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#wolffe: answer me you little shit
varpusvaras · 4 days
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Wolffe: We've known each other for all of our lives
Bly: Yes
Wolffe: If I ask you what you did yesterday and you answer with "oh I was just hanging out with my wife and kids" then we've wasted our time. You think I don't know that? That's the shit you tell to people you don't know, "ah, just hanging out with the kids and the old ball and chain-"
Bly: Don't ever refer to my wife as ball and chain, she doesn't weight me down, she picks me up, bitch, she's the wind beneath my wings
Wolffe:
Bly: Don't you ever fucking say that
Wolffe:
Bly: Dirty little whore
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writingshushf1 · 1 year
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enemies to lovers w lewis!! trope just fits him so well imo
Line without a hook
Summary: I don't really give a damn about the way you touch me.
Rating: +16
Warnings: enemies to lovers, a bit of asshole!lewis and the reader is also a bit of an asshole, some mature language. W13 and W14 being shitty cars.
Word count: 3.8k
Note: WE COULDN'T NOT HAVE A CLASSIC HERE, RIGHT? I'm a sucker for enemies to lovers, so here we have one! Honestly? My best enemies to lovers written, mostly because I spent a little time ressearching about it (I started writing this afternoon) and building around it.
masterlist
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Guilt. That's what you felt, but another feeling managed to override it. Anger.
You were at the head of the W13 development and it was terrible, a complete disappointment. And the worst part?It was your first year in a high position in a manufacturer, all the other years you spent locked up in laboratories, you never even got to meet the race tracks or even the Mercedes drivers - unless there was some publicity they had to record inside the factory. I mean, you became friends with Mick because he was often there, but this story isn't about him.
W13 had failed and the blame fell on you and the other staff who worked on it, so you decided to put your heads down and rebuild everything, make the ideas from 0 for W14. Into that came your stress, it had a name - a powerful name - Lewis Hamilton. He spent a whole 2022 criticising the car, making suggestions that were promptly ignored by engineers higher than you, which resulted in him getting a bitter feeling about you all.
"He arrived with heavy steps inside the luxurious factory, his voice with the strong English accent bursting through the walls, he was indignant. You took a deep breath, ducking your head and went back to fiddling with some parts of the car, trying to avoid Hurricane Hamilton. But to your misfortune, he opened the door to the room next to Russell and Toto - who were just as frustrated. Unfortunately, you were the only person still in the room, it was already late at night, but you wouldn't sleep until you found out what the damn problem was with that wagon they called a car. Obviously none of them would remember your name, so you kept tidying up with your headphones blasting Beyoncé until impatient taps on your shoulder ended your moment of peace.
"Sorry... Well, I'm not the boss of that area yet, so unfortunately I'm not the one who decided that, sir." You replied, turning back to the car and sitting down on the ground.
"You guys didn't listen to my suggestions and now the car is shit." The black pilot sighed, crossing his arms.
"But you are important in that sector. That I am sure of."
"I commented to Lewis and George about who was in charge, so if they wanted to come with their questions, they could turn to you and the others." Wolff replied, which made your blood boil with hatred.
"How would you know that?"
"Sorry, that still doesn't give you the right to come at me with an accusatory tone, after all I'm not the one giving the final answer." You rolled your eyes, fitting the piece you had noticed and pulling out another to take to the analysis. "I know the car wasn't what you expected. Honestly, none of us expected it to happen. After the tests, we thought it just needed some repairs."
"I understand you're feeling that way, we're all working day and night to fix it."
"A few repairs? Wow. That's pretty subtle thinking that it underperformed. Compared to 2021 and 2020, it's useless."
"And where's the rest?"
"For God's sake!" You looked at the other two who were trying to distract themselves with things in the room so as not to focus on your argument with the number one Mercedes driver that could have you fired in a few seconds. "It's Saturday, almost 10 o'clock at night, the factory is far from the city, don't you think people deserve a rest? I stayed here because of my role as one of the heads of this project. I don't have the luxury to rest, I don't know if you understand that."
His eyebrows drew together and you could have sworn he would start shouting at any moment and cuss you out for the reaction you had, however he kept quiet and left the scene without another word. You stared at Toto for a few seconds and he told you to go home, working tired and hot headed wouldn't do you any good. And it was from that day on that you started to hate him."
2023, the first race of the W14 left a lot to be desired, George was still positive and willing to sacrifice his year for the evolution of the car, however not the seven-time champion, he wanted a competitive car. Half way through last year you were getting more seats and now you were the co-creator of the W14, which was heavy on your shoulders. Again, Hamilton and you were almost at each other's throats during the team briefing until Wolff gave you both a timeout. You quickly left the room, grabbing a coffee and sitting on the hospitality stairs. Within seconds, Mick sat down next to you.
"Yeah, Maybe he's taking it too heavily, but I don't take away the whole reason the car is missing the essentials. Competitiveness." The German huffed.
"Honey, you say that like I don't know.... Of course I do! But he could stop being a spoiled little boy. He's a grown man who needs to learn that we're constantly evolving and yes we're going to have some tough years and that can only be solved by us changing the car, which can sometimes take hours, days, months before we get back into our pace."
“I know, but in this meantime, Red Bull and Ferrari will be overcoming new things while we are stuck behind Aston Martin.” Lewis commented, passing by you two.
“No shit, Sherlock.” You snapped, walking away from both of them.
“That was too much, man.” Schumacher said, crossing his arms.
“I know… But that’s the reality, she knows what’s happening, so… It’s not my fault.”
“So it isn’t hers alone.”
………………………………………………………………….
It was late at night again, you had been up for almost 48 hours, sorting people, analysing statistics, fiddling with parts. Your body was screaming for rest and this could be seen clearly by anyone passing you. It was almost dawn and you were still in the pits, sitting on the floor with a few empty energy drink cans around you, four computers in front of you, and your headphones on. You heard footsteps, but at first you decided to ignore them, it wasn't important, the focus was to understand what the fuck was going on with W14. Suddenly a "tsc" could be heard, it was then that you turned your face and found yourself face to face with Lewis Hamilton, his body inches from yours - and what a body. You took a deep breath and backed away.
"What's wrong, your majesty?"
"There." He pointed at the screen.
"Yes. I'm trying to fix it."
"But you're not succeeding, excuse me." He placed his hands on the keyboard and you were completely distracted, sleep was catching up with you.
He kept typing and changing things, clicking, even removing the headphones from your head and putting them on it, staying for a few minutes, until he looked at you.
"For someone who's in such a high position, I can't believe you missed that." He cracked a cocky smile.
"Oh! I'm sorry Sir Hamilton for being up for almost 48 hours straight, trying to fix your car first because apparently it was put on my list against my will, however as a good employee for this team, I dedicated myself exclusively to your car." You retorted, sitting on some tires. Throwing your head back, you let out a big sigh and ran your hands over your face, feeling that if he was the slightest bit ruder, tears would leak from your eyes and you'd make a fool of yourself in front of him.
"Go back to the hotel, for God's sake. The race is tomorrow and no one can be tired, because that results in failure." He trailed off, looking you up and down. "And take a shower, you're in need."
"Fuck off!"
The other day, you were still exhausted, yet better than a few hours ago. With a strong cup of coffee, clean clothes and a shower, you arrived still early in the morning, ordering everyone to do their respective jobs, while your stomach was screaming for food - you couldn't even remember when was the last time you'd eaten, so you quickly went and grabbed a sandwich to get through the day.
The race was okay, a podium, a fifth place. Could do better.
In that two-week gap without racing, you spent as much time as possible inside the factory, trying to fix the unconscionable and getting frustrated every time. This happened so often that there were moments you would disappear and hide to cry, feeling like a failure in that place - maybe a dismissal wasn't the end of the world, some other lesser team might want you.
Surprisingly, in the meantime, Lewis started showing up daily at the factory, working with everyone else - and charming everyone with his silly charm that made anyone fall in love with him. He chatted to people, asked them to bring snacks that you barely touched, your hunger seemed to disappear when he was near - along with all the tranquillity. Obviously, whenever he could, you exchanged insults and dry replies, something that could be observed from afar, but nobody dared to comment, for fear of being annihilated by one of you.
One fateful night he decided to stay late, so it was eleven o'clock at night and only the two of you were in the room. The silence was uncomfortable, deafening and suffocating, it seemed that in a few exchanges of glances you were stabbing each other. The passive-aggressiveness passed the moment you cried out in sort of relief, which caught his attention. Finally you had managed to solve a problem that had been bothering you for weeks and no one seemed to solve it. It seemed like a small victory, of many you wished were coming.
"What happened?" he asked in a dull tone.
"Look here! I managed to solve that one.... That..." It seemed as if the words had escaped his lips from so much euphoria he was feeling. "That shit that made Russell's car break down in the last race! It was so simple, but it needed a general approach, not so thorough..." You let a laugh escape your lips as he walked over to where you were standing.
"Oh." He was speechless too. As much as you said that this was a simple problem, he knew it wasn't, he had noticed your effort and frustration in the meantime, it was something extremely difficult that required patience and intelligence - things you had. "Let's take a break then, to celebrate."
You cracked a smile at him - the first time since you had met, which made him return the smile. The two of you walked together to where there were some tables after grabbing some food, no one else but you two. The silence settled again, but not as uncomfortable as before, it was neutral.
It was two am, and you still were working on the W14, but this time was improving, he made some hits and that was when you started to tease each other.
“Oh, I didn’t know that drivers could be this smart, I thought you guys dropped after a while and finished on homeschooling.” You teased him.
“Hey! I even studied engineering, you could pay some respect.” He held back a smile. “And it’s Sir Lewis Hamilton for you, I didn’t give you intimacy to just talk to me like that.”
“Someone’s feisty.” You chuckled. “Okay, sir.” You licked your lips, throwing yourself on the sofa. “Oops, sorry… Okay, Sir Lewis Hamilton, I’ll only call you like that now, majesty.”
He sucked in his breath, closing his fists before chuckling too. “And someone’s really going off the limits, maybe you should take care you know… I’m still your boss and I can do whatever I want.”
“Kinky. Power dynamics? I always thought you would want to be called daddy.” You played it off, holding your laugh.
“Oh God.” He started laughing loudly, joining his hands against his chin, before moving his head in a ‘no’ “We’re too sleep deprived to keep this.”
“Or too sober.”
“Don’t even try it, girl.” He rolled his eyes. “C’mon, I’ll ask the guard to close the factory.”
……………………………………………………………………….
After that night, your relationship became calmer. Sure, you still constantly traded insults and irony at every opportunity, but it was an evolution nonetheless - now they weren't aggressive, with a passive-aggressive undertone, it was more jokes and banter to take the edge off the team's rebuild with W14 - which by now, had made more decent progress, a win in the pocket.
You were working through some analysis of the car, when suddenly, a Lewis removing his t-shirt because of the heat caught you completely off guard, which made your cheeks boil with embarrassment and your eyes stare longingly at his pecs to the point where he noticed.
"See something you like?" he commented, flashing you a smug smile.
"I just think it's inappropriate for you to be shirtless in a workplace. You have a trailer for that." You shrugged, feeling an unbearable heat hit your body. He was hot and unfortunately your body agreed with that.
"All right then, Miss Goody Two-shoes." You pointed your middle finger at him as the British pilot walked off, while he returned the gesture still with that damn smile.
That night, he dreamed of you. Our brains like to play tricks and make us think crazy things. And that's exactly what it played with the black driver that night. Her hands roamed his body, laughter from both sides filled the room as he could see her silhouette in just purple lingerie, while he was only in his underwear. Your bodies were glued together, moving at an incredible pace, it was just about you two and no one else. No hate, no failing cars, no guilt.
He woke up panting, before the dream had its proper end. A tent settled in his shorts, which made him groan in denial, running his hands over his face, trying to forget the scene he had just dreamt, however it was almost impossible, it was something so sexy he couldn't let it go.
For the next few weeks, he ignored you almost completely, only showing up to talk about car stuff - be it suggestions or just complaining that they would never catch up with Red Bull by the end of the season, which made you even more stressed. It felt like you guys were back to stage one. At first, you even tried to ignore it and think that he wasn't in a good mood, but when it persisted, you were ready to strike back. Meanwhile, Hamilton's mind was a mess, he wasn't supposed to have dreamt about you, let alone gone on and on and on having recurring dreams about the two of you, let alone him noticing when the white shirt was too see-through and he knew what colour your bra was. It was getting to be too much for him and his defence mechanism was to try and walk away and go back to square one. He knew he'd been rude to you at first, but part of him didn't want to apologise, to accept that you could be friends-or even the possibility that he wanted something more.
It was another early morning at the Mercedes plant, now you were already thinking about the W15, because you knew that everything had gone wrong, but you refused to tell anyone. Early in the morning, Lewis went to his usual room and found you pacing back and forth, stressed about the possibility of them never getting out of this hole, of her never being able to make him win his eighth championship.
"Did someone fall out of bed? It's six-thirty in the morning." He said, soon sitting down at one of the desks and turning on his computer.
"To fall out, I should at least be asleep first." You retorted, banging your fist on the table in anger that again, the program was giving data that was incompatible with what you had planned.
"Again? Aren't you working too fucking much?" He questioned, which honestly was the last straw you needed to freak out. Even if he wasn't being rude.
"Yes, I've been working my ass off, Hamilton. I'm on the verge of burnout and you know whose fault it is? Yours! It's all on you!" Because I work day and night, I don't rest, I keep planning and recalculating everything just to please you, to make the car you want and still nothing is good, nobody is satisfied! You felt tears fall from your eyes, but this was not the time to care about that. "Do you know what it's like for a whole team to depend on your team of engineers and you're constantly letting everyone down? No! You don't." Her voice was already cracking with sobs. "I can't take it anymore! I can't stand living like this anymore. And still have people telling the world that I'm incompetent!" You completely lost the strength in your legs, falling to your knees on the floor and putting your hands to your face to cover your crying.
He waited for you to say everything you needed to say, to get your anguish off your chest, so that after you had stopped talking, he would get up and go to the floor with you, hugging your body and passing his free hand over your locks, letting you cry as much as you needed, just being comforted by his presence.
…………………………………………………………
Your relationship got better after you had a breakdown in front of him, he understood you were going under a very stressful moment, because everyone seemed to only count on you, forgetting that they were a team. That day, he took you to your house, waited for you to get some comfortable clothes and ordered food. You didn’t talk about it, just enjoyed each other’s company in silence. And that’s how it worked between you two, until it didn’t work again.
Hamilton was restless, he felt the need to talk with you by text, calls, in person, would oftenly walk with very revealing looks and take off his shirt around you, just to see your face red with embarrassment and the deep looks on his torso.
He knew there was something more, but he waited. He tested the waters first, became slowly sweeter by the time, calmer and actually never complained to you again, he tried to be more positive and improve his work with the car you had. And that made you warm up towards him, he was actually capable of change, to be a very caring person when he liked the person.
When you started to have this sort of friendship, you felt guilty for snapping at him multiple times, the same way he felt bad for being so rude towards you the year before. 
One day, he asked if you wanted to stay late on the paddock, so you could work on some things about W14, little things to improve for the race on Sunday afternoon. Of course you agreed, you have been doing that for months now, one night more it wouldn’t kill you.
The comfortable silence between you two was broken by him.
“I owe you an apology.” He whispered, like that was a forbidden subject.
“I…” You took a few seconds to realise. “I think I owe you one too.”
“So will we both be forgiven then?”
“Yeah…”
“I’m sorry. For being a brat and an entitled asshole… For not seeing you as a person, someone amazing that works like hell because she wants the best for everyone.” He got closer, touching your forearm.
“I’m sorry for snapping at you, multiple times. I should’ve been more mature.” You avoided looking at him, as much as his eyes were so hypnotising.
When you least expected it, your bodies were together in a very intimate hug. His hands around your hips, while your arms pressed his body against you.
“I’m not the only one feeling this, right?” He muttered, alternating his look between your eyes and lips.
“Unfortunately, no.”
And that he took as a consent to crash his lips against yours, in a desperate kiss, like he waited for such a long time to do that, in reaction, you intertwined one of your hands in his braids and the other lowered to his back, holding at his Mercedes black t-shirt. He soon lowered his hands to your thighs, pulling you to sit on top of some tyres. Your tongues were moving against each other, slow and needy, like a dream coming true. When air made it necessary, he held your waist and smiled.
“It took so long…” He whispered against your ear. “If I knew we only were horny for each other, we could have solved this a long time ago…” You could hear his cocky smile.
