of times before, usually when you're alone in his office with the blinds drawn and the door locked.
It's been a long time since you've felt desirable to another man. Your husband's serial infidelity has left you broken; time and time again, he tells you he's sorry, and you've got a million and one reasons why you could leave him for good, but you just can't bring yourself to do it. It's complicated, you tell yourself and your friends who have begged you to leave him. But the kids need both of us. I'm not stable enough financially to be able to break free. The list is endless. Somewhere deep down, you think you still love him, but the fire has long been snuffed. When he tries to make love to you, you pretend to be asleep, and no matter how long he tries to kiss and touch you, you don't move. You don't want to. You can't shake the feeling that you're just another means for him to get off– that you're just an option for him now when his other lovers aren't giving him what he needs.
You know that fucking around with Kishibe isn't the right solution, but you don't want to think too hard about it. It's fun. It's hot. It's dirty and depraved and all things wrong and impulsive and reckless.
It's exactly what you need.
The drinks are enough to quell the uncertainty that simmers in the pit of your stomach and quiet your conscience, and when Kishibe throws down a few bills to cover the cost, you know he's had enough, too. Time is of the essence, so you quickly duck out of the bar and follow him to his car.
"What was your excuse tonight?" he asks, glassy-eyed but focused on the nearly deserted street. He really shouldn't be driving, but you can't bring yourself to care too much. You figure his blood is half alcohol anyway, and his place isn't too far away, so you relax and settle in for the ride.
"Drinks with friends," you say.
"Got a curfew?"
You shake your head. "As long as I'm home before–" Before the kids wake up.
Kishibe catches it. "Tsk. Strike two."
"I know, I know. I'm sorry!"
He reaches over to lay a rough, warm hand on your thigh and gives you a meaningful squeeze. "Relax. 'S no fun if you're gonna be all pent up like this."
He’s right, and you hate him for it. You take a deep breath to try and settle yourself, breathing out against your palm, elbow propped on the door frame as you watch the scenery crawl by. There’s an old song playing on the radio– you can’t make out the lyrics, but the tune is familiar, and you hum along while Kishibe makes the final turn to his house.
The night air as you step out of the car is balmy and heavy; it carries the scent of rain as it rustles through the trees that line the sidewalk, and you can’t help but notice how suburban and quaint his neighborhood is. It’s a far cry from what you were expecting, and your little laugh is carried off on the wind as he steps around the car and ahead of you, leading you up the concrete stairs on his porch.
As soon as the door is shut and you've just slipped off your shoes, he tugs you toward him with a strong arm hooked at your waist. You fall against him with a soft grunt just before he ducks his head to kiss your throat. You close your eyes and lift your face to the ceiling, and you're floating already. Tipsy and warm, you push your fingers through his hair and hold him as close as you can.
What you're doing with him isn't about love, and he knows it as well as you. It's not about revenge, or getting even; it's about doing something for yourself that doesn't benefit anyone else but you. It's about finally being selfish enough to chase your own pleasure, to stop trying so hard to make everyone around you happy by making all the wrong decisions for yourself that you could possibly make. Your children are home safe in their beds. You're not due at work, you even called your mother today to give her the latest news about your cheating husband. You're doing all the right things, all the time.
Sometimes, you just want to be wrong, though. It makes you feel alive. It makes you feel human. It makes you feel like no matter how bad things get, you can still grasp a little bit of happiness, no matter how fleeting it might be. No matter that it's built on a bed of lies and deceit and sneaking around.
Kishibe sucks on your jawline before drawing back to cup your chin between his thumb and forefinger. He's got a way of looking at you where it feels as if he can see every inner working of your psyche, but when you look back at him, you never quite know what he's thinking. Maybe it's the years of training he's endured to not show his weaknesses. Maybe it's just who he is. Maybe he's guarding himself from feeling something for you beyond a physical desire. Whatever it is doesn't matter when he bends forward just enough to kiss you.
It starts off like a whisper– open mouth, barely a breath between you, before he pinches your chin a little harder and licks into your mouth with a deep, raspy groan that makes you weak in the knees. Your trembling fingers tug at some of the longer strands of his hair, and you find that no matter how close he is, it's not close enough to satisfy the aching need that blooms throughout your body.
"Please," you whimper, muffled by the seal of his mouth over yours.
He pulls back just far enough to speak unhindered, lips bumping against yours as he breathes a reply. "Didn't think you were the type to beg."
You're consumed with him, overwhelmed by the way that your thoughts feel like static and your head is floating and you feel like you're drowning but oh wouldn't it be a wonderful way to go. It's a rush, it's too much, and it's scary because you've barely just kissed him but you're already lost in the flood.
Kishibe isn't the type of man you usually go for. He's rude, he's coarse, he's got an air of indifference that makes you want to slap him and wake him up. He's never seemed interested in anything that doesn't immediately benefit him or bring him some kind of temporary pleasure. You don't think you've ever seen him without a drink or a cigarette in hand, and the only time you've seen him with a semblance of a smile has been when he's caught wind of a devil being sent back to hell.
He's a far cry from the husband you have at home, who is– as far as anyone outside of your immediate family knows– a gentleman. Handsome and soft spoken and a doting father, he's exactly what he's supposed to be…except when he isn't. He's a liar and a cheater, and he plays one hell of a victim when it comes to confrontation. He's good at masking his true nature around those to whom his reputation matters. Behind closed doors, you know who he really is.
You like Kishibe because you know he's not bullshitting you. With him, what you see is what you get. He won't sugarcoat anything. He won't tell you pretty things to get you into his bed. He won't smile at you or compliment your outfit or tell you that you smell nice. He won't lie to you.
He won't lie to you.
He allows you to take control because he knows that it scratches some itch for you that you can't satisfy anywhere else. You're desperate to feel him inside you, to finally take that step into forbidden territory where there's no turning back. So you kiss him again and push weakly at his chest, guiding him to the couch just a few steps away where he sinks down into the cushions and rests his arms along the back. His legs are spread wide and he watches you with hungry eyes as you straddle him, grinding down on his half-hard cock as you settle into his lap.
"You're really worked up, aren't ya?"
One of his hands slides down around your hip, coarse fingertips digging into the swell of your ass to feel you sink a little deeper against him. "Yeah," you whisper, rubbing your cheek along the stubble of his chin, lazy tongue darting out to taste the salt on his skin. You don't want to talk. You want to feel good. So you take the lead (like you know he wants you to) and undo his belt, then his pants. Carefully, you peel away the elastic of his underwear; your breath catches when his cock springs free, already shining with a little drop of precum at the tip. You use your thumb to smear it before taking his length in your fist. It's so big that your fingers don't quite wrap all the way around, and your cunt throbs when you imagine how it's going to feel when he's balls deep inside you.
Kishibe's hands are at your waist again, thumbs on your skin beneath the waistband of your panties. He pushes, and you lift yourself away from his lap to take off your pants, leaving them in a crumpled heap on the floor at his feet. He appraises your figure through heavy-lidded eyes, his gaze dropping to your bare sex as he slides his tongue across his teeth.
You climb back into his lap, hovering just above where his cock stands at attention. He's pumping it himself, eyes trained on the way your thighs flex when you straddle him, on the softness of your belly and how it seems to quiver with every breath you take. You lean forward and kiss him again, hands on either side of his face, brows knitted together as you whimper softly.
He goes straight for the kill, fingers spreading you open to push one inside: he chuckles low, right next to your ear, when he feels how wet and swollen you are for him. Your body is alive and buzzing already, and when he fits another finger inside, your back arches and you cry out, gripping the back of the couch for stability.
"Fuck–" You gasp for air, too far gone to be embarrassed about how fast you feel your body responding. But just as you're reaching the moment where you know you'll fall apart, he slips his fingers out, leaving you breathless and empty.
You know what to do. Without hesitation, you sink down onto him slowly, the stretch even greater than you'd been able to imagine. Eyes wide, mouth formed into a pretty little 'o' shape that Kishibe thinks is just right for sticking his thumb into, you take his length until it feels like he's filled up every part of you.
"Oh my god," you whisper. Kishibe doesn't move, but you see the look in his eye. He allows himself the pleasure of feeling your walls open to him, the weight of you in his lap, the wet of your tongue as it traces along his throat.
"Go on, baby. See what you can do with it."
You being to rock, languid at first. Once you think you're accustomed to the stretch of him inside you, you move a little faster. He kneads at your ass with greedy hands, pushes his thumbs up under your bra to touch hardened nipples. He watches as you bounce in his lap as his length disappears inside you, coaxing you with words of quiet praise. Feels good, don't it? So greedy…take it all, sweetheart. Make it count.
You listen. You take and you take and you take, and you gasp for air when you feel the high you've been chasing reach a point where it's impossible to contain the way your body quakes and trembles around him. You grab fistfuls of his shirt and cry out his name at your peak, the pleasure almost too much for you to bear. It brings you to tears and you choke on a sob, falling forward to slump against him, chest heaving, a sheen of sweat beading across your brow.
