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novemberheart · 2 months

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{overview} It is finally time to meet Simon.

{warnings} Female reader, a/b/o dynamics

Chapter 3 <- Chapter 4 -> Chapter 5

The cafeteria was nice. Each corner had an area to get food. Two of the corners were offering the same thing, burgers or pizza along with some sides. Kyle explained one corner was for specialized food or allergies and the other corner was for drinks, vending machine snacks, and desserts. You decided on pizza, with fries, a fruit salad and some water.

John carried your tray for you.

It was interesting to see how people reacted to them. They moved quickly out of their way, staring at you in slight disbelief. You could pick out a few omegas just by the way they looked, none of them seemed very friendly.

As you sat a purr erupted from a nearby alpha at your scent. To your surprise Kyle was the first to react, quickly moving between the two of you, a commanding growl leaving him before you could even begin to feel unsafe. Kyle didn't even need to look over his shoulder at the alpha. A beta overpowering an alpha with just one noise wasn't something you got to see every day. It was clear why people steered away from them.

Lunch was relatively silent, most of the conversation between Kate and John was about logistical stuff. She asked if he had looked over the files she had sent him concerning things about you. He nodded, quickly recalling your birthday, where you were born, and your height.

“I didn't even know I had a file,” you added absentmindedly.

“I'll show it to you sometime,” John promised.

After lunch, Kate began to bid her farewells. You gasped softly, your hand instinctively gripping onto her arm.

“We’ll give you two a minute,” John said, leading Kyle around the corner with him.

“Don't you feel a bit better?” Kate questioned. You shook your head.

“Can't you stay for a bit longer?” you practically whined.

“Honey, I'll still be here on base. I just need to finalize some paperwork. I'll call you tonight to check on you, promise.” Her tone was soft like you were a frightened alley cat.

“I don't think I'm ready to be alone with them. What if something happens?” You pleaded, the smell of lemons starting to flow off of you.

“None of that,” she whispered encouragingly. “Remember what we talked about in the car. Nothing will happen to you. I would never put you in harm's way. Now be the good little omega I know you are, okay?” She ran her hand up and down your arms to ground you.

With a slight wobble of your chin, you finally agreed. Giving her a tight hug, you took a deep breath and rounded the corner where John and Kyle were resting against the wall. You wondered if they had heard you. You gave one last look back at Kate who gave you a tough ‘you can do it’ glare.

“Ready?” John asked, causing your attention to go to him.

“Yeah.” You said softly.

Medical was a daunting place. It smelled sterile, and the air was blasting to filter out all the different scents going on. The lights were bright and the furniture sharp and clinical. As you walked you couldn't help but move a bit closer to Kyle. You went up then around then up again before you finally stopped.

“Tavy.” Kyle greeted. You didn't move from your place behind Kyle. Kyle handed him a wrapped-up burger he had taken from the cafeteria.

“Thanks, mate.” His voice was deep, just like all of them. It held a pleasant growl in it that sent a shiver up your spine. “Where’s the pup?” you heard him ask. Kyle looked over his shoulder at you, a gentle smile on his face. He took a step to the side.

He was handsome, of course. Although it wasn't the first time you had seen him he looked even better here, despite the harsh lighting and obvious lack of sleep he's had.

“Pretty thing aren't ya?” His tone wasn't condescending or even malicious. It was sweet, sincere, and softer than before like he knew you were on the edge of being startled. “How was the drive-in?” it was the first normal question you had been asked since your arrival.

“Good, thank you. Started to rain pretty hard,” you answered. He offered you a small smile, before plopping down in a seat. He patted the one next to him, prompting you to sit.

“John Mactavish. But most people call me Johnny." He didn't want you to call him ‘Soap’. Soap was who he was out there. You weren't to be associated with that. You introduced yourself softly. He dug into his burger asking you questions throughout. Kyle sat next to you, while John decided to step into what you assumed was Simons's room.

“Where are you from?”

“What do you like to do?”

“What’s your favorite color?”

It was all surface stuff but it slowly began to etch away at your nervous scent.

“Kyle was right, you do smell good,” Johnny smirked. You could feel Kyle tense from next to you. You shifted in your seat a bit embarrassed.

You don't know why your scent is extra powerful. It always has been even when you were little. It was one of the things that gave away your status before you had even grown into it. All the doctors you've had haven't been able to figure it out either. You would just chalk it up to luck but you weren't quite sure it made you lucky.

John stepped back out of the room.

“He's asleep.” He sighed, running a hand down his face.

“He woke a bit earlier. Wasn't angry, just grumpy but that's normal, aye?” Johnny chuckled.

“Do you want me to go in?” You spoke up. You weren't stupid. You knew the main reason you were here was for this very reason.

“Only if you feel comfortable,” John checked. You swallowed down the nerves that Johnny hadn't fixed yet and got out of the hard blue seat.

“You’ll stay right outside?” you asked, focusing your attention on Kyle. He was the one you felt the most comfortable with at the moment. He quickly nodded his head, moving to sit in the seat closest to the door.

“You'll be fine, yeah? He wouldn't hurt you, even in a dazed state.” Kyle assured, giving you the last little bump you needed.

You slipped inside the door, closing it quietly behind you. The man was massive. You could see that even from the door, his hulking frame taking up all of the hospital bed. His chest rose and fell softly. He wasn't hooked up to any machines, but his bones seemed heavy. He must be pretty medicated. You took a seat next to the bed.

You weren't quite sure what to do. There wasn't much to look at. He had a medical paper mask covering the bottom part of his face. He had dark ginger hair and light lashes. You wondered what color his eyes were. Maybe a green? Or maybe brown?

Suddenly the door opened. Your head whirled around to see John still standing there stepping out of the way for a nurse. She closed the door behind her. She smelled heavily of pheromone blockers. She must've just put some on before she entered.

“You must be his omega?” She hummed softly in greeting.

“Oh well-yeah.” You decided it was best to just agree.

“You must be new around here. I usually work up in the Omega ward and I've never seen or smelt you before.” She chuckled softly.

“It's true I am new to this. All of this.” you sighed your eyes wracking across Simons's large frame. “You wouldn't happen to have any pointers would you?”

“Are you two bonded?” she asked, making you shake your head. “I figured. Well if you were bonded, physical touch is usually what's recommended. I would project your scent and talk to him. It sounds silly but I also think patients can listen to you even when they aren't entirely there.” She explained, taking his temperature. “Low grade fever. That's progress.” she sighed, writing it on a chart. “Let me know if you have any other questions, hun.” She smiled at you warmly before heading towards the door.

You slumped in your seat, eyes still trained on the rising and falling of his chest. “Probably have a fever because you're all covered up,” you muttered. You stood, working slowly at pulling the blankets away from his shoulders and down to his stomach. “Nice tattoos.” You complimented. You grabbed a hold of his hand, lifting his arm so it was above the covers. You moved around the bed doing the same to the other side. “Should also have a cool towel on your head.” you groaned, looking around the room. You went into the bathroom, found a small hand towel, and ran it under cold water.

You hesitantly placed the cool towel on his forehead. You half expected his eyes to snap open and attempt to take a bite out of you. Instead, a gentle rumble shook his chest- it felt almost like a thank you.

“You’re welcome,” you replied in a whisper with a short smile on your face. The rumble disappeared as soon as it came, but you got the meaning behind it. With a sigh, you plopped back down in your chair. “I’m here for you, y’know.” You don't know where it came from, but it suddenly felt easy to talk to him. “They are all worried about you. They all have bags under their eyes and they take turns keeping watch outside your door. So I hope you're working on getting better and not just taking a holiday. Even though I'm sure you deserve one.” you added.

“You don't look like a Simon either. Not that I can see your face all that good. Don't worry I won’t take off your mask.” You assured him even though it was eating you away wanting to know what he looked like. “You seem more like an Axel or Diesel. Something tough. Not that Simon is bad.” you rambled. “When I was little I had a hamster named Simon. He lived quite a while, but he passed away after my dad slammed a door a little too loud. Poor thing.” you muttered, resting your feet against a small ledge below the bed. All was quiet.

‘Project your scent.’ the nurse's words repeated in your head.

“If it's too overwhelming, twitch or groan or something,” you warned. You shut your eyes imagining your scent as a soft white light escaping your form. It was something they taught you at your omega-holding house. The room began to fill with the smell of peaches and vanilla. You wondered if Simon would have a similar reaction to John. You didn't have to wait long to find out.

It wasn't exactly a growl but it wasn't a purr either. It was baritone and instantly made your omega swoon. You tried your best to ignore it and just focus on the task at hand. You continued projecting for another minute, before deciding to stop before it became too much for either of you.

The gravelly rumble continued. What surprised you was the accompanying scent. It was a smokey leather with an end note of black licorice. It was warm, masculine, and slightly overpowering.

“Touché.” you sniffled, scratching at your nose. It wasn't a bad smell, you just weren't used to male alpha musk. All the men you knew were omegas and betas. It also seemed wearing scent blockers was popular at the base. You couldn't blame them, all the different scents in one space could drive even the most trained people insane.

“Don't dish it out if you can't take it.” it was strained and crackly. You sat up in your seat, watching for his next move.

“Do you want me to get someone? A nurse? John?” you questioned lowly.

“No.” he groaned. “Just give me a minute.” he rasped.

“Okay.” you breathed, sinking back down into your seat. You suddenly realize he must be thirsty. You remember seeing some refreshments by the door. You grabbed a paper cup filled it with water and finished it off with a bendy straw. “I'm going to lift your mask just a tiny bit for the straw.” he didn't disagree or pull away. Your fingers trembled slightly. His lips were chapped. Maybe later he would let you put some chapstick on him. Your eyes crinkled at the thought.

You held the straw up to the corner of his mouth and he finished the cup in two gulps. “More?” you asked softly.

“Please.” his voice didn't sound as hoarse. This repeated two more times before he finally began to feel satiated. “Thank you,” he muttered. He had yet to open his eyes. You gripped the corner of the mask pulling it back down. You also flipped the cold towel on his head to the other side. His brows relaxed as the chill began to set in.

“You know my name?” he asked suddenly.

“Simon,” you responded quickly. “My name is”-

“I know your name, pup.” he cut you off. “Johnny and Kyle haven't shut up about it.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Depends if you like having your ankles nipped at.” he had a smirk in his voice. You giggled quietly.

A few moments passed of comfortable silence before you decided to push your luck.

“Can I ask what happened to you?” You asked hesitantly.

“You just did.” He responded bluntly. “Don’t remember too much honestly. I remember hearing an explosion, feeling hot then feeling the floor disappear from under me.”

You winced.

“That must’ve been scary. I’m sorry.” You said sincerely. His lashes fluttered open. Brown. His eyes were brown. But closer to the golden end of the spectrum.

“My fault. I signed up for it.” he sighed.

Hi friends! Hope you are enjoying the series so far! See you in two days for chapter 5!

#captain john price #gaz x reader #ghost x reader #johnny soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #novemberheart #poly141 #price x reader #simon ghost riley #soap x reader #a/b/o dynamics #female reader #cod men #cod #cod mw2 #cod mwii

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stellarbit · 4 months

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Two Faces

Word Count: 11k Pairing: fem!reader x Bad Batch, light Tech nods Warnings: nada except light violence. Training, some fluff, and general fun Summary: When your sister becomes a senator, you decide to join her guard to protect her. Your mother sends you to train on Kamino as backlash. You are paired with Clone Force 99 under the guise of a regular trooper. Encountering you outside of uniform they mistake you for your sister. It is a delicate situation and you have to play your cards carefully.

This started out as a request for the guys getting jealous of you undercover and here I am. When I tell you this was SO FUN to write but took SO LONG. If y'all like imma make it a part 2.

Edit; you wanted it so here it is Two Faces pt 2

“You want to be a foot soldier.” Your mother snarled down her nose. She was a tall woman, taller than you at least, and the governor of your planet. She waved a slender dismissive hand. “Then be a foot soldier.”

Face neutral, you stood before her in the white armor of a clone trooper. You held the helmet with both hands and a white knuckle grip. This wasn’t exactly what you had in mind when you told your mother you wanted to join your sister’s guard

From your mother’s right your sister stood wringing her hands together. She stood at your height with a face that mirrored your own. Often you were mistaken as twins. Only a few years older than you and already she was the senator for your planet -- the perfect example of what you should have been. Despite everything, the two of you were extremely close.

Concern ate her alive as she watched on. She opened her mouth, but your mother’s hand splayed out in front of her face, cutting off your sister’s voice and view of you.

Continuing to stare you down, your mother’s mouth twisted into her nose. Your family practically bred politicians and that was never your path. If the two of you agreed on nothing else it was that you were no politician.

When your sister was elected as Senator, you knew if you were trained you could be in her guard and keep her safe. It was a decision you were proud of and one that sealed your fate in the eyes of your mother. You would be of no use to her. She heard your wish and wanted to make sure you fully regretted it.

Rolling her eyes away from you, your mother turned her attention to a Kaminoan by her other side. As the leaders of two allied planets, your mother and Lama Su maintained a close relationship. At least close enough to call in favors.

“Thank you, Prime Minister, for this opportunity.” Your mother’s disgust faded into a pleasant smile. “Although, I worry she may damage the reputation of your clone troopers.”

The Kaminoan shifted his gaze to you. In near boredom he said, “You do realize she is liable to die?” Settling his hands in front of him, he turned back to your mother.

She scoffed, the idea of no concern to her. “She made her choice. Should that come to pass, Kamino will not be held responsible.” They spoke of you as if you weren’t even present. “But, do make sure they don’t take it easy on her.”

They. An ‘unorthodox’ squadron of clones you would be paired with.

Your mother said your name, her tone sharp enough to straighten your back. Her head tilted back, the crimp in her lip returning. “If it is discovered that my daughter is beneath that armor, forget ever coming home.” She muttered something to your sister and, in unison, they made for the door.

Your sister managed one last glance at you before the Kaminoan door swirled open and your mother shoved her through. Your heart sank as the giant white doors shut behind the women.

What if you never saw your sister again?

Alone with Lama Su, the bright, sterile room began to strain your eyes. The unnatural ambience of the room was enough to unsettle you without the addition of the Kaminoan’s cold stare. With slow fluidity, he fully turned towards you. His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “The modified armor will hide your identity. All you have to do is follow orders.” Lama Su said in his smooth, detached voice. He gestured a long finger towards you. “Put on your helmet, do not remove it in front of others, and remain silent. Your family may tolerate embarrassment, but I will not endure it here.”

Under his cold stare, you lifted the helmet and sealed it over your head. Your eyes had barely adjusted to the restricted line of sight when the doors hissed opened again.

Where your mother and sister had left, five men strode in. Their armor was mismatched in shape and color, but there was some vein shared between them. It took you a moment until your eyes widened and the gears finally turned. These were the clones!

You were no stranger to clones. The Republic had dispatched a group of troopers to your planet as a show of good faith and alliance, although you wondered at times if your family fully reciprocated that sentiment. That said, these men were unlike any clones you’d seen.

Their appearances were as mismatched as their armor. Your attention immediately drifted to a behemoth of a man towering over his cohorts and obviously blinded in his left eye. Standing shorter than the rest, one man sported a tattoo covering half his face. Two of them stood at the same height, one with goggles and the other with silver hair. The fifth man looked more akin to a standard clone than the rest, yet his complexion was blanched and he was outfitted with cybernetic prosthetics.

They were the most mesmerizing things you’d ever seen. And none of them spared even a glance in your direction.

Resisting the urge to look to the Kaminoan for clarification, you kept your eyes forward and did your best to look at attention.

“Clone Force 99, welcome.” Lama Su took a smooth step forward and swept a hand in your direction. Still, their eyes remained trained on the Prime Minister. “This promising trooper is being assigned to your squad for training. While their designation number is of no concern to you, you may refer to your new addition as ‘Phi.’”

Phi. A word you recognized as meaning nothing.

A pale hand landed gently on your shoulder, finally dragging Clone Force 99’s collective attention to you. Even through the armor, Lama Su’s touch made your skin crawl. The urge to bite settled between your teeth and the intensity of his stare did nothing to dissuade that.

His next words came across as almost proud. “I trust you will find the skills of this soldier to be exemplary, possibly even to surpass standard clone trooper protocol. It has been decided that integrating with your unit will provide... a most beneficial learning environment for all.”

The praise threw you off until you noticed the change in the squad’s expressions. Something in Lama Su’s words did not sit well with them. In particular, the tall silver-haired clone did nothing to hide his annoyance. Whatever it was, the undue praise clearly sealed your fate in some way. His sharp glance alone indicated that the undue praise had somehow sealed your fate—a fate Lama Su had very intentionally engineered.

“Training will begin immediately.” Lama Su said. “Proceed to the training facilities to begin. You have your orders. You are dismissed.”

Clone Force 99 wasted no time in filing out of the room, offering no introductions or even a glance to see if you followed. Their dismissal was clear; you were an outsider, not worthy of their camaraderie. Hurrying after them, the quiet of the corridor seemed to amplify the shifting of armor and footsteps.

"Just our luck!" His voice boomed, echoing off the walls. "Why do we get stuck with a reg?" He threw a glance over his shoulder, his good eye scanning you with disdain.

Reg? The term echoed in your mind, a label you didn’t yet understand.

The cybernetic clone fell back beside you. “The question is: what did you do to get stuck with us?” His tone wasn't unkind, merely curious, probing.

Instinctively, your mouth opened to respond, but Lama Su’s directive flashed in your mind—Do not speak in front of others. Clamping your mouth shut, you turned your gaze forward again, grateful for the helmet’s limited field of vision that spared you from seeing their reactions. You did see the way Crosshair's eyes narrowed, it was safe to assume your silence hadn’t helped matters.

Adjusting to the weight of your gear seemed trivial compared to the weight of maintaining silence.

Sighing, the tattooed man shook his head. “Listen,” He said as he stopped and turned. “If we are stuck together, we might as well get along. I’m Hunter.”

He gestured to the others as they continued walking. "That’s Wrecker," pointing to the large man, "Echo," indicating the cyborg, "Tech," nodding towards the one with goggles, and lastly, "And Crosshair," with a tilt of his head toward the silver-haired clone who had kept his distance.

They all waited for your addition, but it didn’t come and your silence remained. From behind your helmet you cringed. This was shaping up to be a terrible idea. You held your breath, bracing for the uncomfortable journey ahead.

Your silence only fueled Crosshair’s anger. His gaze narrowed, head cocked like a raptor eyeing prey. "Too good to speak to us?" His lip curled in a familiar, cruel sneer that reminded you of your mother.

Noticing Crosshair had an actual crosshair tattooed over his right eye you couldn’t help the little snort you made, emphasized by your helmet’s voice modulator. You immediately regretted your slip up as Crosshair set his shoulders, head snaking forward. “Something funny, reg?” The way he said that word was pure venom.

You almost conceded at the guttural sound he made at your continued silence, but before you could react Crosshair cracked his elbow into your helmet. The helmet crashed into your face and pain bloomed across your nose, knocking you down to one knee. Blood trickled from your nostrils, leaving you reeling with doubts and likely a broken nose.

"Crosshair!" Hunter barked. He didn't need to step in further; Crosshair stood back, arms crossed and lips twisted into a smirk of satisfaction.

Echo and Tech shared a glance, Wrecker gave a supportive smile, and Hunter shot Crosshair a sharp, disapproving look before turning his attention back to you. "Get up," he said firmly, "and keep up."

With one last glare from Crosshair, you pushed yourself up to your feet, determined not to show weakness. But as the sharp metallic taste of blood filled your mouth, you couldn't ignore the cold reality of your situation.

They certainly did not take it easy on you and by the end of your first session it was clear to all of you that you were a miserable excuse for a recruit. In the solitude of your room, you finally removed your helmet. In a small mirror you twisted your head, examining the crusted blood and swollen nature of your nose.

A gentle, and painful, touch confirmed your broken nose suspicions. You leaned in for a better look and smiled. It hurt like hell, but at least you made it through your first day.

You looked to a photo of your sister you’d pinned to your mirror. It’s worth it for her. Giving yourself a nod, you replaced your helmet and headed for the med bay- a trip you were going to frequent.

As you entered the medical wing, the only presence were that of two medical droids floating about and a female Kaminoan. The female swept her head in your direction, slowly blinking as you stood at the entrance. You recognized the Kaminoan as Nala Se. She’d given your family a tour of the cloning operations in the past.

She addressed you with a good evening and gestured for you to approach. “I am aware of your identity. You may remove your armor in my presence.” Nala Se said in her ever measured tone. When you still hesitated she added, “The clones are currently in the canteen.”

Reluctantly, you lifted the helmet from your head, exposing the bruised face underneath. Nala Se observed you quietly, her expression unreadable. “You should return home.” She suggested. “Our clones are trained from their creation. You will not be able to match their abilities.”

“That’s not an option now. I either return with training or in a body bag.”

You placed your helmet in a tote at the foot of the medical table and began discarding the rest of the armor in the same fashion. Clad only in your black undersuit, you continued undressing under Nala Se's impassive watch. Her clinical detachment did little to ease the discomfort of the situation

Stripped down to a bandeau and shorts, you climbed onto the examination bed. A droid hovered over you, scanning your body. "Subject exhibits a broken nose and extensive bruising," it reported to Nala Se, who nodded slightly before administering two injections—one for pain and another to reduce future bruising.

As the droid tended to your injuries, Nala Se handed you a set of clothes. "There is more than one way to remain hidden," she stated as she unfolded a Kaminoan-style outfit—a set of dark, tight-fitting pants and a long-sleeve shirt, complemented by a light-colored vest with fabric strips cascading down your legs

You’d no sooner dawned the outfit when the doors slid open again and voices immediately broke the silence.

You froze with your back to the door. Tech's analytical voice floated through the air, "I am merely saying, excess violence will only worsen the situation for all of us."