“Fuck you.” You muttered back, letting your fingers run on his neck. “If it was months ago… I would have denied it until my deathbed. I’m happy being in this state now.” You left some kisses along his jaw.
“Angel… Not here. Maybe my hotel room may be a more appropriate place for you to get all touchy like that.”
“Sad… I would love to have some risky sex in the paddock, sir.” You joked.
“Maybe someday. But let’s start at the most obvious place. A bed.” He held your hand and guided you to his car.
So… Sir Lewis Hamilton wasn’t so bad after all.
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lovelytsunoda · 1 year
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holding out for a hero ( iii ) // platonic! mercedes amg
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summary: a holiday party at marcus armstrong's house brings changes to y/n's life, in the form of both a british f2 driver she'd rather not show her face around ever again, and a very awkward milestone.
pairing: platonic!mercedes amg f1 x reader, brief olli caldwell x reader
warnings: first kisses, a slew of emotions i don't want to unpack, it's going to be cute and angsty all at the same time, self-deprecation, basically the same warnings as the rest of the series tbh, mentions of an alcohol allergy, paul being a little shit
author's note: this is lowkey based on the story of my first kiss from last december . . . i actually hated it all and we're back to the drawing board on that whole dating thing. i fear my standards may be too high.
this series would make such a good sitcom tbh
"marcus, for the last time, i don't do parties." y/n insisted, frowning at the face on her phone as she stride out of the mercedes building in brackley. "i don't care that i already know most of the people who are going to be there, or that the guys are bringing their girlfriends. the answer is no."
"come on!" marcus armstrong begged on the other end of the facetime call, laughing as the young intern clumsily zipped up her tommy hilfiger jacket, hiding the bottom half of her face under the collar as the wind whipped her face, flakes of snow beginning to fall from the winter sky. "it's not as bad as you're thinking it's going to be. it's literally just at my house, my younger sister is going to be there."
y/n snorted. "come on, armstrong. if you think telling me that your teenaged sister is going to be at the party is a drawing factor, you need to reevaluate things in your life. besides, liam is going to be there and it's going to be ultra painful to see him and his girlfriend being all loved up."
silverstone had been a huge knock to y/n y/l/n's self-confidence. it had taken a lot for her to allow herself to be that vulnerable. to dance in front of the rowdy group of boys, to let her guard down long enough to meet new people, to have a good time.
to tell liam lawson that she thought he was cute, just for liam to shatter her heart into a million peices without even meaning or trying to.
god, she wished she could stop being so sensitive sometimes.
she hadn't been to another race since. she also hadn't spoken directly to liam, occasionally being looped into things on the group chat. as far as she was aware, red bull were shipping him off to japan with cem bolukbasi to run a superformula test.
she was heading back to her car now, the cold air turning her fingers numb as she clutched her phone, digging in her pocket for her car keys.
"i'm not doing it, armstrong."
"and why the bloody hell not? you had a great time in sliverstone, and i'll have james keep liam away from you if that would make you feel better."
y/n had opened her mouth to say something when she felt a pair of hands clapping her on the shoulders.
"she's going." susie wolff insisted. "come on, y/n. you need to get out more. you deserve to let yourself have fun."
"but this party isn't going to be fun, susie."
susie grinned, hands in the deep front pockets of her trench coat. "you won't know unless you try it, kiddo." she turned to the phone. "marcus, she'll be there!"
____
y/n stood in front of her mirrored closet door, smoothing her fingers over her hair, drawn back into a tight half-up ponytail kind of style.
"you look great, kiddo!" angela cullen's voice faintly filtered through the phone speakers, a kelsy karter song playing softly from the turntable in the corner.
"ang, i'm going to make a fool out of myself out there." y/n groaned. "i hate parties!"
"but you know these guys, y/n. you know marcus, you know clem and you know fred. you'll be fine. with that being said, if you want to leave early, call one of us."
"oh, you'll definitley be getting some kind of call." she rolled her eyes, stopping the turntable and sliding the shiny black vinyl back into it's sleeve, fairy lights twinkling above her. "what if they don't like me, angela?"
"and what if they love you?"
after bidding the physiotherapist her goodbyes, y/n pocketed her phone and padded across the dusty apartment floor to her kitchen. the apartment felt too big for her to live in on her own, and technically she didn't, but it's not like her roommate was ever home. she sighed to herself, opening the fridge to stare at the almost empty shelf, making a mental note to order her groceries.
if there was anything that gave her anxiety, it was grocery shopping. there was a voice in her head that always seemed to tell her that the cashier ringing her groceries through was judging her, or that that mother with two kids in a stroller was frowning at the nutritional index of meals she hadn't even made yet.
she grabbed the plastic container with the kirkland signature logo, groaning to herself as she realized that the lettuce in her pre-made ceaser salad had gone off.
"fuck me." she muttered, throwing the entire thing in the trash before grabbing a ziploc container filled with sliced peppers, that way she had at least eaten something before she went to the party.
just in case her anxiety stamped out her appetite
her nimble fingers sailed across the keyboard as she texted clement, asking for a ride to marcus'. she had no idea where she was going, and she didn't want to be lost in london this close to the new year.
i'll be at the apartment in twenty, and i've got my girlfriend with me. she can't wait to meet you! you're going to have a great time at marcus'
she took a deep breath, reminding herself to calm down a little. it was just marcus armstrong's house. what could possibly go wrong? they're the same people she had such a great time with at silverstone, right?
_____
she regretted going to marcus' almost as soon as she walked through the doors to his massive penthouse. at the track, they could pretend that they were all the same. but not here, not out in the real world when y/n walked through the front doors of his doorman building with glass elevators, his penthouse that was bigger than even the townhouse she grew up in with her parents.
in the kitchen, marcus had stacked a sturdy tower of martini glasses. behind them, felipe drugovich was standing on a kitchen chair with a bottle of ferrari trento champagne in his arms.
"i've always wanted to do this!" the f2 champion shouted. "come on, guys. someone get this on tape!"
"dear lord, what are the twenty stooges doing now?" she groaned, leaning against the wall next to jehan daruvala.
jehan laughed. "making a champagne fountain because liam said he saw it in a movie once. felipe wanted to do the honors of puring it, and nobody wants to argue with the f2 champ, especially when he just found out he's not getting a race seat next year, but logan is."
"shit. i guess the feeder series system just isn't working like it used to."
a chorus of cheers from the kitchen island disrupted further conversation, the warm lights shining down on the last person that y/n wanted to see. god, motorsport was a small world, wasn't it?
liam lawson locked eyes with her from across the apartment, giving her a sad and sympathetic smile. she bit her lip to stop from grimacing, meekly waving back.
nobody else knew what had happened between her and liam, and she preferred to keep it that way.
"y/n!" marcus shouted, throwing his arms in the air and waving her over. "come join us!"
"have a drink." clement encouraged, trying to pass her a glass of champagne.
she shook her head. "give it to your girlfriend, novalak. i'm actually allergic to alcohol."
calan williams narrowed his eyes, skeptically sipping from his own glass. "that sounds fake."
y/n laughed, moving closer to the kitchen island. "its a genetic thing. i can't handle anything more than a cooler or a mixed drink. anything stronger will have me throwing up for hours."
"i think there's some smirnoff ice in the fridge." marcus suggested, pointing towards a large cabinet front. ayumu iwasa opened the cabinet, revealing the fridge behind it.
fucking rich people.
"what the hell, pass me one of the peach smirnoff coolers in the door."
"to felipe!" dennis hauger shouted, hefting his beer into the air, arm full of tattoos on display. "our 2022 champion!"
"and to logan, my old teammate!" liam lawson added, throwing his arm around logan sargeant's neck. liam looked drunkest of all, though it seemed like all of the drivers were a wreck. "williams racing's last hope."
she spent most of the night wandering around marcus' massive house, ducking in and out of conversations. she appreciated that the drivers were trying to help her feel at home, but there was still a small part of her that wanted to flee, to run away and sit at home with her emily henry book or watch a korean psychological thriller.
"so who's actually sticking around next year?" jack doohan asked, slumped across marcus' living room sofa. "aren't they cleaning house in f2?" his buzzcut was growing back in, his shaggy blonde hair fitting his face much better, although the look still seemed odd since the length was at that awkward stage.
"it's dennis, you, ayumu, jehan, enzo, theo, me, amaury, roy, ralph." fred vesti started counting off on his fingers, a drunken slur underneath his words if one listened carefully.
"and i'm not going anywhere any time soon!" ralph boomed. "i'm like fernando fucking alonso, motherfuckers! 2023 is going to be my year, just you wait and see!"
"yeah right! the championship is as much yours as it is clem's!" marcus shouted back with a laugh, an aperol spritz in hand as he messed with the stereo.
"oh, fuck you lot." clement laughed, curled up in an armchair with his girlfriend. "you didn't need to do me like that in front of ines, come on, have some class."
"am i forgetting about anyone?" fred hummed. "i skipped clem, but am i missing anyone else?"
"what about zane? he's coming back, yeah?" amaury suggested.
"dude, it's a miracle that you're coming back." dennis snorted. "i thought you were gone for sure after that speeding ticket fiasco. how long did you lose your license for?"
sitting on the couch in between jack and olli caldwell, she felt suffocated. she drew her arms in on herself, trying to create a bubble of space from the aussie on one side and the briton on the other. her palms felt sweaty, her chest heavy.
"are you okay?" olli asked her softly. "do you want to get out of here? we can go for a walk, take a breather?"
she nodded quickly, her voice soft. "please? i love you all, i really do, but this is a bit much."
"yeah, come on. let's grab your jacket." olli encouraged, taking her by the hand as they both slipped out of marcus' living room.
not that anybody noticed they were gone. or that they had left together.
once they were both outside, y/n felt better. the cool breeze on her face, the twinkling christmas lights that had been lit up glowing in the haze as snow began to fall gently.
"so where are you off to next year if it's not f2?" she asked, fingers still laced with olli's as they walked down the sidewalk.
"endurance, i think. alpine are still sponsoring me as a driver, so laurent has been a hige help in trying to find me something else. it's something different, and i'm looking forward to it. what about you?"
"i have no idea." she answered truthfully, dropping olli's hand. "my internship runs out before the season starts in bahrain. then it will be back to the real world, the world where i'm on my own with my five friends and my roommate. i'm hoping that toto will keep me on next year, but i also realize that he might not have that control. it would be a shame to leave, though. i feel like i've finally found my place in this world."
they stopped walking, y/n leaning against the brickwork exterior of marcus' condo complex. olli stood in front of her, hands in his jeans pockets, his breath turning into mist in the air.
"i'm sure it will all work out. and even if mercedes don't take you on, there are so many other motorsports in europe that you can try. and you'll always have us, y/n. any time you want them, i've got wec tickets for you."
"thanks, olli. really."
they drifted into a silence, somewhat easy, somewhat not. olli's hands came up to press against the wall, his face just milimeters from hers. her heart started pounding, anticipation building in her bones.
is this it? is it really happening? is olli caldwell going to kiss me?
and then he leaned in, his lips pressed against hers.
y/n y/l/n had just had her first kiss.
_____
"so let me get this straight, you finally got your first kiss, a boy actually wanted to go out with you, and you're turning him down?"
"well, when you put it like that!" y/n groaned, face in her hands as she slumped back in her desk chair.
it was the week after marcus armstrong's party, the group sitting in the legal department at the mercedes f1 factory in brackley. she had already told the full story, and her face was pinker than a crush cream soda.
"i just don't understand what your train of thought is here, if i'm being honest." george chuckled. "so caldwell kissed you. what's the big deal?"
"because it was my first kiss, george! i've been thinking it over all weekend, and i felt sick to my stomach when olli texted me the morning after." she groaned, running her hands over her face. "you're going to laugh at me when i tell you why."
"i promise you, we aren't going to laugh, y/n." lewis said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. "all of what you're feeling is normal."
she sighed. "it didn't feel the way that the books said it was supposed to feel."
"that's your big reasoning? really?" nyck's tinny voice rang through the speaker on mick shumacher's phone. in abu dhabi, the reserve driver had officially been traded to scuderia alphatauri, and by extension, not allowed into brackley to be privy to this conversation. so, naturally, he was facetimed and looped in anyways.
"mick, can you please mute the traitor." y/n groaned, reaching for the german boy's phone before mick laughed and pulled it out of her reach to mute the call himself.
on screen, nyck was still talking.
"i know it sounds stupid, but i've felt sick about it all weekend. what am i supposed to do, guys?"
"i think that your feeling are vaild, first of all." mick began, "and that maybe olli came on too strong."
mick's finger slipped, unmuting the call enough for nyck to shout. "did i not just say that? were you not listening?"
"you have so much time, y/n." lewis said with a small smile. "but i hope you've learned something about yourself from this, yeah? maybe this was the boost of self confidence that you needed?"
she had thought about the kiss all weekend, hoping that she could make it make sense, and that she wasn't overreacting. and it's not like olli had done anything wrong, although french kissing was a little much for the first date, even when it wasn't even a date, and she was trying to convince herself that telling olli she just wanted to be friends was the best call.
and then, digging deeper, she had to ask herself if she was even ready for a relationship. because when the idea was finally breathing down her neck, the idea of olli, and going on a date, and sharing so much of herself with someone else, it scared the shit out of her.
"he put his tongue in my mouth, lewis!" she whined. "god, i sound like a child."
"he what?" a muffled voice called from the other side of her desk, followed up by a thump and frantic whispering.
"what the fuck?" y/n mumbled, getting out of her desk chair and leaning over the glass cubicle wall. "paul?"
with a shit eating grin on his face, paul aron slipped out from underneath the table, kimi antonelli just behind him. while paul didn't look the least bit apologetic, kimi looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole.
"i am so sorry, miss. we shouldn't have been listening." the italian boy bowed his head. "but blame paul, it was his idea."
"what, i wanted the office gossip." the estonian boy shrugged. "he french kissed you, and you friendzoned him? that's a little sad."
"paul get out!" y/n snapped. "or i'll call toto and bono!"
the threat of toto wolff was enough to get kimi and paul to dart out of the room faster than the freca cars that they drove. toto didn't know about the kiss, mainly because she knew that he had otmar and laurent on speed dial and would find a way to put the fear of god into oliver caldwell for hurting his intern.
the bond that she had formed with the wolff family wasn't something she would have traded for the world. she found herself calling or texting toto's daughter rosa more often, with the two being of a similar age.
she just hoped that toto liked her enough to keep her around for another season.
"there are plenty of fish in the sea, kiddo." susie wolff added, striding into the office. "and don't worry, i'm not going to tell toto. although, paul and kimi might. take this as a learning experience. and don't take any advice from this lot." she added, whacking george in the back of the head with a file folder.
"why did i feel like that was directed at me?" the man from king's lynn groaned.
"the right boy will come when the time is right. god knows i met toto later in life. and look at us now." susie continued, pulling y/n in for a hug. "come on, we have an investor meeting with monster, and toto wants you there."
"me? he wants me in a meeting with our biggest sponsor?"
lewis laughed. "you need to start giving yourself more credit. you are so loved here, y/n. you have a future in motorsport law, a future here."
mick, lewis and george all exchanged a look, bright smiles on their faces.
"what are you not telling me? is toto keeping me on for next year?"
"we aren't allowed to say anything just yet." george started. "but, i think toto has a soft spot for you."
"put it this way: you'll know before bahrain, and you might want to pack some summer clothes." susie smiled.
Tags:
@magnummagnussen @diorleclerc @daydreamingleclerc @scuderiamh @sidcrosbyspuck @libraryofloveletters
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palpipeen · 1 year
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Life Day: Nice or Naughty...?
Lucky for all you naughty naughty people, you get BOTH. <3
Also yes, I live.
ANYWAY, info stuff time~
------- It's Life Day, and you're with your boy of choice. <3 Rating: NC-17 for Sexual Themes Warnings: Holiday Stuff (no mention of family other than the clones), consensual somnophilia (Fox eating you out in your sleep), oral, PinV/A, Lots of Fluff followed by Lots of Smut Reader has no gender~ WC: 2253 AN: So I hit 101 followers and I’m on the floor, screaming crying sobbing throwing up and shitting. Thank y’all so much. Here is a leetol gift for the season~ This is set in my “And Nothing Bad Ever Happened, Ever AU” so. People still be dyin’ and dead but there’s not quite so much tragedy. Also we’re goin with a SFW and a NSFW theme, so the first batch will be listed as “NICE” and then the rest will be “NAUGHTY”. ENJOY.