A broad hand smooths over your back as you come down. He doesn't rush you to compose yourself. You rest in his lap, his cock growing limp inside you, the mess you've made of each other beginning to run down the inside of your thigh.
"You good?" he asks quietly, just after your silence becomes uncomfortable for him.
You nod, your face buried in his shoulder, arms linked around his neck.
"Need a drink?"
You nod again and sit up with a deep sigh, exhaled through your nose. He winces– still sensitive– when you lift yourself away from his lap and bend to grab your pants off the floor. He takes a moment to appreciate the view before tucking himself back into his own pants.
"Bathroom's down the hall to your left if you wanna get cleaned up."
You nod, trying in vain to fix your hair, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. You clutch your pants to your chest and tuck your chin, the reality of what you've just done beginning to sink in. Kishibe begins to unbutton his shirt on the way to the kitchen, seemingly unaware of your moral conflict.
"Hey," he says. It catches you off guard, and you jolt a little, looking up at him with brows raised, bottom lip tucked under your teeth.
"What?"
"Why the long face? You had fun, yeah?"
"Yeah," you say, a breathless giggle bubbling over. You don't remember the last time you wanted something so bad.
"Then smile. You're hurting my feelings." His deadpan delivery is so on brand that you can't help but laugh as he turns away.
"Kishibe?"
He calls from the kitchen. "I'm thirsty. Make it quick."
"Can we do it again?"
You're still standing in his hallway, still clutching your pants. Still riding the high of what you've done, shoddy marriage be damned.
"It's gonna cost ya," he says, appearing in the doorway with a glass of liquor.
You know the implication of what he says. It's going to cost you a lot of things, should you happen to get sloppy and your secret gets out. Kishibe lifts his glass in a mock toast and raises a brow, waiting for your answer.
"I know," you say. I'm good for it."
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In Command - Part 19
Master List | Previous Part | Next Part
A/N: DESIGN REVIEW IS DONE, SO HERE'S A NEW CHAPTER TO CELEBRATE. As always, thank you to the wonderful @teletraan-meets-jarvis for beta-reading for me!
Chapter Rating: M
Warnings: language, mild sexual content
Word Count: 5.8k words
As the mountains of Alderaan rose into view through the purplish haze of the twilight atmosphere, Senna felt her breath catch in her throat. She'd heard of the beauty of this world, but seeing it in person was something else entirely. It was a ludicrous idea to come here, but without any other options, she’d found it hard to argue with Senator Organa’s plan. In spite of her misgivings, some of the weight seemed to lift off of her shoulders, and she finally felt like she could slip free of some of the worries that had been languishing in her mind since they left Lothal.
Tech gently coasted the Marauder into the hangar that had been designated for them, bringing the ship down with a light touch on what appeared to be a private landing platform. The first gust of air that rushed in through the hatch when it opened made it very obvious to Senna how stale the air inside the ship had become. She inhaled deeply, trying to ignore how self-conscious she suddenly felt about her appearance.
Rex was leaning against her heavily as she helped him limp down the Marauder’s steps. He’d insisted Wrecker not carry him this time, but it was clear he was still in plenty of pain, pride be damned. His face was drawn with effort, but Senna could see he was also relieved to be planetside again.
Safe. At least for now.
Bail Organa and several aides were waiting for them on the tarmac. While they were familiar with one another through a few common friends from before the war, it was the first time Senna had ever met the senator in person, and she was struck by the kindness in his eyes. He smiled at them, opening his arms as if he were greeting old friends.
"We're so glad you made it," Organa said warmly, clasping Hunter's arm in greeting. Senna slowly walked forward, firmly holding Rex's arm as he favored his injured leg. The senator’s eyes roved over the two of them, lingering on Rex’s leg and Senna’s half-hidden lightsaber. She pulled her cloak over it nervously.
“You’re among friends,” Organa stated, seemingly sensing Senna’s apprehension. “Everyone here is trusted, and we have kept knowledge of your arrival fairly quiet.”
“Should we move our ship somewhere more discreet?” Tech offered.
The senator shook his head. “This is my private hangar. Only my most trusted staff have access to this facility. No one will know you’re here.”
“With all due respect Senator, how much of your staff do you trust?” Echo asked, one of his eyebrows raising skeptically.
Organa dipped his head in acknowledgement. “I understand your concern. However, I could not do the work I do if I did not have staff that I’d trust with my life, with my family’s life. I assure you they’ve all been vetted and in our service for decades. You will not encounter traitors here.”
Senna felt somewhat comforted by Organa’s reassurances, but she noted that Rex felt tense. While the others had seemingly relaxed, Rex still felt as though he was still on guard, ready for a threat to emerge at any moment. She caught his eye, but he shook his head, refusing to answer the question that lingered in her gaze.
What’s got him wound so tightly?
"Anyhow. We welcome you. And you two," Organa said, apparently not noticing Rex’s tension, "We owe you a great debt. Your work has proved incredibly valuable to our cause. Please allow my medical droids to take a look at the captain's injuries, and take some time to rest and recover here.” He smiled. “You have all earned it."
Senna was hesitant to allow Rex out of her sight again so soon, but he gave her arm a reassuring squeeze before allowing two medical droids to maneuver him into a hovering medchair.
"I'll see you in a bit," he said, giving her a wink.
Senna withdrew her hand from where it had been resting on his shoulder, wrapping her arms around herself and nodding as she forced a smile back at him. She internally chided herself at her nerves, but in reality, Rex and she had never been separated during the entirety of their mission without knowing where the other was. No matter how many reassurances Organa made, it still felt wrong to allow him to just be taken away to some unknown place.
You’re being silly.
Turning back to the group, Senna noticed that Organa was watching her, but if he had any opinions on the slight show of intimacy he'd witnessed, he didn't share them. "Please allow my aides to lead you to your quarters. I hope you find them comfortable and are able to rest and recuperate.”
With that, the senator spoke a few hushed words to his staff before turning and departing, taking the same route Rex and the droids had taken.
A shower would be nice, Senna thought, still fighting down the worries in her mind. I’m sure I smell like a bantha pen.
Senna and the clones followed the aides out of the hangar and onto a private skyway with transparisteel walls that gave a breathtaking view of the area around the palace. Alderaan’s single sun was setting behind the mountains, and the lilac and pink clouds sharpened the last of the lingering light into golden, brilliant rays that reminded Senna of the temple guard lightsabers. The shadows cast by the snow-capped peaks that surrounded the palace stretched out in long purple tendrils that triggered lamplights across the valley to flicker on, casting everything in a soft, warm glow. One of the aides was explaining to Tech how the transparisteel windows could be frosted via a control panel if more discretion was needed or if the sun warmed the passage too much. Senna pressed her fingertips against the surface, relishing slightly in the chill against her skin.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Echo murmured next to her.
“It is,” she agreed, giving him a small smile. “Have you ever been?”
“Once or twice. And after the last few places we’ve been staked out, I have to say I’m enjoying the change of scenery.”
“Hard to complain,” Senna said quietly.
“But?”
She glanced over and met his eyes, his brows furrowed with concern. Rex had always said Echo was quietly observant, picking up on things others didn’t. To her surprise, Senna didn’t feel unnerved; rather, it felt nice to be understood by someone she trusted without having to put her emotions into words.
“Aren’t you nervous?” she asked.
He chuckled. “Of course. But what I’ve found is you sometimes have to take a leap of faith and trust the ones around you. We rely on people to do this work, and worrying about everything that could go wrong rather than focusing on what’s actually happening around you makes you more prone to mistakes. Better to live in the moment and worry about the variables you can control if you ask me.” He nudged her with his shoulder. “Besides, what if everything goes right?”
Senna laughed. “That’d be a first.”
“First time for everything, Senna.”
She sighed, blowing a stray hair out of her face. Echo smiled.
“Come on. Rex is gonna get himself taken care of and cleaned up in whatever med center he’s being taken to. You don’t want to still smell like that when he gets done.”
“You’re no spring rose yourself,” she countered, walking to catch up with the others. Echo fell into step beside her.
He leaned closer with a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. “Maybe not, but I’m counting on sleeping alone tonight.”
Senna felt her face warm, and she shoved Echo, who huffed a laugh as they sped up to catch up to the others.
As they approached the doors of the palace, Senna tipped her head back to get a better look at the sparkling towers looming overhead. The spires reached into the clouds, looking like crystals standing amongst the mountains that surrounded them. After passing through the large, arched doorway, Organa’s staff quickly led them down a long hallway that looked out over a series of gardens, and Senna found herself thinking about walking between the trees with Rex. It was silly and romantic, but the thought warmed her slightly. She smiled to herself.
Live in the moment. Like Echo said. Maybe he’s right.
The staff members led them down several more corridors, seemingly further away from the central part of the palace. Senna was certain she’d get lost in the halls, no matter how much she tried to map their route in her head. Finally, they paused in front of a series of closed doors. The young man Senna had guessed was the one in charge smiled at them, gesturing at the doors.