It was Crosshair who answered with dry amusement. "Speak for yourself," he scoffed.

Nala Se held your gaze a moment longer before she looked to the approaching clones. “CT-9902 and CT-9904, what is it that you require?”

Tech spoke up from behind you, "There is a high probability that Crosshair fractured his knuckles during training." You could think of a few instances that could’ve caused that, the bruises across your body serving as evidence.

Swallowing the groan in your throat, you finally faced them. Tech and Crosshair stopped in their tracks both staring at you with some confusion.

“Senator.” Tech offered a nod of respect. His polite tone threw you off balance as he mistook you for your sister. The Kaminoans' medical treatment had indeed worked wonders, hiding your identity well enough to prompt the error.

Crosshair frowned, a toothpick tilting in his mouth.

Tech, noticing Crosshair’s tight expression, nudged his brother. “We passed her on the way to meet the Prime Minister.” This was enough for the sniper to remove his toothpick and stand a bit straighter.

The immediate respect was a stark contrast to the blows they’d dealt you all day. Embracing the assumption you smiled graciously despite the stiff feeling in your face. “It is a pleasure to formally meet you, troopers.” You rounded the table to stand before them.

Without your gear, you realized just how much taller they were. And without the restrictive view of your helmet, you could fully appreciate how striking they were. They stood with practiced military bearing, radiating strength and a sense of purpose that matched their formidable presence.

Absolutely breathtaking, and in a much different way than when they'd been knocking the wind out of you earlier.

“The honor is ours, Senator.” Tech said. His eyes searched your face, for what you weren’t certain.Though having his eyes on any part of you was a lovely sensation. He paused momentarily, but found your eyes again.

Crosshair kept his gaze steady as he studied you, lending some clarity to your earlier question. "What brings a senator down to the med bay? Surely not curiosity."

Holding your composure, you lied, “I am… personally interested in the development and progress of the valiant men keeping our galaxy safe.” You took the opportunity to circle the two men while they remained still and eyes forward. The men had equally long legs and cinched waists that were positively sinful. This view of them was certainly an upgrade, igniting an idea in you.

“In fact,” You polished a smile as you came back to their fronts. “I’d be interested in some personal lessons from esteemed men such as yourselves.”

Surprise lifted Tech’s eyebrows and pulled the corner of Crosshair’s lip up.

“Mistress Se mentioned your squad is already undertaking the training of a new recruit.” Their expressions dulled at the reminder. “What’s a few extra morning sessions with a mere Senator?”

Nala Se, observing the exchange from the background, stepped forward to say, "That can be arranged for the morning after next. For now, the senator has matters to attend to. CT-9904, please proceed with your treatment."

Tech offered another polite nod before leading Crosshair to the medical equipment. As they moved away, you exhaled, glancing at Nala Se, who gave you an almost imperceptible nod of approval.

The following morning, back in your armor, you walked into the training room and the middle of Clone Force 99’s conversation.

Wrecker was throwing his head around, moaning about something you couldn't quite catch. “-well, why didn’t I see her?”

“You did, Wrecker.” Tech said in a flat, exasperated breath. “If only in passing.”

“But why would a senator want to watch us train?” Echo shook his head in confusion.

Tech adjusted his goggles. “Correction: she wants to train with us.”

As he twirled a knife between his fingers, Hunter asked, “Then why would a senator want to train with clones?”

“Does it matter?” Crosshair drawled from his perch on a rectangular obstacle with a knee pulled up.. “If the little princess wants our hands on her, who are we to deny?”

Little princess. Your mind stuttered at the words while your body visibly jerked at them. The squadron cut their conversation short and looked to you. The amusement between them quickly faded, yet even this attention had heat crawling through you.

“Let’s get this over with.” Hunter gruffed while putting on his helmet. The rest followed suit and training began.

The session was as brutal as the day prior, starting with sparring and finishing with blaster drills. You didn’t do much better than the day prior, but you were proud to have left with no new fractures. By the next morning you could barely leave bed.

But ‘little princess’ was enough to push you up.

You arrived at the training room early. It was much smaller than the usual arenas, scattered with mannequins instead of physical obstacles. You traded your armor for a form-fitting suit similar to the blacks troopers wore. Without a helmet, you felt exposed—but exhilarated.

When the doors slid open, your pulse quickened. With composure your mother would admire, you smoothed your expression and smiled. “Nice of you boys to join me.”

A small smirk lifted Hunter’s lips as he regarded you. “Senator.” he greeted, his gaze sweeping over your form. The word almost caused your smile to falter, reminding you of the misconception they were under.

They made their introductions before Hunter, hand at his hip, gestured for you to advance. “You sure you’re ready for this?”

The soreness that wracked your body protested when you squared your shoulders. “I was born ready.” Hopefully your feigned confidence won them over.

The way the leader’s head dipped with a small laugh said it did. Even from a distance, the sound reverberated through you to your core.

“Don’t worry,” Wrecker’s large hand clapped down on your shoulder and right onto an unseen bruise. “We’ll take it easy on ya!”

Crosshair rolled a toothpick between his lips. “Easy’s not our style, Wrecker.” You met his still skeptical stare, not backing down from the challenge.

“I can handle it.”

He snorted, flicked away his toothpick, and strode over to you. Leaning in he said in a low, snippy voice, “Better keep up, princess.”

As much as the nickname heated your blood, you maintained your smile, determined to earn their respect. “I intend to.” You said in an equally low, taunting tone.

From the very beginning, their training style was a complete turn around compared to the borderline abuse you endured while in armor.

Hunter set the pace, showing you rapid movements to prove your reflexes. When a moment of exhaustion hit and you noticeably slowed, Hunter teased, “I thought you said you’d keep up.”

Sagging your shoulders, you rolled back your head with a laugh. “Alright, maybe I wasn’t born for this.”

“We sure were.” Wrecker laughed and took over, launching into instruction about utilizing your body weight against an opponent. He demonstrated on Crosshair, who loudly hissed in protest. Wrecker put a shoulder into Crosshair’s abdomen and tossed him over his shoulder like a sandbag.

Crosshair struggled against his brother’s hold, until he landed safely on the ground. He snarled at Wrecker, then caught the amused smile tugging at your lips. With a grunt of annoyance, he averted his gaze and casually placed a toothpick back between his lips, feigning indifference.

“C’mon, now you try,” Wrecker encouraged as you stepped close. He used his massive hands to reposition your torso into a bent over position. “Like this, see? You gotta feel the power through your whole body!” His bubbly enthusiasm made it hard to take the movement seriously.

His demeanor wasn’t your only distraction. Despite your mother’s disregard for you, as the daughter of a politician, people were always careful with you. Between their ruthless training of you as ‘Phi’ and their gentle instruction as a ‘Senator,’ you were finding them more and more captivating.

Their presence was intoxicating.

Tech used a more methodical style of instruction. His hands deftly maneuvered your body into a slightly different form. “Optimal form is crucial,” he explained. His fingers lingered just a moment too long on your spine, sending an unexpected shiver down your back. With one hand he pressed your bruised shoulder lower.

Your teeth clenched against the pain, a quiet whine making its way past your lips. Tech immediately released his hand, observing you with a tilted glance. “Interesting,” he whispered with curiosity that pulled your eyes to his. Behind those brown eyes of his, something passed through. He blinked once, twice, and stepped back.

The moment went unnoticed as Echo chimed in. “Throw your weight behind it and aim for his diaphragm.” Wrecker tried to chuckle, but you cut him off by doing just that. Despite your best efforts, he didn’t even flinch. A chorus of chuckles erupted around you, but it felt good to join their lighthearted banter instead of getting the kriff kicked out of you.

The training continued until you were slick with sweat. You were exhausted, sure, but the exhilaration you felt in the beginning only grew with every brush with the men.

Though throughout the trading, Crosshair paid the experience little interest. He meandered the outskirts of the room, only chiming in when you had a misstep. Finally, winded but grinning, you let yourself sink to the floor. Crosshair sauntered over, standing behind you as he shifted his weight onto one foot.

His weight shifted onto one foot and postured over you. “Looks like what they say about senators is true.” He snorted, but the bite his voice carried when you were Phi was missing.

You leaned back, hands propped behind you, and squinted up at him. “And what’s that?”

His keen eyes scanned you, briefly pausing on your heaving chest before meeting your gaze again. “You’re all talk.”

Crosshair maintained a smug expression while his brothers fell silent, their attention fixed on the two of you. For the first time since training began, the ache in your nose surfaced in your mind. The memory of Crosshair's initial blow hung in the air as you carefully considered the situation, your tongue slipping over your teeth. He didn't realize it, but as you sat there inches from his feet, he was perched right within your reach. His guard was down, dismissing you as a non-threat.

The backhanded comment about Senator inaction was the deciding factor in your next move. You could always tolerate insults aimed at you. The rough training was even tolerable if it meant a means to your purpose.

Calling out a senator’s - your sister’s - resolve, however, was a step too far.

In one swift motion, you fell back, hooked an arm around his ankle, and yanked his foot out from under him. Crosshair's arms swung through the air, desperately trying to catch his balance, but he tumbled to the ground with a thud, a gasp of air forced from his lungs. Lounging back on one elbow, you kept his ankle cradled firmly in your arm.

The rest of Clone Force 99 tried - and failed - to stifle their laughter. Eventually, they gave him the same round of laughter you received. Crosshair shoved up on his elbows with a scowl. The twitch in his lip betrayed the amusement nipping at him. Grunting with a roll of his eyes, he pushed you off his foot. “Lucky shot.”

You raised your eyebrows with a satisfied hum, then let yourself fall back onto the training mat. As you lay there, staring up at the bright ceiling and still catching your breath with a laugh lingering on your tongue, you felt an unfamiliar sensation—happiness.

All your life, you’d been chasing after your sister, constantly seeking your family's approval. You had never been allowed to simply exist or pursue anything for yourself.

But laying there, beaten and exhausted, you felt strangely good.

Wrecker’s face appeared above you with a lopsided smile. He extended a hand as he said, “Now, where’d you learn to do that?”

Groaning, you accepted his hand and he lifted you with ease. “It comes with having a sister,” you replied. The mention of your sister brought a bubble of anxiety to the surface and Lama Su’s warning pricked you.

“Ha! Just like us then.” With his hand still clasping yours, Wrecker steadied you by gently pressing his other hand against the small of your back.

Your face heated, though it was already flushed from training, and you quickly cleared your throat, stepping out of his grasp. Brushing off imaginary dust from your thighs, did your best to sound casua. “I’m curious,” you said, eager to switch topics, “how’s training that trooper Nala Se told me about?”

Just like mentioning your sister had done to you, bringing up the trainee cast a shadow over the troopers’ mood, which only heightened your anxiety.

“Don’t remind us.” Wrecker gruffed. “It’s bad enough we’re missing out on missions and we’re stuck with a reg.”

“Reg?” You repeated.

Echo sighed with exasperation. “Regular clone.” The way you muddled your face prompted the others to elaborate on their own differences. Though you knew Clone Force 99 was different, you hadn’t realized the full extent until now. You understood now why Echo was the least brutal in his training. With his origins as a regular clone, he sympathized.

Lama Su’s conversation with them finally made sense. He was stoking a fire meant to burn you out.

You laughed nervously, “Surely it can’t be that bad.”

Hunter rubbed the bridge of his nose, dreading the afternoon ahead. “Trust us, you’re showing more potential than this guy.”

They all launched into a conversation about the trainee's abysmal performance, not realizing the irony. Meanwhile, Tech stood back, focused on his datapad, occasionally looking up at the group- at you.

Walking away from the group, you tried to peek at his screen. “What are you looking at?”

Tech glanced up at you and quickly tucked the device away. “I was reading up on some political matters.” He adjusted his goggles and glanced at his brothers still chatting away. “Nothing you are not already appraised of.”

Mouthing an ‘oh’ you followed his gaze t back to the others. They looked so different now, discussing the reg amongst them, than they did just moments ago. “Why exactly are you here?” Tech questioned, you could feel his attention on you.

Not bothering to meet Tech’s stare, you answered without hesitation. “To make a difference the only way I can.”

From that point on, a cycle began. Every morning they trained you as the Senator and every afternoon you received a beating as Phi.

Knowing their distaste for Phi was completely unrelated to you may have eased your anxiety but it didn’t make your training any easier.

That came with your mornings with Clone Force 99 and, on occasion, an even meeting.

The first time you ran into them outside of training happened when you’d snuck off to comm your sister. After stealing a holocom from the medical facility, you wandered the corridors for a few nights to find the best place to reach her. You always worried about an unexpected visitor in your barrack room. Wrapped in a cloak, you huddled beside a viewport, lost in thought as you stared at the device in your hands.

It had been the longest stretch you’d gone without speaking to your sister. Nerves kept your fingers hovering over the controls, practicing how you'd greet her, when suddenly your vision went dark. Your hands dropped the holocom in surprise, but it never hit the ground.

“Look who we found!” Wrecker’s boisterous voice boomed, warm and close, as his large form pressed up behind you.

Letting out a startled breath, you gently pulled his hands away from your eyes. Standing before you were Hunter and Crosshair, both of whom looked amused.

Hunter practically sauntered forward as he offered you the holocom back. "Caught you," he teased, handing the holocom back to you with a sly grin. His eyes dipped as your fingers brushed against his, he shot a question with smirk at you. “What are you doing out here so late?”

You clutched the device a bit more securely and shrugged. "Just needed a quiet spot to contact my sister," you admitted.

Crosshair raised an eyebrow, plucking the toothpick from his mouth and pointing it at you. "And you chose the coldest corridor on Kamino for your heartfelt chat?" he was unconvinced.

You spun the device nervously in your hands. “I didn’t think anyone would be out at this time.”

The silver haired clone gave a low chuckle, twirling the toothpick between his fingers. "Well, don't let us interrupt your cozy little conversation.”

“We’re headed to the canteen for a bite to eat, you should come.” Wrecker suggested, resting his hands on your shoulder.

Hunter nodded in agreement. "You’re right about one thing - it’s quieter this time of night. Less regs to get in the way."

Wrecker grinned wide and leaned in closer, giving you a gentle shake as his presence nudged you forward. "Besides, it's warmer there!"

You certainly felt warmer, but not just from the prospect of a heated room. Glancing down at the holocom, you wondered if your sister was even awake. Unable to resist their invite, you stashed the device away and smiled. “Alright, why not? Lead the way.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Crosshair said in a way that made you roll your eyes. He could make anything sound sarcastic.

Joining them turned out to be a worthy trade. Crosshair and Hunter sat across from you and Wrecker. Wrecker made a habit of pushing into your space, offering bites of his favorite bits, while Crosshair and Hunter discussed your upcoming training sessions as Phi—a topic you found less than thrilling. Instead, you chose to bask in Wrecker’s warm attention.

Despite his high energy and monstrous strength, Wrecker proved to be the most gentle of the batch. Always the first to help you to your feet or catch you when you stumbled. His touch light, the calluses of his hands only ever brushing you. The skinship was a new experience for you, but one you wanted more of each time.

After your last bite of a chocolate morsel, Wrecker caught your chin between his thumb and forefinger. He rubbed a thumb over the corner of your mouth, dragging your lip down with the pressure of his touch.

“Got a little somethin’ there,” Wrecker chuckled, showing you the smear of chocolate on his thumb. “Guess I’m not the only messy eater ‘round here.” His smile crinkled his eyes as he dipped his thumb into his mouth to suck off the sweet remnant.

The casual intimacy of the gesture wasn’t lost on you, though it seemed to escape him. He turned back to his plate, completely missing the heat rising to your face. As a soft smile lilted your lips, you shut your eyes and leaned into Wrecker’s form. Surrounded by them, you felt a wave of contentment—you could happily spend all your free time like this

Wrecker perked up, his eyes wide and eyebrows raised as he felt your weight against him. He sat stock still for a moment, glancing between you and his brothers. Gradually, he relaxed into your touch and reached an arm around you.

“H-Hey,” he stammered slightly, patting a hand on your hip, “What’s all this?”

A foot knocked into yours from beneath the table. Peeking out from under an eyelid, you met Hunter’s lopsided smile and received another gentle tap. “Don’t be falling asleep on us. It wouldn’t be a good look for us to be carrying your limp body back.”

“Is the little princess tired?” Crosshair added lightly, a rare hint of playfulness in his tone.

Closing your eye once more, you hummed in agreement. Sitting alone with them in a mess hall, sharing a meal and laughing under the harsh lighting, you felt completely at peace.

Your mother had meant this all to be a punishment. She couldn’t have imagined that this place, these men, would heal a part of you you hadn’t realized was broken. They built you up and their training made you feel strong. They never admitted to it while you were in armor, but from their observations of the Senator you were improving.

Something you showcased one afternoon as Phi. During a drill with dummy droids, you found yourself blindsided by a metallic blow to your back. Another droid seized you by the neck and hurled you about twenty feet, leaving you crumpled on the ground as the simulation abruptly ended.

Still seeing stars, you heard the familiar cadence of Crosshair’s footsteps. “Get up.” Crosshair growled from above you.

Twisting onto your side, you struggled to catch your breath. Crosshair’s helmet angled to the side as he clicked his tongue, shoving his heal into your hip. “I said get up.” He punctuated his words with another kick. The sharp pain instantly boiled up weeks of frustration and pain.

Not a single thought registered with you as you snapped. As fast as a hydrosnake, you lashed out, looped an arm around his ankle and thrashed him back as you had before. This time your training took over.

You didn’t stop at holding him by his foot. No, you pulled his leg to the side, opening his hips, and pinned his thigh under your knee. Before he could grab at you, you pressed your torso across his, driving an elbow into the side of his helmet. Your hands clasped behind his bicep, effectively locking him in place.

Crosshair thrashed against you as his free hand hammered into the soft spot between your chest and shoulder plates. With every hit, you tightened your grip on him. His vile threats drowned out the sound of Wrecker’s stomping towards the two of you.

A large hand ripped you by the back of your neck, instantly detangling you from the sniper. “Not so tough now, are ya?” Wrecker taunted.

Dangling in the air, your legs kicked and fingers scratched at Wrecker’s fingers. The fingers that otherwise delicately touched you choked you in more ways than one. Crosshair shot up from the ground, ripping off his helmet to expose his seething expression.

“Wrecker!” Echo’s voice rang out from the sidelines, but his veiled command did little to deescalate the situation.

The sarcastic, teasing Crosshair who interacted with you as a senator was nowhere to be seen. Instead, he whipped a finger at you, a silent but unmistakable threat as he closed in on you.

It was Tech that quickly slid between you, effectively barring Crosshair from getting his hands on you. “Crosshair.” Tech’s tone was firm, if not altogether scolding. “You kicked them while they were incapacitated. Therefore, their actions were justified, while your reaction is not.”

Crosshair shook with rage, eyes burning into you past Tech's shoulder. The silent threat of his pointed finger became a promise.

“Wrecker, drop him.” Hunter ordered he yanked Wrecker’s arm down.

Wrecker begrudgingly released you, setting you down with a rough thud, but you quickly steadied yourself, brushing off the dust. Your breath was labored, but you didn’t falter under Crosshair’s glare. It didn’t matter who Crosshair thought you were at this point, he was just being cruel. It fully pissed you off more than anything up to that point. Tension hung in the air, and with each passing second, your urge to snap grew stronger.

Tech stepped aside and Hunter’s stern gaze moved between you and Crosshair. “Are we done?”

Crosshair let out a low growl before reluctantly shoving his helmet back on with a quick twist. You, on the other hand, weren’t done and needed to calm down fast.

“You’ll never be worth our time,” Crosshair said with venom. “You fight like a child.”

That simmering urge burst through. You lunged forward, craned your head back, and bashed the front of your helmet into his. The old wound on your nose flared, but watching Crosshair thrown back and stumbling dulled the pain to an ache.

He shook it off quickly enough and charged you again, narrowly missing as Echo intercepted him.

While you regained your balance, Tech fell in beside you, gently catching you by the forearm. You were too busy wheezing to notice the strangeness in Tech’s assisting you as Phi. While you watched Hunter and Echo work to calm Crosshair, Tech brought his head closer, whispering for only you to hear, “Do not antagonize him. You’ve already had one broken nose, let’s not aim for another.”

All of your burning rage cooled in an instant. You slowly looked at the technician, whose eyes watched you intensely from behind his helmet. Something in his gaze drowned out all other sounds around you. He looked at you differently from how the others ever had.

You had no idea how he knew, but the way he looked at you made it clear: Tech knew exactly who you were.

He leaned closer, his voice a low, amused murmur. "It was obvious." Your head jerked back as if to say ‘how was it obvious?’

Sensing your immediate tension, he added quickly, "To me, at least. The others don’t seem to have noticed." He glanced over his shoulder to ensure Crosshair remained restrained before looking back at you. "We'll manage Crosshair. You should head to the medical facility to have your nose examined."

“Tech-” You tried to whisper but Tech cut you off, spinning you towards the exit. You didn’t wait for him to tell you again.

You did manage to hear Tech quip, “For the record, Crosshair, that would be twice now they bested you.” You made sure you were out the door by the time Crosshair turned on his brother.

Tech was right to send you to get checked out. You’d avoided a broken nose, but the swelling did need attention. You were still in armor when you got back to your room. Dropping down onto a storage tote, you set your helmet between your feet. Elbows on your knees, you sat looking out over the swath of ocean beyond your windows.

The steady drum of rain against your window helped soothe your nerves, which had barely eased since you left the training grounds. You sat there for a while, combing through your time on Kamino, searching for any clue as to how Tech figured out who you were. With his keen mind, anything seemed possible, but you still wondered when you slipped up.

The sound of your barrack door opening snapped you out of concentration. You couldn’t reach for your helmet fast enough when someone said,“You need not bother with that”

You whipped around, twisting in your spot. Sans helmet and alone, Tech stood in your room. He’d already seen your face and touched your body, but this felt like you were meeting for the first time.