ALL OF MY WORK IS INTENDED FOR AUDIENCES THAT ARE 18+. Minors DNI.
NICE
Starting off with our boy Commander Fox:
Life Day with Fox is honestly my personal ideal. Fox just wants one day (1) where he isn’t expected to do a thousand things a minute, he isn’t expected to answer a thousand questions from a thousand soldiers and senators or delegate any tasks. Also, you two don’t even have to leave your own home! Fox just wants to be somewhere that isn’t the Guard HQ that he can just exist and relax for the holiday, and he does just that. Like the rest of the GAR he doesn’t have much credits, so instead of buying you something he gives you something small that he made. Not sure what it would be, but it’s made with love and adoration. He will absolutely NOT be discussing how he went through five test runs with your gift, and he’s got them stuffed away in his contraband closet in his office. He also won’t mention how it took him literal months to complete, in part because of his schedule and because he wanted it to be fucking perfect. And it is. He made it while thinking of no one but you, and it illustrates the depth of his love for you. (Which is deeper than ANY of the deep sea trenches on Kamino.)
Next Up, my Personal Bestest Boy Hardcase:
Okay now I love Hardcase, but his Life Day would be. So. Fucking. BUSY. Hey Hardcase, you DO know that it’s LITERALLY physically impossible to give presents to ALL of your siblings in ONE day right? Oh you’re gonna make it happen?! Okay, Chris Fuckin Cringle, jesus fuck. He would though, you know he would, he would make it work. Hardcase is the exact opposite of the biggest Bah Humbug motherfucker you’ve ever met. Not only that, Hardcase is doing SO. MUCH. COOKING. But don’t worry - he’s making you all of your favorite dishes, and has been buying you little gifts ever since he found out Life Day was a THING that made him think of you and how much he loves you. While Hardcase knows that material things aren’t the reason for the season, he still wants to spoil you. He’s also just a bundle of wonder and awe, but he is also very generous - if he sees a family in need during the season he’s dropping everything he can to see how he can help make their season better. In a post-war world where Hardcase lives and everything is FINE, nothing bad happened, he’s definitely volunteering part of Life Day at a soup kitchen or shelter of some sort. All in all - Hardcase brings the joy of the season, whether anyone is ready for it or not. (Trust me - you aren’t.)
Speaking of Bah Humbugs…Commander Wolffe:
Oh, Wolffie. Oooh, Wolffie. You’re a mean one ain’t’cha? So yeah, Wolffe might be the biggest party-pooper out of the bunch. He just doesn’t get it - and he doesn’t mean to spoil it for everyone. He’s just not sure why all of this matters at first. So he’s the sulky uncle who sits alone, nursing some really strong drink throughout most of the day…at least he’s that way at first. But show him some younglings decorating a tree and enthusing about the holiday season and you unlock something in him. I stand by the HC that Wolffe actually has a soft spot for kiddos - it brings out the best parts of him that aren’t a soldier. So yeah, one minute Wolffe is sitting in the corner, barely making conversation with anyone - because let’s be honest, Wolffe is absolutely ass at small-talk and most conversations - and the next, he’s hoisting a youngling up to put the topper on some gaudily decorated tree. Meanwhile two other younglings are decorating him because he’s as tall as some of the trees they’ve seen. Also, Wolffe would absolutely wipe the floor with his fashion sense for the season - Wolffe being a fashionista is always something I can get behind. He’d also be down for an ugly sweater contest, purely because if you can’t give the judges the perfect scowl in that gaudy, awful thing, are you really even competing? (Also yes, him and Fox have a vicious competition with each other. It almost always ends with them having an argument where one of them inevitably puts the other in a headlock.)
Oh we can’t forget about Captain Rex:
Alright so, here’s a character I haven’t really gotten into. But I feel like if you’re looking for that cliche Hallmark Christmas movie experience, or something similar without the misogyny, you’d want to spend Life Day with Rex. Rex obviously gets invited by General Skywalker’s very dear friend, Senator Amidala, to spend Life Day on Naboo. In fact, the entire 501st do, but it’s the one time he doesn’t have to look after them. Instead, he’s spending his days experiencing - well, life. Naboo doesn’t have a typical winter season, but the vibes are still there, so he’s definitely drinking hot chocolate with whipped cream, marshmallows, candy cane sticking out - literally every morning. (Don’t judge him, he’s earned it.) And if you just so happen to be Rex’s partner, well, he’s also wanting to drink that hot chocolate with you every morning, and get out there and experience everything the season has to offer. And he can’t buy much, but the gift he gets you (besides his time, which is precious) is priceless. There is such obvious love and time and effort put into getting you something that is perfect for you. Also, you two get to have dinner on your own - just the two of you. (Tooth rotting stuff, truly.)
Arright now for the SINFUL SHIT~
***
Naughty
Foxy Boy~
So obviously, any time you and Fox get to spend with each other where Fox doesn’t have to worry about his men, you are fucking. Nonstop. But around Life Day, when he’s given the all clear for some VERY much deserved R&R, he indulges once…and then nothing. Besides heavy make-out sessions, he stops you just before it gets too heavy - tells you he just wants to savor his time with you without sex. Alright, that’s fine at first, but then you’re starting to get antsy. Why isn’t he in your pants like he normally is?! You finally wheedle it out of him - he’s got a surprise for you on Life Day proper. It’s not much, but it really is the thought that counts. And boy howdy, did he think this through. So you wake up to breakfast in bed - you also wake up to him, under the sheets, with his head between your legs. Who knows how long he’s been under there, because you wake up coming on his tongue. After that he feeds you by hand - a breakfast he made from scratch. And it’s not just good, it’s incredible. You do most of the cooking when you two get together, and some of Fox’s attempts at cooking weren’t great - but this? This is gourmet. Where did these skills come from?! Fox reveals that he’s been taking cooking lessons for today, which is impressive considering his schedule. After making sweet, slow love to you, he clears up breakfast (naked) and the rest of the day continues like that. Eventually you two do have to get out of bed for a bath (which you take together of course), and move to the living room for dinner (which he also made, it is lavish and delicious and perfect). Fox really just wants to show you how much he cares for you, and do what he can for you while he has this time with you. It’s precious to him - just about as precious as you are to him.
Ho-Ho-Hardcase:
Alright so yeah - Hardcase would do some really, REALLY cheesy shit on Life Day once everything calms down and he’s got you to himself. And not just the whole rose petals, candles (where’d he find those?? Do those exist in Star Wars???) and red satin sheets. Oh no. He’s got the Star Wars equivalent of a Santa costume on. (IDK what that is in SW, and I’m writing this at 1:30am - research is beyond me rn.) It’s ridiculous, but it’s what you’ve come to expect from him - and somehow he makes it so hot?! Well it’s probably because the get-up is little more than suspenders and trousers that leave nothing to the imagination, and he’s got this whole script going…. Which is way hotter than it should be. Hardcase would absolutely be in his element doing this: seducing you while telling you how naughty you’ve been, how he should just be punishing you. But you look so sweet, so it’d be a shame to let that spoil. Needless to say, you spend a lot of time on his lap. He also somehow managed to get you a whole new miniature collection of sex toys - with a few for him, of course. You two spend the night and into the wee hours of the morning just having the raunchiest, most thoroughly exhausting sex of your life. And Hardcase has a rule for the day - for every one time he cums, he’s making you cum three more times. Strap in, you’re in for a very long ride. (Mayhamps….a sleigh ride, oooOOOOHOHOHOHO--)
Krampus. I mean Wolffe:
Much like Fox, any time Wolffe gets time off to spend with you, it’s going to be spent absolutely railing you. And any chance he gets, he’s doing just that. Out looking at light displays? Good thing you’re taking a personal speeder, because he’s having you pull over and fogging up the windows while fucking your brains out. Going to some fancy restaurant? He meets you in the bathroom and takes you in one of the stalls. (Good thing he’s very good at keeping you quiet.) But the best time is the night of Life Day - he’s been teasing you at the 104th holiday party, giving you those looks, lingering touches that sets your skin on fire, whispering so close to your ear that his lips brush your skin and send shivers down your spine. When Wolffe finally announces both of you are leaving, the whole battalion knows what’s going to happen when you two get to your place. Wolffe has a trick up his sleeve though - normally, he’s the one calling the shots. But tonight he’s leaving it in your capable hands - he’ll do whatever you ask. And you do just that -thoroughly rescrambling his brain with that amazing sloppy toppy, edging him after you tie his hands to the headboard, and finally letting him blast the fattest nut in you - and then the two of you fall asleep like that, after you untie his hands. Throughout the night Wolffe and you wake up when he gets hard again, reaffirming just how close and devoted the two of you are to each other.
And Finally, Rex:
Oh, Rex. Remember what I said about that cliche Hallmark Christmas movie shmutz? Yeah, it gets better. (Worse?) Rex is much like Fox in that the day starts off with him pleasuring you. The two of you barely awake while he’s doing it, but when he’s awake enough he stills your hands and takes over. Slowly, slowly bringing you to climax, and being very thorough while he does it. When he’s finally finished (it takes him a good three orgasms until he’s satisfied), he enters you slowly. It’s so warm, so intimate, so raw and sweet in the best of ways as he makes slow, tender love to you. Murmuring how you just being in his life is the greatest gift the universe ever gave any man, much less him. The world melts away until it’s just you two, and it isn’t until he gets a message on his commlink that you two realize you’re late for the 501st holiday party. After reluctantly prying yourselves away from each other (after a very steamy shower, that is), the two of you go to the party. Somehow, someone (-coughHARDCASEcough-) got a hold of fireworks. And as the two of you watch the spectacular light show, you eventually notice Rex watching you. The devotion, adoration, pure unconditional love in that man’s eyes moves the galaxy around you. And listen, I’m not saying an engagement happens during the fireworks - but he might say something along the lines of how he wants to spend all of the Life Days to come by your side. (And then you two go back home and BANG some more. There, ended smutty.)
-----------
And that’s it folks! I started this back when I had 101 followers - and didn’t get back to it until the new year. WILD. Sorry for my extended absence. I’ve missed y’all SO much, and I’m hoping to get back into writing soon! I hope everyone had a safe and sane holiday without too much stress, a lot of niceness and a bit of spice. ;) Y’all deserve it! <3
Taglist Sign-Ups: @thefanficsideblog @jabbas-lightsaber @rain-on-kamino @lackofhonor @seeking-kharis
Tagged Just Cuz: @rexxdjarin @ulchabhangorm @sleepingsun501 @boomtowngirl
If you don't wanna be tagged in future stuff, DM me to let me know! Otherwise if you DO wanna be tagged in future stuff, go here!
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Episode 14 Thoughts
Spoilers for TBB Season 2
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AAAAHHHHHH OKAY OKAY I HAVE A LOT OF FEELINGS AAAAAAHHHHH
It's grey. Why does everything have to be grey? Grey never means anything good.
HOWZER?!
Well that answers one of my questions. Howzer was, in fact, able to keep his hair in great condition while being held captive. Good to know.
BUT HOWZER'S BACK AAAAHHHH
I was honestly like "oh no, Lt. Fuckface is back 🙄" and then remembered that he was dead and that this was some other pasty imperial to hate...
Incoming attack? From Echo maybe???
IT'S ECHO!!!
HE HAS RETURNED AAAAAHHHHH I MISSED HIM SO MUCH!!!
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WITH GREGOR!!!
2 new clones, Fireball and Nemec. Ngl, thought they were both gonna die. 😬 Thankfully not!
Oh great, even Mt Tantiss is all grey and gloomy...
This is just a grey, gloomy episode.
ECHO AND CROSSHAIR IN THE SAME EPISODE??? LET'S GO!!!
Hemlock gives me the heebie jeebies. 😖
LEAVE HIM ALONE YOU DICK
Crosshair convulsing in the back of the shot is horrifying. 😭
Echo without a kama feels very weird...
BUT LOOK AT HIS BOOTS!
FUCK YEAH, CROSSHAIR!!!
I have a sneaking suspicion that this isn't actually going to work out...
You can tell he's out of it. Some of his shots miss.
HE'S SENDING A WARNING MESSAGE TO THE BATCH HELP
If you need me, I'll be sobbing in the corner. 😭
Cross... 😭😭😭
Of course Hemlock is immune to his own poison. That's exactly something to expect from a heebie jeebie man.
AND THE BATCH?! I thought they might just turn up right at the end.
Man, we are doing so well for characters this episode. 🥲
What is that thing Wrecker caught???
Wrecker calling Lyana boss. 😭
Hunter still feeling a little iffy about settling down permanently. Interesting but not surprising. 🤔
TECH GIVING OMEGA FLYING LESSONS 😆
He looks so terrified. 🤣
TECH TURN! TECH TURN!
Omega sounding so excited when she says "It's him". Bestie, same. 😭
Echo offering to race Omega back just confirms that Echo is actually a chaotic little shit and I love him for that. 🥰
Echo, mate, you look kinda naked without the kama. I don't know how to feel about it.😭
THE HUG THE HUG THE HUG AAAAHHH MY HEART 😭🥰
Ooooohh are they gonna find out about Cross from the data stick?
Hunter and Echo still not quite on the same page. 🤔
SORRY BUT WHY DOES ECHO ALWAYS LOOK SO SMALL NEXT TO HUNTER??? DID HUNTER CUT THE BOTTOM OF ECHO'S LEGS OFF LIKE WHAT IS THIS???
"When will it be enough?"
Ugh, that hurt. I love what Echo's doing but I am stressed for his life constantly. I'm really worried that something is going to happen to him and that's why Rex is gonna give up the fight. 😭
I don't necessarily think that something will happen to him this season though...
THEY KNOW THE EMPIRE HAVE CROSSHAIR 😭
They got the distress message. 🥲
Okay, I know that them not completely trusting Crosshair's warning is justified but OUCH it hurts to know that he's trying to help them and they don't know if they can believe him. 😭
JUST LEAVE THE POOR MAN ALONE! STOP IT!!! 😭
THAT'S THE END?! NOOOOOO
Oh no... we only have the finale left...
Aaaahhhhh so much happened this episode!
We got Echo back! (No Rex though ☹️). But also Crosshair, and the Batch AND HOWZER AND GREGOR!!! 🥰 Was hoping we would see Wolffe at some point but he could still turn up in the finale. 🤔
Jennifer wasn't kidding about this being a rollercoaster of emotions. I was just swinging back and forth between happiness and pure stress.
And Crosshair was trying to help his brothers. 😭 He still cares about them and now they want to get him back but they don't know if they can trust him and it's all too many feelings my heart can't take it-
I loved this episode. I think Eps 3, 8 and 12 still top it for me, but I was freaking out a lot. I hope Echo continues to have a significant part in the final 2 episodes and I hope that we see Rex again. Also, where's Cody at rn?
Anyway, I hope we get a Batch reunion next week!!!
I'm gonna go and continue to freak out. Hopefully I can focus on Mando this week after all that. 😵‍💫
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deniigi · 1 year
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Cody-Centric Fic Recs
Name of the Game - esama
There's a new Dark Sider on the battlefield, one who has it out for Cody's General.
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Codywan; pre-slash, sith!Obi-Wan
Of Warnings (Ignored) - Trixree
“Listen to me, Kote. Are you listening? Because it is very fucking important that you listen to me right now,” 17 says. He would seize Kote by the chin and make him pay attention, if 17 was looking to get bit on top of all the other pain his body is gifting him with.
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Codywan; Cody is a little shit; Alpha is longsuffering
Bonding Rituals - blackkat
Cody smirks, tilting his head. “Sounds like Fox has a date,” he says, and Rex is suddenly, vividly reminded of the fact that Cody and Fox are batchmates. Something must have gone wrong with the cloning process there, because that much asshole in one batch should be physically improbable. For a moment, he almost feels sorry for Fox.
Then he remembers that Fox yelled at Fives last time they ran into each other during an escort mission on the front, and decides that he actually doesn’t.
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Fox/Obi-Wan, Rex & Cody, Pranks and Practical jokes
sunshine and the shade of poetry - Petrichordiam
 "Sorry sir, but I don't think we've met," Cody said, turning up the friendly customer service representative levels by two points.
 To his delight, there wasn't really any visible change in his general's expression. "Have I neglected to leave an impression on you over the last several years?"
 "I'm not sure you want an honest answer to that question, sir."
===== The war comes to an abrupt end, and everyone around him begins the long road to recovery and discovery. Cody, on the other hand, just needs to find a new job.
Unfortunately, he has no idea what to do next.