“These will be the quarters for the duration of your stay here. Please make yourselves at home and relax after your journey. I must ask that you do not go wandering beyond this wing without an escort. You can summon one from the control panel in your room. Clothing and other items have been provided, but should you require anything else, please don’t hesitate to comm one of us.” He paused a beat, as if anticipating questions. Senna glanced around, and aside from Tech, who was still punching away at his datapad, they all looked dead on their feet and eager to land face-first into whatever accommodations they’d been provided. Wrecker was watching Tech warily, and Senna could see he’d put his brother in a headlock if he asked a single solitary question that would keep them from rest. Fortunately, Tech didn’t have any queries, and the aide nodded at the silence.
“Very well. I will send someone to collect you when dinner is ready.”
With that, they were left alone in the hallway, alone. Wrecker was already poking his head in one of the rooms and grinning.
“These are huge! We get our own bunks and ‘freshers!”
Echo smirked. “Good, at least I won’t have to listen to you snore for a few nights.”
Wrecker grunted something Senna couldn’t quite understand, and they all seemed too exhausted to carry on the conversation further, each of them moving to whichever door was closest without any argument over who got what room.
The room wasn’t extravagant by any measure, but it was perfect to Senna. A wide bed sat invitingly against one wall, but Senna passed it by, moving towards the refresher. She knew if she sat on the bed, she wouldn’t have the energy to get back up again, and a cursory sniff of her underarm cemented the fact in her mind that she was long overdue for a shower. Kicking off her boots, and peeling off her socks, she wiggled her toes against the soft rug, glancing around at the desk against one wall and the large window opposite it. A full-length mirror was tucked into one corner next to a door that she guessed led to a closet of some sort.
The refresher itself contained a large tub that Senna considered for a moment before opting for the shower. She turned on the water and stripped out of her torn and dirty clothing, dropping it on the floor to be dealt with later. She inspected her healing injuries in the mirror before her eyes finally met her reflection. Large bags and dark circles framed her eyes, and she released her hair from its bun, rubbing at her sore scalp with a sigh.
Safe for now.
She inhaled sharply when the first drops of the shower hit her skin, but when she grew accustomed to the temperature, she washed her hair and body quickly before resting her forehead against the glass wall, allowing the hot water to beat against her shoulders and back. Closing her eyes, she let some of the tension slip away with a deep exhale, her shoulders dropping away from her ears.
I hope Rex is alright.
Exhaustion settled into the place the stress had vacated. Senna got herself dried off and found some clothes in the small closet that were mostly the right size before collapsing into the bed. She fell asleep before her head even had time to warm the pillow.
—
Rex was so lost in his own thoughts that he almost didn’t hear the slightly-hurried footsteps approaching from behind him. Senator Organa fell into step next to the chair, hands clasped behind him. Rex was quiet as the medchair hummed along, uncertain of what the senator wanted. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but an escort down to the medbay wasn’t it. Organa and he had met a few times before, but never outside of the capacity of captain and senate member. He certainly wouldn’t classify them as friends, and if Rex was honest with himself, he preferred it that way.
Bail Organa had never given him a reason to be mistrustful, but Rex had always struggled with trusting politicians, particularly after Palpatine’s turn. Granted, he’d never fully bought into the former Chancellor’s professed selflessness and altruism, but he still wasn’t sure he’d ever have predicted the plans that had been put in place to allow him to seize power. Even now, he was certain he didn’t grasp the full extent of the plot, of all the ways in which Palpatine had bent the galaxy to his will. He would never be fooled like that again, especially by those that painted themselves as trustworthy.
“I see you and Master Aven have developed quite the rapport,” the senator commented, breaking the silence. Rex glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. He hadn’t missed the fact that the senator had used her Jedi title.
“You knew her then? Before the war ended?” he asked.
“We had a few common friends. I’d never met her in person until today, but yes, I was aware of her various skillsets.”
“You only ever mentioned half of them,” Rex grunted.
The senator stopped walking. “Please speak plainly, Captain.”
Rex took control of his chair and swiveled it to face Organa, trying to keep his emotions in check as he searched for the words. He didn’t like being deceived, and it certainly felt like he had been. “You knew what she was, and you didn’t think it was important that I know that?”
Organa’s mouth drew into a thin line. “I apologize, but I did not feel that information was mine to share. I assumed that, with time, if the two of you grew close, that she’d open up.”
Rex huffed a mirthless laugh. “That was a hell of a gamble on your part.”
“How so?” One of the senator’s eyebrows was raised inquisitively, but a corner of his mouth was quirked upward at an amused angle that annoyed Rex slightly.
“I’m a clone, Senator. We don’t have the best history with someone with her abilities,” ‘Rex replied flatly.
Organa smiled grimly.. “Perhaps, but based on both of your histories and mutual friends, I felt that things would work themselves out.”
Rex sighed, allowing one of the droids to take back over piloting the chair as the senator began walking again. The silence stretched out for a few more moments before the senator spoke again.
“Speaking of mutual friends, have you heard from our young Togruta friend recently?”
Rex’s nostrils flared with anger. This was one sore spot he had with the senator, and Organa seemed to have no issue pressing on it.
“No,” he lied.
“I see.” He couldn’t tell if Organa believed him or not, but frankly he didn’t care. “Should you hear from her, I’d appreciate it if you’d let me know.”
“She’ll reach out to you when she’s ready,” Rex growled.
This time, Organa stepped in front of the chair, and Rex was annoyed that the droid piloting it kept chair from at least bumping the senator in the shins.
“Believe it or not, Captain, I too am invested in her safety.”
“Of course you are. Someone with her abilities is always valuable in this fight,” Rex sniped. He was too tired to put on a polite front and well past caring about it.
Organa heaved a frustrated sigh. “Master Skywalker and Senator Amidala were my friends too, Captain Rex. I know what Ahsoka meant to them, what she means to you. I want her safe as much as you do.”
Rex glared at him for a moment. “Is that why you gave her a commlink at Senator Amidala’s funeral?”
It had always bothered Rex. Ahsoka had been insistent to go to Naboo, to be there for Padmé’s funeral in spite of his concerns. He’d offered to stay with the ship as she slipped into Theed, offering up some flimsy excuse about needing to stand guard. In reality, he’d been afraid, too cowardly to see one more brother under the Empire’s influence, beyond his help, like Jesse had been. And so he’d let her go alone, and that’s when Organa had cornered her, giving her a commlink. Ahsoka had promised him that the senator’s intentions had been to protect her, but Rex had been angry. At that point, he’d admittedly been angry at just about everyone and everything, every politician that had allowed Palpatine to seize power, every person that had made a decision to rob him and his brothers of their agency. In his mind, Organa was just another powerful individual that hadn’t done enough to stop Palpatine’s plan from succeeding, another bureaucrat bogged down with decorum and the “proper” way of doing things.
He only grew a spine after it was too late, Rex had internally seethed as Ahsoka slept in the back of the bomber. And now he wants her help picking up the pieces and fixing the mistakes he and his colleagues made.
After sitting with it for a year, he knew that the truth likely was somewhere between the two extremes, but he still felt like Organa crossed some unspoken line with Ahsoka. Of course, he’d wanted her to stay too, but the choice was hers, and he didn’t want anything to change that. But if Rex was sure of anything, it was that Ahsoka, like her master, was driven by a sense of duty and honor. And Organa giving her that commlink, giving her a way back into the fight and impressing on her how much she was needed in the fight without saying the words, had absolutely planted a seed in her mind. He had to have known that the commlink would serve as a reminder of how needed she was, of how much the galaxy needed the remaining Jedi to fight for it. And Rex knew, without a doubt, that Ahsoka would one day come back because of it.
He just wanted her to have time to grieve, and he was glad she was taking it, as much as he missed her and worried about her. Rex also thought Ahsoka would one day return to the fight, but the last thing he’d ever wanted to do was influence that decision, not after everything she’d been through. And on the off chance he was wrong, then he’d have found a way to be fine with it. This was a decision she was entitled to make on her own, without any guilt or convincing, and in Rex’s mind, Organa had tipped the scales, even if unintentionally.
Bail Organa was looking at Rex with an expression he couldn’t quite interpret.
“I just wanted her to know that she’s not alone. That she still has people out there that will help her if she needs it.” His eyes fell to his feet for a moment, and he swallowed hard before raising his gaze back up to meet Rex’s evenly.
Rex watched the senator for another half a beat before settling back in the chair. “I just want her to have a choice,” he said quietly. “And I don’t want her to feel pressured to do anything.”
Organa nodded. It was clear he had one more lingering thing he wanted to ask, and Rex could guess what it was, but he was still going to make him ask.
“Is she… have you heard…” For once, the normally well-spoken politician seemed to be struggling to find the words, and Rex couldn’t blame him.
There’s no nice way of asking someone if they’re a liar. He knows I’m covering for her.