You slowly stood, picking at your fingertips. “Hi,” was all you managed to croak out as the door shut behind him.

It must've been an odd sight, you thought. The face of a senator on the body of a trooper. You snuck a glance at your reflection in the window. The sight was familiar to you now, but you remembered the juxtaposition taking time to get used to. You weren’t happy that the first time Tech was seeing you as you, your hair was stuck in a bird’s nest of a bun with crooked hairs jutting out at all angles

Tech said your name and something in your chest lurched at the sound. “If I am correct,” He said as moved his goggles up his nose. “-And I usually am, that is your real name. Is it not?” He remained standing just at the entrance of your room.

Your lips tucked into your mouth as you nodded slowly, still unsure about what to even say. “How did you know?”

Upon your admission Tech walked closer, free of the tension you carried. “Observation and deduction.” He explained, stepping around the tote separating you to take you in fully. Unlike when you portrayed Phi or the Senator, you had never noticed him observing you with such explicit curiosity.

Tech circled you, one hand cradling his elbow and the other holding his chin. “I was fairly certain Crosshair broke the trooper’s nose during the initial altercation. When we met in the medical facility, I noticed a distinct mark on your nose—an odd thing for a distinguished guest such as a Senator.” He moved around your right side, his finger gently pressing into your shoulder. “To confirm my suspicions, I applied pressure to a region I hypothesized would be tender if my assumptions were correct.”

"Your reaction confirmed it," Tech concluded, stepping back to give you space. "It was subtle, but it was enough for me to piece together the truth about your dual identities."

He took a seat on the tote facing the window and pulled out his datapad, tapping away as he continued. “Still, I didn’t have an explanation as to why a senator would be here like this. Until you mentioned your sister, which finally prompted me to do a bit of research.” Tech angled his datapad towards you, displaying a news article with a photo of your sister. “I must admit, the resemblance is uncanny. However, with her being accounted for on Coruscant, it would prove impossible for her to be on Kamino.”

He pressed a button and a photo of a stoic family appeared - your parents standing behind you and your sister. You only got a glance in before Tech pulled it back to his face. His eyes narrowed as he focused on the photo. “Besides, while the two of you do share similar features, you are far more… captivating.” Tech looked up at you, still standing beside him. “I could never confuse the two of you.”

Your breath hitched at ‘captivating.’ No one had ever remotely said that to you. It was always either you could pass for twins or your sister was the more fortunate child. Coming from Tech, such a logical and blunt man, it took your breath away. He saw no point in undue praise or flattery; to him, he was merely stating facts. It melted you.

You lowered yourself next to him, knees turned in his direction. “Why haven’t you told the others?”

Tech thought for a moment, his eyes shifting to the side as he considered your question “I do not know your reason for anonymity, but I respect your decision and will not jeopardize that. Your privacy is your own.” He nodded, pivoting to fully face you. “And I find I rather enjoy being the only one to know this about you.”

The tension in your shoulders ebbed, replaced by a fluttering that started in your chest and made breathing a manual task. You caught your reflection again, feeling frustrated that in such a moment you looked so disheveled. You balled your fists tightly enough that your fingernails dug into your palms, embarrassed that he offered such compliments to someone like you.

“Why are you making such a face?” Tech asked.

You watched yourself a second longer before offering him a sad smile. “I think I know now why you wear those goggles.”

Tech’s brows pulled together. “They alter the way light enters my eye to correct my eye’s refractive errors.” You sat back, blinking at the explanation, humor coming to your smile. Tech kept a serious face, not understanding the nuances you were attempting. “They help me see,” He clarified in a flat tone.

You yielded a small laugh, leaning over to tap his knee. “I know, I was trying to say you must need them if you think I’m the pretty sister.” As soon as the words left your mouth, you realized how mean they sounded. Not just insulting Tech’s taste, but fully airing the distaste you held for yourself. Your smile dropped and along with your eyes to the hand still on his knee.

A drop of panic hit your gut as you started pulling your hand away. “I’m sorry, I-”

Tech grabbed your wrist and you couldn’t react before he hushed you, “Get down.” He said, pulling you both down to the floor. He ducked his head, pushing yours down and pulling you flush against him in one motion. His hand cupped over your mouth just before you heard the door open. Two sets of footsteps echoed in. Whoever it was, they were too far away for you to get a clear image of them in the window’s reflection.

You craned your neck, trying to get a look but Tech held you fast.

“His armor isn’t here.” Crosshair’s sharp voice rung out. “The little snake isn’t home.”

Hunter answered with a sigh, “Cross, none of us like this but you need to ease up. The sooner we get him trained, the sooner we get rid of him.” The two of them made themselves at home, walking around on a light inspection of your space.

Tech kept you both completely still, staying so silent you weren’t sure he was even breathing. Which was impressive considering that between the intruders and being positioned between Tech’s legs you were having a hard time regulating your own sounds.

One set of footsteps quieted. “Would you look at that?” Crosshair snarled. “Looks like the reg has a little crush.” The sound of paper snapping told you he found the picture of your sister hanging from your mirror. The level of agitation in his voice made you worry for the next time Crosshair caught you in uniform.

“That might be why I-” Hunter stopped mid-sentence. You heard footsteps shuffle in place.

“What is it?” Crosshair pressed.

A moment passed before Hunter continued. “It’s nothing. We should go. You can play nice later.” Crosshair made a noise of frustration, and the two of them left the room.

As soon as the door shut behind them, Tech eased his grip on you. His arms hung beside you while you instinctively sagged against him in relief. You twisted around to ask, “What were they doing in here?”

“My guess would be that Hunter wanted Crosshair to make amends.” You could see a thought turning over in him. “And I would say Hunter either just realized the situation or is on the very cusp of doing so.”

“How did they-”

“We have always known which barrack was yours.” Tech answered before you could get the question out. He glanced away momentarily, considering his words carefully. “I advised them early on to leave well enough alone.”

The two of you held each other's gaze for a moment, and Tech's expression softened, becoming more reflective. “I did say I enjoyed being the only one to know your identity,” he murmured. “What I neglected to mention is that I took measures to keep it that way.” Gently, he lifted a knuckle to your cheekbone, brushing back a stray hair. The corner of his mouth ticked upwards.

“It doesn’t bother you - not really knowing me?” You asked.

As Tech began to help untangle the two of you from your hiding spot, he responded. “We may not have had traditional introductions, but I know all that I need to.” You pulled your legs beneath you, reaching out for Tech as he stood. He gripped your hand firmly and pulled you up.

With a slight grunt as he helped you to your feet, Tech continued, “You are resourceful and brave. These qualities are not just observed; they are proven through your actions and decisions here.” Tech’s voice carried a respect and a hint of admiration that felt more personal than his usual factual observations.

“And while I may not know every detail of your past or every layer of your personality yet, I understand your core—your competence, your strength, and your commitment to your goals. These are the attributes that define you, not just the name you carry or the role you play.”

Tech bent over and plucked your helmet from the floor. “Plus, as a clone, a name doesn’t hold a great deal of value for me.” He held the helmet in his hands, He rotated the helmet, examining it before gently handing it back to you. “Does that answer your question?”

Nodding in slight awe, you gently accepted the helmet and immediately dropped it, opting instead to quickly wrap your arms around his waist. “Thank you, Tech.”

Tech stiffened slightly, the rush of adrenaline visible as his posture tightened—a clear sign of his surprise at the physical closeness. This type of interaction was uncharted territory for him. In the window’s reflection, he watched the two of you. Your face was tucked into his chest, hidden from view, but he could feel the tremor of your breathing. Unsure of what else to do, Tech lightly touched your head. “O-of course.”

Tech had a myriad of questions for you about your past and your motivations.Holding you in that moment, he decided, was enough. The questions could wait for another day.

The next morning's training session was particularly challenging for you. It was hard to ignore Hunter's scrutinizing gaze. He watched you as if decoding every movement, his eyes sharp and probing. Tech's earlier observations were spot on—Hunter was definitely onto something.

For once, you found yourself eagerly awaiting the end of the session. As soon as it was over, you hustled away faster than usual, leaving Clone Force 99 to prepare yourself for that evening. You were going to tell them the whole truth.

After mentally rehearsing several scenarios multiple times, you donned your armor and headed for the training facilities. However, as you stepped out of your room, you nearly collided with Nala Se.

She didn’t flinch, embodying the typical Kaminoan stillness. Towering above you, she blinked slowly, her gaze piercing. “Before you go, I must see to your injuries,” Nala Se stated matter-of-factly. Without waiting for your response—accustomed to your practiced silence—she turned and headed towards the medical wing.

You followed quietly, your mind racing as you pondered which injuries she referred to. Certainly, your nose and the rest of your face still ached from the previous day's exertions, and your torso was a tapestry of bruises, but these were all injuries that had been treated before. Moreover, Nala Se had scarcely crossed your path in recent weeks. Initially, she had helped you avoid detection, but she had not intervened since.

Her sudden appearance was less than comforting.

In the quiet of the medical facility, oddly void of the typical droids, Nala Se motioned to a bed. “Have a seat and remove your helmet.”

You were so preoccupied with thoughts of how your tardiness for training might disrupt your planned conversations that you barely registered her instructions. Nala Se said your name, snapping you back to the present.

Removing your helmet, you looked across the bed at her and realized her gaze was focused past you. It hadn’t been her calling your name.

Outside, Hunter, Wrecker, Tech, Echo, and Crosshair were on their way to the training facilities, helmets under their arms, when they noticed the Senator entering one of the medical rooms. Today, you weren’t cloaked in your typical attire but wore a robe of deep purple with gold threading, which seemed oddly formal.

Crosshair snorted, “Looks like we need to ease up on our little princess.”

Tech, who had been absorbed in his datapad, looked up. “To what are you referring?”

“I told you she was actin’ weird.” Wrecker said, more concerned than accusatory, ignoring Tech’s question. “Should we do somethin’?”

Echo, looking to clarify for Tech, gestured with his prosthetic arm. “We just saw the Senator enter the medical facility. And yes, we should check on her before heading to training.”

Tech paused, processing the information. He knew you well enough to be aware of your usual post-training soreness and kept an eye on the medical records associated with your after-training exams. You hadn’t sustained injuries severe enough recently to necessitate a deviation from your normal routine. He buzzed with suspicions and worried over the implications of your unexpected visit to the medical facility at such an unusual time.

“Let’s get this over with.” Hunter said, moving forward with all but Tech who stood in place a second longer. If his suspicions were correct, this was not going to go well.

Back inside, you were faced with your reflection. Blinking back confusion, your mind struggled to process what you were seeing. Stepping towards you, adorned in the traditional regalia of your homeworld, was your sister, looking every bit the senator she was meant to be, her hair elegantly braided back with strands of gold and pearls woven through. The purples and golds of her dress made her appear radiant and regal—so much like your mother, and so unlike you in your scuffed armor and haphazardly tied hair.

Nala Se wordlessly removed herself from the room, making the entire setup evident.

“Sister?” Your voice barely whispered as you took a hesitant step forward, half-fearing that any sudden movement might cause her to vanish like a mirage.

Her eyes widened, her pace slowing, as she scanned your face. Her face, so alike and unlike yours, crumpled with emotion, her lip trembling. Then, with a burst of energy, she ran towards you, hands reaching out from the folds of her cloak. You caught her in a tight embrace as she collided into you, her presence grounding the surreal moment.

She didn’t speak at first, only managing to choke back muffled sobs against your shoulder. You rested your head against hers, holding her close, and savored the familiar scent of her perfume—a reminder of days long past. “I’ve missed you,” you murmured, your voice not choked with sadness but steady and comforting. You had always been the pillar for her to lean on; this time was no different.

Your sister pulled back, rubbing tears away with the heel of her hand. She managed a shaky smile, laughing through another small sob. "I’ve been so worried. I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner."

You shook your head with a smile, gently gripping her shoulders. "You have more important things to do. Like, I don’t know, running the galaxy," you joked. Pulling her into another hug, you held her close for a moment before stepping back to reassess her. "Though… what are you doing here?"

Your sister took your hand, her grip soft against your calloused skin, and squeezed it tightly. "I’ve come to take you home. Mother—"

"Mother?" you interrupted, your tone sharpening as you pulled your hand away.

“We need you-”

“We?” You repeated louder. The joy of your sister’s visit dimmed the instant you remembered why you were standing together in a Kaminoan facility in the first place. “If this is for her, you shouldn’t be here.”

Your sister pressed a hand to her chest, perturbed by your tone. You’d never spoken to her like that. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

Swallowing the instinct to give in to her, you reached for your helmet. “I don’t need to. You know why I’m here and I intend to see it through. You should leave-”

The sounds of the doors whirring open cut you off as you snapped your helmet on in a hurry.

Suddenly confused, your sister opened her mouth to say something, but instead you heard a familiar voice and the strength you’d maintained was replaced by panic.

The sudden arrival of Crosshair and the rest of Clone Force 99 sliced through the tense atmosphere like a vibroblade. “How touching,” Crosshair drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he rounded the privacy divider at the room's entrance. “What is our little princess doing alone with a reg? I didn’t realize you had a pet.” His cold gaze landed on you, igniting a tremor in your hands.

Your sister’s expression twisted in a stomach churning and familiar way. She scoffed and turned, “Little princess?” She spat the words out, her disdain palpable. You felt like you might gag yourself.

Your attention snapped to Tech who was just as stunned as you’d been moments before. Apparently he’d not predicted this. Hunter kept a straight face, eyebrows a little furrowed. If he had any suspicions about your dual identity, this chaotic reveal was likely skewing his thoughts. Echo, ever the sentinel, stood slightly taller, his posture tightening as if preparing for conflict. Wrecker towered behind the group, watching on with a rare sense of seriousness.

Crosshair, shifting his weight casually and placing a toothpick between his lips, continued to provoke. “What? Don’t want him knowing about our little fun together?” His wording would’ve made you laugh had the situation been different. He stirring up a misunderstanding for his own amusement.

Your sister didn’t bite. She cocked an eyebrow, giving the sniper a challenging stare before turning her attention back to you. “Are these the clones that have been training you?” Her tone was sharp, and her expression mirrored the stern demeanor of your mother.

Caught between weeks of training to maintain silence in your armor and the escalating tension, you found yourself paralyzed, struggling to formulate a response. It seemed all you could do was breathe through the growing panic.

“You two know each other?” Wrecker piped up.

Your sister, her confusion morphing into frustration, glanced quickly back at the group. “Answer me,” she demanded, her voice heavy with authority that did nothing to ease the stiffness of your tongue.

“You little shit,” Crosshair fumed, stepping towards you but immediately restrained by Hunter’s firm grip. Despite being held back, he snapped, “Show respect and answer her.”

Receiving his anger as an unnamed clone never felt as painful as the anger directed to you now.

Whirling on them, your sister jabbed a finger at him. “Who do you think you’re talking to, clone?” The disrespect in the way she said ‘clone’ gutted you and visibly startled Wrecker and Crosshair.

“Me?” Crosshair retorted, pointing a finger back at her. “Why are you defending him?”

“Him?” Her voice rose almost to a shrill. You reached out, trying to pull her back from the brink of the confrontation, only to have your hand sharply slapped away. She spun around to face you. “Take that ridiculous thing off!” She reached for your helmet, and this time, you reflexively slapped her hand away.

Crosshair, seething with anger, wrenched free from Hunter's grasp and charged toward you. Tech's shouts echoed behind him, but Crosshair was undeterred. He brushed past your sister with a dismissive flick, gripped the rim of your helmet with one hand, and shoved you backward with the other. Just as you tumbled to the floor, your sister retaliated, pushing him away forcefully. From your position on the ground, you didn't see it, but the sharp slap she delivered resounded through the room.

With his cheek stinging from the slap, Crosshair held his ground, his grip white-knuckled on your helmet as he turned a furious gaze on the woman standing defiantly before him. The intensity in her eyes was something entirely new to him. They locked eyes, each poised for further confrontation, when a realization dawned on Crosshair.

He’d never seen you look quite like this. In fact, you seemed like a completely different person. Dropping the toothpick from his lips, confusion replaced the anger on his face as he scrutinized the subtle differences in the face before him—slight variations in aging lines and hair length. There was more than that, Crosshair realized as he picked out the innumerable differences.

“Crosshair…” Echo said hesitantly. Still sat on the floor, you were on full display for Echo.

Wrecker’s face fell as he glanced around Crosshair at you.

Steadying a shaky breath, you gathered what composure you could and pushed yourself up off the floor. "Calm down," you whispered, touching your sister’s shoulder as you rose beside her.

Standing there, you couldn't bring yourself to look directly at Crosshair, afraid of the disgust you might see mirrored on his face. You missed the horror breaking across him. Instead, you kept your gaze fixed on your sister, silently pleading, "Sister, please."

Snapping her hand out, your sister harshly gripped your face and forced it towards the men. “You're the ones who did this to her?” She was likely referencing the scar marking your nose or the other tiny, healed wounds your helmet had dealt you over time.

Heat scorched your face as you were forcibly put on display. You reluctantly met the eyes of Clone Force 99. Crosshair’s face was pale, his brows furrowed deeply and his mouth slightly ajar in a mix of horror and disbelief. Echo and Wrecker were in similar shades of shock. Hunter, on the other hand, looked almost regretful.

Gently removing your sister’s tight grip, you attempted to soothe her. “They didn’t know. Mother-”

“Do not blame Mother for your stupid decisions!” She screamed, gesturing a hand at you.

“Stupid decisions?” You challenged, feeling insulted. “My decisions have been for you. So I can keep you safe.”

“I didn’t tell you to do something so childish and I didn’t tell you to go and ruin your face.” You inhaled sharply at her words. She knew how to slap with more than just her hand.

Ignoring the clones, she straightened herself, her demeanor cooling into a composed facade that echoed your mother's authority. “Enough.” she stated firmly, making you straighten your posture subconsciously. “You are to come home and act as my body double at an upcoming gathering. The clones who trained you are to act as your security.” Pulling her hood up to shroud her face, you saw a glimpse of your gentle sister once more. “We will discuss your future afterwards.”

With that, she was gone.

Left alone with the squadron, you looked to the ceiling as opposed to facing them immediately.

Tech approached, saying your name. The others whipped their heads to him, the familiarity in his tone throwing them off. “Are you alright?” He asked gently.

“You knew about this?” Echo accused, turning on Tech.

“Of course I did.” Tech said quickly and dismissively.

Crosshair's hands clenched into fists repeatedly, his anger barely contained. "Was this all a game to you?" he growled, his gaze intense and accusing as he finally turned to you.

You were to weary to be angry at him. How he could ever think being pummeled everyday for weeks was anything close to a game was beyond you.

Meeting his fierce stare you offered a weak smile. It lasted only a second before it fell with your eyes. “No, never. I was sent here for training… I didn’t mean to deceive you.” Your mouth pressed into a tight line. “I’m sorry you were dragged into this.”

The room fell silent. Wrecker, who had been silent until now, finally spoke, his voice a mix of confusion and concern. "So, all this time, you were…”

“Yes,” You finished for him. “But I didn’t mean for it to happen like this. I’ve been taking all the training seriously.”

“It shows.” Echo said softly.

Hunter stepped forward. “Alright, we can sort this all out later.” He gave you a firm nod. “As a team. But right now, we have a mission.” He extended you a hand and a smirk, an offering. “The rest… you can explain on the way.”

Your chest caved at the sight. Taking his hand you choked out, “Gladly.”

Tech adjusted his goggles with a smile. “Then that settles it.” Brandishing his datapad, he started scrolling through the screen. “And I have compiled a list of questions that will clarify this entire ordeal.”

Hunter walked beside you, placing an encouraging hand on your back. “Let’s get going.”

Echo and Wrecker still looked conflicted, but nodded in agreement with Hunter's decision, and even Crosshair, though still visibly upset, did not contest.

Tech gave one final note. “All things considered, that went far better than even I could have predicted.”

@bruh-myguy-what i hope you like <3

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after-witch · 10 months

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Peaches [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Title: Peaches [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Synopsis: You smell like Peaches. Mahito thinks about it.

Word Count: 860

notes: yandere, discussions of dead bodies in a bit of detail, threats of harm, just a lil mahito something something in honor of tomorrow <3

You smell like peaches.

He knows this now. But he didn’t always know what the scent that clung to your skin was actually called. It was knowledge duly gained by following his nose one day, having caught a scent on the wind that reminded him of you, although he knew it wasn’t actually you.

Because the real you--the soul surrounded by flesh and blood--were currently holed up in the office building where you worked, stupid thing that you were, wasting your hours and energy on something entirely useless.

But that windy breeze smelled like you, and that’s why he followed it on two feet, humming, until he wandered into some kind of open air market where baskets were bursting with all sorts of fruits and vegetables. He smelled them all, licking a few, taking bites when he felt like it, until he found the right one.

It had yellowish-orange flesh, and it was soft, fuzzy. He took a bite and the juice ran down his chin, but the smell was stronger and that was particularly nice. The sign in front of the basket read: Peaches.

Ah, then.

A peach.

That’s what you smelled like.

Your scent was a bit different, though, if he got technical about it. You didn’t smell exactly like this real peach, all fresh fuzz and sticky bright juice. The way you smell is more… rich, low, consistent. Overripe. A peach amplified and concentrated.

Artificial.

That was how humans described such notions, wasn’t it? It must be perfume, or shampoo, or something else that humans rub on themselves to smell different.

You, evidently, wanted to smell like peaches.

He couldn’t blame you. It was a nice smell, without considering personal taste. Pleasant and fresh. He supposed a lot of humans liked to smell that way. He didn’t mind dampness or decay, the low sweet rot of it was quite pleasant to him. Humans, on the other hand, tried to cover up any stench they could. Sprays for their bathroom, sprays for their skin, sprays for their hair, hastily emptying corpses of everything that made them bloat deliciously and spew out secretions and replacing it with sterile chemicals.