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Codywan; Rex & Cody, Coruscant Art Scene, Romance-writer Cody
*And because I am shameless, some of my own fics:
girlboss, gatekeep - deniigiq
Captain Gregor immediately leans his chin on his palm and smiles at Fives. Fives smiles back. He does not perceive this action to be the threat that it truly is.
“That man’s going to kill him,” Jesse says with his neck craned as far as it will go.
“Yep,” Kix agrees solemnly.
“You never know,” Echo says. “He’s squeezed better outcomes out of worse odds.”
(Fives decides that he's going to join the illustrious, mysterious, and oh-so exclusive Commanders Batch, and he's going to start by becoming besties with Commander Cody. Rex cannot stop this trainwreck but he can certainly watch it happen in slow motion - and occasionally he can offer a word or two of advice.)
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background Codywan; Fives & Cody; Rex & Cody, Cody & Command Batch; hijinks and shenanigans
they're neutral - deniigiq
Retired Commander Cody moves into a new neighborhood and becomes furious at the way a nearby roundabout is treated as a dumpsite. He installs a giant Jedi Crest fountain dead in the center of it and accidentally creates a safe place for the diasporic Jedi community to worship.
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light codywan; Cody & Wolffe, Cody & Rex, Home Improvement; Community Development
the time when stars align - qigiined
Lord Vader stands before Cody with a ruined body and asks him between puffing, hissing breaths, how he has found the latest therapy.
Cody explodes.
Never before did he realize how hopeful he was that he would soon die. Never before has he felt so helpless. The only natural process he could depend on has been snatched from his fingers. He is again a young man. His accelerated aging factor has been ‘cured.’
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Codywan; Force-Ghost Obi-Wan; De-aging; Treason
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Chapter 5 -
Cantata
Arabella is the executive assistant for Mercedes Team Principal Toto Wolff. 10 years into her career, it looks like the tide is changing, and she's beginning to question her relationship with him. Is it something more, or nothing but an idea lingering in her head?
F/M, Fluff, Boss/Employee Relationship, Romance, Pining, Love, Slow Burn
Fifth chapter below the cut or click here for AO3
Click here for the previous chapter on Tumblr, and click here for a list of all chapters
(Total: 21735 words thus far)
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Oh? The right time to use a lawyer? You little shit. I immediately went to block his number, but paused. God, maybe he was onto something. He’s right. I can’t talk about my life with anyone, and…would this contract guarantee that he couldn’t say anything? I need a lawyer to read over this contract with a lawyer. I stared at the screen without really doing anything. I felt a sudden tap on my shoulder, I looked over and saw a line of 10 or so engineers. “How’s it going, ATM?” James asked. As one of the trackside engineers, he had been one of those who gifted me the greatest gift any paddock regular can receive: A nickname. 
I suppose Toto and Bono had it easy since it really was just what they had always been called. It was, afterall, really just their names. My nickname was far less affectionate. Both representative of the way the engineers would jokingly ask me to sign off on the paychecks, since they believed I held so much power at Brackley I could do so, and of the way I was also notorious for standing right behind Toto ready to shuffle him off to his next engagement. ATM stood for “Assigned Toto Micromanager.” It did, however, make it impossible to tell over text if they were asking “at the moment” or simply calling me by name. ‘Bono is on the pit wall ATM.’ As in right now or are we just mocking me? Fuck. 
“Good, good. Let’s get the party started,” I smiled. One after another, they filtered through. Of course, at least one of them had forgotten some silly thing they couldn’t bring through customs, turning them into an international smuggler, and I into the negotiator. In many ways, this could easily be one of the silliest parts of my job. Kindly asking a customs agent to overlook the Schumacher memorabilia that brightly displayed “Marlboro” and thus consisted of cigarette advertisements was certainly not in the job description. 
“Now, why would you wear that shirt?” I asked as the offending engineer finally passed through customs.
“I didn’t know it would be a problem!” She answered, throwing up her hands.
“Well, now you do,” I replied, rolling my eyes. She looked tempted to throw me the bird. “Just throw on a sweatshirt.”
“Fine, fine,” She sighed, reaching into her bag and pulling out a sweater.
I put in my ear buds as the line finally came to a close, and I began to walk to the car. I quickly found my playlist. Unlike my father, I was not a fan of Bach, Mozart, or Schubert. Rather Ellington, Corea, and Monk graced my ears. It had pissed off my ex-boyfriend enough that he wrote a song about it. I wish though that listening to that song gave me the giggles rather than could send me into tears. Unfortunately, the song refused to leave me alone. It followed me into stores. It followed me into the paddock. It followed me into every single rewind playlist Spotify gives me every single year. No one allows me to forget that damn song. 
I ran to the car and climbed in, managing to wave down the driver. “Arabella Lazaar, right? Four seasons?” He asked. 
“Yes, yes. Thank you so much,” I answered. I quickly dialed down Toto.
“Hello?” He answered.
“I’m on my way. We have to remind the engineers about clothing requirements at customs again,” I sighed.
“Who was the offender this time?” He laughed.
“Sarah with a Schumacher Senior shirt,” I explained.
“What could be the problem-”
“Marlboro,” I interrupted.
“Ah. Got it. Well, send out the email tonight. Should I meet you in the lobby? I have you checked in already.”
“Already? Sure. I’ll be there in half an hour. Looks like traffic is a mess since everyone’s coming in for testing.”
“Not too bad, Ms. Lazaar. I can make it happen in twenty.”
“Then twenty! He says we can make it in twenty,” I explained to Toto. 
“Then twenty, I’ll see you here in twenty.” I could practically hear him smiling through the phone. “See you soon.”
“See you,” I answered. “Thank you so much.”
“No problem,” The driver answered. 
~
Cathal Lynch’s girlfriend accidentally revealed through new song
Cathal Lynch, lead singer of Irish pop-rock band Four Odd Bottles, has long kept his love life private. For the past 3 years he has referenced his girlfriend at shows and in interviews, but has never revealed her identity. Fan theories have suggested supermodels, ex-classmates, and that perhaps, she doesn’t even actually exist! However, the release of the band's newest song - 4th From the Gate - accidentally revealed her identity. 
Simple references such as “racing stars,” and “dry tires on a wet pavement,” implied to listeners that Lynch may be dating a member of the Formula 1 community. Fans further found that Cathal’s posts on Instagram seemed to be located near or close to locations where Formula 1 races had taken place. None of this directly pointed to the woman who inspires Cathal’s boisterous love songs. However, several final details collided in the perfect storm to reveal her identity.
At the recent Formula 1 Japanese Grand Prix, Lynch took a picture with now 6-time world champion  Lewis Hamilton. This picture, taken from within the garage, told many fans that Cathal Lynch was either a big fan of Mercedes-Petronas, or with the recent song, his girlfriend works for Mercedes. Fans recalled that earlier songs had referenced Cathal Lynch’s girlfriend’s long curly hair, her tanned skin, and even that she may be Dutch. In the background of this picture was Arabella Lazaar - Curly haired, medium skinned, Dutch executive assistant to Mercedes team principal Toto Wolff. 
This afternoon, Cathal Lynch half-confirmed this was a simple Instagram story that showed a long curly hair on his pillow captioned “Always leaving pieces of herself with me. Even the ones she knows I hate.” To many fans, this was all they needed to immediately determine Arabella Lazaar was the woman inspiring Cathal Lynch’s music for the past 3 years. 
Four Odd Bottle’s did not respond to our request for comment.
~
We arrived at the hotel after 10 minutes, on the dot. I thanked the driver and was sure to grab my bags that I had placed in the trunk. As soon as I walked in, Toto was practically waiting by the door. 
“Arabella, haven’t seen you in a while,” He joked. 
“Oh, those two hours must’ve been so tortuous for you,” I spoke, immediately catching myself on the basis it may have sounded just a little bit flirty. Toto didn’t seem to notice though and laughed. 
“You just know they were. Every single minute, I was thinking, oh, how will I know what I am going to do in the next 5 minutes? Oh right, she sent an email, and I am to do absolutely nothing until she tells me what to do.”
“I’m not that bad,” I defended myself.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” He smirked. “Let me take your bags.”
We started walking towards the elevator and he lead me to my room. “I’m right next door, so you can bother me first thing in the morning.”
“And you know I will,” I smiled, taking the key from his hand. “Has someone already checked over your room?”
“I did. I know how to look over my own room.”
“Surprising,” I sassed. I walked in and immediately went to shut the door, but toto caught it with his foot.
“Uh, sorry. Do you mind if I was to finish our earlier conversation?” He asked, sweetly offering me a smile. 
“Oh. Sure. It had already slipped my mind,” I poorly lied. It had stuck in my brain like a leech. “Did you want to step in?” Fuck, why did I say that?
“Sure, sure,” He answered, closing the door behind him. “I just wanted to apologize for interrupting your date last night. I had a few too many drinks at the event, and saw you…and I’m not sure. Something just came over me. And suddenly I recalled you heading up to the room, and I figured, why not just ask? It just wasn’t appropriate and I wanted to apologize.”
“Oh…um…no worries! It wasn’t a date,” I quickly deflected. Why did I say that? Why not just accept the apology? Klootzak. 
“It wasn’t?” Toto asked, seemingly just as surprised at my statement as me. “Oh, well good, I suppose. Not good. Just…yes, okay.”
“Yeah, I was just uh…meeting with my lawyer.”
“Your lawyer ?”
Yes, of course. That was somehow better. I’m planning on suing you, Toto Wolff.
“Just uh…with contract renewal coming up soon. He’s been my lawyer since the incident with Cathal,” I mumbled. I’m very bad at lying. “Just good to have someone on my side.”
“Oh, of course. Well, then, I’m deeply sorry for implying that you were on a date by asking if he was your boyfriend from the Christmas party,” Toto answered.
“Mauricio? No, uh, we split up shortly after that.” Please stop talking, Arabella. Why can’t I just shut up sometimes?
“That's right. Mauricio. I’m sorry about that, though.” Okay, Arabella, take a breath and think for a moment about how you’ll respond. 
“Ah, we weren’t that serious. I’m not bothered. What’s done is done,” I smiled. I do not have the heart nor emotional capacity to tell Toto that Mauricio and I dated for about 3 weeks and had already broken up when I made him come to the Christmas Party with me. I just didn’t want to look lonely. It was a nice deal though. As a massive fan of Lewis, he didn’t mind getting the opportunity to meet everyone on his team. When my ex-boyfriend and I had been together, I rarely let him come to events with me. Of course, the one time I did, all hell broke loose. That’s why I don’t date celebrities anymore. Unfortunately, it being the one time I brought someone with me to the Christmas Party, it had stuck in everyone’s brains and to this day people ask me if Mauricio and I are still together. 
“Regardless, Arabella. That was my point. I apologize,” He smiled. 
“I understand that, and I accept your apology. It really isn’t anything to apologize for though,” I explained. 
“Okay,” Toto sighed. “Can I make it up to you though?”
"Give me a day off, you mean?” I chuckled. 
“We both know you wouldn't accept that. But we have some free time tonight. In exchange for ruining your last dinner, I propose you at least let me buy you dinner. You don’t have to sit down with me or anything, but I can at least buy it for you.”
“Can I think about it?” I asked.
“Think as long as you’d like,” He conceded, throwing up his hands. “I’ll head out. If you want to take me up on the offer, just shoot me a text.”
I nodded and he left out the door. I immediately crashed onto the bed, holding my face in the pillow. Perhaps Jeffrey was right. I did, in fact, desperately need someone to talk to. I looked at the text message again and tried to use the little bit of legalese I knew to understand it. I’m nowhere near a professional but this seems reasonable enough. No part of me wants to just sign this…but what options do I have? I downloaded it and sat on it for a moment, staring at it. I decided to call Jeffrey himself. I might not know legalese but I can interpret bullshit when I hear it. 
“Oh, Arabella. I didn’t expect this,” Jeffrey answered the phone. 
“I know. But, do me a favor here,” I spluttered. “Just…explain to me what all this means. I think I get the idea, but just walk me through it, and I’ll let you know if I have any questions.”
“That’s not a problem. Go ahead. What’s your first concern?”
“I’m not sure what section 1.3 really means. I think it’s saying that your retainer is typically 50%  of expected hours, but since the expected work hours here are unlimited…then the retainer is $50,000? But also since it’s pro bono, there isn’t a retainer?”
“Basically. Here, let me walk you through it. So you see…”
~
“Cathal, I can’t do this,” I cried, burying my head in my hands. “The calling, the texting, the death threats. It just isn’t ending.” I thought I would puke as my phone just continuously buzzed. 
“I know,” He whimpered through the phone. “I’m really sorry.”
“Why did you post that stupid fucking photo?” I begged. “Everyone knows it's me.”
“How the fuck was I supposed to know that they could figure out your god damn name from a picture that barely had you in the background? How the fuck was I supposed to know that, Belle?”
“I don’t fucking know! God, fuck!” I screamed. I could feel my chest getting tight, and suddenly I felt the need to lower my curtains. I could not look at Brackley right now. Absolutely not. “If anyone, and I mean anyone, finds my fucking address I will fucking kill you.”
“Then I’m dead. Because I already have the fucking team paying off paparazzi after paparazzi. I fucking care about you, Belle. I do. Do not blame me for this level of insanity.”
“People want to kill me because I’m dating you. Even though, to them, I’m the reason for all your music. Yet, they want me dead for it.”
“None of them are real, I assure you, Belle,” He tried to calm me down. “None of them. They always send bullshit like this and they never mean it. It’s just one of those great perks of being famous.”
“I do not want to be famous,” I complained.
“Really? Running around with Formula drivers and working for actors and actresses, and dating a fucking musician? No part of you wants to be famous? It sure as fuck seems like you do.”
“No, I do not, Cathal. It’s my job. It’s my fucking job,” I wept. I could feel my tears staining the pillow beneath me. Every inch was slowly becoming covered with tears. I touched it. I had cried so hard and for so long that the other side of it was becoming damp. I would surely have to throw this pillow out. I would have to carry it to the trash in the kitchen, and then drag the bag out to the trash bin. I would have to take the bin to the curb, and make sure it didn’t block the garage, so I could take my car and drive it to work in the morning. I would have to stay at work trying to avoid thinking about this or risk dropping into a sad mess of tears. I would have to drive back home, and be careful not to hit my garbage can if it had shifted since they picked it up. I would then have to get out of my car and drag the bin back into the garage. I would have to do all of this without running into paparazzi because I doubt Cathal’s team could stop all of them. I would have to do all of this without for a second having a panic attack. I would have to do all of this without letting anyone know just how much it had fucked me up.
That to me was the most important factor. No matter what happened and no matter how bad this made me feel, absolutely no one would know how fucked up this had me. Whatever pictures the paparazzi took of me, I would look fucking good. This could be the worst day of my life but there’s no reason for anyone to know except me and Cathal. I pulled myself together as Cathal ranted about my hypocriticism. 
“You know what, Cathal? You can blame me all you want. You can say I’m the reason why my life was ruined. The truth is though, I know you better than anyone else. I know you better than all your fucking fans do. I know that you left all those bread crumbs on purpose. I know that you wanted them to know who I was because you thought it was so silly that I didn’t want to be known. You thought it was so weird that someone could date a magnificent celebrity like you and not just want to date them for their fame. You thought it was so absurd. Why don’t you go fuck a groupie about it? Why don’t you pass some venereal disease all throughout Europe about it? I don’t care anymore. I did exactly as I was told, Cathal. Go fuck yourself,” I spoke, hanging up. I turned my phone off. If someone needs me, they know how to get a hold of me without calling or texting me. I cleaned my face up, and put on a nice bathrobe. I threw the pillow out in the garbage, and made sure my house was clean. I then opened up the blinds. Sure enough, as soon as I did, I saw a camera flash inside a car that was neatly parked outside my house. 
At least I knew that when that picture hit the tabloids, it would be a good one.
~
“And there we go. Everything explained. What do you think?” Jeffrey asked, sounding like he nearly needed to catch his breath. I yawned deeply, becoming sleepy after Jeffrey had managed to run through the entire contract in excruciating detail without stopping.
“I think you really like being a lawyer,” I yawned again.
“I do, yes,” I could practically hear him beaming through the phone. 
“Yeah, really boring for me, honestly,” I deadpanned. “Anyway, yeah, sounds good. I’ll sign it.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. And after I sign it, how long until it goes into effect?”
“Instantly.”
“Great.” I instantly signed the paperwork and immediately returned it to him. 
“Thanks. Just got it.”