And he does care. And trusts us enough to bring us here, where his family is.
“She’s safe,” Rex said, conceding slightly. “She reached out a little while ago.”
Organa dropped his eyes to the ground again, nodding. He exhaled hard, as if letting go of a weight.
“Good,” he said softly, and Rex could hear a trace of emotion in his voice. Without another word, the senator stepped out of the path of the chair, and the droid started pushing Rex again. The senator didn’t call Rex out on the fact that he’d initially lied, and to the captain, it felt like some sort of agreement or at least understanding had been reached as Organa fell into step next to him again. Rex decided that was going to have to be good enough for now.
“So how good are your medical facilities here?” Rex asked after a few minutes of silence, hoping the unprompted question served as enough of a peace offering.
“State of the art,” Organa replied with a slight upturn of his mouth. “Should have you back in top shape in a few hours. It looks like you were about as well taken care of as you could be up until now.”
Rex smirked at that. “I was.”
—
Senna wasn’t sure how long she slept, but she was awakened by a weight shifting on the bed. Her eyes flew open to find Rex sitting on the edge of the mattress smiling down at her, one of his hands resting on her shoulder.
“You were snoring,” he teased.
Senna rocketed to a sitting position, her hands pulling at the buttons of his shirt to inspect the wound on his chest. She found it freshly bandaged and looking significantly less red and angry around the edges of the patch. Rex grunted at her poking and prodding, and she withdrew her hands before glancing down at his leg.
“You walked in here?”
“All on my own,” he said with a smile. “It’s a wonder what a soak in a bacta tank can do. Well, that and access to more than just first-aid med supplies.” He winced slightly as he shifted, but Senna could still see that he’d drastically improved.
“How long has it been?” she asked, rubbing at her eyes.
“A few hours. Took me a bit to find my way here.”
“How’d you know what room I was in?”
“I didn’t, but Wrecker was more than happy to redirect me when I disturbed his nap,” he joked. Leaning forward, he pushed some of the hair out of her face. Senna leaned into his touch for a moment before flinging the blankets off of herself and climbing into his lap, wrapping her arms around him. She buried her nose in his neck, inhaling deeply as she cradled the back of his head. Rex relaxed in her embrace, and she felt his arms wrap around her waist, holding her close.
“Is this alright?” she whispered. “I’m not hurting you?”
“Not one bit,” he chuckled, readjusting and hugging her harder to him as if to reassure her.
Senna sighed against him, realizing she hadn’t hugged him like this in a while, not really. She’d wanted to, but there hadn’t been time, and then he’d been injured, and everything falling apart around them, but now, here she was, able to wrap her arms around Rex uninhibited, to feel safe and warm and loved in his embrace. Of course they’d kissed and made love and everything in between, but there was something about how tightly and yet how gently he was holding her, as if he never wanted to know what it felt like to not have her in his arms. She found it hard to tear herself away from his warmth, from how he smelled, from the comfort that was inherently Rex.
“How are you feeling?” he murmured into her shirt.
Senna stroked his head, nuzzling against his throat, and she felt him shudder slightly.
“More rested than I’ve been in a few rotations. This bed is so comfortable, and I’m not just saying that because I was sleeping on the Marauder’s floor most of the time.”
“Is that so?” Rex asked playfully, raising his head to meet her eyes. Senna could see a mischievous twinkle in his brown irises, one she found irresistible. Leaning down, she kissed him gently, but Rex had other plans. Senna found herself sighing as he worked his lips down her cheek to her jawline, pulling her shirt aside to gain access to her neck. “Do you think we should test out how comfortable it is?”
“Are you sure you’re up for it?” she asked breathily, her hands already working at the buttons of his shirt.
“I’d say this is what I’ve looked forward to most in the last few days,” he teased, biting at the soft place where her neck met her shoulder.
Senna grew impatient then, shoving his fumbling hands aside to get her shirt off.
“Well then, I’d say you made some grand promise about the both of us not leaving this room until we were hoarse and walking funny.”
“And I intend to make good on that promise,” Rex chuckled, his palms sliding around her waist and pulling her warm core against his hardening length. Senna groaned as Rex trailed kisses across her collar bone, his hands moving to cup her ass and pull her even closer. She let her head tip back, her eyes closing as she focused on the way Rex’s mouth felt on her skin.
A sharp knock at the door made them both freeze.
“Dinner is ready,” came the familiar voice of Organa’s attendant that had guided them to the rooms earlier. Senna let out a frustrated huff before replying, trying to keep the edge out of her voice.
“We’ll be right out.”
That seemed to satisfy the attendant, and Senna could hear Wrecker grumbling from down the hall when the message was delivered to him a few doors down.
Rex sighed against her skin, and she chuckled quietly, resting her forehead against his.
“We’ll have to pick this back up later, I guess.” Her stomach grumbled loudly, seemingly agreeing that dinner should be the priority.
“Oh, we absolutely will,” Rex agreed. “And there’ll be no interruptions then.”
Senna kissed him deeply one more time before clambering out of his lap. She couldn’t help but giggle as Rex adjusted himself in his pants while she pulled her shirt back over her head. It was a little big, but she didn’t mind. Rex was watching her hungrily as she stood in front of a mirror that was tucked into one corner of the room, pulling her hair into a messy bun on top of her head.
“What?” she asked.
“I just don’t understand how you’re so beautiful,” Rex breathed, and Senna rolled her eyes to hide her blush.
“Please, this is hardly the nicest you’ve seen me look. I don’t recall you swooning when I was in all of my finery on Empire Day.”
Rex stood, closing the space between them to wrap his arms around her, resting his chin on her shoulder. “I had a lot on my mind then. Mainly, how the kriff I was going to keep from kissing you all night.”
Senna smiled at his reflection in the mirror. “Well good news. No one’s stopping you now.”
Rex spun her around by her hips, leaning down to press his lips to hers as he shuffled her towards the door. “No one could stop me if they tried.”
—
The dining room, like the rest of the palace, had a simple elegance to it that Rex found stunningly beautiful. Vaulting, graceful ceilings curved towards a large window at the end of the hall that looked out over the soft glow of the city. While sometimes simplistic architecture and design could feel cold, there was something about the entire space that felt warm and inviting. The room was bustling when Senna and the clones arrived, with servant droids swarming the table, laying out food and drinks on beautiful blue and purple tablecloths. This particular area was clearly meant for more private dining affairs, smaller than what Rex would expect for a state dinner or other government function.
I’m honestly surprised they let us eat outside of our rooms at all. Organa really does trust his staff.
Wrecker was eyeing every dish that came out as if it were the last food in the system. Rex stood next to him and nudged his shoulder.
“Calm down there Wreck, or the droids are going to think you want to eat them.”
Wrecker looked at the captain with mock indignation in his eyes.
“All we’ve had are ration bars for weeks. Now, we get real food. Almost brings tears to my eyes. Almost.”
Rex laughed, moving towards the table. There were no visible place assignments, but there were more chairs than he’d expected. He noted Senna had gravitated towards a seat towards the one end of the table, and he stood next to her, placing his hands on the back of the chair next to hers.
“Subtle,” she muttered with a hint of a smirk.
“Wasn’t trying to be,” he teased back quietly.
Suddenly, Rex felt something slam into the back of his legs, caving in one of his knees as he let out a surprised grunt. He regained his balance and spun around to see the culprit, a toddler with brunette curls, clinging to his right calf and staring up at him with soft brown eyes and a wide grin. He chuckled, turning and squatting down to be on her level.
“Well, hello there, little one. And who might you be?”
The toddler reached out and wrapped her pudgy hand around one of his fingers, steadying herself between his outstretched hands. She was staring at him with a look of interest, as if sizing him up, and something about her eyes was eerily familiar to Rex. He was certain he’d never met this little girl before, but something about her expression made him feel as if he was meeting an old friend after a long time apart. The little girl babbled at him with only a smattering of words he could somewhat make out, and he laughed.
“Is that so?”
He looked up at Senna and saw her watching him with unmistakable adoration and amusement. Trying to hide the way her gaze made his insides flutter, Rex shot her a lopsided grin before the toddler babbled loudly, clearly trying to refocus his attention on her. He obliged with a soft laugh, turning back to his tiny compatriot.
“You have my undivided attention. I promise.”
Suddenly, a beautiful woman with sharp features and dark hair swept into the room. Rex had never met Breha Organa before, but he immediately recognized her by the pulmonodes that were glowing softly through her gown’s fabric. Her eyes scanned the room before landing on the toddler and widening.
“Leia! There you are!”
She rushed over and picked up the little girl who squealed in delight, reaching towards the woman’s braids and taking one in her hand.
“I’m terribly sorry. She’s just learned to walk, and we can barely keep up with her anymore,” the queen huffed in exasperation.
“It’s quite alright. She was just introducing herself,” Rex assured her.
Breha heaved a sigh before turning to hand the child off to an awaiting nurse droid.