Not that you were trying to cover up any such odor, corpse-like or not. He’s watched you in the bathroom on most mornings, scrubbing every bit of the human body that liked to produce a smell if left untouched. Your armpits, your back, that awfully special area between your legs. So that there was no trace of your natural scent about you by the time you were done, no chance that someone might walk by you and turn up their nose.

No matter what you smell like, though, your soul remains the same.

Souls have no particular smell, unless they are corrupt enough. Humans are truly pathetic for not knowing this fact. A corrupt soul is a bit like a dead body, he supposes, if he had to compare their scent to something else. Thrumming with rot, like decaying flesh moving with maggots.

Your soul is not so corrupt. He would’ve gotten a whiff of it, if it was. Oh, but make no mistake: it’s not pure either. He’s seen the way it wavers, the darkened shimmers when you’re standing at a traffic light (sometimes he thinks about shoving someone into traffic, to see what will happen, what you’ll do) or when your boss is berating you for some nonsensical human failures (what might you do, if he snapped your boss’s neck here and now, in front of you?)--the curses that slither their way out of you are dark and low, stodgy little things borne out of feelings you try to stamp down.

That was the beautiful thing about curses. They were humanity, untethered. Just one reason why they were superior.

That doesn’t mean he can’t want to play with humans, though. He’s never had a toy he wanted to keep around for so long, but there’s something about you. Something that keeps him just far enough away to avoid detection, on the off chance that you could see him. Sometimes he wonders, with the way your eyes dart around on the street, with the way you pause over something he’s moved in your apartment. Do you spot him in a crowd, and see that he’s different? Can you feel his presence, when he’s on the other side of the door, listening to you sing off-key while you shower?

Your soul shimmers then, too.

He longs to touch it, to root around and see exactly what makes you angry, what makes you hate, what spots of mold might be hiding underneath that peach perfume.

How long would you smell like peaches, if he dragged you to the damp tunnel where he lives? Would it linger on your skin like a memory? Or would it fade and fade and fade until there was nothing left but the sour, damp water of his sewer?

Maybe he’ll talk to you tomorrow. Sprawl out on your couch when you come home, and find out if you can see him.

After all, he can do whatever he wants. That’s what life is all about, isn’t it?

#yandere mahito #yandere jjk #mahito x reader #yandere #afterwitch writes

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di-writes-stuff · 3 months

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loml

Greg House x Reader

A/N: So, I haven’t written anything in months. Whoopsies! (I have no excuse, I just didn’t want to.)

TW: It’s House. There’s your trigger warning. (Drugs.)

“Who’s gonna stop us from waltzing back into rekindled flames, if we know the steps anyway?”

This is a mistake.

That’s the only thought that runs through your head as you sit in the sterile examination room, the chair under you hard and entirely uncomfortable. It’s fitting, nothing about this will be pleasant, you knew it going in.

And yet you still did. You walked into this damn hospital, snuck around like some criminal, praying that you wouldn’t run into him before the time was right. If it ever is, it never really has been with you two. Maybe it never will be, maybe the world is trying to tell you something you’re just too stubborn to hear. How many times can you keep going back to the same broken thing?

Apparently you haven’t hit your limit yet, considering where you are.

It’s like every nerve in your body spurs to life as the door slides open and he walks in. Him, House. His eyes are glued to the chart in his hand, not really bothering to look at you. He’d treat his patients through the door if he could.

“What’s wrong with you?” He asks in a way that’s so typically him you almost roll your eyes. Abrasive, cold, these should be red flags. They are, you just don’t care.

Maybe he had a point with all the masochist jokes.

You quickly refocus, clearing your throat and waiting. For what, you’re not sure. Obviously he’ll look up, recognize you as, well, you. His ex, but that’s not even close to covering whatever twisted role it is you serve in his life. On and off for…how long? Years, you know that. Two, at least, maybe more. There’s always something wrong, something ruining your chances. The drugs, the painfully obvious emotional unavailability. The same one you ignored the existence of when you decided to come here.

Then there’s you. The constant desire you have for more. More devotion, more love, more than he’s willing to give.

Or more than he can, you refuse to explore that option.

You’re fucked, simply. There’s no possible way that you two work. It’s too much conflict, more than a mouthful of pills or some hate sex can solve.

His eyes flick up and widen as he freezes. Speechless. In another circumstance you’d be proud of this. It’s an achievement after all, he never does know when to shut his mouth.

He wasn’t expecting you, not for a second. Maybe he should’ve. You’ve always been stubborn, a trait you both share. It made for some agonizingly long arguments, and some wildly good make up.

That’s the issue with you two. You are eachother. It’s why you’re so chaotic together. It’s also why you can’t be with anybody else.

“Hey.” You say weakly, and the word feels stupid as it comes out of your mouth. You’re long past pleasantries, which is exactly why you receive silence in return.

You knew he’d be like this.

You feel your face heating in humiliation anyway. At the very least, you won’t cry, you won’t let yourself.

The stinging sensation in your nose is persistent as ever.

He slowly crosses the room, sitting down in the chair next to you, a small creaking noise filling the otherwise empty silence. A thick swallow from you, the awkward drumming of fingers from him. This is painful, and for a second you hope his pager will go off. He’d bolt with an excuse, you know he would. And because you’re the same, you would too. And then you’d be back, in a week, maybe a month, and it’d be even worse.

You’ve always had a knack for self-destruction.

You both know how it ended last time. All over a stupid bet. Cuddy thought he couldn’t make it a week without Vicodin, he thought he could. Back when he was still adamant about denying his addiction. Halfway through it might as well have been torture. Deep into detoxing, and still, he wouldn’t stop. Wouldn’t listen as you begged him to stop being so childish, so stubborn. He wouldn’t even let you come near him, let alone help. He said it’s cause he didn’t need your pity.

In reality, he just didn’t want you to see him like that. Nobody would. Every inch of his pale, shaking frame was covered in sweat, bags under his eyes and a bloodshot gaze had him looking damn near dead.

He was sick, and he hated having to face it more than anything. The Greg House being forced to admit he was wrong. Sometimes you wondered if he’d rather die than say it out loud.

Neither of you handled it well, you never do. He was too stupid to see the obvious, see that he needed help. Needed you. And you, you were too sensitive to let it go. Let him go. Give up on any hope that this could go anywhere.

You still are, and you feel it keenly as the two of you sit in silence. His eyes are trained on you, and if you didn’t know him any better, you’d think the look in his eyes was judgement. But no, it’s a myriad. Confusion, anger, guilt, longing. All things he’d never admit. That’d be far too human.

“Say something.” Your voice comes out pleading, a tone you loathe on yourself.

He turns to you, his eyes tracing over your every feature like he can’t decide which one to settle on. How many times has he seen you like this? Desperate, vulnerable, because of him. He loses count. He wants to forget it, but you have to go through the motions. Pretend you’ve worked through your issues so you can live in a momentary state of bliss. Maybe it’ll last a few months this time. Could be less, if he really screws it up.

He’ll take what he can get.

“What do you want me to say?” The words come out harsh, cold, and for a moment he expects you to turn away. You don’t. Of course you don’t.

You sigh heavily, you expected it, the ice you’d be met with. You know him intrinsically, predicting his moves like the plot twists of a movie you’ve watched one too many times.

“Something, anything.” This is sad, pathetic, even. You always do this. Go back to each other, pulling out a past that’s probably better off left in the dark closet it belongs to. Still, how can you just forget? The idea feels foreign after all this time weaving in and out of one another’s lives.

Still, this is familiar, comfortable, in a way. The feigned indifference, the cold tone, the need to pretend neither of you care nearly as much as you do. It would be easier, less painless, to just move on. Have lives separate from each other.

But he’s starting to think he lives off pain. Physical and mental. It’s all he’s known for years. Why change a routine that’s become so commonplace? And even with the pain, he’s never been happier than he was with you. You understand him, and the part of him that hates that kneels to the part that needs it.

The break ups, the separation, it’s all just a low between highs. Ones he finds far more addicting than the pills sitting in his pocket.

He begins tapping his cane on the floor, a restless rhythm. “I miss you.” His voice is deadpan as the words come out, and you know why. He’s being honest, his tone can’t betray how hard that really is for him. He leans his head back, letting it thud against the wall behind you in a way that makes you flinch.

For a moment, you wonder if he’s just saying what you want to hear.

You quickly remember who you’re talking to.

He lets his knee fall sideways, brushing against yours. It’s tiny, imperceivable, almost. If you weren’t so clued into everything he was doing, maybe you wouldn’t have noticed it. But you did, your eyes flicking down to the point of contact. It feels dangerous.

“I missed you too.” Your voice is shaky, quiet, pathetic. To you, at least. Most might see this as normal. A healthy display of vulnerability. You, though. This is hell. It is for him too. It’s also necessary. Maybe this is your twisted way of proving yourselves to each other, giving evidence to your devotion.

“This won’t end well.” He says, pragmatic as always. Cold, sensible. Too smart for hoping, waiting on change that’ll never come.

“I know.” And I’m here anyway. Words go unspoken, you’ve had enough honesty for today.

He sighs, and the noise is too tired. For a second fear settles in that you’re the one doing this to him. That trying to be decent. Trying to be suitable for a relationship is just too much for him to handle.

“Then why are you here?” He knows the answer, he’s not stupid. Maybe he just needs to hear it, and then he’ll get the common sense to tell you to leave. To give up on this, spare both of you the inevitable pain.

You sigh, the idea of having the explain worse than just letting the truth linger unspoken. “What if it works this time?” You know it’s stupid, and you know he’ll tell you just that. For a second you remember something your therapist told you. Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome. You’d rolled your eyes, told her this wasn’t anything like that. That people can change, you can change.

You stopped going to your appointments after that.

You just look at him, watch as he closes his eyes, running a hand over his face before looking to you. “For how long?” For a second, you think there’s hope in his voice, like he’s waiting for you to lie to him, say this can last forever. It probably will, you think. On and off for the rest of your lives, never stable.

“We can find out.” The words are an invitation, a reckless one. You’ll let him back in, and it’ll end poorly, and you won’t be able to be mad. You knew how this would go from the start, how can you blame him for the inevitable?

He looks to you, and you can tell he’s given up. It was always gonna happen, you wouldn’t stay away forever. No use in wasting time waiting.

“I hate you.” The words are empty. It’s his last ditch effort to push you away. He has to do it, he has to know he didn’t just let you in. Something in him has to hold onto the false belief that he doesn’t need this, that he’s indifferent. That he’s the same cold man he’s always been.

As he mutters the words he reaches out, his hand sliding over your jaw, pulling you in closer.

You smile weakly, rolling your eyes at the absurdity of the statement. You know him, you know when he’s lying, and he’s never done a worse job at it than he just did.

You’re hardly inches apart now, your lips nearly ghosting his own. Your voice is shaky as you speak, “Love you too.” As his lips brush yours, he just melts, leaning into you with a fervor he used to call lust. There’s no use pretending that’s all this is now.

The kiss ends all too soon as he pulls away, shallow breaths leaving both of you, filling the silence. You almost wonder if you should leave when his voice sounds, quiet, tentative, all things he’s normally not.

“I’m going to screw this up.” The look in his eyes is guilt for something he hasn’t even done. He will, but you ignore the nagging voice in the back of your head that says to run before he has the chance. Yes, he’s hurt you. It’s not as if you haven’t done the same to him. You know where to aim when you’re mad, and you’ve turned him to a dartboard more times than you can count.

“I’m okay with that.” For a second, as the words fall off your tongue so easily, almost instinctually, you wonder if your mother would be disappointed in you. This isn’t how she raised you. Offering some man a hundred second chances all because what, you love him? Because when it’s good, it really is so good?

Because at the end of the day, you don’t think you could do it. Leave him, live the rest of your life without him in it. You’d wonder, you’d always wonder what would’ve happened if you just gave him one more chance. And so you will, again, and again, and again.

Sometimes you wonder what your life would look like if you’d never met him. Maybe you’d be married, happy with some man who gave you far less trouble than House ever did. You curse the way you find the thought boring. He’s awful, but he’s thrilling. You might even have kids, or at least be ready for one.

You know deep down you could have a future like that, and still, all thoughts of it dissipate when he opens his mouth.

“I’m off at eight.” Self loathing drips from each word. He’s a selfish bastard, he’ll let you forgive him, and time and time again, he’ll know he doesn’t deserve it. Still, he can’t turn you down. He can’t leave. He can’t not have you. The one good thing that’s ever come out of his life. He just can’t. Not when you’re offering.

“I’ll be here.” The words are so horribly fitting. Won’t you always? Will there ever be a time he takes it too far? Or will you always go back to him? Will you always turn away from the better life, the happier life you could have without him?

Yes. It’s always yes, because deep down, you stopped wanting a life without him the second you experienced life with him. Everything else became boring, commonplace, once you’d had him. There’s nothing like House. Not a person, or drug, or liquor strong enough to come close to how he makes you feel. Nothing can make the memory fade, and nothing can replace it either.

There’s no good outcome, it’s either life alone or life with him. And so you let his fingers interlace with your own, let the sensation numb the thought that never left your head this whole time, the one that’ll haunt you on sleepless nights you spend in his bed, staring at the ceiling with his arms wrapped around you.

This is a mistake.

A/N: thank u to the taco bell fire sauce packet i quoted.

#house md #greg house #gregory house #dr house #house x reader #greg house x reader #gregory house x reader #dr house x reader #house #fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic writer #fanfiction writer #greg house x you #house x you #gregory house x you #dr house x you

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afewfantasies · 6 months

Text

🗡️ꜰᴇʏᴅ'ꜱ ʙʟᴀᴅᴇ 🗡️ -V- Spellbound

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 4.7K

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Feyd-Rautha X Reader

ᴘʟᴏᴛ: The Baron and Bene Gesserits are sniffing around, you and Feyd grow closer in spite of the danger - until it comes to a head. You will get your full real taste of Harkonnen brutality.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: sex (p in v), breeding kink, invasion of privacy, mentions of bruising and soreness from sex (for the reader), NSFW

MASTERLIST

_________

Part V - Spellbound

The sprawling halls of the palace seem foreign to Feyd-Rautha for the first time as he traverses them. The darkness is in stark contrast to the colors sprinkled into your room. The muted halls now feel sterile in contrast to all the life and beauty you have brought to his life. He now had his na-baroness, you. The union had been consummated and he felt married to you in every way. Ceremony be damned. He’d woken up next to you, laying there peaceful, vulnerable and complete with the evidence of his markings all over. Feyd fought against his instinct to stay, instead he left you there untouched and peaceful. He had begun his day with his morning training sessions and a debrief on all Arrakis’ affairs. After his morning session he’d been intercepted by the Harkonnen Mentat on the Barons orders. Stretching his arms as he walks down the halls, people whisper and ogle him. Unlike before, Feyd is no longer interested in dipping in and out of the ladies within the palace, no longer interested in acquiring concubines and pets. There's no room for further distractions. Straightening to a regal posture Feyd enters the throne room seeing one of the Bene Gesserit Reverend mothers standing near the Baron. With a breath he removes all evidence of irritation from his expression, he places a pleasant smile onto his lips nodding at the witch before averting his gaze to his uncle.

“Baron” he says, holding the gargantuan man’s eyes. The Baron's thin lips flatten further into a smile. His labored breathing and suspension machine filled the uncomfortable silence. Feyd catches a nervous twitch from the Bene Gesserit sister.

“Feyd… there’s been some developments. According to the Reverend Mother three of her sisters have gone missing. A Lady Margot Fenring, a healer and sister Y/N” The Baron comments.

“Would you like my assistance in their retrieval efforts, is the emperor indisposed?” Feyd asks, playing dumb.

“No of course not, but I’d like to know if you came across any of them?” She says making Feyd genuinely smile. They were on to him but they had not effectively done their homework. In his search for you he’d learned how instrumental Leia had been to your adjustment. Four Bene Gesserits were missing now at his hands. Only two of them would continue to draw breath. The bitch that tried priming him for Lady Fenring’s seduction was dead along with her conspirator.

“Why would I?” He asks.

“Where are they?” the sister hisses using the voice, Feyd feels the reverberations in his head. Only, as it had been with Margot Fenring the compulsion is ineffective. Swallowing he shakes his head hyper aware of his uncle’s all seeing eyes. “My betrothed is in my company, I have not come across Lady Margot Fenring. The other, well unfortunately she got a little close after my fight in the arena” Feyd snarks, pretending to be frustrated by the manipulation. Looking up out of anger the Reverend mother senses no deception from him.

“You have been betrothed to Princess Irulan” the Reverend Mother responds, correcting him. Understanding the weight of their scrutiny he raises a brow. Too much affinity for you would expose his weakness making you a further target, he’d rather all attacks be aimed at him.

“Irulan” Feyd nods, looking at his uncle the Baron with a nod. He’d never been more bored by the prospect. Everyone knows the Emperor’s oldest daughter is an astute student of Reverend Mother Mohiam. He had no use for the schemes of weak men who’d rather use marriage rather than taking what their hearts desired.

“Are you satisfied?” The Baron asks the Bene Gesserit. Casting a look at Feyd she nods again leaving with a few guards. There had been a plot and now the hags were on the hunt for their rogue agent, only she would never be found and he would never be made a fool of. Feyd relaxes a touch turning to the devil he knows suspended on his throne. The Baron’s gaze is critically assessing his nephew, he too wanted to know what had become of Margot Fenring, but there would be no way for Feyd to resist the voice. How could the Baron know that the attempt on Feyd-Rautha’s life by the Atreides soldier had the opposite effect. Instead of making him more vulnerable to suggestion, he had become immune to their trickery. It strengthened the bonds between the two of you.

Feyd-Rautha’s love and admiration of you had only grown in the moments following the arena. The way you had clung to him, the fear in your every touch, the fortitude in your commitment to his well being. It was everything. You had shared your blood and body with him connecting the two of you on another level.

“How is your newest pet?” The Baron asks floating down from his throne at the very moment Rabban emerges through the doors. Turning slowly Feyd-Rautha’s eyes narrow in on his brute of a brother, hands itching to draw his knives. Rabban had been at the helm of the brutal attack on you and Leia and would pay for it.

“Good, now that both of my nephews are here. Rabban, Feyd-Rautha will be taking over on Arrakis” the Baron’s words cause a chain reaction. The Beast groans out of anger and rage, his breaths become shallow and he draws inward flexing his muscles as he makes a desperate attempt to withhold a tantrum.

“That is not necessary” Rabban snaps at the Baron. It’s all the disrespect Feyd can take. He strikes fast, slashing his brother across his face. Rabban tries and fails to get the better of his younger brother. Feyd out maneuvers the bigger man landing a kick that leaves Rabban on the floor blood dripping through out of his newest scar.

“Kiss or die” Feyd smirks knowing that this is just the beginning of his punishment. He would make sure he was dead once it was safe to do so without inquiry or repercussion. Looking down, Feyd watches his older brother inch closer and place his lips on his boot. Smiling Feyd-Rautha withdraws, casting a look back up at the Baron and striding out.

Feyd had risen early as was expected. Risen and left without the opportunity to wake you slowly, enjoying a morning with his na-Baroness. It angered him to have to put his inheritance ahead of you but it was the inheritance that would ensure his safety. Feyd spent hours assessing the land masses on the live map, his plan would need to be fool proof to release the spice. As soon as he could do that the more time he could have fucking you. He’d prepared a bath soak for you to ease the tension and aches from your body. Aches he’d put there, aches you welcomed as he went deeper inch by inch. Your safety was the only reason Feyd forced himself out of bed instead of allowing himself to be lost in you. He had made the mistake of dismissing your warning before and it had potentially cost him his mind, genetics. Potentially even you, there was no way to be sure what Lady Fenring could have achieved with his mind. Poisoning his mind against you or worse sanctioning your eradication. Feyd would do his best to give a semblance of normalcy because once on Arrakis and away from the Baron he could spend as much time as possible in throes of passion with you. He needs time to watch your back arch coming off the bed, your nipples pointing up at him ready to be sucked and played with. The way your breathing looks on your stomach as it contracts and swells at the sight of him thrusting inside of you. The bounce of your ass and tits as he increases his vigor. Your hands reaching to him for support, championing his insatiable desire for your pleasure. He’d never loved a body the way he does yours, he’d never felt so connected to a woman before. The chemistry between the two of you heightened to a point of senselessness, it had been pure instinct, autopilot. There’d been no blood left in his brain to process anything but the pure pleasure he felt and the feast for his eyes of you were laying there naked and sullied in front of him. The chorus of your moans of pleasure etched into his mind - his new favorite melody.

Last night had made it real. There was no denying it or passing it off as a simple preoccupation, he would never tire of you, he would do anything to keep you safe the same way you’d rushed to his aid. Rabban and the Baron would reach untimely deaths at his hand for their treachery. Irulan too if she would be foolish enough to insert herself into a relationship with him. The Empire be damned, he would find his way on the throne if it was what he wanted. He’d inherited Arrakis without schemes, he was simply the best for the job. Unlike the Emperor and the Baron Feyd had never been a coward, he always welcomed a good fight. He’d heard whispers about the sanctioned assassination of Duke Leto Atreides. He’d heard about the Emperor’s jealousy and the Baron’s grasp for power. Timing had been perfect, while all eyes were on Arrakis Feyd’s were on you and somehow now he would have both.

Sliding his hand in the reader Feyd enters into your quarters. The bath is drained and he finds you and Leia sharing a late lunch. Leia turns first nodding at him sheepishly before you turn to him with a smile. The feeling that washes over you is one you aren’t likely to forget. Relief, happiness, home, there’s a magnetism in your heart at the sight of Feyd. He comes over embracing you and you can smell his slightly musky scent.