“Okay. Should I go to dinner with Toto?”
“Oh-we’re starting right away. Jesus Christ, Arabella. I’m not a magic 8 ball,” Jeffrey answered. “I don’t know if you should go to- wait he asked you out?”
“Asked me out is a strong sentiment,” I explained. “I really hope the walls here aren’t thin.”
“Is he right next to you or something?”
“His room is.”
“Oh my God, Arabella. That man wants you so bad.”
“Fucking hell, Jeffrey. I set up the rooms. Do you know who is also right next to him? Bono. Do you know who is also right next to me? Musconi. Because we’re all taking the same fucking car in the morning,” I explained.
“So…you want him so bad?”
“No, fucking hell, Jeffrey. It was just luck of the draw, I guess,” I replied. “All I did was say we should be on the same floor. In case something went wrong with the car.”
“Fine, fine. Whatever you say. So, he asked you for dinner?”
“Technically. He’s making up for interrupting our date…that I told him wasn’t a date.”
“Rude.”
“Rude? You gave me the idea with the whole ‘contract coming up’ bullshit. I just went with it. I didn’t want him to feel quite so crap for putting me in this situation.”
“Oh, situation? I’m a situation now?”
“Yes, Jeffrey. Yes, you are.” I looked out the window and could clearly see the signs of the impending dust storm. My family didn’t visit Morocco frequently when I was a child, but since we usually visited Marrakech in May, they were incredibly frequent. The wind would start blowing over the desert, and soon the sky would turn to a bright orange, the sand devouring us whole, while my father practically slapped us with face coverings to keep each of us from falling into unstoppable coughing fits. In a particularly bad one, I would stumble over my own feet trying to grab my sister’s shoulder, just to know I had someone with me. 
“You know, this is supposed to be a mutually positive experience.  You get to complain about work. I get to complain about work. Pretty good deal, I think,” Jeffrey argued.
“I think it’s closer to blackmail. Besides, you have given me very little advice in this situation.”
“Well, what exactly did he say, Arabella? Can I call you Bella?”
“You cannot. I’m not a crusty white dog,” I sighed. That was my go to line when someone asked if they could call me Bella. I found it made them far less difficult about it. “He just apologized and said he would make it up for me. I could pretty much take him up on dinner or just let him buy my room service basically.”
“Does…does he not already pay for your food when you travel?” Jeffrey asked. 
“Oh fuck you and your cleverness,” I sighed. “So…do you think it was a date then?”
“I promise you, I’m not trying to play therapist with you, but two things. For someone who says that she’s positive her boss isn’t into her, and she’s positive she isn’t into her boss, you’re awfully preoccupied with whether this is a date or not. Second thing, how would I know? Arabella, I barely know you and this guy. I can make assumptions based on my own knowledge about how I think things work but I can’t just come outright and say ‘Yes, for sure’ based on 3 hours of talking and maybe another hour of having sex,” Jeffrey explained. “You would actually have better luck with a magic 8 ball.”
“I’m really not into him. Just…curious,” I confidently spoke. “I’m 32 and lost out on my one realistic chance of marriage a year and a half ago. I get my hopes up at the slightest bit of attention even if I try to pretend I don’t.” As I spoke, the confidence quickly wore off. 
Jeffrey took a deep sigh. “Cathal, right?”
“I thought you were joking about Googling me,” I laughed, trying to soften the fact that my eyes were welling up with tears. I was over my ex. I had been for a long time. Nonetheless, the way he constantly crept up in my life had a strange way of never allowing old wounds to heal properly. We weren’t together for some crazy long period of time, but fame just wasn’t really for me. He just couldn’t understand that. Eventually, he was over it. Eventually, I was over being disrespected. Having your business out there all the time makes it impossible to ignore everything. Him being a musician means I constantly notice the way I don’t think he’s over me though. Releasing two breakup albums is a bit much, don’t you think? I could forgive one, but a second that was clearly still about me? Freaked me out a bit, if I’m honest. 
“I wasn’t. It was the first thing I saw. Your name plastered over all those headlines. Pictures of your house, pictures of you at races, pictures of you at Brackley. Just everywhere,” Jeffrey explained. 
“Most people forgot about it a long time ago. It was a Shakespearean tragedy in 5 acts for pop culture nerds. For everyone else, it really wasn’t anything.” I hate to admit it, but perhaps Cathal was the reason why I hated staying in Brackley so much. The way the discomfort lingered, and the way I swore sometimes I could smell him on my couch. It was stained with him, practically. Every inch was Cathal, Cathal, Cathal. Guitars on the walls, albums on the shelves, and a closet full of outfits he had worn while touring. It took months of vacuuming to stop finding his cat’s hair. 
“Not you though, huh? I can hear it in your voice,” Jeffrey answered.
“In my voice? Are you talking nonsense again?”
“Do you really think I’m not at all perceptive? I’m a lawyer, Arabella. Stop underestimating my people skills for once, or I’m going to hang up the phone.”
“Fine, fine. You’re right. It hasn’t really left me, partially, because it follows me around everywhere. You yourself said that you found it just by googling my name. Article after article detailing start-to-finish every aspect of our breakup and potential relationship history. None of that to mention that he’s two albums into the breakup and he won’t stop making songs about me.”
“How do you even know they’re about you?” Jeffrey asked innocently.
“The last album had a song called 100 degrees, which was entirely a reference to the perfect tire temp on an F1 tire. Not to mention the song just literally was about how hot I am but for some reason talking about me like I’m a car,” I sighed.
“I bet that didn’t sell well.” 
“Lookup ‘Cathal Lynch objectifies ex-girlfriend quite literally in newest single.’ That one actually gives me quite the giggle,” I told him, thinking about the article. It had some great one liners, such as ‘ He compares her body to a Ferrari, which considering their recent performance in F1, she will certainly take as an insult.’ They were right. I did. 
“Is he trying to win you back?” 
“More like he’s trying to annoy me. Every single time he puts an album out there talking about me, or mentions me at a concert, or talks about it in an interview, it gets my name right back in the tabloids. He knows I hate that. Thankfully, the press doesn’t really care to get my pictures anywhere but F1 races since they know I’ll always be there, and why waste resources when everyone else has seemingly moved on?”
“Except him.”
“Obviously,” I groaned. “Anyway…you’re right. I’ll figure out on my own what to do when it comes to the dinner thing. I need to be a grown up, I suppose.”
“Yes, you should. Now, do you mind if I have my own little moment here about my life?” Jeffrey asked. What am I supposed to say? No? After bitching for very long about everything in my life? It wouldn’t be fair.
“Yeah, of course.”
“Do you know what I hate? More than anything else?”
“Hmm?”
“So many people think I do DaVinci code type shit, and have the tomb of Jesus Christ himself locked away in a vault in Switzerland just because I work for a Swiss Bank.”
“Really? What’s the weirdest thing you have stored away?” I asked.
“I don’t actually know. We don’t ask questions. One client was storing just a single banana, and got pretty mad when the thing went rotten.”
“Did…did they think you would keep it fresh forever?”
“Somehow, yes. It was apparently one of those super rare plant species and his personal fruit tree had grown that singular one that year. I told him we’d buy him a box of those bananas to satisfy him.”
“What? Really? You just had the company shell out that that money just because this dude doesn’t understand a single thing about safety deposit boxes?”
“Y’know, when I was a kid, my dad made me work at Tesco. He wanted me to see how retail worked because he swore that I would otherwise grow up an entitled rich kid. And when I was a cashier, I would sit there and complain about my managers giving random people free things for things that were their fault. Then suddenly, one day he left early, gave me his pin and told me to handle any problems that arose. One customer in, and I realized how much easier it was to just satisfy them with whatever silly request they had even if it wasn't our fault.”
“Nice story, Jeffrey. My parents own a tiny hotel on an island. We weren’t playing poor, we just were. The hotel to this day barely stays afloat. And whenever someone came in and begged for something free or said they were upset with the way the room was cleaned, whatever, my parents would check and make sure it wasn’t their fault. If it wasn’t, they would happily tell them to fuck off,” I storied back to him.
“Alright, Arabella. Whatever you say, huh? You can’t just let someone have an opinion, can you?” He asked.
“That whole story was an opinion? What are you, a Tory?” I joked.
“Oh, shush,” He laughed. 
“Now you tell a woman to quiet up, huh? Jeffrey…tsk, tsk, tsk.”
“Alright, alright. I get it. Well, run off now and figure out what you’re doing tonight. I’ll let you go now.”
“Oh, really? I thought there would be more.”
“I just didn’t want you to feel weird. It’s supposed to be a tradeoff. I wanted to trade,” Jeffrey shrugged.
“You know you don’t have to say something. You can just wait until something happens and then call me,” I explained.
“Except if I turn on Sky Sports and see Mercedes is at the paddock?” Jeffrey asked.
“Unless it’s the race or qualifying, that’s probably the perfect time to call, actually. I’m an assistant, not an engineer, Jeffrey.”
“Oh, right on. Well, I’ll speak with you later, Bella.”
“Nope.”
“Thought I’d get away with it,” He sighed, hanging up the phone. I laughed hearing my phone beep away. As useless as I suppose that conversation was in practicality, in theory, it felt very safe. Somehow, despite the literal contract I had just signed and argument we had last night,  I might as well had been speaking with someone I knew for a decade. Perhaps he knew so much from looking me up that he could truly act like that, or maybe we just truly have the perfect matching energies for a platonic relationship. 
I stared at the door thinking about my next move. I realized that if I did what I wanted to do, I would be locking myself in this room, keeping to my strict comfort zone. I don’t want to do that. I sent off a text to Toto.
Me: I’ll take you up on the offer.
Tags: @daddyslittlevillain
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day0walkersdrafts · 1 year
Text
When they emerge from the car, they are so obviously Xavier’s sisters that it makes his heart crack open. To see himself, reflected in their pale, freckled faces, that shade of red that is so uniquely them. He feels instantly like the world has been put on the correct axis, is spinning the exact way it should. Him there, and them here. Seeing Theresa and Jessica make his arms swing open immediately, an unconscious effort that is purely, hug me, I love you.
And both of them oblige, laughing as they’re scooped into his arms. As he peppers kisses over Jessie’s face and shakes Tess’ shoulder with nothing but affection. They all laugh that same, that big smiling laugh. They have to unwind a little from each other, all three having the same gangly long limbs.
“Did you enjoy the show?” He’s asking her, a hand planting itself on top of her head. She’s shot up a few inches since the last time he saw her—which was admittedly too long ago. Her mascara is running off, because she’d tried not to cry and failed. Jessie sniffs and rubs at her eyes and nods happily.
“Enjoyed is an oversimplification—I think she lost her fucking mind.” Tess nudges Jessie with an elbow, which makes her little sister swat at her in typical little sister fashion.
“Is this merch?” Xavier holds Jessie by the shoulders, glancing down at the black hoodie she has thrown over herself, large but short, because she’s getting far too tall. The way all Wolffe children seem to get. “Stop. Don’t tell me you bought this. I could have gotten you free shit, Jess.”
“I wanted to support the band.” She’s pouting at him, childish and authentic. Sometimes, he cannot unsee her as a toddler, wandering around the living room with those uncoordinated arms thrown out around her. In the dark lighting of the the venue parking lot, roped off for privacy, she is clearly a pre teen and wildly growing. He pets down her choppy pixie cut and the affection he has for her makes him feel almost melancholy. Missing all those years of her life, like he had before.
“Is that Tess fucking Wolffe?” Lark jumps from the tour bus stairs, landing deftly into a jog.
“In the flesh,” she replies, before dissolving into more laughter as Lark snatches her up around the middle. Even though she’s six-foot-even and he’s topped out at five-seven, she’s easily hefted and falls forward a little over him as he does. She’s got a hand up, waving and Xavier glances behind to see Matilda. At the sight of her, Jess slips closer to Xavier bashfully.
Are you at that stage? Xavier wonders. Where everything seems to be embarrassing and awkward. He pets her hair again, turning away from Lark chattering Tess’ ear off to face Matilda.
“This is Jessie.” She’s met Tess before—Lark’s a fond and familiar Wolffe friend. He’d crashed in their house for almost a year when he’d been kicked out as a teenager and Xavier’s mother had informally adopted the boy into the redheaded brood. It was why Lark had been easy to connect with in the aftermath of—well. The aftermath. Matilda struts over in her confident, beautiful way, making Jessie’s eyes go bigger and bigger. She holds out a hand.
“Matilda, but my friends call me—”
“Mati,” Jess answers, eagerly scooping that hand up and shaking it with enthusiasm. “I’ve watched your interviews.”
“Okay, don’t lead with that,” Xavier jokes, shaking Jessie’s shoulders. She’s absolutely undeterred. References specific ones, asks questions about keyboards (“I play trombone in the school band.” “That’s so fucking cool.” “Really?” And Jessie looking like she might cry again) while Xavier’s eyes skate toward the bus. Land on Mouse standing there. For a moment, he sees something very lost in her eyes, very human and almost painful before she cleans it off with a sneer.
“Security,” she laughs in her sarcastic rough voice. “You didn’t tell me your older sister was so hot.” Tess bumps against Xavier’s shoulder as she comes closer, eyes sliding toward him. Xavier thinks distantly of the text messages they’ve exchanged about this group of musicians, and his never ending vent on how frustratingly rude Mouse could be.
“That’s so sweet of you.” She slings an arm around Xavier’s torso, pulling them closer. “People used to confuse Xavier and I for twins, so it’s kind of awkward that you’re essentially calling my little brother hot too. But I take compliments, sure.”
Mouse is instantly disarmed, her hands in her giant denim jacket and her eyes blinking. Xavier has to put a hand over his mouth to conceal a smile, otherwise it might goad her into finding her tongue again and saying something mean back. Instead, Mouse’s attention diverts to Jessie.
“You’re wearing my design!” It makes his little sister explode with excitement immediately, nearly a jump to her. She’s taller than Mouse and Xavier feels wounded watching her round her shoulders, hunch a little. He wants to tell her not to. Don’t start doing that now, or you’ll never stop trying to make yourself smaller. “Do you want to see the prototypes for the next merch drop?” Mouse slinks her hand around Jessie’s, her smile that ever present giant, somewhat devious in it’s cut across her face.
“No,” Xavier says immediately, shaking his head, and Jessie makes a wounded sound. He feels his shoulders hunching up with tension, eyes glaring at Mouse’s innocent wide stare. “No, c’mon, Jess. They just got done a show. They’re tired. We have to drive for like five hours tomorrow—”
“Whose tired?” Matilda’s arms sling over Jessie’s shoulders, pulling her in for a backward hug. “I’m not tired.”
“Never been tired a day in my fucking life,” Mouse quips, walking backward with her hand still on Jessie’s. His little sister looks downright star struck, trailing after them with a big, open mouthed smile.
“I can go on the bus! I can go on the bus?” She looks at him, pleading up hearts in her eyes to convince him. That’s something she never seemed to forget; how easy Xavier could be plied if she gave him big, wet, sad eyes. Maybe he’d spoiled her as a kid. That’s not your kid, he tries to remind himself. That’s just your little sister. You were a kid too.
“Mouse,” Xavier’s voice becomes low, threatening. He watches the door to the bus swing open. His heart skips a little at the peak of a brown hand.
“Oh relax,” Tess says, waving them on. “Like Matilda’s gonna let anything bad happen.”
Xavier watches a glimpse of long, curly brown hair—as if Benji is poking himself outside to see what all the noise is and he instantly turns to Tess. His heart feels like its doing more than just skip.
“Come smoke with me,” Xavier says, grabbing her elbow and twisting her around toward the back of the bus.
“Sorry, it’s all I have.”
He grimaces at the cherry flavored nicotine vape, but accepts it anyway. They lean against the back bumper, effectively away from the noise of the concert goers leaving. He should be around front, helping the rest of security to herd people away from the bus. He should be on that bus, making sure no ones giving Jessie candy or red bulls—which Mouse has in stock up to her fucking eyeballs.
Instead, he leans beside his older sister, puffing away at that disgusting little vape. It tastes funny on his tongue and makes him oddly thirsty. But it is a satisfying and instant hit that makes his hands stop shaking a little.
“I forgot she was such a big fan,” Xavier admits as he passes the vape back to Tess, who promptly hits it and billows white, thick vapor. “Even before Lark got me the job.”
“She has a poster of Matilda on her wall,” Tess replies with a laugh. “I forgot that they were so popular. It’s like one day Lark went from being a guy who slept on our couch to being,” she peeked around the bus and then back to Xavier.