“Please put her down for the night in our room. I’ll tend to her after dinner.”
The droid turned and left the room with the babbling toddler, exiting down the hall the queen had entered from. Leia waved a pudgy hand at Rex, and he returned her wave with a smile, which only made her giggle loudly before disappearing around a corner.
Turning back to face them, the queen smiled, brushing the disturbed braid back over her shoulder.
“I apologize again, I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Breha Organa.”
She extended a hand to Rex, who took it, bowing his head slightly.
“Your highness.”
She smiled back at him. “You must be Captain Rex, and you,” she said, turning to Senna, “must be Senna Aven. It’s a pleasure to welcome you both to our home.”
Senna mimicked Rex, bowing her head slightly. “I’m terribly sorry for the risk we bring with us, my lady. We are forever indebted to you for allowing us to stay here.”
Breha smirked and her eyes twinkled. “Nonsense. After the service you two have provided to our cause, it’s the least we can do. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to go introduce myself to the infamous Clone Force 99 before we eat. Please, have a seat and we’ll start dinner once my husband arrives, which should be any moment.”
Senna and Rex both bobbed their heads again as she turned to place a hand on Hunter’s shoulder and extend him a greeting.
She lives up to the legends, Rex thought as he pulled out Senna’s chair for her. She rolled her eyes at his sense of chivalry before sitting down.
As he slipped into the chair next to her, Senna leaned over and whispered, “I’ve heard so much about the queen, but I have to say, she’s even more impressive in person.”
Rex couldn’t stop himself from grinning at the apparent awe that sparkled in Senna’s eyes as she watched the queen speak to Hunter and his brothers. He couldn’t deny that he felt some of that same awe himself. He’d heard of the queen through political channels, but there was something about seeing her in person, pulmonodes proudly on display, that just made her admirable in his eyes as a soldier and a leader. She wanted her people to remember her dedication to them, how she’d sacrificed her body to claim her right to lead them on her Day of Demand. From what little he’d heard, that set of trials was no walk in the park, and the extent of the queen’s injuries confirmed that. The act of displaying her scars so visibly wasn’t something he’d expect out of the stuffy politicians he’d met during the war. She was a warrior.
“I didn’t think the queen was capable of bearing children due to her condition,” Senna whispered.
“She can’t,” Rex replied under his breath. “She and her husband adopted that little girl. Right after the war ended.” He huffed a laugh. “Seems like she’s quite the handful. But I’d have a hard time saying ‘no’ to that face.”
“She’s adorable,” Senna agreed. “And Leia is such a pretty name.”
“Yeah,” Rex replied, still trying to pinpoint what it was about that little girl that was tugging at something at the back of his mind. “Yeah, it is.”
A/N: Pulmonode Breha Organa Supremacy. That is all.
Tag List: @redheadgirl @cyarbika @witchklng @djarrex @arctrooper69 @sleepingsun501 @ladytano420 @rexxdjarin @echos-girlfriend @zoeykallus @leftealeaf @galacticgraffiti @hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall @ariadnes-red-thread @goblininawig @merkitty49 @fives-lover @ladykatakuri @runforrestr @baba-fett @daimyosprincess @bucketbunny99 @fordo-kixed-rex @nerd-ika @amish---paradise @arctrooperechy
#karrde writes#in command#star wars#the clone wars#tcw#nsft#lemon#lemony lemon#captain rex#the bad batch#tbb#echo#hunter#wrecker#tech#OC Senna Aven#captain rex x OC#captain rex x ofc#captain rex x original female character#slow burn#angst#fluff#whump
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Sorry if all our chatter is giving you a headache, we are trying to help
Do you know anyone else who lives nearby, who could pick you up and give you a safe place to sleep and figure out what to do? Most security cameras reset after 24-48 hours- if you don't go to the obvious places, any easy trace of where you went after Tango's will likely be gone before they know to look
You both walk maybe a yard before you sigh and acknowledge: “Waffle House would have security cameras, though.”
Skizz thinks. “Would it? I mean, I don’t know man, it’s Waffle House.”
“Can we risk it?”
Skizz throws his hands up in frustration. “Well if my house isn’t safe, and your house isn’t safe, and we probably shouldn’t go back to Tango’s because if someone hasn’t called 911 yet then we’re just waiting for someone to after the noise we made, and we can’t go to a hotel, and we can’t go to Waffle House, where will I eat pancakes?”
“There’s got to be somewhere we can crash. Uh, in-town friends…”
“Zedaph’s out in the boonies; we could get into his flat but they’d check there and also, it’s…”
You and Skizz grimace at each other. Zedaph’s flat is an option, but it’s probably not a good one. Zed had chosen it for its cheapness and exactly no other qualities; you’re pretty sure he just doesn’t bother about the black mold problem because he’s never in town. He spends about half his in-town time bunking with Tango as a result. You’ve been thinking about convincing him to just pay for a P.O. Box and move in with Tango, if he’s so concerned about having a separate postal address. It’s not like Tango’s guest room is normally used by anyone else.
…god, Zedaph’s going to be despondent when he gets home, you realize. He’d realize even faster than you something is wrong with Tango, and then he’s going to have to hear about how you’ve gone and committed what has to at least be felony assault, if not murder.
You fall quiet for a moment before twitching. “Yes, I know you all want me to crash with a friend, but in-town friends is sorta hard—”
“Who you talking to?” Skizz says, sounding very quiet and upset.
“Don’t—don’t worry about it. Myself,” you say.
“Okay,” Skizz says. “You probably just need sleep.”
“Probably,” you say.
“Do you—I mean, I have camping gear somewhere,” Skizz says. “Maybe? From those years I was a Scout leader.”
“That seems like a terrible idea in our current state,” you say.
“I mean, I don’t know then, buddy. I don’t know if Etho’s in-town.”
Oh. Right. Etho. Well, if anyone would inexplicably know how to hide from the cops… You’re a little hesitant, though. If Tango used to joke he was a secret agent, Etho used to joke by laughing awkwardly and explaining nothing about what he does. With your luck today, it’ll turn out he works for the NSA or something. It could be an option, though. Maybe.
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“Sniper”
Summary: Dispatched with the strange group known as Clone Force 99 you find yourself trying to win the respect of a hard to please sniper
Pairing: Crosshair x Padawan Reader (Platonic)
Warning: A very soft Crosshair! Mentions of a gun ofc
Word Count: 1496
Read here on ao3! (✩)
The batch was interesting, well that's what you heard. On the battle field they fought perfectly in sync, barely communicating. But to be with them even for a short time? To say the least you were worried you'd mess it up.
Your master left you in the company of Clone Force 99 temporarily while another battle was being fought, apparently deemed to dangerous for you.
The Marauder touched down in the middle of a clearing, some planet in the middle of the outer rim was said to have Separatist activity, and the batch was to scout ahead to make sure it was worth the Republics time to investigate.
Hunter and Tech went out to scout first which left you, Wrecker, and Grouchy McGrouch to watch the ship.
The others seemed to come on to you fine when you first met but a certain sniper was pretty hard to please.
"I think," Wrecker started, startling you a little bit with the volume " he'll come round, your a great kid to be around." He gestured towards Crosshair. Clearly he saw you staring
"Thanks Wreck" You sighed leaning against the ship. "I'm just worried he thinks I'm an annoying little nat-born."
"He probably does." Wrecker said bluntly "But he thinks that about everyone, and if that's nat-born it's reg, or shiny or-" He started rambling different names, all not sounding the nicest but something caught your attention.
It was probably the stupidest idea, but it would be stupider not the act on it right?
With as much confidence you could must you walked over to where Crosshair was sat cleaning his precious riffle. Seriously how many times does he do that?
"Hey Crosshair" You said walking up to him, why were you nervous, and why was it so important you needed him to like you? At least acknowledge you in a less formal way.
"Sir" He nodded never looking up. The toothpick in his mouth moved from one side to the other
"Well- umm" You started, not really thinking ahead this far. "I had some questions about that."
You pointed to where the sleek weapon was cradled in his arms.
“My sniper?" He asked, finally meeting your gaze. Clearly he also was surprised by the question.
"Yeah, well I don't normally use anything like that because I have my lightsaber and the extra vibro-blade" You stated. "I mean I used a DC-15S before but they are quite different obviously-" You trailed off, you caught the confused look in Crosshairs eyes
"They are quite different." The tone he used betrayed nothing of what he was thinking. "Of course something a little more... similar would be the DC-15A blaster riffle, but I myself prefer the 773 Firepuntcher rifle."
Now you were getting somewhere. This is exactly what you wanted, you just needed to find the right things to discuss especially if the other is interested in it.
"Wow a 773 rifle." You whistled, trying to contain your victory smile. "Now does it have a lot of backlash and how much range does it have, oh and what about the modifications you made?" You practically bombarded him with questions.
He answered a few, his tone still sounding the same as before, but you kept coming back with questions or anything else that might help make a better impression of you in his eyes.