“I’m going to freshen up” Leia stands not wanting to interrupt.

“Take one of the rooms in here, stay with the na-baroness” Feyd instructs getting your attention. Leia makes herself scarce and Feyd-Rautha sits on one of the chairs. Cautious of your soreness you sit on his knee, his arms hold you instinctively and you relax into him. You’d missed him dearly this morning, he had said goodbye but you wanted to wake up still tangled in his arms, body to body, feeling his heat, his strength, his vitality, his insatiable appetite for you and his reverent gaze. Everyone had been wrong about Feyd-Rautha, fear wasn’t the first thing you felt when you laid eyes on him. It was the opposite. The way he looks at you makes you feel special, powerful, dangerous, sexy, unstoppable, untouchable. There’d been no shame in the way he made love to you.

Feyd’s hand roams up the length of your leg under the silky fabric of your robes, you can see the need in his eyes. Breathing in your eyes flutter as his lips take yours in a kiss. He’d longed to have you in his arms for so long it hardly felt real to him. Somehow the real you was better than he could have ever imagined. Better in so many ways. How could another woman ever make such a major miscalculation. How could Margot Fenring or anyone else think they could sway his attention. Letting his head rest in the curve of your neck Feyd breathes you in. Resting your head against his, your hand hovers over his face wanting to touch him. Something makes you hesitate, his hands and chest seemed like fair play but his face… There’s something about his energy and dominance that makes you hesitate. Seeing your contemplation Feyd looks up, kissing your palm with a knowingness, his dark eyes daring you to continue. Reaching for him you withdraw a touch making his smirk deepen. His eyes sparkle and you reach for his face again touching him, you run your thumb along his cheek. Feyd kisses the inside of your wrist in a permissive gesture. His skin is soft and smooth, unlike the hard ridged edges of him.

“I only need you to follow my direction down to the detail when we’re making love, or there’s an emergency. Otherwise you are free to do as you please” Feyd explains.

“And if I make a mistake?” You ask, remembering the sting of his spanking last night.

“I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again” he smiles, it thrills you a little.

“How?” You ask curiously and Feyd’s smile deepens, his eyes sparkle brighter at the prospect.

“Well if I tell you, it’ll kill the surprise” he comments suddenly in a much better mood. You withdraw a little but he secures you in place amused slightly. “How did I make you feel last night?” Feyd-Rautha asks with his lips to your ear. The tickle of his words make the tiny hairs on your neck stand.

“Incredible” you respond honestly.

“And I always will, even if you make a mistake” he promises. You relax into him again enjoying the closeness and ease you feel with the na-Baron. “Did your bath soothe the aches?” He asks.

“Yes, but I’m still sore,” you confess.

“Where?” Feyd asks giving you his hand, you place them on your hips where he’d held you, sliding them down to your thighs where he’d tested your flexibility to its limits trying to make adequate space for himself. Unsure again you place his hand over your center. Feyd’s eyes close at the contact of your hands drawing his between your legs. Deep appreciation for your trust of him and deep regret in the reality that he cannot be inside you again tonight. He places a chaste kiss on your forehead enjoying your warmth as he lets his hand rest comfortably over you.

“It’ll take time” Feyd says regretfully, it had never been a consequence before. His rotation of concubines left him sated, if one was indisposed he could call on another.

“Will you leave me for your pleasure slaves tonight?” You ask, unsure of how things work. You hope he won’t, it’s all in your eyes, against your training and better judgment you can’t withhold the sentiments of hurt his abandonment will cause.

“No, I will be at your side tonight if you will have me” Feyd whispers, holding your gaze. “I will have you” you nod blushing slightly. A contraption beeps and he takes it, ending the noise with a smile.

“I have to leave you now but I must inform you that Margot Fenring attempted to seduce me last night, she paid with her life. Her body will not be found, your sisters are looking for her and they continue to try to seduce me with the Empire through Irulan” he whispers, his hand still nestled against your heat.

“What say you?” You ask.

“They’re desperate and I do not jump to please the desperate, they aim to please me” Feyd reckons with a smug smile. “We’re to leave for Arrakis within the week.” He adds getting your attention. You turn to him with an unease, reminded of your vision.

“Arrakis is at war with a Fremen prophet” you tell him having heard the whispers.

“I will bring the Fremen to their knees and then you may decide if you’d like Irulan as a pet. You will sit beside me on my throne and we will make the rules from a position of strength.” Feyd whispers into your ear. After years of powerlessness it’s an attractive proposition. Frowning a curious thought comes over you.

“How were you able to best Lady Fenring?” You ask.

“The late lady tried using the voice, unfortunately my na-baroness ensured I cannot be manipulated hours prior” he says just as another string of beeps follow. He silences them standing and placing you on steady feet in front of him. You turn searching his eyes only to see its the truth, smiling you laugh a little, he does the same. He secures his blades before turning his attention to you.

“You’re the sharpest one,” he mutters, peering into your eyes. It’s high praise considering how much he reveres his weapons of choice. “The most beautiful, the most dangerous and the most rare” he adds looking down at you. Pride fills you, it's been so long since anyone valued you as he did.

“I’m thankful our fathers had the foresight to ensure we would have each other” you confess and Feyd-Rautha stands upright, straightening as pride fills him from your words.

“The sweetest too, so sweet you don’t even feel the sting” he says holding you gaze with mutual admiration and gratitude. Taking your hands he brings them to his lips placing a kiss on them. He turns leaving you awash with a variety of emotions. Your feelings for him are growing increasingly as the days pass. You place your hand against your stomach wondering if there’s a quickening in your womb. If the feelings would manifest by multiplying.

…

You had long wondered how losing your father had affected your mother, why she had never come back for you if she had survived. Hands running along Feyd-Rautha’s muscular back, you sense the deep loneliness that must exist within her as he sleeps on top of you, his heavy body anchoring you to this world. The warmth of him heating your own body. Looking down at Feyd you smile to yourself, the dream of him is disguised in the nightmare of his reputation. There was more depth to the man aside from brutality and cruelty. The same attentiveness that made him a dangerous adversary made him an excellent lover. As did the knowledge of the human body he’d long used for means of torture. Turned on its head it made for a lover that excels at the delivery of pleasure. The same for pain, after years of brutality he knew better than anyone how hard to push, how long to go, when to stop and when to be unrelenting. Here and now, he was completely relaxed over top of you, his slow breathing and soft breaths like that of a small child but far more peaceful. While asleep he didn’t look dangerous, he seemed to just be a man, like all the rest. He stirs turning his head, his arms tightening around you in a gesture of possession. When behind closed doors Feyd-Rautha was incapable of resisting the need for touching you. He needed you as close as possible, a piece of you touching him in some way. When there were no other eyes on you he wasted no time assuring you how much you meant to him.

He’d spent the last few days pouring over maps of Arrakis for hours while Rabban tried and failed to bring order to the desert planet. Feyd’s plans remained close to the chest so that his brother's spies would have no opportunities to undermine his objectives. He also had the foresight to keep you tucked away in your quarters. There were no margins for error, no room for distractions - he would need to ensure the flow of spice to gain enough power to make demands and have them met. He wouldn’t allow himself to be used as a pawn in the power games the Emperor played, he wouldn’t not allow himself to be in a subservient position like the Baron, to a man lesser than him in every way. He would never allow himself to be in the position where he needed to sell off his daughters and sons to improve his station. The games of advantage displeased him even more now that he’d been privy to the realities of a love match. He also knows you would never welcome it, trading the children you bore out of love for advantageous positions. Stirring to consciousness he flattens his hands down over your stomach. He’d emptied his desire in you on three occasions now and there was a strong likelihood of an offspring quickening within you. Feeling your gentle caresses he places a kiss on your sternum lifting his head from between your breasts and inching up to the pillow. He pulls the blanket over your bare form to keep you warm in the absence of his body heat. His eyes drink you in with an insatiability, he never seemed to tire of your flesh. You smile at him as he readjusts getting between your legs.

“Feyd” you whisper in anticipation. “You have training, you're already late” you remind him sensibly.

“I can be quick” he whispers, needing you to start his day. “Cum for me” he whispers sliding in. Your eyes close as you accept him inside of you, he fits so well. “Look at me” Feyd demands and you do. “Make a mess for me” he instructs finding a torturous rhythm, he’s right it will be quick. He turns you on like a light, everything about him driving you there in no time, the slapping of skin to skin becomes wetter and wetter as your body accommodates his size, pleasure oozing out of you. “That’s my good na-baroness” he hisses, thrusting harder. The monster is inside of you and you love it. The nightmare capable of slaying all others. Your body welcomes him, drawing him closer as the head rush of your orgasm starts. Your eyes lock and he wears a smile, his chin moves in an encouraging nod allowing you to let go of all inhibition and decorum. “Let it out” he smiles as sweat beads on your forehead.

“Feyd '' you moan as he slows, breaking the rhythm. A powerful thrust follows, and another and another. Your hands squeeze around his arms needing to be grounded. His mouth lingers open above yours whispering dirty pleasantries, the sweetest filth promising your undoing. His smile is mocking as he edges you to oblivion. He needed his balls empty before starting his day if there was any hope in him being effective in his tasks. The more he has you the more he needs. You’re in his every thought, in his every desire, in every decision and breath. Feyd’s sure it's Bene Gesserit witchcraft but wrapped so tightly around his cock he welcomes it in all forms. Watching you come for him he knows the ecstasy is pure. Burying himself deep he lets his orgasm flow into you. Only one Bene Gesserit would bear his children. Any others who’d seek to insert themselves between you and him would be collared, leashed and be made your pets, surviving purely off of your generosity. He would teach you how to take care of traitors. He would teach you everything.

“Feyd” you call again shuddering as more aftershocks rip through the both of you. You live for the moments you’re both satisfied and connected, body to body, flesh to flesh. His head bows and you raise yours to meet his full beautiful lips.

“I love you” he says slipping out of you. He moves from between your legs pressing your knees together, wanting you to keep as much of him inside you as possible. Smiling, you rest your head on his chest as he lays on his back. You rest, catching your breath and slowing your breathing.

“I love you too” you tell him back.

“We made a mess” he says with pride but the smirk fades to horror in moments he jumps out of the bed in a flash, his cock bouncing still hard. Your heart races as he throws the sheets over your bare body. The doors open and your heart stops at the sight of the Baron. Only his eyes are not on you but Feyds manhood as he puts pants on.

“What are you doing in here!” Feyd growls pulling the curtains of the canopy bed just as the Baron’s head turns to you. You pull the sheets to your chin, trembling.

“They said Feyd-Rautha missed his training session. I said no way, as long as he breathes he’d be with his blades'' the Baron said through labored speech. A sickeningly sweet and rancid odor fills the chambers. You find yourself trembling under the weight of such a terrible man's gaze. All of Feyd’s hard work to bring you pleasure is eroded by the rotting abomination of a man in this chamber with Feyd and yourself.

“Out uncle” Feyd snarls, terrifying even you.

“I wouldn’t mind laying eyes on the pet that’s keeping you preoccupied and away from the others every night” the Baron says and you pull the sheets over your face although the poster bed’s drapes already conceal you from the two men.

“Don’t” Feyd snaps, stopping his uncle from pulling the drapes. No one would ever lay eyes on you indisposed.

“I can ready Rabban and the staff, put on a show dear nephew. Show the rest of us how your whore has come to pleasure you, taking away valuable time from your tasks at hand” the Baron yells.

“Get out” Feyd responds trembling, looking at his uncle for the first time he wants to spill his blood everywhere. Every attempt at hiding his possessiveness and predilection for you is out of the window. Feyd fights for control trying not to expose further weakness.

“Show us Feyd, we want to see the work she does with your cock that is more important than your inheritance” Baron Vladimir Harkonnen taunts glancing at his nephew's groin area.

“No” Feyd responds, setting his jaw. Murder apparent. The Baron taps on his shield, well aware of the heightened state of his nephew. The doors open and guards enter. Without his shield or weapons Feyd is at a disadvantage. Murder will have to wait. Cornered, Feyd’s thoughts turn to you. “I missed the training because I've exceeded all instructors” he says attempting to subvert the truth. The Baron chuckles knowing the potential poison love could be to his progeny and the Barons own ambitions. He’d been getting more reports regarding his heirs preoccupation with his inadequate betrothed.

“Someone will have to pay for this deliberate disobedience. Will it be you or your whore?” The Baron chides seeking to provoke Feyd. His disrespect of you in public sealing fate, now Feyd would kill his uncle. It would happen.

“I will” Feyd rasps. Nodding the Baron smirks.

“Bring the whore to watch” the Baron says before turning away and eroding Feyd’s confidence. Every instinct in Feyd wants to beg, he wants to plead for absolution. He could take any punishment but subjecting you to brutality and violence … he … he couldn’t fathom its effects. He’d grown up with the barons' malevolence, his brutality and cruelty. But Feyd had watched you become undone by a minor cut on his back. The way you would care for it and caress it daily was evidence enough to know this would break you. You would be unable to witness the cruelty of punishment according to the Barons machinations. The mocking, the jeering, the humiliation, the whippings, the hours of fighting until he could no longer defend himself, the scars, the weeks of soreness. He took them in stride, becoming increasingly vicious every time. But that was before he had you to consider, before he’d known real love. The baron had tried everything in his arsenal to break the boy with no success. Smiling as he floats away he knows he has now, the look in your eye could only be explained as one thing.

Love

And love could, and would always be the easiest emotion to exploit. the most powerful impulse. Even if his nephew had a mind of his own and the wherewithal to rebel, after today he was sure you would keep Feyd away out of love. He would make you feel culpable for the brutality Feyd will face. Exploiting all the kindness and empathy housed in a loving woman. The spice will flow, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen will become emperor. The Baron is committed to ensuring you will be disposed of. He’ll use you to his advantage if need be, he’ll break you, he’ll have you beg Feyd to marry Irulan. His machinations will be fulfilled by any means necessary.

Authors Note: Sorry this one is a little shorter than the others. how do we feel about the Baron and his sick and twisted treatment of Feyd? How will you react to Feyd's punishment? How do we like the developing relationship between the two?

Thanks for so much reading 🩶 don't forget to like comment, reblog 😘

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shmaptainwrites · 5 months

Text

𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 — 𝐎.𝐑. [𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐒𝐎𝐍]

PAIRINGS — James Wilson x GN!Reader (no pronouns)

SUMMARY — A child is unaccounted for and the hospital goes into lockdown which makes it a lot harder for Reader to avoid Wilson

WORD COUNT — 2.2K

WARNINGS — mentions/decriptions of blood

NOTE — Okay here's a quick little one shot that will hopefully hold you guys over until I get that series done. As you guys have probably already guessed this is set in 6x17 and I have a few more ideas of different scenarios that could happen in this episode so you may be seeing more of that :)

It was always an odd feeling when an OR was quiet. All you could hear were the sounds of your shoes, making the floor squeak as you walked, littering bloody footprints wherever you went. You still had your mask and gloves on and were about to leave so the room could be cleaned and sterilized for the next surgery when you heard an announcement over the hospital’s PA.

You looked over to your friend and colleague who was just removing his gloves as you listened to them say the hospital was under lockdown and no one was to leave their areas until further notice.

“Guess we’re stuck here a little longer,” he said and you looked around you. It wasn’t the most pleasant place to be stuck, blood littered the floor like a murder scene and surgical tools were messily placed on tables and stands.

“Yeah,” you sighed and followed his lead, taking off your gloves and discarding them, followed by your mask.

“You okay?” Wilson asked, coming closer to you.

“M fine,” you nodded and moved towards a wall so you could lean against it. “Would just…rather be at home. Or in a shower,” you looked down at your bloody scrubs. “How are mine dirtier than yours?”

“Cause you’re a messy surgeon,” he teased.

“Right, and it’s not because you nicked a vein that sprayed all over me.”

“I said I was sorry,” he came over next to you and leaned up against the wall in the same manner you were. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“If you’re thinking that if you don’t sit down your legs are gonna give out anyways then yes, I am thinking that,” you nodded and he gave you the encouragement to sit down on the OR floor by taking the lead and doing it first.

There were a few moments of silence that passed before Wilson spoke up again.

“Hey are you…sure you’re okay?” he asked.

“We lost a patient, James,” you sighed. “Kinda knocks the wind out of you.”

“I know, but you know it wasn’t our fault, it wasn’t anything we could have fixed or gotten to for that matter.”

“I know, but it doesn’t really make me feel any better,” you admitted, pulling your knees up a little closer to your chest.

Wilson reached over and took off your hair cap and you lazily turned your head around before reaching over and doing the same, messing up his now shorter hair. It wasn’t as satisfying to do as when it was longer.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, extending his hand out for you to take.

You bit the inside of your cheek and reached out, interlacing your fingers with his, letting your back melt further into the wall when you felt his thumb brush against the back of your hand.

“I don’t think talking will fix my problem,” you turned your head, still letting it rest against the wall as you looked over at him.

“This isn’t just about the patient,” he inferred. “You’ve been…distant lately.”

“No I haven’t,” you shook your head and pulled your hand out of his hold.

“Yes you have,” he sat upright and looked at you curiously. “You just pulled away, again.”

You pushed yourself up so you were standing again and Wilson followed you. You’d never been claustrophobic, but in that moment, it felt like the walls of the OR were closing in on you.

“Bee, come on, please talk to me,” he begged.

“You haven’t called me Bee since residency.”

“You’re deflecting,” he placed his hands on his hips. “What’s going on with you?”

“I’m trying to tell you, nothing’s going on,” you began to pace the room, wringing your hands in front of you. It’s like you weren’t even trying to be subtle that there was a problem. Every time a lie came out of your mouth your body did something to tell Wilson whatever you were saying wasn’t true.

“No, you just don’t want to tell me what’s going on,” Wilson conceded. “I just don’t like to see you torn up like this, you know that, right?”

You stopped your pacing and nodded your head.

“I miss you, we don’t see each other anymore and I-,”

“James stop,” you spoke quietly, so much so he barely heard you.

His eyes fell on you again, watching as you looked down at your hands, your mouth partially open as if you were trying to say something else, but it wasn’t coming out.

“I-I was just trying to-,”

“I know what you were trying to do,” you said. “Make me feel better, because you’re a doctor, it’s in your nature. You don’t have to make me feel better about this.”

“But I want to.”

“You don’t even know what it is,” you chuckled humourlessly, moving closer to the OR doors.

“I-I could, and you could let me try and help-,”

“James, you're not going to want to help with this.”

“You can’t know that unless-,”

“I don’t know what we are,” you blurted and squeezed your eyes shut, hating yourself for being so weak, feeling your back hit the wall again.

“Y-You don’t know what we are?” he looked at you, but you could see past his furrowed brows and concerned features, the thoughts racing in his head, his hands now unsure what to do at his sides.

“We’ve known each other a long time, James,” you licked your lips and pressed them together. “And throughout that time you have been my closest confidant, my go to person, when I think of someone I can count on and someone who cares about me, I think of you.”

“I think of you in that way too,” he said, but you shook your head.

“No, you don’t,” you shook your head. “Because while we joked around, and looked after each other, and followed each other from hospital to hospital you got married, and then divorced, and then married, and then divorced, and then-,”

“Married, and then divorced,” he nodded his head, filling in the last blank for you.

“Three marriages, I was there for all of it,” you looked up at the ceiling. “I just thought maybe…I don’t know.”

He knew what you thought. You thought that maybe since you’d both stuck around for so long, since you’d seen the best and the worst, that maybe it meant something more.

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” you shook your head, wishing you could disappear into the walls. “You don’t feel the same.”

“Bee, it’s not that,” he shook his head. “But I-I can’t give you what you want.”

“If you can’t give me what I want then how is it anything else?” you didn’t understand what he was saying.

“It’s better if we stay friends, just…just trust me.”

You nodded and pressed your lips together, trying to push back the tears that were beginning to form, but to no avail.

Wilson bit the inside of his cheek and shook his head, coming over to you and reaching out to offer you some sort of comfort. You wanted to turn away, shake your head and tell him to give you space, but when his hand came to cup your cheek you just leaned in closer to it, letting your tears flow silently and freely.

“Is this your definition of friends?” you asked. “Because if it is I don’t know if I can do this.”

“I…” Wilson closed his eyes, but he could still see the hurt and pain glimmering in your irises. “It’s not you.”

“Oldest cliche in the book,” you sniffed and wiped away some of your tears. “Still trying to make me feel better, but I think maybe you’re more suited for treating cancer. Maybe you should stick to that.”

“No, I-I mean it,” his hand dropped from your face and this time you reached out to gently hold his fingers, to maintain some form of contact. “It’s me. My…” he took a deep breath and tried to get himself to meet your gaze, but he couldn’t look you in the eyes. “You said it yourself. I’ve had three marriages, my girlfriend died. Every relationship I’ve had ends in heartbreak. Every person I’ve loved has eventually left.”

“James,” your whisper drew him closer, his hands coming to rest against your arms, hesitating before moving to hold your face, the creases around his eyes having softened.

“I thought that maybe if I pretended I didn’t love you you wouldn’t leave and I wouldn’t end up hurting you.”

You could feel your lip begin to quiver, “You already are.”

Your voice came out meek and strained, like it took every ounce of your strength to tell him that.

Wilson pulled you in closer, resting your forehead against his, whispering quiet apologies.

“I never wanted this, not for you,” he shook his head. “I’m so sorry.”

Your hands reached out to hold onto his scrubs, the partially dried blood leaving red stains on the palms of your hand.

“No, don’t be sorry,” you murmured. “Don’t be. Just be honest. With me. With yourself.”

His voice became stuck in his throat and faded into a whisper, “I’m afraid to say it. I-I don’t want to ruin this…ruin you.”