“Yeah, it’s weird,” he instantly agrees, nodding and gesturing for her to give him the vape back. They stay like that for a moment, comfortably quiet. Xavier is, with no exaggeration, actually exhausted. He did front line duty, which meant he stood in front of the stage and constantly had to push people backward and sometimes, people hated him for that. Sometimes, people got a little too friendly because of that. He moves a hand through his hair, feeling sweat build up and sighing.
“Why are you trying to keep me from meeting Benji?”
The vape clatters to the ground, making Xavier swear and instantly dive to pick it up.
“I dunno what you mean—”
“I have literally known you since birth.” Tess takes the vape out his hand and shoves it into her pocket. Xavier hates that this is her, I mean business gesture. “You are the least subtle man in the world. He was about to hop off the bus and we walked around the entire thing to avoid him.” Xavier clears his throat and without something to hold, instantly starts fiddling with his own fingers. Laces them together and unlaces them and cracks tired and aching knuckles.
“Uh,” he laughs. “He’s tired. That’s all. After a show, he has to ice his hands and do like—stretches for them. It’s rough.”
“Oh,” Tess draws the word out, nodding. “Stretches.” She lifts her hands and splays them out. “How so?”
“Like this.” He imitates Benji’s routine hand stretches, shakes them out when he’s done.
“Fascinating. Does he have a favorite color?”
“I think it’s green.” Tess snorts, making Xavier frown and pull at his hands again.
“And how does he take his tea?” She asks, shoulder knocking into his.
“He doesn’t drink American tea—wicked snobby about that. He picks up iced black coffee when—Hey. Stop that.” Xavier pushes himself off the bus and stands in front of Tess with an accusatory finger pointed her way. She is grinning, her eyes bright and delighted up at him. “You’re fuckin’ evil, Tess.”
“What? Sue me. It’s fun watching you talk about him in person.”
Xavier thinks about their text messages and how Mouse’s annoyances were not the only thing they talked about. How Benji’s name flicks across those little blue bubbles more often than maybe it should. How once, Xavier had sent her a candid photo of him, a beer glass up to his mouth and eyes swayed to the left while he listened to Matilda. He’d been unable to open that text message chain for the rest of the night, because if he did, he’d get stuck staring at the photo he’d taken and sent. Benji had looked that fucking beautiful in it, the low bar lighting making his skin look rich and warm. He had eyelashes long enough to cast fucking shadows on his cheekbones.
“It reminds me of Dara. You haven’t dated anyone since then—”
“Don’t bring her up,” Xavier says, his stomach souring. He wants to think about that picture (the shadows of eyelashes, of his hand around that pint glass, wet with condensation), but the mention of her name reminds him of that slim engagement ring that still sits in the dresser of his childhood bedroom. Sometimes, the weight of it feels like a physical reminder of how he’d been so naive before the military. How he’d been so young, he’d thought he’d marry his high school girlfriend.
And thinking about her makes him think about the marines and makes him think of things he keeps trying not to think about.
“I just want to at least meet the fucking guy you’re dating, Xavier.”
“We’re not dating,” he replies, sliding his hands into his back pockets and staring at the ground. “We are—” His hand, that he’d only just pocketed immediately slides up to his neck instead, palming the back of it. “Why does it matter?”
“Well, I would like to make sure he’s cool.”
“He’s a drummer, of course he’s cool.”
“I want to make sure he’s kind. And I want to know what he’s like and make sure that—”
“Why are you being so fucking weird right now, Tess?”
She stands up, instantly defensive. They are too similar like this. Both of them very obviously their father’s children. He only has three inches on her, but he still straightens, because it makes him feel better. And Tess, who is well versed in that stance, glares at him instead. Refuses to correct her posture and give in. She folds her arms instead, across his chest. Neither of them have gotten loud yet, and it’s most likely because the ghost of their little sister lingers inside the bus they are directly outside of.
“Is this because you had to be the one to pick me up from the base hospital?” Xavier accuses her, without actually meaning it, and yet it’s something that has lingered on his tongue for years. Always there, always waiting for a moment. Tess’ anger drops instantly, her eyes blinking up at him, bright, clear and the same shade of green as him.
“What do you mean?”
“I know I was fucked up, okay?” Both Xavier’s hands brush back through his hair then, his chest slowly heaving out a long and shaky breath. “I get that I was—like, I wasn’t okay after I broke my ribs and got discharged. And I’m—I’m really fucking sorry you had to be the one to help, alright? But you don’t have to act like I’m going to fall apart all the time now.”
Tess’s arms unfold and all the anger in her seems to slice off like water wicked away. She reaches out, like an offering and Xavier’s cheeks go hot as he puts his in hers. She squeezes it.
“You think I’m worried about you because you have PTSD?”
Xavier hisses, stepping toward her.
“Don’t say that so loud.”
“Don’t call me loud,” she snaps back and then instantly laughs, with her head back, eyes crinkled and almost crying. “And don’t make me angry again, Xavier. Fuck, you are so good at making people angry, you know that?” She folds both her hands around his and shakes it angrily. He loosens, watching her.
Theresa had been his savior as a kid. She had been his whole world. They really had been called twins, their sullen middle sister, Emily easily tucking herself away with a book. They’d been elbow to elbow in every single mischievous moment he could remember from childhood, convincing her to follow occasionally.
When he had joined the military, she had been the one to drop him off at the bus station that would take him away and irrevocably change him forever. She had also been the one to pick him up from the base he’d been transferred too, with bones inside him that would permanently hurt forever.
“I’m not worried about you because of what happened before. I’m worried about you because you’re my little brother. You’re always going to be my little brother. Even when you’re wicked fucking tall, and wicked fucking annoying.” She shakes his hand again with every wicked and stares at him with such a loving glare.
“Okay,” Xavier says, his mouth dry and his eyes decidedly not dry. “Uh, that’s kind of why I was avoiding you meeting Benji. You’re like, very intense sometimes, Tess.” They both laugh at that, her finally letting his hand go and reaching for the vape in her pocket. Xavier swipes a hand under his eye and groans and rubs his shoulder. She hits the vape and he looks around the bus and instantly freezes.
“Hi,” Benji raises a hand. Xavier makes a strange noise in reply and then clears his throat.
“Were you—”
“No, just stepped out.”
They stare at each other for a moment. Benji’s hair looks wild, all long and pretty and messy. It gets like that, after shows and Xavier likes to tame it down himself. Likes brushing fingers through it, laughing at snags in the curls and likes feeling Benji shift against him as he does—Xavier blinks a few times before he remembers his sister behind him.
“This is Theresa.” He gestures awkwardly as she slides around the bus. “She goes by—”
“Tess. My sister watched a compilation of you cursing during interviews the entire ride to the show. I like your accent.” Benji snorts—which is decidedly a good sign, because it’s one of his amused snorts. His brown eyes are beautiful when they turn on him again and they make his heart squeeze painfully.
“Yeah, little sisters askin’ for a sibling.” Xavier glances to Tess, who starts forward before Benji lifts one of his hands. “Nah, asked for Xavier.” The parking lot has vacated entirely, so it’s quiet except for a little stir of wind. There’s a group of security guards talking not too far away, sharing a few laughs around gifted beer. It is not louder than his heart in his ears. Xavier laughs and its an awkward sound.
“Okay,” he says awkwardly. As he passes by Benji, he feels the back of the drummers hand brush over his—this small comfort carries him all the way onto the tour bus.
Jessie is firmly asleep in the passenger seat of Tess’ car hours later. Xavier has to lean in and kiss her temple and she doesn’t move when she does. Her cheeks are still pink from the nights excitement. She’d been fawned over, naturally. Xavier hadn’t needed to worry about her on the bus—well, she had crashed from all the candy and at least one red bull, but she’d been taken care of. Had a new hoodie prototype that wasn’t released yet. Signed CD from Ewan. More pictures than she needed of herself and the band.
Tess gives Xavier a hug before she goes. Refuses to answer a single whispered question about what her and Benji had discussed outside—they’d been out there for a while. The entire time Xavier had tried not to press his ear to the bus window and listen.
When the car pulls away, he’s still waving long after it’s gone.
“She’d get along with Saha,” Benji says beside him.
“Which one?” Xavier looks over at him. He has to tilt his head down a little. Benji hasn’t looked up yet, watching that car turn tiny in the distance. Xavier has that urge to pet that hair down, even now. When Benji does look up, he doesn’t manage to get out an answer before he’s being kissed.
It has none of that usual, open mouthed neediness they usually have for each other. When Xavier’s hand touches Benji’s neck, slides up and cups his cheek, they stay soft. There’s not even tongue, just two mouths pressed together in joint, pleasant intimacy. Xavier pulls away and even still, he’s breathing a little harder. Not the kissing that does it. The closeness. His thumb caresses over Beji’s cheekbone.
Then he pulls away and looks up at the night sky. His hand pulls away because he’s awkwardly shoving it into his pocket, his other trying to desperately correct his messy mop of red hair.
“Uh, Benji,” he starts. He risks a glance down, but Benji has pressed in closer, so they’re chest to chest—or rather so that Benji’s chin is notched into his sternum. He looks up at him and makes Xavier’s heart feel too big for his ribcage. Xavier laughs and puts his hand back to Benji’s cheek. “Would, uh,” he starts again and pauses. Benji’s defined brows raise a little. “Are we—uhm.”
Xavier laughs again and folds a hand over Benji’s eyes.
“Please, dude, I can’t handle when you look at me like that.”
“M’not doin’ anythin’—”
“You are looking at me, man. Like, looking at me so hard.”
Xavier’s hand drops away, revealing those dark brown eyes again. The drummers cheeks are a little darker, his skin turning ruddy on his cheekbones. He feels Benji’s arms sliding around his waist, hands dipping into his back pockets so he can’t get away. He doesn’t mind being trapped like that. Outside, in the night air, in an empty parking lot. It reminds him of the first time they ever kissed. The hand he’d used to conceal that beautiful gaze slowly winds into his hair, cups the back of Benji’s skull.
“Are we dating?”
“Yeah,” Benji’s reply is immediate. His smile has gone from it’s usual snarky, crooked grin to something so big and beautiful that Xavier memorizes it instantly. He’ll recall that smile as often as he can, whenever he needs it. Because it’s his, this is his smile, one that Xavier has never seen Benji give to anyone else.
He means to say something sweet or romantic or articulate. But that smile has obliterated any chance of stringing together words. Instead, he leans in—
“Get on the fuckin’ bus, what the fuck?” Lark’s voice cuts out through the parking lot, making them jump. “It’s four in the morning! Bunny is going to fucking kill us!”
Benji laughs, hands squeezing against Xavier’s ass in his pockets and making him jump a little and laugh too. And they continue laughing, even over the loud lead singers laughing—and the only thing that stops that laugh is another kiss until Lark decides he has to step off and physically drag them back.
The next day Lark finds them, both sleeping in that shitty top bunk cot that Xavier drew the unlucky short straw. He’s not tall enough to see them directly, but one of Xavier’s pale arms is dangling down and there’s a dark brown one fixed against the side of his friend’s face.
“They can’t be comfortable,” he mumbles as Matilda slides behind him. She’s putting her sleepy nose against his shoulder and kissing the fabric of his shirt.
“He can sleep anywhere.”
“Which he?” Lark watches Xavier’s fingers twitch, wonders if he’s having a good dream.
“Both.” His eyes transfer to his girlfriend as she lounges out on the tour bus couch, one hand over her tired eyes. Her shirt is lifted a little, revealing her pale, pretty hip bones. He spares Xavier and Benji one last thought, in the form of a text message sent to Tess that says ‘THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU FINALLY THANK YOU’ before he slinks his way over to Matilda.
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cloneshipping7567 · 9 months
Text
Romantic Confessions Part 11
Part 11/30
11. "Don't make me say it. I can't say the words."
Pairing: Cody x Wolffe
Rating/WC: T/2614
Warnings: none
I struggled with this one nil ;-; I hope you like it!
~~~
They’re drunk; way more drunk than they should be. It’s giving Wolffe hives, seeing how reckless his men are behaving. Just imagining the look on General Koon’s face is enough to make Wolffe growl at the poor shiny who was ordering drinks while standing next to Wolffe’s seat at the bar. 
As the shiny is scurrying away,a hand claps on his shoulder harshly, and Wolffe turns to snarl at the intruder before he realizes who’s touching him. “Relax, vod. You’re on leave, they can have fun. You can have fun.”
“Says you,” Wolffe grumbles, but he turns on his stool to face Cody. “I don’t think you’ve ever relaxed a day in your life.”
Cody glares at the person in the stool next to Wolffe until they get the hint and run off, before taking the now vacant seat and turning his frown to Wolffe. “I had plenty of fun as a cadet.”
“You’re just lucky you picked your name before we could give you a nickname,” Wolffe says, wishing he had been as lucky. “Or we would have named you Uptight.”
Cody scoffs. “I did like to have fun, I just liked to have fun in ways where I wouldn’t get caught or were allowed by the rules.” He suddenly grins, all teeth, and Wolffe narrows his eyes. “I liked beating the shit out of you on the mats. That was plenty fun.”
Wolffe snarls, taking a swig from his drink. “You weren’t that much better than me.”
Cody’s grin widens, and Wolffe is temporarily distracted by how handsome Cody is when he’s genuinely happy. “The only times you ever won were when you bit me, and those times don’t even count because you got disqualified for cheating.”
Wolffe grins back, showing off the teeth that earned him his name. “All is fair in love and war,” he snarks. 
Cody rolls his eyes. “We weren’t at war yet, asshole.” 
Wolffe forces a laugh, taking another drink and raising his finger for another. “What do you want to drink?” Wolffe narrows his eyes. “Wait, can you drink? You aren’t on leave, are you?” 
“Nope,” Cody says, shifting on his stool. “General Kenobi had to meet with the council, and while Coruscant is a little bit out of our way to our next station, it’s not bad enough to go straight there and meet up with him after. So the 212th is refueling and getting more supplies and such while they have their meeting.”
Wolffe takes his new drink, and wraps his hands around it. “What are you doing here, then?” he asks, gesturing to the bar in general. 
Cody grins again, kicking Wolffe lightly on the shin. “I can’t just want to visit my favorite commander named after an animal?”
“I’m telling Fox you said that,” Wolffe says, smiling when Cody curses softly. He takes another sip, before putting the glass down. 
“I just wanted to see you,” Cody clarifies, his smile still in place. “And I have several hours to kill until I’m expected back on the ship.”
“How did you know I would be here?” Wolffe asks, even though he already knows the answer. It’s 79’s; where else would clones be on leave on Coruscant?
Cody doesn’t dignify the question with a response. “Do you wanna get out of here?” Cody asks, eyes taking on that specific glint that always used to end with Wolffe in trouble, one way or the other. 
Cody may have found ways to not get caught, but Wolffe was always the one who straggled behind and had to take the heat. Cody would always apologize after, but he never stopped inviting Wolffe to tag along- and therefore take the fall when the Kaminoans caught on. 
“And go where?” Wolffe asks, finishing off his drink and pushing it up the bar, closer to the bartender. 
Cody only smirks and stands up, winking once at Wolffe and making his way to the exits.
Wolffe watches him go for a minute, internally debating. There is a very real chance he could get arrested tonight if he goes with Cody. 
Fuck it, the commander of the guard is his batchmate. He’ll risk it. 
He tries to catch up to Cody, and glares at anyone who hinders his progress. The best part of his massive scar is how easily his bitch face gets people scrambling now. He follows Cody out of the club, just in time to see him hailing a cab. 
“Come on,” Cody says, opening the door and encouraging Wolffe to go in first. Wolffe narrows his eyes at Cody, but the other clone simply smirks and gestures to the open door with his head. 
Wolffe sighs and climbs in, resigning himself to his fate. “I’m regretting implying you were a buzz kill.”
Cody laughs, a genuine one, and it makes Wolffe’s lips involuntarily spread into a smile. “Oh, just wait until you actually see what we’re doing. You haven't had anything to regret yet.”  
Wolffe swallows thickly, and Cody laughs and gives the cab driver an address. “Where are we going?” he asks. 
“You’ll see,” Cody says, a cocky smirk replacing the genuine smile. “You’ll love it.”
Wolffe isn’t sure about that, but he chooses not to comment on it. Instead, he makes small talk for the duration of the trip. They talk about what they’ve been up to, how their battalions are doing, how their generals are doing. General Kenobi is still as crazy as ever, and Cody is going to shove his lightsaber up his ass if he loses it again. 