After a few more minutes of this he quietly got up and signaled with his head for you to follow.
The two of you walked into the surrounding trees, Crosshairs long legs keep a very swift pace with you practically running to catch up, he found a small opening and crouched down.
"Your lucky I was bored enough to do this." He quipped. A stand popped out from the underside of the rifle, he got to his stomach the gun propped up in front with the back end crowded by his shoulder.
'Oh what the kriff' You though getting onto your own stomach beside crosshair.
"The modifications on this have it so the firepower is released quieter and not as much back lash hits the user." Crosshair said slowly linking his eye up with the scope on top.
You were amazed to say the least, seeing someone in their element like that was incredible. You didn't say anything only nodded worried that you were going to distract him.
He aimed up a little then pulled the trigger and let it fire, a perfect hole was in the middle of a low hanging leaf. Some smoke went up but it was still intact, a little more to either side would have make the leaf rip. Somehow it also didn't disintegrate
"Wow" Was all you could croak out, eyes wide still staring."
You almost missed the pleased smirk coming from the the sharpshooter. "Honestly kid, I though you saw a sniper doing their work before."
'Kid' Now you were getting somewhere.
He made another quick gesture with his head and you got back down to the laying position nearly touching sides with Crosshair.
"Ever shoot one before." You looked at him confused, was he really going the way you though he was with this?
"No" You shook your head.
He quickly rearranged the riffle to fit between your right shoulder, sure it was a tad bit big and lengthy for your liking but you were touching Crosshairs riffle. HIS RIFFLE, you were sure people lost fingers trying to do it before you.
"Cross-" You started but stopped as he positioned your hand to the appropriate space.
"Try to find another leaf" He said. His head was angled to try and look down the top of the gun from where he was still on his stomach.
You put your eye up to the scope. "Ok not that close." He almost snapped.
You backed up and regrouped for a seconded. Trying again you look through.
"Fix your hands, and your position." Was he loosing patience or was that how he always was? You obeyed him though.
"How about that one?" You aimed up,It was rhetorical but it made you feel better none the less.
"The one next to it." Was very bluntly said next to you, clearly it wasn't rhetorical.
You went a little towards the left, the air seemed to grow thicker as you sized up the leaf.
You sat there for a moment more, Crosshairs hands hovering around making slight adjustments here and there. This is we're the doute slowly crept in.
"Shhhh" was all that came from besides you.
Crosshair aimed the barrel a little high up and then gave the nod to fire.
The shot was fired, you barely got pushed back as the force of the shot rocked the gun backwards.
At least you hit something, the trunk of the tree had a freshly made wound glowing red until it cooled.
"See?" Was all you mumbled.
Crosshair shook his head, meeting your eyes he said "again, this time don't think as much."
You sighed lining yourself up again. Crosshair made a few tweaks but then let you go free.
"Go blank" He said again then gave you the nod to shoot.
The shot fired again.
"I did it!" A giddy laugh escaped your mouth. You sat up slightly on your elbows "Did you see that!"
You looked eagerly to the man sitting next to you.
"I did." He nodded.
You sprang from your spot of the forest floor and tan to collect your prize. Sure the leaf wasn't perfectly as clean but it didn't fall apart and you were thankful for that.
"Look at it! Look!" You ran back to Cross with your arms outstretched. He took was already standing with his riffle already neatly away and slung around his shoulder.
He gave you a ginger smile then took the delicate leaf from your hands holding it up slightly to his face.
"That was pretty decent kid." He said looking down to you. He gave a solemn nod handing you back the leaf.
Those words could have sent you to another planet, that was all you were looking for from the teams sniper.
The two of you started back to the clearing, this time you were ahead with a little more pep in your step ready to show your small victory to the team.
"Hunter look what Crosshair showed me to do!" You ran up to him.
"Wow Crosshair let you touch his riffle?" Wrecker asked with a smile on his own face.
"Mhm it was so cool!" You practically shouted
Hunter looked up from your happy face to meet his brothers.
Crosshair once again leaned against the ship popping a toothpick in his mouth giving his brother a small smirk and a shrug.
#star wars#the clone wars#clone force 99#crosshair#crosshair x reader#crosshair x y/n#star wars clone wars#clone commando crosshair#my wriitng#toska-writes#reader insert
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Pre ANH luke and reader hc’s??
YESSSS here they are! Pre ANH and ANH Luke is such a sweetheart, I love him so much🥲 thank you for your ask <3
However I'd appreciate a more polite wording for next time :(
• there are several ways you could have met Luke before he left for his adventures in ANH
• the most common I usually come across is of you growing up together and eventually developing feelings for each other
• that's also most likely in my opinion since there isn't exactly something like tourism on Tatooine
• or a market for good housing opportunities
• still, outside of this idea I have some more
• maybe, for whatever reason, you and your family come to live near where Luke does out of necessity
• I don't know what you would have to do to end up in that kind of situation but potentially you need a place to hide for some time, similarly to Obi-Wan
• I also could see you as part of a little smuggler crew making a stop for business and staying to watch some pod races
• I imagine those to be fun when you're not the one potentially dying
• but maybe you even want to participate yourself because you desperately need money or lost a bet
• maybe you've come looking for someone to get back at them because they still owe you money/information/etc.
• basically, you're either suffering a hard life or are a criminal, is what I'm saying
• (or both, not gonna lie)
• it's possibly for your relationship to be one of true feelings
• especially if you grew up together
• maybe though you've always just acknowledged each others presence and it turns into a simple and practical opportunity to discover your sexuality
• there is not much going on on your planet after all and I imagine you get to know all the people your age pretty fast
• (probably at Tosche station, where Luke picks up the famous power converters)
• so if you're lucky and there's a person you like, or think you could grow to like, better secure them before someone else snatches them away
• in that regard it doesn't matter if it's just for a friendship with the added bonus of occasionally fooling around or something actually romantic
• of course if you just got to know each other it could be love at first sight too
• or just as well a quick hook up somewhere in the desert
• (this could turn into more as well but doesn't need to, maybe you're both fine with casually making out and having sex with no feelings attached)
• for now I want to go down the "there are real feelings involved" route though
• I think it's really cute and fits ANH Luke well
• so imagine sweet teenage boy Luke with a crush on you
• whether you have realized what is going on depends on how often you actually see each other and how attentive you are
• either way I'm sure you will notice sooner or later though
• I said before that ANH Luke is not subtle whatsoever and I mean it
• he stares. A lot.
• he thinks he's so sneaky too, always averting his gaze as fast as he can when you turn your head towards his direction
• his blush will tell on him though
• while he is really tan I still believe he has the ability to turn as red as a tomato
• and you better believe his friends will tease him about it like crazy
• when he speaks to you he's so nervous and excited he's always talking too fast and stumbling over his words
• you feel horribly sorry when you have to ask him to repeat what he said because he looks so ashamed of himself then
• when you decide to iniate conversation first he will doubt for a moment that you really are talking to him, maybe even looking behind himself to check if there isn't someone else you could be speaking to
• he can't believe he got so lucky
• I imagine he has difficulty keeping eye contact at first, it makes his stomach feel funny and he doesn't know how to deal with it
• often his gaze will shoot up and lowers just as quickly again, obviously he doesn't want to miss seeing your face from up close
• he probably has lots of day dreams
• and you better believe you are playing a/THE major role in them too
• it starts with very innocent things like simply holding hands, you resting your head on his shoulder, kissing your cheek
• or your lips!!!
• OR his personal favorite, seeing your beautiful smile directed at him
• alternatively he thinks about marriage (he's a hopeless romantic) and having your own farm like his aunt and uncle do, growing old together
• at the same time he wants to leave Tatooine with you as soon as possible, to travel and explore the galaxy
• in the end he decides it doesn't really matter what your future will look like as long as you will be by his side
• there is absolutely no way he never stumbled across porn on the holonet though
• possibly he looked it up on purpose
• and suddenly he has an even harder time (lol) in your presence because he can't keep his mind off what you may look like naked
• no matter what he does, he can't get these thoughts out of his head
• he keeps wondering if your skin is as soft and smooth as it looks
• if your hair tickles
• how you smell
• he wants to explore every part of you
• you aren't necessarily his sexual awakening but maybe the first person he seriously wants to share more intimate moments with
• to his dismay he keeps having wet dreams and waking up hard in the morning
• I see him feeling kind of guilty
• like he took something from you without your knowledge
• he'll probably talk to Biggs about it because he's so upset
• OR, bless him, he'll confess to you
• I genuinely believe he'd apologize for something like this
#ask#luke skywalker#luke skywalker x reader#luke skywalker x you#star wars#luke star wars#star wars fanfiction#fanfic#star wars headcanons#headcanons#star wars a new hope#star wars empire strikes back#star wars return of the jedi
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i am like nothing short of disgusted with the fact that oscar, a child thrown into the war he had nothing to do with, was the mcs' punching bag for their unstable sad asses and them not acknowledging what it's like for him, because if they did, they'd think twice before physically and verbally abusing him. And him not having hard feelings about it. Like boy have some self-respect. If I were in Oscar's place when Jaune pinned him against the wall and started yelling at him, I'd immediately punched him as hard as possible and then said something like: "Let me make one thing clear for all of you if you and I are to work together; I am not him, I am still here. The next time you forget that fact, I leave. For good." Because fucking hell, this is the SECOND time these asshole forget that he exists as a separate fucking person
The whole drama with Oscar during V6 highlights a major issue with RWBY: The writers would copy tropes, moments, and ideas from other media but they did not understand the reason why these ideas worked in those media. They disregard the context and the consequences of these kinds of tropes and just use drama to create a false sense of stake that never gets resolved.