“Then I’ll say it,” you placed your hands on his shoulders. “I love you and I’m not going anywhere.”

Wilson nodded his head and you could feel his heartbeat from the pulse in his neck, every move was hesitant. Pulling you even closer, your hearts next to each other, your faces only a breath away. His lips so close to yours, and you did the only thing you could think of to quiet the voices in his head, you told him again.

“I love you, James.”

It was like a reflexive response to your words. His lips now moved in sync with yours in tentative movements, as if one wrong move could make everything disappear.

“I love you,” he whispered first, his lips still ghosting yours before another kiss. “I love you,” his voice now clearer, a quiet murmur. Another kiss, more firm, pushing you back against the wall while your hands moved down, finding any excuse to bring him closer. “I love you,” again, this time fully aloud because you were still there. He had said it and you hadn’t vanished, you’d pulled him closer. “Bee, I love you.”

His lips moved away from yours but only so he could wrap his arms around you, one arm across your back, the other holding your head simply to bring you into what felt like an almost frantic embrace. You reciprocated the urgency, your face now buried in his shoulder while his nose was pressed in your hair, inhaling deeply, relieved.

Wilson could feel your legs shake a little underneath you, in part from the exhaustion of the long surgery, some of it probably due to everything that had just happened. From there it became easy for you to fall back to the floor. Wilson positioned himself with his back to the wall and encouraged you to sit between his legs, leaning back into him.

His arms wrapped around you, this time his hands now holding yours which rested on your lap. His lips pressed small kisses along your temple and you sighed, easily sinking more into his embrace like you always had, but now knowing there was always something more between you. Maybe it was naïve of you to think things would be different, but at that moment you couldn’t care about the ending, not when things were just beginning.

It felt difficult to speak, you weren’t sure what words would cut it anymore after what you’d said, nothing could be more meaningful than that.

So you sat in silence, absorbing the moment, living in it, sucking every ounce of love you could get from each other sitting in silence.

“Bee,” Wilson spoke up, but his voice was quiet after the prolonged silence. “You won’t leave right?”

“Not if you don’t,” you shook your head. “I’ve stuck with you for a while yet, James. Just…don’t push me away.”

He raised a hand to tilt your head back towards him, encouraging you to turn around slightly and meet him in another kiss.

Just as you pulled apart, the loudspeaker turned on again informing you that the child was found and the lockdown had been lifted.

You didn’t want to move, but you knew you couldn’t stay in the OR forever. So while you still had the volition, you stood up and offered a hand to Wilson so he could follow after you.

You pushed open the door and walked out of the OR together, heading towards the now unlocked sector doors to get to the locker rooms to change before leaving the hospital.

As you walked side by side, you could feel Wilson’s hand brush up against yours before he reached out and properly held your hand in his own. You looked down at your interlaced fingers before looking up at him again, knowing tonight would be different. Tonight you wouldn’t be alone.

TAGLIST —

@cuntyvicodin @paola-carter @kiddbegins @il0vebeingdelulu @illicit4ff4irs @lynnsthoughts @miarabanana @iwmflbb @shots-of-wilson-and-whiskey @sarcasm-and-stiles @sun-flower-mad @x-uno @han11dh @qardasngan @alexxavicry @lemonxde @mushycore

#james wilson #james wilson x reader #james wilson x you #james wilson fanfiction #house md #house md fanfiction #house md x reader #x reader #dr wilson #dr wilson x reader #dr wilson x you #fanfiction #robert sean leonard

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angelitaby · 8 months

Text

my random donatello headcanons. . !

── he's awkward in nature, but that doesn't stop donatello from calling you fascinating. the touch of your fingertips tracing the creases of his hands as he rambles on about your differences and familiarities. embarrassed, donatello stops his mumblings if he realizes what he's saying

── when donatello has feelings for someone, he might just be...softer, partially because he's confused about what he's feeling. he doesn't really want to feel it either. he might isolate himself more so it goes away. it however, doesn't.

── two words. parallel play. sitting together in the same room doing your own tasks. donatello at his desk as you do your own enjoyments beside him. some days it's a comfortable silence, other times you'll ramble, he likes to hear idle chatter. he might not know what you're talking about, but he loves the noise.

── donatello likes the way your heart beats against your chest. it’s never the same every time he lays his head on your chest, but there’s the same sense of relief he gets from it.

── donatello gets easily irritated/overstimulated by strong, bad smells. even with the ones he doesn’t actively dislike, he’s very picky with the scents he does like. however, one particular night while you were looking over his shoulder, he caught a grasp of your scent. whether you prefer the flowery kisses of roses and fresh cut daisies, or the earthy tone of left over raindrops on blades of grass. he found that it was a... pleasant surprise.

── future!donatello smells like cigarettes and metal rust—but in the smoke and sterile way. he'd try to cover it with eucalyptus. when he stresses out, he turns to cigarettes. he tends to wallow in his own sleepless pity.

── yandere!donatello who's mind had gone blank. his heart pounding within the bony confines of his chest, unable to move as your laugh replayed in his head multiple times. and what a scary feeling, terrifying to experience something so.. conflicting. his heart aches, but it feels good. he wants—no needs to know why?

── yandere!donatello likes to experiment on you. mentally, physically. you're so fascinating. your biology is different. desires are different. needs are different. there are many ways to make someone delirious, and he intends to explore each and every one.

── donatello listens to weird al yankovic because i said so.

── donatello likes someone who will understand his boundaries. he likes someone who listens. he likes it when someone seems interested in him or what he's talking about. donatello likes someone who will be quiet with him.

── i can definitely see donatello as a gray ace. (i mean he's purple he's literally asexual core/hj) i do project a bit of myself onto him in having anxieties about other people and myself that's stopping me from getting in relationships. "i'm busy. i have other things to do. i don't need to worry about it." and while true, that doesn't mean it's not nice. it's him using his hobbies and work as an excuse to not be with people even though, deep down, i think he wants it.

── donatello says he prefers his coffee black, but he enjoys it with creamer. french vanilla baby! something to keep in mind for the early mornings, the quiet yet comfortable silence of the fresh day as you press the palm of your hand on his shoulder or between his shoulder blades for a second as you set down a coffee you made for him. it's a small gesture, but it's domestic. it's sweet, he appreciates it.

── donatello really loves the little things because it feels mundane and human to him.

── donatello prefers black teas. april introduced him to a strong one with cane sugar and mint once. but he also likes pure green tea, lemon with ginger, and a special rose-strawberry tea on the occasion. but it has to be a subtle taste, not to sweet, spicy or heavy.

── donatello likes all sorts of dumplings and is not a fan of overly sweet food + most desserts.

── donatello would be willing to watch greys anatomy with you because he's a bitch and likes to point out inaccuracies which is hilarious coming from some bitch who doesn't have a medical license. however he does have respects for dr. gregory house, so he's decent enough when watching house.

── donatello's favorite body part of yours? "whichever parts are the farthest away from me, thank you." your hands. your palms which press against his plastron, your fingertips that send shudders down his spine when you trace over his shell. every crevice, every knuckle, every detail. need i say more?

#giggling and twirling my hair. i just love projecting my autistic tendencies on donnie<3 #rise!donnie #rottmnt donatello x reader #rottmnt donnie x reader #rottmnt x reader #rise donatello x reader #donatello headcanons #donatello hamato x reader

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blooberrries · 4 months

Text

「 extemporaneous 」 — 07 ☾

— pairing: multi; shoto x reader, izuku x reader (so FAR...) — genre: hybrid au, slow burn-ish, reverse harem — wc: 3.4k — rated: nsfw; heavy petting (?) — notes: it has the barest sprinkle of spice. soon we will arrive upon the porn with plot...... soon....... save me

You've never really had much to do with hybrids, existing in your own little bubble for a majority of your life. That comes to an end when your friend phones you for help and somehow you end up taking two hybrids off of her hands while they recuperate in the wake of an unfortunate incident. But when the time comes that they have to leave, will you really want them to go?

⟵prev. || masterlist || next⟶

Recently, the boys have taken to accompanying you on your morning exercises.

The weather is getting cooler, and with it the days shorter, so you’re not particularly opposed. Well, you wouldn’t be anyway because you enjoy spending time with them and there is also no way in hell that you would miss the opportunity to see them work out.

(For scientific reasons, of course. Hybrids are built a little different, after all. You’re definitely not a pervert and any source saying otherwise constitutes defamation.)

You’re on your back, having sprawled on the cool grass around ten minutes ago in an attempt to catch your breath after a run. You might have bitten off more than you could chew by telling them they could set the pace, but you’d sooner stub your own toe than admit the difference in your fitness levels. Thankfully you’ve regained control of your lungs and are no longer heaving, and they appear none the wiser to your momentary health crisis. You are pleased to maintain even scraps of your dignity at this point.

“I like this park.” A voice muses from your left. You allow your head to roll slightly, eyes falling upon the stretched form of the canine hybrid beside you. A breeze rustles the snowy hair that brushes his right cheekbone. “Quiet. Peaceful. Also, quite pretty.”

You hum in agreement; you’re in a meadow-like area that you can reach by following the footpath for a kilometre or so. Trees loom tall on the outskirts, creating verdant walls of green that curl the small sanctuary into their embrace as warmth from the sun pools in the centre and glimmers off the dewy grass. Instead of speaking, you allow a moment for the reply from Izuku that you can feel coming. It enters the air like clockwork barely a second later.

“Isn’t it, Sho?” Izuku tilts his head back, the sun filtering through foliage to paint his skin in swathes of gold. “Plus, it’s nice seeing so many other hybrids come through here every so often.”

Shoto lets out a noise in agreement. In an odd moment of serendipity, a family of hybrids accompanied by a single human emerge from where the path disappears into the treeline in the distance. The child swinging between the two adult hybrids couldn’t be any more than five years old, and the second they lay eyes on the great expanse of grass woven with patches of clovers and wildflowers before them, a delighted peal of laughter rings in the air.

Before you can think twice, your eyes are moving to scan the expressions of your companions in curiosity. From what you recall, an intact family unit isn’t very common for hybrids, though Nejire told you once that it is becoming increasingly the norm. Hybrids from the initial generations, those born in a sterile lab, are now creating families and small communities of their own as the movement for their rights strengthens and gains more traction over time. It makes you happy to see it in action, though a part of you worries that the sight might bring up memories for your companions that aren’t particularly pleasant.

Then again, you have no idea about their backgrounds, really.

Thankfully, the shift in their expressions isn’t sad or melancholy. Rather they appear contemplative, bordering on nostalgic. Curiosity lingers in an unspoken question on the tip of your tongue, but you don’t dare to voice it.

It’s Shoto that volunteers to fill the silence first.

“I wonder if that kid gets lonely,” he muses. “It doesn’t look like they have any siblings.”

You blink, something about the way he says that sparking a new curiosity. “… You had siblings?”

He shrugs, a small smile curling at the corners of his lips. He glances at you and then Izuku from the corner of his eye. “Well, maybe not in the typical sense. We were often created in batches, so we definitely weren’t alone.”

“You have company, but in all you don’t get to spend much time with the other hybrids. The adoption process can start young sometimes,” Izuku supplies, shaking his head to dislodge a leaf clinging to his forest-hued curls. “Shoto and I actually ‘grew up’ together, in a way.”

The confusion must be evident on your face, because the rabbit hybrid laughs and reaches out to pinch your cheek. You frown but can’t be bothered to lift your arm and bat him away, and so he remains the unspoken victor.

“I guess you could call it that.” Shoto snorts, reaching up with both arms to stretch. The movement lifts the edge of his shirt to reveal smooth honey-toned skin and you fight for your life to keep your eyes in a respectful location. “I think our labs ended up merging at some point and from then on we kind of got stuck together. Neither of us were ever officially adopted.”

That takes you by surprise, actually. Ignoring how visually stunning they are, both hybrids are pleasant and sweet, sincere in everything they do, and a pleasure to be around. You can safely say the addition of them into your life and routine has been a blessing. So when you take in his words, your brain can’t quite comprehend the idea of someone not wanting them.

A part of your feels bad for them – you know it isn’t the case for all hybrids, but for some of them the act of ‘adoption’ means a lot – but at the same time, you’re unsure whether you would have ever ended up meeting them if they had been adopted earlier in their lives.

It feels selfish, but… deep down, you’re a little glad that you were able to know them as a result of it.

Shoto lowers his arms and twists to face you a little more, eyes surveying your supine form. You have a feeling that he is looking for the best place to curl up and your suspicions are confirmed when he zeroes in on your abdomen and turns back around so he can recline with his head resting on the soft swell of your stomach. You don’t even bother trying not to blush. You’ll just blame the heat of the sun if you need to. Or even the exercise. Plenty of excuses.

“It’s good to see so many kids around,” Izuku hums, blowing some hair out of his face and allowing his eyes to flutter closed after. It’s a slight redirection of the current topic, but you don’t particularly mind. “There’s more than I thought there would be, considering the current ratio.”

This piques your interest further, tickling something familiar in the back of your mind you’d heard once upon a time. “The current ratio…?”

“Of male to female hybrids,” Shoto supplies helpfully in his soft, leisurely tone, turning his head and nuzzling into your abdomen just below your ribs. You have to physically hold down the responding shudder that wants to roll over your body. “It’s pretty disproportionate, currently. Something like one female hybrid for every two –- or is it three? -– male hybrids.” “Oh shit,” you mutter, the words leaving you before you can think to censor yourself. “Tough odds.”

Shoto snorts, and Izuku looks to be fighting a grin. Surprisingly, it is the hybrid currently taking up real estate on your stomach that continues.

“It might look like that,” Shoto hums, his head tilting just enough for his mismatched eyes to trail and lock onto your own. The slightest curl plays around the corner of his mouth. “But we’re pretty adaptive, you know. Most hybrids tend toward polyandry.”

Oh. Oh. Nejire never told you that.

Shoto’s eyes, clear and glimmering in the morning sunlight, track every minute movement and change in your face. His ears flick ever so slightly, no doubt catching the slight uptick in your heartbeat as well as the warmth gathering in your face.

You have to wet your lips in order for your question to greet the air. “Why, um-- is there a reason behind the ratio?”

Izuku hums a pleasant noise, like he’s been quizzed on something that he knows the answer to.

“Men – or in this case, male hybrids – are easier to clone and create than women. Something about having two X chromosomes makes it a little more complicated, if I remember correctly.” Izuku tilts his head, eyes glazing as he falls deeper into his thoughts. “That’s probably why we all ended up having the kind of instincts that we did. Being excessively territorial is detrimental to the population as a whole when one gender greatly outnumbers the other.”

“Plus, more chances for females to conceive when there are multiple--”

“RIGHT, yeah, there’s also that.” Izuku lets out a loud, embarrassed laugh, cutting the canine hybrid off before he can continue. For his benefit, you continue to ignore the heat making itself known on your face and fight to swallow your own amused chortle. You did think it had been a little too long since the last time Shoto said something outrageous with the most unbothered face. The rabbit hybrid continues, almost like he can’t help himself.

“Even so, the bond that a, um… mated pair share is super important. Hybrids have a tendency to bond deeply in general, but I suppose it is doubly so for males. Definitely more matriarchal in nature, hybrid communities.”

Bonds? Mated pairs? You feel kind of faint as your brain works to reconcile all the information you’ve received in the last five minutes. “Huh… I see.”

Izuku suddenly looks oddly restless, almost… nervous .Evidently taking a page out of Shoto’s book, he turns and dives to bury his face in your side, eliciting a ticklish yelp from you as he does so. He ends up pulling on a lock of Shoto’s hair that had fallen over your side by accident, and the hybrid lets loose an unimpressed, low rumble. Ignoring the noise, Izuku takes a few deep breaths against your side, digging his nose into your shirt.

Sincerely, you don’t think you’re going to be able to survive this. You consider sending a prayer heavenward.

As if things weren’t already embarrassing enough for you, your stomach chooses this exact moment to let out a forlorn rumble.

Shoto snorts softly, lifting off of you and rolling to a stand with such grace, you’re genuinely envious for a moment.

“Probably best we head back and get some food in our bellies.”

He doesn’t need to tell you twice.

---------

This is a losing battle.

Granted, it’s not like you’re really fighting it at all anymore (arguably didn’t even really fight it to begin with), but still. It feels like everything is somehow snowballing, in a way that you’re not particularly against despite your better judgement.

Somehow, your two housemates have gotten clingier. They stick to you like shadows, scenting you in an almost possessive manner whenever they get the chance and more than a few times you’ve caught them sniffing you for a whiff of your own scent when they think you’re too occupied to notice.

It’s doing a number on your already frayed self-control.

The brief but very informative conversation the three of you had in the park almost a week ago has helped alleviate some of the guilt you carried for being attracted to both of them at the same time, and also planted some ideas in your head that you haven’t been able to pry out despite your best efforts.

Currently, your dilemma comes from the fact that not only are you attracted to them both, but you like them both.

It’s still budding, not at a catastrophic level as of yet, and technically speaking you would be able to be with them physically without spiralling when they eventually leave. Probably. Actually, you’re torn between not wanting to do anything to save yourself the pain in the long run, and doing something so that you can treasure and make the most of the time you currently have together.

You’d probably regret it if they ended up leaving without you addressing whatever this is between you. However, you also know yourself enough to know you’re too sappy to be able to part with them seamlessly if you did act on it.

This is torture. You almost wish they’d just make the decision for you.

Apart from those differences, the routine the three of you remains mostly unchanged. Unfortunately, that leaves plenty of opportunity for you to overthink and dwell as you complete your bedtime routine. You almost reach for a cheeky drink just so you might put an end to the thoughts and go to bed in peace. Somehow, you manage to imitate meditation enough that you eventually drift off without the need for a nightcap.

Something rouses you from sleep earlier than anticipated, though. The soft creak of your door has you blinking awake, eyes less bleary than anticipated.

It’s pitch black at first, but your eyes quickly adjust enough to see as two figures slink into the room and over to your bed. You feel the mattress dip with their weight as they climb atop, a soft rumble reaching your ears that you know to be coming from a certain canine hybrid.

“What is it?” you ask, wiping your eyes in an attempt to clear any remaining sleep. It’s harder to focus on their forms than you expect. “Is everything okay?”

“Yona.”

It’s a throaty whine that answers your question, timbre no doubt belonging to Izuku. The slimmer of the two slips closer, a hand coming to grasp the one you’d reached out without realising. Your heart stutters in your chest, breath catching in your throat. The smell of pine and jasmine twine together and brush your senses. Of course you’ve smelt whatever cologne your two hybrid roommates wear before, but never so strongly. It’s making butterflies come to life in the pit of your belly.

“What is it?” you ask again, sitting up a little more. Izuku brings your hand to his cheek, nuzzling into your palm. Your fingertips brush his fluffy curls and you find yourself winding them into the locks without a second thought.

While Izuku seems to be sitting back on his haunches for the moment, Shoto has no qualms about approaching further, his large hand brushing against the skin of your shoulder, revealed by sheets that fell when you rose earlier, before trailing down your arm and then back up. His palm settles against your neck, scorchingly hot, and the length of his fingers wrap around your nape. Your heart kicks up again, an excited, frantic patter.

Izuku’s lips press against your palm, searing affection into your flesh. You can hardly keep track of what is happening, attention torn from one to the other in rapid succession.

A soft whine escapes from Shoto this time, and he leans forward to nuzzle his face into your neck, dragging his nose along the line of your jaw. It tickles, and sends a shiver down the length of your spine.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he murmurs, mouth hot against your neck as his lips shape the words. You feel his ears flick and catch against your hair. You want to lift a hand and touch him, but for some reason your body refuses to obey. “Nothing wrong, just need you.”

You feel like your heart has stopped completely in your chest, a breathless moment passing before it returns to its chaotic gallop. You barely have the presence of mind to force out, “What…?”

The hybrid’s lips begin to press in a heated trail down your neck and across your collarbone, ignoring your murmur completely. His free arm slips around your side and behind you, pulling you close quick enough that a soft noise of surprise escapes you. Heat is beginning to set your veins alight, blood turning to magma. Your thighs clench as Shoto’s teeth scrape against your clavicle before he sucks the flesh into his mouth.

Oh my god.

Having moved you closer to the centre of the bed with his manoeuvre, there is now room for Izuku to sidle up against your other side, and he happily takes the opportunity. Your hand is dropped for only a moment before he picks it up again from his new angle, returning it to where it was. He then leans forward, burying his nose into your hair and letting out a contented groan – something he’d done earlier in the day when the three of you had been cuddling on the couch. It had made butterflies burst into your stomach then, but now it makes your body thrum in anticipation.

“You smell so good, Yona, you’re so lovely,” Izuku murmurs, the low cadence of his voice eliciting another shiver across your shoulders. “We want you, need you… don’t you want us too?”

The words leap from your throat, unbidden. “Of course I do.”

A pleased, throaty groan slips from Shoto as his mouth moves lower, towards the neckline of the singlet you’d worn to bed. You weren’t sure what to expect, but it still takes you by surprise when he drags his lips over the material, following the swell of your breast until he comes across your peak, straining against the material. He takes it into the wet heat of his mouth, and you can’t help but gasp at the sensations that reach you through the damp material of your shirt. Arousal shoots straight to your core.

Again, you will your hand to lift and tangle in his hair, but the limb remains by your side. You barely have time to feel the resulting confusion and frustration before Izuku’s free hand is trailing along your side, nails dragging along the skin of your hips and tracing the line of your waistband. The ache beginning to make itself known between your legs is suddenly all you can think about, and this time when you will your hips to shift, rocking up against his hand, they listen.

Izuku inhales softly, sounding pleased at your reaction. You feel like you’re going a little bit insane.

“Yeah? You want us? Want us to touch you, like this?”