They finally make it to their destination, and Wolffe is surprised to find a hotel. “What are we doing here?” Wolffe asks, turning to give Cody an inquisitive look. 
“I got a hotel room,” Cody says, leading the way inside and towards the elevator. “Something about how Kenobi is ordering me to take a real break, and I’ll find something to do if I stay on the ship; blah blah blah.”
Wolffe hums softly, still feeling like none of his questions have answers. “Okay…so why are we here?”
Cody rolls his eyes, pushing the button to take them to the correct floor. “To hang out, obviously.”
Wolffe purses his lips. “I’m failing to see how I’ll regret this. Or why I’ll love it.”
Cody doesn’t answer, simply walks out of the elevator the second the doors open, and walks to the correct room. He unlocks the door and pushes his way in, holding the door open for Wolffe. “You never trust me.”
“On the contrary,” Wolffe says, taking in the inside of the hotel after walking past Cody. “Trusting you blindly is what got me into trouble as a cadet. If anything, I trust you too much.” 
Cody hums and walks further into the hotel. He turns on his heel and grins at Wolffe, and it’s toothy and a little silly looking and it makes Wolffe’s stomach warm and flutter. “Well? What do you think?”
Wolffe cocks his head to the side in slight confusion, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s a hotel room.”
Cody sighs dramatically, his smile faltering. “It’s private. When’s the last time you had any true privacy? When no one even knew where you were, if they really wanted to bother you? Kenobi is the only person besides us who knows where this place is, let alone that I even have a hotel room, and he’s got his own duties.”
Wolffe thinks about it, and then smiles. It has been a long time since he had some privacy, when no one needed anything from him and there was zero possibility someone would interrupt him. “I guess that is pretty nice.”
Cody shifts his weight, and the movement is so strange coming from Cody. Cody is always so sure of himself; it’s weird seeing him feel displaced. “Are you hungry?” Cody asks. 
Wolffe blinks, uncrossing his arms and scratching the back of his head. “I could eat.”
Cody smiles again, and stands up a bit straighter. “Good, because I got food. Go sit at the table, I’ll get it ready.”
Wolffe laughs, shaking his head fondly but taking a seat at the dining room table. It’s a nice table, and the view is gorgeous; there’s a giant window where the table is pressed up against, and the setting sun is beautiful to look at. “You sure know how to treat a guy,” Wolffe teases Cody, and expects some jab in response but is met with only silence. 
Wolffe tears his eyes away from the view, forcing himself to look over at Cody. The other clone is bustling around the kitchen, and the sounds of metal hitting metal and glasses clinking fills the silence. Cody seems to be out of his element here, cheeks a bit flushed and his movements jerky and flustered. 
Wolffe wants to offer to help, to do something to make Cody relax, but Cody is done before Wolffe figures out how to ask without embarrassing Cody. 
Cody brings over two plates, filled with some sort of noodle dish, and places one in front of Wolffe and one in front of his own empty seat. He returns to the kitchen for just a moment before he comes back in with two glasses and a bottle of very nice looking wine. 
“Where did you get that?” Wolffe asks, allowing Cody to pour them both a glass before placing it in the middle of the table.
“It was a gift,” Cody says, cheeks still a bit flushed as he takes his seat. “Got it a while back, actually. I was saving it.”
“What’s the occasion?” Wolffe asks, because he doesn’t know what else to say to that. It’s just dinner; dinner with Wolffe, of all people. He hardly feels like all this trouble and a gift of expensive looking wine is worth Wolffe being on leave. 
Cody’s eyes snap to Wolffe’s, and the slight panic there sets Wolffe on edge. “I…” he clears his throat, and Wolffe has literally never seen him this unsettled and nervous before. Not even when they graduated and  became official commanders. “I just wanted to share it with you.”
Wolffe shrugs, attempting to let Cody off whatever hook he’s managed to worm himself onto. “Thank you,” he says, taking a sip. It’s good; much better than anything Wolffe has ever had before. 
Cody gives Wolffe a small smile, and then takes a sip of his own. “Mm. I’m glad I saved it, it tastes better than I thought it would.”
Wolffe hums in agreement, putting the glass down and taking a bite of the food Cody made for them. He grans at the taste; not only is it real food and not rations, it’s fucking delicious food. “Mm, Cody, this is great! Where did you get it from? I’ll have to take the boys there next time we have leave.”
“I-I made it, actually.” Cody clears his throat and takes another sip of his wine.
Wolffe raises a brow. “I didn’t know you cooked.”
“I don’t,” Cody says, and then looks down to his dish. “Normally. I learned how, so I could make this.”
Wolffe puts his fork down, studying Cody, who shoves a giant bite of food into his mouth and stares pointedly out at the sunset. “Cody…what’s going on? What is all of this?”
Cody chews slowly, and swallows loudly. He buys himself even more time by taking a sip from his wine, licking his lips and carefully setting it down. He finally makes eye contact with Wolffe, opening and closing his mouth as he decides what to say. 
Wolffe cocks his head to the side, crossing his arms over his chest. “Is something wrong?”
Cody makes a frustrated noise, looking down at his own plate. “No, why would something be wrong? I was-I was trying to do something for you.”
Wolffe sighs. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, Codes. This is really great. It just seems…like it’s not something you would normally do.”
Cody grabs his wine and takes a long sip, cheeks flushed just a bit. He puts it down and sighs, putting his hands in his lap. “I’m sorry, this was a stupid idea.”
Wolffe sighs again, relaxing his arms. “It’s not stupid, it’s just-I was just wondering why you’re doing it for me. This is all really nice, Codes.”
Cody looks at Wolffe, and he looks much more like himself again. He’s giving Wolffe the ‘you can not be this stupid right now’ look he usually reserves for shinies or Fox. “I don’t want you to humor me. You can just leave, if you want.”
Wolffe bristles at the sudden coldness, folding his hands into fists and resting them on the table. “I wouldn’t even know what I was humoring, Cody. I’m not trying to be an asshole here, I’m just confused.”
Cody works his jaw, looking back to his plate. “I just wanted to impress you, make you happy.”
“Why?” Wolffe asks, growing impatient. “It’s just me, I’m nothing special.”
Cody sighs in annoyance, looking up at Wolffe with the furrow between his brows he only gets when he’s really angry. “Don’t make me say it. I can’t say the words.” 
Wolffe scoffs, feeling just as upset as Cody now. “Spell it out for me Cody, since you’re so much smarter than me.”
Cody sighs and rolls his eyes, and then he stands up. “You’re not-” he cuts himself off with another huff and stands over Wolffe. 
Wolffe glares up at him, narrowing his eyes in annoyance. “If you would just use your big boy words instead of-” Wolffe cuts off abruptly, eyes going wide. 
Cody runs his fingers along Wolffe’s jaw, moving down to hook under his chin and gently lift so he’s looking up at the other clone. “Wolffe,” Cody says softly, using his other hand to run through Wolffe’s hair. 
Wolffe’s eyes flutter as he tries to understand what’s happening. Everything suddenly makes a lot more sense–if Cody is about to do what he thinks Cody is about to do. 
He does. 
Cody leans down and connects their lips in a chaste kiss, not pushing for anything, just saying without words what he’s been skirting around all night. 
Cody was right to give him the ‘you idiot’ look, earlier; in hindsight, it’s very obvious what Cody was doing. 
Wolffe almost chases Cody’s lips when he pulls away, but instead bites his lower lip and look into Cody’s eyes. “Oh,” he whispers, reaching up to cup the back of Cody’s neck and denying him the ability to retreat any further. “Oh, I get it now.”
Cody snorts and rolls his eyes, and the smile is so fond and genuine and Wolffe never wants that smile to leave Cody’s face. “I wasn’t trying to be subtle.”
Wolffe hums in agreement. “You love me,” he says instead of arguing, like he normally would. He watches Cody’s eyes widen just a fraction, and smiles back at him. “I love you too.”
Cody’s expression melts into something warm and dopey, and his eyes light up with that same warmth he had earlier in the bar. “Finish your dinner, before it gets cold,” he says softly, almost playfully. 
“If that’s what it takes for you to kiss me again,” Wolffe says, watching Cody take his own seat again. 
Cody laughs, grabbing his glass and taking a sip, but this time he doesn’t hide behind it; this time, he keeps eye contact with Wolffe over the rim. 
Wolffe has a feeling he’s in for quite the treat tonight; they do have the entire hotel room all to themselves all night long, after all.
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starlightrows · 2 years
Text
5 — Shore Leave
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Hiding In Plain Sight
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Pairing: Commander Wolffe x reader
Word Count: 4.3k
Warnings: Shower sex, a little bit of dirty talk, cream pie, mention of masturbation, some mention of grieving
Summary: You and Wolffe get the opportunity to spend some quality time together outside of your duties to the war
Massive thank you and shout out to my friend Vee @thefact0rygirl for beta reading for me!
After General Plo leaves the training room, the team stays for a bit. It’s not often the whole team has time to just sit around together. It’s strange because even though all of you are sad and mourning Mav, the atmosphere of the room is somewhat positive. Somehow a conversation blossomed that’s now led to the entire squad discussing things that genuinely make them happy.
“... and sometimes when we pass through a village, I see the people beating on drums or picking at strings, I just want to do it too” Cricket shares
“Just wait until you get to go to 79’s tomorrow night” Comet chuckles “If you like music, you’re going to love it”
You and some of the more seasoned men in the circle chuckle in agreement.
“I want to be a pilot!” Jag blurts out over the laughter. Everyone gets quiet and looks towards Jag, who’s been uncharacteristically quiet and more anxious than usual.
“You want to be a pilot?” Wolffe asks raising an eyebrow
Jag looks wildly embarrassed with all eyes turned on to him. He fidgets with the skin around his thumbnail for a moment then looks up at Slush “I wanted to get trained to be a pilot since I was a cadet” he says “I applied six times, and never got chosen”
After a long beat of silence Slush smacks his knee “Well shit kid, I’ll teach you”
Jag looks up at him, looking hopeful and slightly shocked “Really?”
“I don’t see why not. That good with you Commander?” Slush asks looking to Wolffe for permission that will obviously only be given as a formality
“Not a problem with me” Wolffe shrugs his shoulders
“Thanks guys” Jag says with a smile
“Anyone else have a secret wish to change their specialty?” Wolffe asks the room, no one gives an answer “In that case then, I think we all need to get some shut eye”
There is a general murmur of agreement, as the men stand up from their seats on the floor and head out of the training room back towards the barracks. You and Wolffe hang back a bit, and walk towards the officers quarters.
“So… Do you have any shore leave rituals or favorite spots?” you ask
“I’ve been known to make an appearance at 79’s” He admits “Not much else than that though. You?”
“Well, I don’t really care to stay on base when I’m on leave. You remember that friend of mine that loaned me the dress I wore that stupid award gala?” You remind him “She owns a really nice hotel on one of the mid levels. She usually gives me a pretty good deal, and I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if I brought a guest”
“Never stayed in a hotel before” he raises a brow. Clones do not have a salary or a form of income, the only things they can really do when they have shore leave is go to places like 79’s that are free and open to all.
“In that case I’m about to spoil you rotten” you tease “that is, if you want to come with me”
“I could do with a little luxury” he says with a little smirk. The two of you arrive at the junction where you have to part ways to get to your separate rooms. You bid him goodnight, and agree to meet outside the GAR building the next morning.
You manage to get some sleep but wake up feeling a little anxious about the day. It’s a good feeling, pulling out your civilian clothes again. Denim jeans, comfortable socks, shirts you feel confident wearing. Items you are not permitted to wear on base even when you are not on duty. It makes you sad that the men are not even allowed to own personal items at all. But wars can not last forever.
You choose something comfortable and casual to wear, not really having a plan for what to do for the day yet. It’s one thing to have a secret fling with your commanding officer, it’s a whole other thing to actually spend one on one time together completely unrelated to work. You tell yourself not to get worked up over it, shore leave is supposed to be relaxing. But still your mind picks and pulls at ideas for what you’re going to do all day, what do you talk about, do you still need to maintain a somewhat professional relationship when not behind closed doors?
“Hey, you ready?” His voice calls you out of your worry tailspin. He looks good, clean shaven but perhaps not as well rested as he should be. The last couple days have been long and painful, he deserves this shore leave time, and so do you.
“Yeah, I was thinking we could go by the hotel so I can return Rigga’s dress and we can leave our overnight bags there” you offer
“Lead the way” he nods. He too spent the last couple hours mulling over in his head what to expect for this shore leave. Before meeting you his off hours were spent at 79’s with his brothers, most of whom are now dead, or visiting brothers serving in other battalions. He’s never gone into shore leave with someone. It also occurred to him that you offering to share a fancy hotel room with him really does make this secret relationship, an actual relationship. He’s not very familiar with that either. He decided as he made his way over to you that he would sort of just observe your energy and match it.
You call a speeder cab and give instructions to get to the hotel. Wolffe thinks back to the last time the two of you were in a speeder cab together and can’t help the fond smirk that crosses his lips at the memory.
The cab ride doesn’t take very long, the speeder stops in front of a nice building with glass doors and potted plants out in the front for decoration. Wolffe steps out of the speeder, and offers you a hand as you exit as well. He glances up at the white lettering above the door The Silver Star. He feels a little out of place standing in front of such a nice hotel, holding a military issued duffel and wearing light armor over his fatigues. You lead him inside and he is shocked to see he isn’t the only clone in the lobby.
He doesn’t recognize any of them by name but it’s hard to miss your own face sitting at the coffee tables or chatting in groups with civilians. Wolffe leans over to you while you lead him towards the front desk “Why have I never heard of this place?” he asks
“It’s kind of hush hush, word of mouth only to prevent anti groups from ruining it for everyone. Unfortunately that means that not many people actually know this is a safe place” you explain.
When you get to the front of the line at the check in desk, you ask the clerk behind the counter if you can see Rigga. The clerk makes a quick call and before they even hang up the com, Rigga comes bouncing out of her office in the back with a massive smile and an enthusiastic hug for you. Then she turns to Wolffe and gives him an intrigued little once over.
“And who might you be handsome?” she winks
Wolffe extends a hand gives hers a good shake “Wolffe” he introduces himself “I suppose I have you to thank for our stay here”
“Tsshh, no no no, none of that now” she shushes him “Now let me have those bags, I’ll have them sent up to your room, you two go enjoy yourselves”
“Actually Riggs, do you have any good recommendations for us around here?” you ask her while handing her the bags
“Well there’s a good place to get sandwiches on the corner, the shopping district three levels up just opened and is pretty nice to walk around, and our rooftop garden is finally open” she supplies, shouldering the bags
“Perfect, thank you!” You wave goodbye to Rigga and lead Wolffe out of the lobby “Any of her recommendations sound appealing?”
“To be completely honest, I didn’t hear anything she said after the word sandwiches” he chuckles
“Sandwiches it is then” you smile leading him down the city street. You hope you’re heading the right way. And you hope he’ll actually enjoy the food and spending time with you and– he takes your hand, and guides it up to rest in the crook of his arm while you walk together down the street.
For a moment you’re so surprised you can’t even form a thought or opinion on the action. But it feels nice, getting to show some form of affection. Being off base and in a clone friendly neighborhood affords you the privilege and anonymity of small amounts of PDA like this. It’s comforting honestly. And validating, he wouldn’t be doing something like that if he wasn’t interested in spending this time with you. It puts your mind at ease.
Rigga was totally right, the sandwich shop on the corner is really good and more affordable than you were expecting. Wolffe spends a long time looking at the menu, most of the options available he’s never tried. Eventually he gives up and just tells you “Pick something you think I’ll like”
You have no idea what he might like, but you don’t want to get him exactly what you’re having. That way he can try both and have the opportunity to find out what he likes. You settle on a classic chicken parm and hope for the best. He doesn’t seem concerned in the slightest, he’s mostly just hungry at this point. You get the sandwiches to-go and decide the best place to eat them would probably be somewhere you can sit down, so you lead him to ride the turbo lift up to the shopping district Rigga mentioned.
It’s a nice area, with an open pavilion sort of space for outdoor concerts. You make a mental note to find out if there would be any live music next time you have shore leave. The false grass makes a pretty good spot to have an impromptu picnic. To your delight, Wolffe loves the sandwich you chose for him.