Oscar never got an apology from adult men assaulting him, hell, the episode right after Jaune pinned him against the wall was dedicated to JAUNE. Fuck the fact that this child had to be involved in something bigger than he ever expected and god knows how far he is right now from home, the kid can just fuck off and get character development somewhere else off-screen before ANOTHER grown man assault him.
The tension was set up in a way that we can see how Oscar is feeling about everything along with the protagonists, but you're right anon. Oscar is a punching bag, not a character. Because RWBY is a show that likes to copy only the appearance of other media's work, but never the heart.
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HarukAiri Tickle Headcanons
Some of these got LONG. Maybe potential fic ideas.
Tickle fights with these two get REAL.
They are both competitive, stubborn and have ridiculously good physical stamina.
Even panting and teary-eyed, they just. keep. going.
Giving up and admitting defeat doesn't even cross their minds until their voices are hoarse and even the slightest touch has them giggly.
Usually they both either claim to win and “agree to disagree” because they don't want to admit how tired they are OR call it a draw and have a rematch a couple hours later.
There is somehow not EVER a decisive winner.
Anyone who didn't know them might find it moderately concerning.
One of the rare soft forms of competition is typically during movie night/any scenario where they’re holding each other on the couch. One of them will be relaxing and idol-ly (ha) stroking the other’s back before she gets the twitch which is all but a declaration of war.The game then begins and is operated on a set of unwritten rules because to write them would mean admitting they exist. They sit there and geeeently trace each other’s back/shoulders until someone giggles and then has to get absolutely WRECKED. Neither of them have ever acknowledged it to the other.
They don't tickle each other often enough to really consider it something significant in their relationship. Just another form of affection.
Airi ends up ler more often than not purely because she just happens to lean more ler. She very rarely actively craves tickles, at least not in the way Haruka does.
Airi also gives KILLER tickle bites. Haruka is very sensitive to mouth tickles on her stomach and Airi is consequently very good at making her girlfriend’s life hard.
*Can* do raspberries but prefers acting like she’s going to and instead nibbles to her heart’s content.
Tickling is one of Airi’s favorite approaches to Haruka’s body image issues, assuming she’s not in the mood to be serious about them.
Airi generally uses tickling as a way to get Haruka out of her own head.
She also does not hesitate to do it in front of other people too, which Haruka finds flustering to no end. Especially in front of Minori and Shizuku who are two separate flavors of “awwwww!”
Minori does it in an adoring “my idol is so cute right now! She should smile like that all the time!” way.
Shizuku is more of a “what a cute moment between my two dear friends!”
Either way Haruka just wants them to stop cooing at her. (no she doesn’t)
When Haruka is in a lee mood, conceptually, asking Airi is no big deal until she’s in front of her. Something about her big eyes and smug look reduce her to absolute rubble.
Airi, of course, NEVER helps fill in the words. Haruka isn’t getting what she wants until she CLEARLY utters the EXACT words.
“Aw, c’mon Haru! You can be clearer than those mumbles! You do it on stage all the time! In fact maybe we should practice your projection right now too…”
She likes to tease as if tickling is just training. “Oh you’re babbling a lot, aren’t you? A good idol can talk through any amount of strain” And then she doubles down, making her tasks downright impossible.
They are complete opposites on the “scary ler” spectrum.
While Airi is more “everything all at once” and goes for worst spots and stays there before switching up out of nowhere, Haruka tends to be more meticulous, taking the time to find out exactly what the best approach is.
They both have a “ler voice”, I'm not sure how to describe it, but sometimes they'll switch randomly into a tease-y flirty voice and the other knows they’re done for.
I know I’ve talked about precise ler Haruka on here before so I won’t say more than that but I cannot emphasize enough just how bad that is.
One of my favorite pjsk tkl headcanons EVER is that Airi’s stomach isn’t at all ticklish so people will poke once or twice then give up in favor of somewhere different. The actual death spot, however, is in her belly button. No reaction anywhere else on her stomach EXCEPT for there.
Haruka was the first one to figure this out (including Airi herself) and frequently uses it when Airi’s being grouchy.
Haruka uses a lot of “cheer up” tickles. This basically translates to “Airi please take a deep breath and calm down before I have to tickle you to bits just to see you smile.”
Airi doesn’t feel fear often, preferring to deal with her problems head on instead of running away. Haruka in a full tickle monster mood though? She becomes a COWARD (totally justified) It doesn’t happen often, so a lot of energy gets built up at once and then explodes out all at once.
Sometimes she’s just wound up and fidgety, sometimes Airi needs to be knocked down from her podium, really anything can trigger it and it’s sometimes as much a surprise to Haruka as it is to Airi when it happens.
The primary problem is that Haruka both A: Knows EXACTLY how to get to Airi and B: Knows she can take it.
The fact that Airi lers more is more than made up for in pure intensity.
Haruka also, language-wise, has a scarily good memory and likes to throw Airi’s word right back into her face.
“Look how strong I’ve gotten! It’s not fair unless you get the same training.” “What’s that? I thought a good idol was supposed to talk through anything”
Airi is a screamer and Haruka will never admit the self satisfaction that she feels if she can get silent laughter from her.
Same goes for giggly Airi. Just not something that happens.
I made them both seem super mean throughout most of this and maybe they are… a little bit. But it’s out of love! They’re each confident in each other’s ability to withstand it and both know the other (especially Airi to Haruka) needs to let some fun into their life, even if it has to be forced.
----
Ignore the date ignore the date guys just ignore the date ignore th-
#project sekai tickles#tickling#sfw tickling community#airi momoi#haruka kiritani#pjsk tickle hcs#tickle hcs#lee!airi#ler!airi#lee!haruka#ler!haruka#practickles 2.24
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“Siblings” for @theadultfandomproject back to Hogwarts train / 1408 words
Sirius didn’t really know what to do other than wander the castle, the weight of betrayal still heavy on his heart, even after weeks of feeling it.
It seemed like everyone wanted a piece of Regulus: Remus for his brainpower, Peter for his chess skills, and James for whatever the fuck he wanted Regulus for.
It made him sick.
Didn’t they all see what a horrible person he was? What manipulative, disrespectful trash he was? Raised to be a double of Walburga — cold and calculating.
“Oi, Regulus!” Sirius called when he finally spotted his younger brother across the hall. He’d had enough of his own silence regarding Regulus. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
Regulus' eyes went wide at being acknowledged by Sirius at all, but he instantly regained his composure, schooling his expression once more.
Back to the blank face and dead gray eyes their mother gave him.
“What am I doing, Sirius?” Regulus asked, deadpan. “Enlighten me.”
Sirius sputtered for a moment, unsure what to say. Stop being so smart and so good at chess?
“You — you’re tricking my friends,” he finally got out.
Regulus laughed at that. A maniacal sound, laced with malice. “I’m not tricking anyone. Perhaps you’ve just overstayed your welcome with them,” Regulus spat.
Regulus was always so collected, so stoic when Sirius was so wild and recalcitrant and it made Sirius fume. He wanted to see Regulus angry — wanted to see him come undone.
“Fuck you,” he spat back.
Sirius wondered idly if he could convince him to cheat on James, to make himself so clearly worthless to the rest of the marauders that they would finally come to their senses.
If only that wouldn’t hurt James also.
“Get over yourself, Sirius,” Regulus chided. “Not everything is about you.” He gazed back at Sirius for another split second, eyes cold and dark, before turning on his heel and heading back down to the dungeons.
****
Where Sirius got off on telling Regulus what to do was beyond him. Maybe if Sirius was a better big brother — more active and encouraging, none of this would be such an issue.
So what if Regulus got on with Remus? Shouldn’t Sirius be grateful that the two of them had found a study partner in each other? Rather than someone who might be using them — using Remus, studying only a cover while they try to get into his pants in the dark alcoves of the library?
Regulus was even less deserving of scrutiny and animosity when it came to James, because the entire thing had been James’ idea in the first place. James had been pursuing Regulus for months — years, maybe — with his constant heated gazes across the great hall, soft touches every time they crossed paths in the corridors. Eventually, Regulus found himself looking for James everywhere he went, until eventually they were hiding out in broom cupboards, snogging until their knees went weak.