Words catch in your throat and so you settle for an emphatic nod, eager for the touching to continue – especially if it meant Shoto was going to keep doing those things with his mouth. As though summoned by the thought, he clamps his teeth around your nipple in a light bite, sending shocks of pleasure over your skin. A moan tumbles from your throat, thighs squeezing in a sad attempt at friction.

You need more. You need more, but your stupid limbs won’t listen to you, and Izuku’s hand is going everywhere but where you need and want it most.

“Izuku,” you whine, the sound bordering on pathetic. You can hardly think amongst the drowsy haze of pleasure fogging your mind. “Please…”

Please touch me, you want to say. Your fingers twitch with the urge to grasp his hand and move it to your core, but they remain woefully unresponsive. Instead of your desired destination, his hand lifts to pinch and tug your neglected nipple softly. He seems to revel in the noises the actions elicit.

Shoto releases your abused nipple with a soft noise, leaning up to nip and lick under your ear. The sweet scent of jasmine threatens to swallow you whole.

“Tell us what you want, lovely,” he murmurs, voice thick and catching in his throat. His teeth scrape your neck and you tilt your head back, wrenching your eyes closed as Izuku times it with a firm pinch.

A rush of different desires overtake you at once, so many you can hardly choose only one to voice. You strain to lift your arm and cup his cheek, willing it desperately to move. “I-”

Your arm jerks, breaking free of its invisible bonds, and your eyes snap open. The room is quiet, save for your panting breaths, and you are entirely under the covers. A cursory glance around the room once your eyes adjust reveals you are, in fact, alone. Your bedroom door is closed, just as you’d left it before going to bed.

It takes a moment for you to be awake enough that realisation comes crashing through you. You just had a wet dream about your housemates.

…. You’re so fucked.

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buckrecs · 1 year

Note

Hiii! I love ur page and I was wondering if u could rec some fics with a pregnant reader? Thank you sm hon 🫶

Pregnant Reader

masterlist | req masterlist

These Hands Are For You by @majestyeverlasting

The raking of leaves, muffins, and baby kicks on a fall afternoon. A very warm and fuzzy domestic piece filled with lots of love.

Always Back to You by @majestyeverlasting

After coming home a little roughed up, Bucky seeks forgiveness for not being candid about a mission in D.C. But all you truly care about is the fact that he's okay and made his way back to you.

Two Becomes Three by @sleepypanda27

“I’m pregnant”

Chocolate Chip Cookies by @sleepypanda27

Bucky wakes up in the middle of the night only to find that you’re not in the bed, because you're craving chocolate chip cookies.

Scent of Home by @pherelesytsia

Bucky attended one of Tony parties and returns to his small family.

small bump by @bucky-bucket-barnes

Bucky has fought literal armies, survived multiple murder attempts, and still nothing worries him like his pregnant wife.

Paint + Ladders by @mvtthewmurdvck

Bucky comes home to find you not where you're supposed to be, and instead in the nursery, doing exactly what you shouldn't be.

two little lines by @duuhrayliegh

the reader is pregnant, this is how she tells bucky and the rest of the avengers.

Here To Help by @itsjustmelainey

Your super baby is so heavy that you’re uncomfortable, fortunately Bucky might have found the solution to help you.

Any day now by @randomperson351

Bucky didn't think he could have the life he does, and he's grateful each and every day.

happy secret by @bentobarnes

bucky is having lunch with Nakajima after 2 years of not talking with him. Yori wants him to go on a date with Leah (the bartender) but encounters a pleasant surprise.

Breath With Me by @planetofawe

You and Bucky decide on a home birth however you’ve got to do it all alone as your midwife is stuck in some traffic!

Oh Baby! by @fairydxll

You tell Bucky the big news.

Support You by @marvelmushroom

Bucky finds a way to take some of the weight off of you during pregnancy. Literally.

Daisy by @chrisevansredbelt

bucky gets you pregnant. complications ensue?

Names by @softlyspector

Bucky and Y/N are expecting a baby, and soon, but they still haven’t decided on a name.

One In A Trillion by @softlyspector

Bucky is sterile. Or, so they had been told, that was basically what he was. There was a one in a trillion chance of them ever conceiving, completely impossible.

Expectations by @softlyspector

Bucky is overprotective of the reader, who is pregnant with his baby.

one plus one equals… by @lokiskitten

after waking up from a nap, Bucky requires a hug. He then gets the chance to learn that you are pregnant.

actually… you can help by @classylo

you were miserably pregnant and knew of only one way to get the baby out of you.

“Alexa, Play Go There With You” by @touchstarvedirl

Bucky’s been having a hard time being okay with your work schedule now that you’re pregnant. An arguments ensues and after you only have one thing on your mind, so Alexa helps you set the mood.

Daddy’s Home by @starshipsofstarlord

whilst with Wanda, you go into labour. Bucky is on his way home from a mission with Steve and Vision, you’re just worried that he won’t make it on time.

we’re gonna need a bigger house by @sunmoonandeddie

You find the courage to tell Bucky about your latest ultrasound.

Come Back to You by @buckyalpine

What happens when a time travel mission ends up with a version of Bucky from the 40′s standing on the time travel platform.

Imagine by @buckyalpine

Imagine Bucky finding his adorably, heavily pregnant girl perched onto kitchen counter rummaging for snacks like a little gremlin in the middle of the night.

Be(tter) in Reality With Me by @t-lostinworlds

Bucky needed to remind you how he would never ever betray you, especially when the him in your dreams was showing you otherwise.

All I Ever Wanted by @majestyeverlasting

You and Bucky visit a park in Brooklyn that stirs up some nostalgic memories. But what he doesn’t know is that, later that night, he’ll learn that he’s going to be a father.

Relax by @itsapeterthing

while the avengers help you and bucky move, you attempt to help carry something only to have your overprotective husband get in the way

The Three Times They Think She’s Pregnant by @skyeisawitch

Hopelessly Pregnant by @kiritella

Light Carries On Endlessly by @marvelingatthewonder

Bucky goes back under after cacw and you’re pregnant. 8-ish months later you give birth to a beautiful baby girl.

#bucky barnes fic rec #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes smut #winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes x pregnant reader #bucky barnes x wife!reader #husband!bucky barnes #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes oneshot

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captainfern · 1 year

Note

Hello!! I’ve got book club brain worms..it was so cute hehe ❤️ but what if angst: reader is KIA, the boys filtering into readers room and take their designated spots leaving room in the middle where reader should’ve been before falling asleep. Sometimes they light the candle and when it’s running low one night they all show up with the exact same candle. Everything in readers remains the same as it was before that mission, except now on the desk is 4 additional candles.

Alt reader just gets injured and has to stay in the medbay so the boys take it upon themselves to get into the book club positions on the tiny cot until a doctor shoos them out (they do this frequently enough the doc leaves them be)

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"Okay, Maybe This Is A Book Club."

141 x gn!reader [platonic!]

[Imagines 1 follow-up]

[SFW]

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• summary - the 141 bring your book club to the med-bay :) • rating - sfw • wordcount - 1.1k • warnings - none

NO ANGST AHHH

but the medbay idea is cute !

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You'd gotten injured during one of the missions.

You couldn't remember much, but you do remember clearing a dark building with Ghost and Soap exchanging jokes in your ear-piece. The next thing you knew, the building exploded around you and you lost consciousness.

Turns out that yeah, the building exploded and you were somehow lucky enough not to explode along with it. Ghost and Soap fished you out of the wreckage, and they carried you to medical evac over three and a half miles away.

Two weeks on, you lay in the med-bay, injuries slowly healing with the care from the nurses. You were doing alright, and the boys would visit you often, but strict visiting hours meant they weren't allowed to stay for much longer after dark.

The boys hadn't admitted it yet, but they missed you. Additionally, they missed you reading to them. It had been an act of normalcy in their lives, and now it was gone, they felt empty without it. Gaz tried to pick up a new book and read to Soap and Ghost, but it just wasn't the same. Price didn't even want to listen to anyone else but you.

They missed your little book club. They missed the calm that came with it, and the warmth of your presence. While you were healing, they didn't want to trouble you with their woes. But now that you were feeling better, and on the cusp of returning to work, they figured that now was as good a time as any.

After your nurse had finished tending to you, she left you alone in the small, sterile room. You sipped at a cup of tea, sitting up in the bed, a book folded out across your lap. It was dark outside, a light patter of rain hitting the window.

The door creaked open, and you looked up in pleasant surprise to see Ghost, Soap, Price and Gaz trailing in, one after the other. You chuckled when they all shuffled towards your bed, loitering around it awkwardly, like children waiting to ask their mother for something.

You smiled at them, placing your cup of tea to the side. "What are you guys doing here? The nurse'll kick you out if she catches you."

Slowly, Soap— who'd had his hands behind his back— moved his hands around his body, holding up a book. He held it proudly towards you, smiling bashfully. You cocked your head to the side, taking the book tentatively.

"What's this for?" You asked, moving the book you'd been reading alone off your lap and onto the table at the bedside. "I already have a book."

Soap bounced nervously on the balls of his feet. "Well, we were wondering if you'd... you know... read to us?"

You looked between the four men gathered at your bedside. "You... want me to read to you?"

All four of them nodded.

"Aww," you pouted. "Do you miss our little book club?"

"It's not a book club." Ghost grumbled beneath his mask.

You shot him a pointed look, lifting the book in your hand and wiggling it in his direction. He sighed, shaking his head slowly. You imagined him smiling softly beneath his balaclava.

"Okay, maybe this is a book club." He muttered, and Soap and Gaz beamed from beside him.

You chuckled, but then looked helplessly around the narrow hospital bed. You gestured at the lack of room. "You guys aren't going to fit—"

"Not with that attitude!" Soap grinned and as he said that, Gaz was already clambering in beside you.

You laughed, shuffling over and making room for Gaz to slot in beside you. He was careful to move slowly, his legs hanging off the bed, his head resting in your lap, looking up at you with an expectant smile.

Ghost, Price and Soap grabbed visitors chairs from the edge of the room, dragging them over.

Soap pulled his chair near the head of the bed so he could lay his head up against your side, hooking one of his arms around yours, tracing his fingers up the soft skin of your forearm. Ghost and Price settled their chairs as close to the end of the bed as possible, with Ghost being parallel to your knees so he could rest a gloved hand over them, and Price being beside him, a hand settling into place at your ankle.

You smiled, feeling warm and comfortable. The aches and pains of your injuries seemed to disappear with the four pairs of eyes on you.

You shook your head softly to yourself, mumbling a laugh as you opened to the first page of the book and began to read.

The boys listened intently for the first ten-ish minutes, caught up on every word that fell from your mouth. However, as the night dragged on, they grew sleepier and sleepier— something you were familiar with during "book club" back in your own room.

While you were reading, you had been periodically petting at Soap's head, combing your fingers through his mohawk gently. He'd fallen asleep by the way his breathing slowed, and his hand had stopped drawing shapes on your forearm, just resting there. Gaz was asleep, too. He usually was the first one to go. Head on your lap, a hand on your thigh, eyelashes brushing against his cheeks.

You paused the reading, looking up. Price had his head down, arms folded over his chest. Asleep.

Ghost had folded himself half over the bed, his upper body against the mattress with his arms resting over your knees, almost hugging your legs. His lower body was still seated on the chair, and you wondered how he even managed to fall asleep like that.

As you closed the book, the door to the room opened and your nurse popped her head inside. She had her mouth open to speak, but caught herself, looking around the room in confusion, taking in the four men piled like sleeping dogs around your bed.

"Um...?" She prompted, and you shrugged at her.

Usually, she'd kick them out— she'd done so on three separate occasions. Once, when Price stayed past visiting hours to catch you up on, quote, "all the trouble the boys had been in lately". Twice, when Soap and Gaz smuggled contraband (snacks) in at two in the morning, along with Gaz's laptop, so you could catch up on RuPaul's Drag Race. Thrice, when Ghost somehow managed to bypass security an hour before midnight just so he could show you funny photos of Soap he'd taken throughout the day.

The nurse had given up by this point.

"Just... make sure they're out before the day nurses start their shift." The nurse said, turning off the light before ducking out of the room and closing the door behind her.

You smiled, placing the book on the bedside table, careful not to disturb the sleeping men hunkering around you. Like clockwork, you pet Soap and Gaz's heads gently, before reclining back in your bed, wriggling to find a comfortable position. You felt Ghost's arms hug your legs tighter.

You loved your book club.

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#captainfern #captainfernsalutes #call of duty #call of duty mw2 #task force 141 #call of duty imagine #gaz call of duty #soap call of duty #price call of duty #ghost call of duty #141 x reader #cod fluff #captain'simagines

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steviewashere · 7 months

Text

In the Fire of the Sun

Rating: General CW: A dementia fic, that's as much of a warning as I'll offer Tags: Established Relationship, Married Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Future Fic, Wedding Anniversary, Steve Harrington Has Dementia, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Falling in Love Over and Over Again, Yearning, Pining, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bittersweet Ending, Inspired by The Notebook (2004)

For the @steddielovemonth prompt: "Love is a fire that never goes out." (in the most metaphorical sense possible)

💕—————💕

Eddie shuffles through the carpeted hallway of this center once more. He comes in right as it opens for visiting hours. Eight in the morning, sharp. Every single day. And has been doing so for the last few years.

Why?

Simple. Steve’s there.

Has been, actually, for the same amount of time Eddie’s been visiting. They’re both in their late seventies now. Time has treated them nearly equal. Aching limbs. Wrinkled and spotted skin. Grey hair. Crows feet. Though, time gave Steve one extra thing that Eddie will fight God about.

Dementia.

It’s ravaging him little by little. And Eddie bears witness. Began with the minor forgetting, always soothed by words and gentle touches, the praise. And then it was bigger things. Confusion and getting lost and mood swings that were almost unmanageable. It all felt so rapid, even if it was slow. But Eddie was there. For every moment of it. And still is there, just…Not in the same house anymore.

He hates coming through the center, though. It’s so clinical and sterile and depressing. Well, technically it isn’t. The rooms are done all nice, filled with furniture and soft blankets and beautiful fake plants that Steve can water if he feels the need to. But it’s not their house, which was painted by the people they love, filled with knick knacks of their lives, photos of their child and their grandchildren and all their friends. Though, Eddie supposes he shouldn’t complain, if Steve is mostly comfortable here. There’s a few things for Steve to interact with, hobby wise. A piano, some knitting circles, board games, but mostly music. It’s nearly poetic, to Eddie, that music is what dementia patients seems to cling onto the longest. It’s especially poetic considering Steve fell in love with a musician.

Sometimes, while Eddie is here, he’ll play music for everybody. The nurses and doctors and patients alike. Still able to share his gift, even in the face of something so…not dark, exactly, but challenging. Because any moment with Steve is pleasant—even if he doesn’t remember most of the time.

Eddie gets his visitor badge. A little sticker for his shirt. He’s taken up to Steve’s room and waits in the doorway for permission to go in. It could be a bad day, but based on the soft smile received from the nurse, it’s one of the better days. Meaning, Steve’s less irritable, still long term forgetful, but lovely.

Steve looks over to him. The hazel eyes that Eddie fell in love with nearly sixty years ago, soft and glistening. His forehead prominently wrinkled. Hair thin, but mostly there, a light silvery grey. He’s got better hair than Eddie—that can be admitted, his hair is just like Wayne’s now, gone with the wind. At least time hasn’t taken Steve’s beauty.

“Hello,” Steve greets, polite and sweet. His voice is slightly garbled, deep and velvety.

“Hello,” Eddie parrots. He holds out his right palm for Steve to take. Smiles softly when he does so. “I’m Edward,” he introduces, “though you can call me Eddie.” He taps his sticker. Loves the way Steve’s eyes still track his every movement, even with something so simple and mundane. The nurse hangs by Steve’s shoulder, nodding at Eddie when they lock eyes. Eddie smiles bigger at Steve, letting their hands drop. His palm tingles from Steve’s ever glowing warmth. “You must be the Steven Harrington I’m always hearing about,” he says.

Steve visibly grimaces, which is a good sign. A great thing. He groans. “That tastes awful in my mouth,” he states. “Though I can’t—How come that tastes bad?” He looks over to his nurse, but doesn’t get an answer.

“Oh,” Eddie mutters. “I’ve heard some people call you Steve, does that sound okay? Shorten your name like mine?”

He nods. Relaxing. “That sounds great.” Steve smiles. And Eddie is like a sunflower in the face of the sun. Yearning to reach out, to touch, to feel and hold. But he knows that he can’t, or at least shouldn’t. “So…Eddie, you’re a visitor?” His finger taps on Eddie’s chest, on the white word: VISITOR. Eddie blossoms. “You came to visit me, I’m assuming. What are we going to do today?”

Eddie bites back his grin. Steve’s finger is still on his chest. He wonders if Steve even remembers putting it there, part of him hopes that he’s doing it on purpose. He hums, thinking. Though he’s got planned, “We’re going to take a walk outside, if that’s okay. I brought some music for us to listen to while we look around. It’s a pretty day outside, a little chilly, but the sun is bright out there. What do you think?”

“I like that,” Steve enthusiastically says. Which makes the good day even better. “Though I don’t know who you are, you have really good ideas. You seem like a really nice guy.”

“Y’know, I’ve heard that before. From somebody you might know,” Eddie says, offering out his hooked arm. Almost dances in place when Steve wraps their arms together. “He’s a good guy, too. Really good looking. Very kind. Think you’d like him.”

“You should bring him with next time,” Steve says. They make their way down to the front doors of the center. Arm in arm.

“Maybe I will,” Eddie says, even though the guy is already there. “I will if it’s a good day.”

The day really is beautiful. Leaves littering the ground, browns and dark greens, many of them bright yellow. A good color. Everything is just…good. There’s a little concrete path on the side of the center. Nestled really nice to a small creek. It’s quiet.

Steve is a comfortable weight at his side. They step in tandem. Feet matching each other. Eddie makes them stop at the end of the path, walking out to a grassy clearing, standing out watching the subtle ripples in the creek.

“It’s pretty,” Steve murmurs. “Reminds me of fish. For some odd reason.”

“Mm,” Eddie hums. “Makes me think of fish, too, funny enough. The guy I told you about?” Steve nods beside him. The slow up and down bobbing of his heavy head. He’s still got glasses after all these years, they’re kind of crooked. Eddie itches to fix them. But Steve stares ahead of himself, at the water, a little crinkle between his eyebrows. An instinct in Eddie says, Soothe. But knows he shouldn’t. Knows he can’t kiss that away, not anymore. He takes a deep breath to reground himself. “Well,” he begins. “That guy is my husband. Or…No, he still is. He really likes to go on adventures. Loves doing things in silence. And when my dad—“ He means uncle, but that doesn’t matter. “—when my dad was still alive, we’d go out and fish. My husband and I, we’re too old to fish comfortably now, but he was always better than me. Earned him my dad’s respect, tell you that.”

“Your husband sounds fun,” Steve says, smiling with it. “Y’know, I have this friend—“ Eddie perks up at this. Usually, there’s nobody that Steve talks about. But if he’s willing. “—She has a wife. I don’t remember much about her, but I’ve heard she’s sweet.”

Robin, Eddie knows. Of course. He can’t wait to go home and call Robin to tell her all about this. “I’ll have to meet them some time.” He moves his palm from where it hangs loose at their hooked arms, brings it up slowly, and settles it on Steve’s bicep, squeezing. Steve doesn’t move away, thankfully. “Do you want to listen to some music?”

“Sure,” Steve mutters. “I just hope you have good taste.”

Oh I have the worst, Eddie thinks, you’ve told me that before. He walks them over to a nearby bench, still staring out at the water. It’s glistening ripples, the few birds that swoop down to rest, some stray leaves. Pulls out his phone, looks at their playlists he’s left the same over the years. Finds Steve’s. And clicks shuffle. “I think you’ll like this one, actually,” he says.

The first song to play is Billy Joel’s “Just the Way You Are”, their wedding song.

Beside him, Steve hums, settling back into the bench. His eyes are closed peacefully. A small smile to his lips. Face soft in the glow of the sun. Eddie is a sunflower, a sunflower, a sunflower. He aches so bad to trace his fingertip down the bridge of Steve’s nose, on the curve of his lower lip, to kiss him and dance with him and hold him like there’s no tomorrow. Like there’s no tomorrow where he comes back, a stranger.

“I’ve heard this before,” Steve whispers. His eyebrows furrow. He’s still smiling, but he’s focusing somewhere on something. And Eddie wants to comb his fingers through Steve’s brain, pet over the diseased areas, pat the memories, nestle the good that Steve remembers. “I see a face in my head,” he says. Asks, “Can I tell you what I see?”

“Sure,” Eddie whispers as soft as possible. “Tell me all about this face.”

Again, Steve settles. Shimmying further into the bench, taking Eddie with him. They lean back. Like sitting on their couch, watching reruns, eating Chinese takeout, gossiping about their neighbors, gazing at their daughter painting messy pictures of their love—pink and yellow splatters on the coffee table. (Eddie thinks about how those dried paint stains never left. How he never cleaned them. How Steve never complained. He’ll go home tonight and look at them. He will weep.)

“It’s a man,” Steve starts. “He’s white. Clean shaven. Got this bulbous nose and pretty pink lips. Kind of pouting,” he murmurs, chuckling to himself. Eddie snorts beside him. His eyes burn a little. “Dark, dark brown hair. Wavy around his face, kind of frizzy. But it looks like it’s been styled back into a bun, his bangs curled inwards.” Steve takes a deep breath, sighing dreamily. “His eyes…Wow, Eddie. These eyes are probably my favorite thing I’ve ever seen. So deep, big, almost like a deer. They’re shiny with tears. But he smiles at me, I’m warm.”

Eddie squeezes at Steve’s bicep again. He takes a stuttering breath. “The way you describe him…He sounds like a—“

“A painting,” Steve finishes. “He says something to me. Calls me Stevie. Calls me baby. That…I like that.” His eyes flutter open. And he swings his head to the right, looking directly into Eddie’s. “I like that, but there’s also a number there.”