Regulus had no use for Sirius’ friends, but rather for the boy who made his heart flutter and the boy who challenged him academically.
Surely Sirius could see that.
If he couldn’t, that was because he wasn’t a good brother. He was too caught up in family feuds and parental trauma to see that Regulus had grown, had distanced himself from Walburga just the same as he had.
“Where are you, babe?” James said, pulling Regulus out of his rumination. “You’ve been somewhere else the entire time you’ve been here.” James ran a finger down the curve of Regulus’ jaw, making him shudder, bringing him back to the present.
Regulus ran a hand through his hair. “It’s just… Sirius,” he said simply, turning to face James as they both sat on the edge of his bed in the Gryffindor dorm room.
“Is he still giving you a hard time about studying with Remus?” James asked. “I thought he’d be over that by now.”
Regulus sighed. “It’s all of it. You too.”
“Me?” James exclaimed, indignant. “He said — I thought he was okay with it, so long as I was happy and all that.”
“He wants you to be happy,” Regulus explained. “Not me. I don’t deserve you, James, and he knows.”
James grumbled, something protesting yet nearly inaudible. “We’ve talked about this, Reg.” James pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. “You’re not the person your mother made you into. Neither is Sirius. If he can be a prick about how he’s better than that family, then he needs to accept the fact that you’re also better than them.”
Regulus shook his head. “There’s no point, I won’t be able to —,”
“What the fuck is he doing in our dorm?” Sirius asked, suddenly standing in the doorway. He looked furious, and Regulus immediately began warring with himself. He hates being complacent when it came to Sirius; he wanted to fight and make Sirius feel small the way he always did, but he couldn’t behave that way now — not in front of James.
“Sirius…” Remus tried from beside him, but Sirius wasn’t listening, only glaring at Regulus from across the room.
“I’ll go, James,” Regulus whispered to James, making to stand up. They would be able to get together again later in the day, if James wanted to, but he couldn’t sit here biting his tongue for much longer.
“No,” James replied softly, tugging Regulus back onto his bed by his arm. “You need to stop this, Sirius,” James said, directing his attention to his best friend now. “I’m not going to let Regulus slip through my fingers just because you want to be an arsehole and ignore what’s right in front of you.”
“And what is that?” Sirius spat. “A manipulative shit who’s somehow got the both of you under his thumb?” He looked from James to Remus and back again, as if either of them thought that was anything but a passive-aggressive rhetorical question.
“You don’t know a single thing about me,” Regulus replied, tongue just as acidic as Sirius’ had been.
“I know that you’re mothers little minion, her snake in this lion's den, and I refuse to stand by and watch you leave my best mates behind every single time you go crawling back to her. You’re a spineless cowa—”
“He’s coming home with me,” James said, cutting off Sirius’ tirade. “He’s moving into my parents’,” he continued, suddenly speaking softly, like if too many people hear him say that it won’t come true.
“Wh-what?” Sirius sputtered.
“McGonagall has been intercepting your parents’ howlers so none of the other slytherins know, but he’s completely cut ties with them already,” James explained. “He’s no longer heir.”
Sirius looked confused, like he didn’t want to believe James, but there was light in his eyes, like if he hadn’t spent his entire life learning to hide his emotions, a smile may have crested is lips just then. Like maybe he was proud of Regulus — happy that he had followed in his footsteps after all.
“Is he serious, Regulus?”
Regulus nodded, trying not to roll his eyes. A large part of him still wanted to lash out, to destroy Sirius for being so immovable in his opinion of his own baby brother, unwilling to listen to anyone’s high praise about him.
Regulus had changed, and his own brother couldn’t see that before, but maybe he would notice now; maybe that would be enough.
“Yeah, Sirius. I’ll live with the Potters until I graduate, and then James and I will get our own place.” James immediately blushed and looked down at his lap.
“James?” Sirius asked, as if looking for confirmation.
James looked up and nodded. “I told you,” he said, soft smile spreading on his face, “I’m in love with him.”
Sirius sat on his bed, groaning. “I feel like my entire world shifted on its axis in the last ten minutes,” he said, looking up at Remus. Remus followed him to his bed, letting Sirius press his cheek against his stomach.
“I think it did, Sirius,” Remus agreed softly, running his fingers through Sirius’ hair. “But maybe you can forgive Regulus now that you know how much he’s changed.” He crooked a finger under Sirius’ chin, forcing Sirius’ gaze up to meet his. “Maybe you can be brothers again.”
Sirius tore his gaze away from Remus’ to look over at Regulus. He smiled softly, and Regulus thought that just maybe, Remus was right.
Maybe they could be brothers again.
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FALLOUT (TV SERIES, 2024): Episode Seven
Feel free to edit the sentences, places, pronouns, etc, as you need.
NSFW TW: Mentions of violence
“Thank you, darling.”
“Well, hell, I probably still got some of your lead in me somewhere.”
“But today, I’m just looking for information.”
“I’ll tell you anything, as long as you leave us in peace.”
“We haven’t heard from him since.”
“There’s always some new little faction, ain’t there?”
“Brand-new team of believers with their own dumbass ideas about how they gonna save the world.”
“What did you do? What is that envelope?”
“But my problem is, by the time I got this letter off your [relation], it was a little bit hard to read.” *holds up bloodied letter with a hole in it.*
“For some reason, I just can’t make out their location. Now, you give me that location, and I’ll be on my way.”
“I didn’t want to spend my life digging through dirt, I want to build something, and we have the chance -”
“Tell him what he wants to know! Or else he’ll kill us all!”
“Now, please, leave us.”
“What is it about [location], that we all came to this place?”
“But it is just a dream, it’s not real.”
“This is about all the horseshit I can take.”
“I have my principles, [name], that’s all.”
“How do you know them?”
“My research company was acquired by her division.”
“Hypocrisy is like violence in your movies; if you only let bad guys use it, the bad guys win.”
“A good bad guy doesn’t see themselves as the bad guy.”
“It’s a listening device.”
“You want me to spy on them?”
“Good luck with that revolution.”
“I’m not a [foul description/title]. That’s just a dirty word they use to describe people who aren’t insane.”
“We let you into our home. Tended to your wounds, gave you food and water.”
“You’re experimenting on them… It’s sick.”
“What is this?”
“At this point, it would be irrational of me not to acknowledge that these may be my last words.”
“Sorry, I uh, haven’t seen that footage in a long time.”
“I had no idea the original [vault dwellers] here were so… so weird.”
“Your ignorance cannot excuse your cruelty.”
“You have infected our home with violence and now you must pay the price.”
“Are you done?”
“I’m gunna fucking die.”
“If you were a person, you wouldn’t have any friends, you realize that?”
“Okay, I got to reevaluate here.”
“Oh, you want this too, huh? Everybody wants this. Guess what? It’s mine.”
“You think everything’s for you. It’s pretty selfish, actually, you know that?”
“You’re a loose cannon, all right? This is a very important mission, and I can’t have you jeopardizing it.”
“You can breathe in there, right?”
“It doesn’t matter where you come from or what you believe, you deserve safety… Unless you threaten that peace.”
“It’s almost there.”
“Need to get that sharpened, please.”
“You’re just… Letting me go?”
“That’s, uh, very nice of you guys.”
“I know that I’m not really in the position to be asking favors…”
“I can help people with this. You, for example, I want to help you.”
“I was supposed to marry a stranger, from another [vault]. It didn’t turn out so good.”
“I don’t have the best luck when it comes to strangers.”
“But, [name], I can honestly say, you’re the best stranger I’ve ever met.”
“There’s something I should tell you.”
“He was threatening me, so instead of helping him, I watched him die.”
“So all that stuff you were saying, you know, uhm, about me being a good person…”
“I just threw acid in an innocent man’s face.”
“Do you want to come live with me in my [vault]?”
“Don’t kill me, I’m a doctor, I can help you!”
“Before we start, there’s the small matter of my fee.”
“Remember, wherever you end up, that’s where you belong.”
“Ugh, more death, I wish it would end.”
“What did I tell you, [name], words have meaning.”
“So, you’re just gonna forget about everything we’ve seen?”
“I feel like this is a good moment for a fresh start.”
“You’re a coward, you know that, [name]?”
“We all are, that’s why we live in a [vault].”
“I’ve got three hot cocoas on deck, two marshmallow, one plain.”
“I’m sorry, [name], but you ain’t them.”
“Yeah, uh, my ride should be getting here any minute.”
“People just, uh, can’t be nice.”
“God, I suck without a scope.”
“Why am I not dead?”
“Well, I’m not just gonna leave it there.”
“[Name], I think you might be a ghoul.”
“They’ll kill me if they find out.”
“They’re never going to stop looking for it.”
“I’ll wait for you.”
“And now we say goodbye to all those that are leaving us for [Vault 32].”
“Uh, excuse me, I don’t live there. I, uh, live here.”
“Sorry, sorry, that was weird. Sorry.”
“Are you compromised?”
“Mission not going as planned.”
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