“What’s that?” Eddie kindly asks.

“Fifty. I don’t really know why—Hey, wait a minute,” Steve rushes. He sits forward slightly. His eyes widen. The arm still wrapped with Eddie’s squeezes in a vice grip. “Your eyes…I’ve seen your eyes before.”

Eddie perks up. It’s happening again. Doesn’t occur all that often, especially in the last few months. But sometimes, sometimes his belly flips and his chest flutters and he’s taken back to the clearing that Steve confessed his love in—twenty years old, his eyes alight with passion, hair flopping all over the place. Him beautiful and peaceful. And, yeah, that’s what Eddie sees in front of him now.

“I’ve seen them before,” Steve whispers. He raises a hesitant palm to the side of Eddie’s face. Landing gently. Cupping, warmth radiating from him. He’s still a furnace. He’s the same. The Steve that Eddie fell in love with, he’s here and still inside there, he’s in the palm and in Eddie’s chest. He’s here. Steve inhales sharply. Clarity in his eyes. How he tells a story with just his pupils, the quick darting, the tears that pool in his waterline—Eddie will never know. “Eds?” Steve calls out.

A part of Eddie crumbles to his feet. He hasn’t heard that nickname in so goddamn long. He bites back the sob that wants to tear through him. Instead, places his free palm over the back of Steve’s. Thumb tickling his knuckles. “Hi, Stevie. Hi, baby,” he murmurs back. “How are you, love bug?”

“Eds,” Steve breathes. “I—What are—You look different.” He chuckles, it’s congested, it’s wet. “Is it our anniversary? Please, is it—“ Eddie nods in the hold. Steve sighs, crying slightly with it. There’s so much ache here, it hurts in the sweetest way possible to even have his simple touch. “God,” Steve softly sobs. “I’m sorry that I forgot. Please don’t be mad at me. I promise I tried to remember.”

Eddie squeezes where he’s still touching Steve. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” he breathes truthfully. His chest seizes, that sob yearning, creeping. “Just sitting here with you for our anniversary is enough.” I’ll always be here to help you remember, he doesn’t say.

The way Steve relaxes, the relief rushing through him is enough for Eddie. Every single day with Steve is enough. Even in the moments where he’s completely lost in the world, somewhere dark and cold and lonely. Even when he gets angry and lashes out, slamming his palms on Eddie’s chest. Even if every time it makes Eddie physically pulse and hurt. He hurts. He’s a sunflower, a sunflower, a sunflower.

“Okay,” Steve rasps. “Okay, Eds. Okay.” He leans into the warmth of their bodies, sides a single line. Connected. Stitched together by everything, the matter of the universe. “Happy anniversary,” he whispers.

“Happy anniversary, love,” Eddie murmurs.

They’ve got maybe five minutes before Steve is gone again. Back to Steven. To the stranger in his room. A guy who sees brown eyes in his sleep and is unsure who they belong to. They’ve got five minutes, but Eddie will treat them like lifetimes.

He’ll come back tomorrow. And they will remember. And he will ache. But he will love.

“I love you,” he says.

And with the last thirty seconds they have together, Steve sighs, all the emotions under the sun (and Eddie is the sunflower soaking up all that is Steve), “I love you, too.”

💕—————💕

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddielovemonth #day 26 #angst and hurt/comfort #bittersweet ending

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turbulentscrawl · 3 months

Note

Since the topic of body hcs and body hair hcs overall...may I ask what do you think survivors smell like? I've seen some people differ and I just wanna know your thoughts ;w;

Also, we've gotta be honest. They *will* stink at times, specially after matches. But hey that's only but natural so *shrugs*.

They definitely smell more distinct than I think we'd be used to in general, yeah. And I DON'T think most of them smell unique enough to say how they're different from others, specifically, but there are a few things to consider, if we're looking at it a little more realistically:

More regular cleanliness was becoming normal in the 1800s, when most of the survivors were from, but the actual frequency of bathing varied by class and career. Showering daily still was not common until the 1900s, though. Even without any concerns about water supply in the manor, I would imagine most of them average a full clean-up maybe twice a week? A little more for those who get into actual filth on their days off. (looking at Emma, since she digs in the dirt and spend a lot of time outside.)

Deodorent was not invented until 1888, and didn't become popular until the 1930s or so. And most early deodorents didn't come with much in the way of additional scents, rather they just killed bacteria that caused excess body odors. Most of the people in the manor would not have used this, except perhaps the latest arrivals like Frederick and Alice. Instead, before deodorant, people took steps like shaving their underarms to prevent more sweat and bad scents, and used products like perfume and talcum powder to freshen up and get rid of odors.

Fancier soaps were around in the 1800s, but were used sparingly and economically. The lower class especially would have made their own ashen lye soap to bathe and wash their clothes. (Which, if you've never smelled unscented lye soap, is not pleasant to the nose imo. It's a bit of a pungent chemical smell, mixed with the scent of whatever the soap base was, which was usually lard and olive oil.) More expensive soaps could have been made from things like almond oil, coconut oil, or goat's milk, plus herbs or extracts for something much better smelling.

There's not a ton of hard labor to do in the manor, which would keep some people from working up so much of a sweat, but there's not likely an AC there. On the plus side, I don't imagine there's too much weather fluctuation in the manor for the sake of keeping the passage of time as confusing as possible, which also means it's not getting too hot. Most of the temperature changes you experience would be on the maps. I also don't think a lot of the Hunters would sweat! Any of those who have been dead and were brought back probably don't perspire anymore, though they may have the slightest hint of something off about them.

In short...yeah there's definitely more BO than we're used to in most modern settings. Most of the people in the manor are going to smell pretty natural--which won't always be offensive to the nose, mind you, since they say the smell of someone who's right for you will smell GOOD--plus some talcum/baby power or perfume scents to 'soften the blow' a bit. (Though it wasn't really in fashion to DROWN yourself in perfume by most of these peoples' time, so I think only a few people might lay it on too thick. Mary or Vera, for instance.)

And some people probably maintain very small scent hints about their professions or lives before the manor, just to distinguish them up close. Luchino has a touch of carbolic acid on his clothes, from sterilizing tools in the lab. Norton still smells of coal and minerals, just a touch. Victor smells a bit like sun-heated dog due to walking around outside all day with Wick, and Ithaqua like snowy pine trees from his years wandering and guarding winter woods. You get the idea.

I won't say who I think smells the worst or the best because that;s just too subjective--especially since I've revealed I don't like the smell of lye which is probably what most of them would have used LOL. But I'm definitely not one to say 'let's fully suspend our disbelief and say Naib smells freshly showered and uses Old Spice 😜'.

#turbulentanswers #turbulentscrawl #multiple idv characters #identity v x reader #identity v #idv x reader

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soaringthroughthegalaxy · 6 months

Note

Comgratulations!!! Thats a interesting celebration!!! I can not put my mind around what are you going to birth with this 😚🙀 (sorry if sound weird english is not my thing but your writing are beautiful creations so the metaphor is alright)

Can this jedi (or medic) reader travel with Crosshair (It's a shame it can't be the twins or Maker bless us, all force 99) with soulmate as luggage to either Naboo or Alderaan? 😖

Thank you for booking with Soaring's Tours. We're now ready to board your flight. Please mind the gap between the transport and the platform. We wish you a pleasant journey!

Through Your Eyes

In a galaxy consumed by war, you find solace away from the medbay and injured troopers by painting your dreams. But a chance encounter reveals those dreams are more than they seem...

Pairing: Crosshair x f!reader

Word count: 3k

Warnings: brief reference to surgery, good ol' soulmates trope, breaking and entering, Cross can never give a straight answer, softness, romance, first kiss, lil' innuendo.

Your brush swooped across the canvas, and green paint dragged across its surface to form a tree. There was no reference holo, just the memory from last night’s dream in your mind.

Over the last year, your dreams have taken a turn. Once focused on your life, they’d now switched to landscapes - deserts, snowy mountains, swamps - they were endless. But they all had one thing in common. They were all from great heights, as if you were a bird soaring through the sky.

As a child, you found peace in painting, locking yourself away for days at a time. As you grew up and left for medical school, it helped ease your frazzled nerves after hectic days. And now, with the war raging across the galaxy and the Kaminoans relying on your expertise in trauma surgery, it was how you chased away the images of injured troopers.

As you dipped your brush into the pot of water on your desk, your gaze lingered on the small mark on your wrist - your soulmate mark. It had appeared five years ago - late by society’s standards, given that most received them before puberty. That was until a literal army of men had been revealed to the galaxy a year ago. The forums you’d frequented on the holonet had exploded, thousands of people connecting the dots that their soulmates were part of the GAR.

It was why you’d jumped at the opportunity to work for the Kaminoans when they’d been recruiting at the Grand Medical Facility. You figured it would be easier this way to find your soulmate. Some people on the forums had been able to find their soulmates through their bonds – picking up on their thoughts, sensing their feelings, or knowing they were nearby. Unfortunately, you had no idea what your connection with your soulmate was.

And you were no closer to figuring it out a year and a half into the war.

As you were about to dip your clean paintbrush into the soft brown on your palette, your datapad beeped urgently. Spurred into action, you abandoned your painting, snagging your scrubs. You dashed out of your quarters, the sterile corridor a blur as you sprinted towards the medbay. What was the emergency this time? Another trooper injured on the front lines, or perhaps an existing patient who’d turned critical?

You burst through the medbay doors, adrenaline coursing through your veins, only to be met with a scene that halted you in your tracks. A trooper lay motionless on a stretcher, surrounded by a flurry of activity as medics tended to his extensive injuries. The damage to one side of his face was the worst you’d ever seen, blood coating everything in the vicinity, and what you could see of his eye under the swelling wasn’t promising – all evidence of an explosion he’d been too close to.

Three other troopers hovered nearby, worry etched onto their faces, armour dirty and caked in blood. You didn’t even register that they looked nothing like the other clones, but you could feel a heavy gaze from their direction lingering on you.

Without hesitation, you joined the team of medics, your training kicking in as you assessed the trooper’s condition. The severity of his injuries was apparent, and you knew that every second counted. As you worked alongside the other medical personnel, your mind raced, trying to determine the best course of action to save this soldier’s life.

The medbay hummed with urgency, the air thick with tension as everyone focused on their tasks. As you worked tirelessly to stabilise the trooper, Lyndsy - a trainee medic on placement from Bespin - pressed a datapad into your hands. It was filled with notes from the team that’d intercepted the squad’s arrival, including details of the trooper.

CT-9903.

You bit your tongue. They hadn’t thought to get his name.

“Name?” You directed the question towards the three nearby troopers, gesturing to your injured patient.

“Wrecker, ma’am.” The shortest of the three spoke up, his face half-shaded by a tattoo. With a nod of thanks, you updated the information on the datapad.

“Theatre. Now.” You barked the order, stepping back to let the other medics release the brakes on the stretcher and hurriedly push Wrecker towards the operating room. A bacta bath could cure many things, but in the few moments you’d been focused on stabilising him, you’d concluded it would take far more than that for him to survive.

“I’ll do everything I can.” You assured Wrecker’s brothers quickly, wishing you had more time to explain what would happen next but knowing every second counted. With a determined focus, you led the medical team into the operating room. As the doors swung shut behind you, you blocked out the outside world, immersing yourself in the controlled chaos of the operating theatre.

Time seemed to blur as you worked, your hands moving with precision as you repaired the extensive damage inflicted upon Wrecker’s body. Each incision, each piece of shrapnel pried free, each suture, was a calculated effort to save his life, and you refused to let fatigue or doubt get in the way. The beeping of monitors and the hushed voices of your colleagues faded into the background.

Finally, you completed the last suture. As you stepped back from the operating table, your heart pounded in your chest, and you let out a deep breath, shoulders dropping with relief. You’d done all you could; now it was the Bacta’s turn. He’d likely have some prominent scars for the rest of his life, and his hearing would forever be affected, but you’d been able to replace his damaged eye with a cybernetic one and give him a blood transfusion. He’d pull through to fight another day.

Leaving the operating room, you peeled off your gloves, gown, and mask, your mind still buzzing with the intensity of the surgery as you deposited them into the biohazard chute.

“I’ll tell his squad.” Lyndsy offered, noting the tiredness in your body.

As Lyndsy’s words washed over you, a wave of gratitude swept over you. Her offer granted you some reprieve. With a nod of appreciation, you managed a faint smile before trudging back to your quarters, the tiredness starting to creep in.

Entering your cabin, you let out a long exhale, feeling the tension slowly ebb away as you sank onto the edge of your bed. The familiar surroundings offered a semblance of comfort amidst the chaos of war.

Scrubs off and buried under the comfort of your blankets, you found yourself drifting into a restless sleep. Gone were the beautiful landscapes you’d come to appreciate, replaced with images of Kamino, particularly the view from a large window. Even in sleep, your mind was working to place it, and judging by the perspective, you could pinpoint which structure it was from.

The barracks.

In the quiet corners of your mind, a realisation dawned. You hadn’t been having dreams of random landscapes; they were glimpses into someone else’s life, someone intimately connected to you. It explained the shift in your dreams, the sudden focus on places far removed from your reality. They were the places your soulmate had been seeing, the moments they had been living.

As you awakened to the soft light filtering through your window, the remnants of your dreams lingered in your mind. The realisation hit you like a ton of duracrete, settling heavily in your chest. Your soulmate was here on Kamino. The change in your dreams now made sense, and you couldn’t shake the excitement and apprehension coursing through you.

Before you could dwell too much on the revelation, there was a knock at your door. You blinked, momentarily disoriented, before pushing yourself off the bed and crossing the room to answer it. As the door slid open, you were met with the unexpected sight of Wrecker’s brothers standing in the corridor.

After brief introductions, Hunter spoke up. “We just wanted to swing by and thank you for what you did last night. Wrecker’s gonna pull through, and we owe that to you.”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I was just doing my job. I’m glad I could help.” You answered, tucking yourself a little behind the door to hide the fact that you were still in sleepwear.

Crosshair’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary, his sharp eyes taking in the details of your quarters. You shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny, suddenly feeling self-conscious about the messiness of your living space.

“You paint.” Crosshair commented casually, his tone betraying none of the thoughts swirling in his mind as he looked over the landscapes you’d committed to canvas.

You reached up to play with the neckline of your sleep shirt, a nervous habit that had developed over the years. “Yeah. When inspiration strikes.”

Crosshair’s lips quirked up in a subtle smirk as he leaned against the doorframe, his eyes flicking to the painting on the easel beside you. “You been there?”

“No. I paint what I dream about.” You admitted, trying to keep your voice steady despite your gut’s strange flicker of anxiousness.

He nodded thoughtfully, his gaze lingering on you as if he were piecing together a puzzle. “Funny thing about dreams,” he mused, “sometimes they’re more than just figments of imagination.”

His words hung in the air, but before you could respond, Hunter cleared his throat, breaking the momentary tension. “Well, we should get going to the debriefing. Thanks again, doc.”

You nodded, thrown off-centre by Crosshair’s comment. “Of course. Take care, and I’ll check in on Wrecker later.”

As they turned to leave, Crosshair glanced at the painting you were currently working on before leaning toward you. “When you get around to painting it, the third tree from the right was missing the bottom five branches.” He murmured, a spark of amusement in his eyes. Then he followed his brothers down the corridor, leaving you mouth agape at the door.

For days, you couldn’t shake Crosshair’s comment from your mind. It added complexity to your interactions with him and his brothers, leaving you grappling with emotions you hadn’t anticipated.

Despite your best efforts to focus on your duties in the medbay, your thoughts kept drifting back to him. Every time you passed him in the corridors or caught his gaze across the mess hall, you felt a strange pull, as if invisible threads were tying you together.

It wasn’t just you, either. There were moments when you caught Crosshair watching you, his sharp eyes giving nothing away. It left you wondering what was happening beneath the surface and what thoughts were running through his mind as he looked at you.

Returning one evening to your quarters after another exhausting shift in the medbay, you found something amiss. The door to your cabin was slightly ajar, and a sliver of dim light spilt into the corridor. Your heart skipped a beat as a rush of adrenaline coursed through you. You cautiously pushed the door open, expecting the worst, only to be met with an unexpected sight.

Crosshair was inside your quarters, standing by the easel where your latest painting was. His attention was fixated on the canvas as if examining every brushstroke with precision. His presence in your private space sent a jolt of alarm through you, but you couldn’t deny the intrigue that accompanied it.

“Crosshair?” you ventured cautiously, stepping into the room with a mix of apprehension and curiosity. “What are you doing here?” you asked, unable to suppress the hint of accusation in your voice.

Crosshair turned to face you, his expression unreadable as he regarded you with those piercing eyes. “Admiring your work.” He replied casually, though there was a hint of something else in his voice.

You felt a surge of irritation at his nonchalant response. “It’s not polite to enter someone’s quarters without permission.” You retorted, crossing your arms over your chest defensively.

He shrugged, unfazed by your admonishment. “Noted.” He commented, his gaze drifting back to the paintings. “Figured I’d see if you were around.”

You felt a flutter of excitement mixed with apprehension at his words. “Well, here I am.” You said, gesturing to the room around you. “Not much to see, I’m afraid.”

Crosshair’s smirk widened into a grin, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “I wouldn’t say that.” He replied cryptically, his gaze lingering on you in a way that sent a strange sense of heat curling through you.

“How did you know about the branches?” You steered the conversation in what you hoped was a safer direction, shutting the door behind you before you crossed over to him, glancing at the painting.

Crosshair tilted his head slightly, his gaze still fixed on the painting. “I’m familiar with that species of tree.” He lied.

You narrowed your eyes sceptically, not convinced by his explanation. “It was more than that.” You countered, gesturing towards the canvas. “You pointed out a specific detail you wouldn’t know unless you’d been there or inside my head.”

He chuckled softly, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Let’s just say I have an eye for detail.” He said cryptically, his tone teasing.

You couldn’t help but feel frustrated at his evasive response. “You’re not going to give me a straight answer, are you?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest once more as you regarded him with curiosity and exasperation.

Crosshair turned to face you fully, a smirk tugging at his lips, his gaze intense. “Where’s the fun in that?” He replied, his tone playful.

You refused to back down. Holding his gaze, your lips pressed into a thin line.

The silence hung heavy in the air, and anxiousness clawed at Crosshair. He’d thought he could play dumb. He should’ve known better. With a heavy sigh, he gestured to your painting on the easel. “Myrkr. The coordinates for that spot are 42.3814° N, 80.0889° E. I was there eight rotations ago. It’s where Wrecker had his accident,” he confessed.

“Bormus.” He stated, gesturing to one of your other paintings leaning against the wall. “51.5074° N, -0.1278° W.” He rattled off the coordinates before moving on to another painting, and another, and another…

You’d seen glimpses of his life.

“Does this mean...?” You began, the words catching in your throat as you searched for the right way to express the flood of emotions coursing through you.

Before you could finish your sentence, Crosshair took a step closer, closing the distance between you until barely a breath of space separated you. His gaze bore into yours with an intensity that stole your breath away, sending a jolt of electricity dancing along your skin. “I think it means we have a lot to talk about.” He murmured, his voice low and husky, sending shivers down your spine.

A thousand thoughts and emotions swirled through your mind, but in that moment, you could only focus on the undeniable pull drawing you towards him.

Crosshair’s hand gently cupped your cheek, sending a shockwave of warmth through you. His gaze softened. “I’ve been dreaming too.” He admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid to break the fragile spell that had enveloped the two of you.

Your breath caught in your throat at his confession. “What do you dream of?” You managed to ask, although you already knew the answer.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Crosshair’s lips, his thumb tracing a gentle path along your cheekbone. “Surgeries. Sterile medbays.” He answered. “While you get the landscapes I see, I get the shot regs and operations that you see.”

“Our link is sharing what we see.” You whispered, the realisation washing over you like a gentle wave. “Through our dreams.”

Crosshair nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. “Seems that way.” He agreed, his voice soft with a tenderness you hadn’t expected from him. “I never imagined my soulmate would be a hot doctor.” He confessed, sliding an arm around your waist to hold you close, his fingers that had been against your cheek now pushing errant strands of your hair out of your face.

A soft laugh escaped your lips as warmth swept through you. One hand moved to rest against his chest. “And I never thought mine would be a handsome soldier.” You admitted, reaching up with your free hand to ghost your fingers across his sharp jawline, relishing the feeling of his closeness.

Lost in each other’s eyes, the world outside your quarters faded into insignificance. “What do we do now?” You asked quietly, entirely at a loss.

“I’d like to explore this further.” He confessed, his voice rough with emotion as his gaze dipped to your lips for a fraction of a second. “If you’re willing.”

You nodded, a smile playing across your face. “I’d like that.”

Pleased, Crosshair spared no time before capturing your lips in a passionate kiss.

The galaxy ceased to exist. His lips were warm against yours, firm and demanding. You responded eagerly, your fingers dragging through his silver hair as you deepened the kiss, your heart pounding.

Crosshair pulled back, and you found yourself breathless and dizzy, your senses reeling from the intensity of the moment as his hands snaked towards your ass. Holding his gaze, you gasped quietly as his slender fingers grabbed at the curvature of your rear.

A smirk crossed his lips, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Not bad for a first kiss,” he remarked, his tone teasing, “but I think we can do better.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite the heat rising to your cheeks. “Yeah?” You challenged.

He leaned in closer, the scent of regulation soap and blaster cleaner filling your senses. His lips brushed the shell of your ear. “These hands don’t just make perfect shots.” He whispered.

With a playful swat to his chest, you chuckled, feeling a surge of excitement and a healthy dose of nervousness. “You better be prepared to back that up.”

Crosshair grinned as he pulled back, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Oh you can count on it.”

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