“Whatever this is” he points to the sauce “is so good”
“It’s called marinara, you can put it on sandwiches or on pasta noodles” you tell him “I’ll teach you how to make it sometime”
He looks up at you, smiling and relaxed. You look so beautiful, even more than when you were all dressed up for that gala. You’re comfortable in what you’re wearing, what you’re doing, where you are. He grins “Yeah? I hear medics make the worst cooks, any truth to that?” he teases
“Well you’ve got me there. I admit I am no chef but marinara sauce isn’t rocket science or open heart surgery, but I can still make a mean marinara don’t you worry” you tease right back
After the sandwiches are long gone you and Wolffe spend a few hours strolling through the shopping district. Mostly just mindlessly window shopping and talking about whatever comes to mind. Your anxiety over spending one on one time with him outside of a work setting seems to have been completely unfounded, because he’s very easy to be around. And far more relaxed and laid back when there is no pressure to be “Commander” Wolffe. He’s still not particularly chatty or anything, but you can tell he’s listening and engaged by the questions he asks you and points he brings up to accompany your stories. After a while you realize the pair of you have walked the entire length of the pavilion at least six times and have spent several hours walking around with your arms linked together, just talking.
“Why don’t we go get takeout and check out the rooftop garden back at the hotel?” You offer. In his mind Wolffe pictures a balcony covered in roses and candles like in a cheesy holo drama or something, not exactly his thing. But when the two of you get up there, with takeout boxes full of fish and rice roll ups from a Mon Cala place, he finds that this rooftop garden is really more of a patio with some raised garden beds and a picnic table. It’s a bit dark though. He turns on what he thinks is a light switch, and lands up turning on string lights that illuminate the whole rooftop.
“Wow” he says, looking around “I’ve got to admit, this is a pretty great place your friend has set up here”
The two of you sit down at the picnic table to eat “Yeah, I was a little nervous but mostly excited to bring you here”
“Why were you nervous?” he asks
“Well… we’re sorting of doing this whole thing in reverse aren’t we? Having an illicit rendezvous first and then going on a date. I feel like we know each other, but we don’t really know each other. I was just worried… you wouldn’t have a good time” you admit
“You worry too much Doc” he chuckles “I like you a lot, I was happy to find out we were finally going to get time to see where this goes”
You smile and feel your cheeks get a bit warm. He takes the lull in conversation to open the take out box and investigate what you picked out. He’s never seen food like this before but he’s finding that he actually enjoys trying new foods.
He takes a closer look at the rolls you picked out “Is… is the fish supposed to be raw?”
“Yeah, don’t worry, it's safe to eat. It’s really good, try dipping it in this first” You pour a little sauce into a plastic dish and dip a roll in it, eating it in one bite to demonstrate. He shrugs his shoulders, if you say it’s good, then he’s open to trying it. He mimics your actions and considers the roll.
“Well?” you ask, hoping he’ll enjoy what you picked
“Not loving the texture, but I don’t mind the taste” he says, reaching for another. And then another as you’re chatting.
“You know what? I change my mind” he says “I actually like this”
You laugh a bit, it’s becoming fun for you to select foods for him to try. And you’re beginning to build a list of other things you think he’d like. Rich flavorful soups, roasted meats marinated in citrus juices, vegetables in spicy sauces, or maybe dark chocolate with red wine.
“I’m glad you like it” you tell him with warm smile
Before he can respond a stiff breeze shakes the hanging lights and sends a chill down your spine. “Might be time to go check out the room now?” He offers, also wanting to get out of the cold.
“I think so” you agree, helping to clear away the takeout boxes.
Together you make your way to the room Rigga had mentioned to you earlier and open the door. This room is not like the ones you’ve stayed in before. Normally you just stay in a plain and simple hotel room. But this… this is opulent. King sized bed, more space than you know what to do with, a massive holo vision, a rainfall shower and deep soaking tub. Your bags are sitting on the bed waiting for you.
“Wow… your friend is… beyond generous” he says looking around with wide eyes.
“I owe her big time for this” you admit
He gives a nod and takes another minute or so to wander about the space, exploring the room. He looks at the fresher, the massive rainfall shower. Out of curiosity he turns it on to see the water fall and feel the warmth of the steam. He glances back over to you and gives his head a slight nod towards the shower.
“Care to join me?”
“Mm now there’s an offer I can’t refuse you” you tease, shedding your sweater and following him into the fresher. He too hastily discards his clothing and steps under the water. When you’ve stripped off all of your clothes as well he extends a hand for you to join him. He pulls you in close against him, and kisses you hungrily. You return his kisses with the same desire and intensity, and let your hands drift down to his hips.
He can feel himself, warm and wet with shower water, getting more and more aroused by the feeling of your hands on his skin. Your breasts pressed against his chest. Your tongue dancing across his own tongue and teeth. His cock stiffening against your thigh.
“Mm… Wolffe” you moan a little as his kisses drift down your neck “Need you to know… I have the implant… want you inside me”
A low rumbling comes from deep within his chest. Those are words he’ll keep. Want you inside me. And the implant means he doesn’t have to worry about anything else.
”You want that gorgeous?” he whispers in your ear, nipping at the lobe “Want me inside you?”
“Yes” you beg him “Please Wolffe”
He walks you backwards, out of the stream of shower water and presses you against the wall. The cool tile at your back is a stark contrast between the steamy air around you and the heat of his wet skin, caging you in his arms as his lips devour yours.
“Mmm, you know how many nights I’ve laid awake thinking about this?” He groans into you “How many showers I’ve had with my cock in my hand, wishing it was yours?”
His hands glide up and down your sides, down over your ass to squeeze you. His fingers slip down further to your thighs, and before you have a chance to fully realize what he’s doing his fingers grip the swell of your ass and tug upwards. Your leg wraps around his waist, and you feel him against you. All of him. His abdomen pressed against your belly, his chest against your tits, and his cock against your pelvis.
You give your hips an experimental roll forward, nudging him, teasing him, inviting him to keep going. He moves his face forward, devouring you in a searing kiss. You can feel his free hand, guiding his cock to slip between your slick outer folds. He pulls at your bottom lip with his teeth gently before releasing it, and staying right up next to your face
“Don’t move” he enunciates each word and tilts his head in each direction as he does. You nod against him, agreeing to his request. At your consent, he presses himself forward, finding your entrance. He sucks in a breath feeling your tight heat surround him.
“Fuck you feel so good” he groans as he sinks in as deep as he will go
You are flooded with the memories of the few times you’ve been able to have sex with him, this is different. At this angle you can feel every ridge of his cock and the depth within you he’s able to reach. You plant a hand on his shoulder for support and try not to move. He pulls your leg forward towards him on each of his thrusts, it sends a feeling of buzzing excitement throughout your body. This is a feeling you could easily get addicted to.
“Wolffe” you moan “fuck I—“
He suddenly changes his pace from slow and deliberate thrusts to quicker, tighter snaps of his hips. You can feel him inside. The head of his cock hitting that spot that makes your legs go numb, your pussy contracts around him, and your mind go white.
He knows. He knows by your slack jaw and slightly crossed eyes. He knows by unrelenting grip of your pelvic floor muscles making it difficult for him to move.
“Fuck yeah” he groans, doing his best to keep up “That’s right, cum all over my cock”
You slump your head forward and moan feeling him start moving with greater ease again, your orgasm subsiding and involuntary grip on him releasing. To your surprise you feel your leg being let down off the wall, and his cock slip out of you.
You look up at him and see his eyes are still full of lust and desire. If you thought this was over, you were mistaken. His hand finds the back of your neck, pressing you into him so he can kiss you. His other hand stays firmly at your hip, keeping you flush against him.
His cock is slick with your arousal and release, and throbbing with his own need to cum. You pull away from his kiss, but he doesn’t let you get far with that hand on your neck.
“Turn around” he rumbles hotly against you
You do as he asks, spinning around to face the shower wall. Now it’s your tits and tummy being pressed against the cool tile, while his warm body covers your back. One hand holds you in place while the other guides his engorged cock to tease your pussy lips from behind, getting ready to dive back in.
He drags his teeth across the length of your shoulder “Tell me if you need me to stop” he gives you a firm squeeze for emphasis. You nod against the wall and arch your back just a bit, presenting yourself to him, ready to keep going.
He breaches your entrance once more, sinking into you with ease. He squeezes his eyes shut as your hole welcomes him back inside. He gets right back into it with firm strokes and a quick pace. He knows he won’t last, but fuck he wants to. He wants to stay in your warmth forever. He wants to hear your girlish whimpers and moans, and feel your warm skin pressed against him.
“Fuck… fuck” he grunts, his thrusts falter, he loses his grip on his self control and empties himself inside you. His whole body collapses into you against the wall, keeping you there. His head drops down onto your shoulder, where he mindlessly kisses and sucks a mark right where your shoulder becomes your neck.
You lean your head away from him, giving him access to kiss wherever he pleases. Your legs feel a bit shaky from both your orgasm and now his, so you’re grateful for the support of him keeping you pinned to the shower wall.
After a few minutes, when your legs feel more steady and he’s started to go soft. He takes a step back and releases you from his hold, pulling out of your dripping hole.
He admires you from behind for a second. You look so good for him right now. Naked, wet, dripping with his cum, and starting to show marks from his fingertips and love bites. He gives his head a shake, bringing himself back to his senses. He helps you turn around, but keeps you close.
“You okay there Doc?” He asks, dipping his head down to give you a kiss
“I’m good” you say with a smile “My legs are a little shaky”
“Good” he smirks, even as he starts turning off the rainfall shower and helping you out onto the waiting bath mat. You wrap a towel around yourself to get dried off and cleaned up. Meanwhile he steps out of the fresher with a towel over his head, he fluffs his hair with the towel to get it mostly dry.
You follow him out of the fresher, intending to get your sleeping clothes. But you almost don’t want to, you don’t really want this day to be over. You steal a glance at him, he’s looking through his overnight bag as well. Time is limited, when will you have a chance to have this much time alone with him again? You drop your towel, and go lay on the bed naked.
He turns around and sees you laying there, looking impossibly attractive. Your eyes are soft and your smile is both playful and teasing. Your bare skin is warm and damp from the shower, and your hair seems to have little raindrops caught in it from not being directly under the water. Twenty four hours ago he watched you wipe sweat from your brow and leave a bloody streak in its wake. Your hair had flecks of ash and dust caught in it. It’s almost hard to believe this soft and smiling creature before him is the same person who led a battle and saved a city just yesterday. He swallows the lump in his throat, and abandons his overnight bag, getting up onto the bed. He prowls over your body and kisses you with a hunger that just can’t seem to be sated.
He moves down, back to your neck and shoulders using his tongue and teeth to suckle and bite at you. It makes your whole body feel warm and tingly, and your pussy ache a little more. He can feel himself perking back up as well. You’re both a little more uncoordinated this time, getting your legs up and open and him surging forward into you. But it’s every bit as good, feeling his hips smacking against you, the dull and delicious ache of keeping your legs spread so wide. It doesn’t last as long this go round, before he’s groaning into your neck and cumming inside you again.
He collapses down neck to you, working to catch his breath “You drive me wild girl” he grunts “Can’t get enough”
You chuckle a little “Good to know I have a similar effect on you that you have on me”
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pricescigar · 2 years
Text
A father's love
Summary: Elvira got captured by Victor Zakhaev, and got taken to Imran Zakhaev for interrogation. And through the worst forms of torture, she finds herself facing a familair face...
Tw: Torture, violence, blood
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The Task Force was assigned to take down Zakhaev's son, Victor Zakhaev in Uzlovaya, Krasnodar Krai, Russia. How hard could that possibly be? Elvira volunteered herself to patrol the area quickly, to ensure it was safe enough to progress even further. However Victor had other plans that even the Task Force wasn't aware of.
Victor ordered his men to capture Elvira Wolff, and to have her transport over to where his father was. Seeing her patrol, all they had to do was wait for the right time…
Out of nowhere one of the Ultranationalists quickly ran by her side, and hit her at the side of Elvira's head with the butt of his gun to knock her out.
"цель захвачена." (Target Captured) The soldier spoke over his radio, to inform his other colleagues. He picked up Elvira's body, taking the comms off of her and smashed it. Getting out of the area quickly as possible, to get to transportation. 
"Wolff? Wolff? Are you there? Do you read, over." Price spoke over the comms, but there was no reply. She had completely gone dark. Price became worried.
"Shit, she isn't answering. We need to find her soon as possible." Soap said, anything could've happened to her by now. And she would be in greater danger if they don't react quick enough to do so.
"Let's go, the quicker we get the mission done. The quicker we can find Wolff." Gaz spoke up, the men set foot into the town.
"The enemy checkpoint is up ahead… On my call, you fire." Price spoke muttered, he gripped onto his gun. He was beyond angry that Elvira had gotten captured, he shouldn't have let her patrol the area. How could he ever forgive himself?
"On your words sir." Gaz said, Soap, Price and Gaz got into position. When Price gave the call, they immediately opened fire taking down the soldiers.
Meanwhile . . .
Elvira slowly regained consciousness, but her eyes were met with the inevitable darkness. She had been blindfolded, her arms had been tied. Being stripped of her weapons, and any other possession she had on her. All she heard was the engine of a vehicle, she looked around before a gun was pressed against her head.
"не двигайся." (Don't move)  A firm voice could be heard, Elvira stayed still. Eventually the car had stopped, and they were at their designated destination. She was dragged out of the car and dragged into the warehouse.
Elvira was shoved down onto a wooden chair harshly, where the soldier tied her legs onto the legs of the chair. She tried to get her arms out of the ropes, before the soldier punched her in the face before resuming what he was ordered to do.
Finally when the blindfold was taken off of her, Imran Zakhaev himself was right in front of her. The same man who was in the elevator with her and Adler at the KGB Headquarters.
"You have a very familiar face." Zakhaev observed her features, a grin appeared on his face. Oh well, it didn't matter. He was going to have fun anyways, all the torturing methods he had in mind… His eyes focused on her scar, which was across the left side of her face. Then it suddenly clicked.
"Elvira Wolff, the one who had the guts to invade the KGB Headquarters. My my, you haven't aged in a day."
"Ja, and you look like a wrinkly old dog, time that they put you down for good…" Elvira replied, after she said that Zakhaev punched her in the face. She didn't even react in the slightest, simply staring back at him.
"When you're in the hands of me, you do as I say. And answer any questions I have, am I clear ?" Zakhaev demanded in a stern voice.
"If not, and you refuse to answer any questions…" He gestured over to the tray that had various torture devices. "You'll suffer for it." He then grabbed a crowbar, and held it firmly. "Now… Where's your little Task Force?"
Currently . . . 
The Task Force was hunting down Victor, and shooting any enemies that dared to come their way. Victor in a rush ran up the stairs up to the roofs, Price and the others easily caught up to him. All of them were up at the roof of the building, and there was no hope for escape for Victor.
"Give up Zakhaev, it's over!" Soap yelled, aiming his gun at him. They watched Victor slowly back away. "Where the hell did you take Wolff?" 
"You'll never get anything out of me!" Victor got his pistol out of his pocket, aiming at them. 
"Drop the gun now!" Price ordered, when he approached over to Victor. He placed the gun to his head, pulling the trigger and his body fell down to the ground.
"Shit! Fuck, we failed… Now we won't know where they're holding Wolff." Price was beyond frustrated, stressed and angry.
"Price, we'll get her back, don't worry… She's a strong lass I know it. We did what had to be done, and now we got to focus on recovering Wolff alright?" Soap calmed down Price, trying to reassure him.
"Yeah… Let's go…" Price sighed softly, the group walked away. Giving the confirmation that Victor has died due to suicide.
Back at the warehouse. . .
The crowbar hit Elvira's left kneecap, despite the conflicting pain Elvira bit down onto her tongue, so she wouldn't scream out loud. She didn't care if her tongue bled, she'd rather take any kind of pain.
"Oh trying to be big and tough are we?" Zakhaev laughed as he left the crowbar back on the tray, this was only the beginning though. He grabbed the knife, walking towards her again.
"Now, I'll ask you again… Be nice, and I may let you live." Zakhaev grabbed her arm, pressing it against the scar that was on it, due to how hard he was pressing the blade against it. The scar began to bleed a little. "Where is your team?" He looked at her seriously.
"Go to hell, you fucking peice of shit." Elvira spat at him, Zakhaev wiped the spit off with the fabric of his coat. Now he was pissed off.
"You little bitch, you'll pay for that." Zakhaev cut the old wounds on her left arm, seeing the crimson blood dripping down. Elvira winced softly at the stinging pain, he went to her right arm opening the same wounds too.
"Fuck…" Elvira muttered softly, the bleeding was running down on her arms. Trying to stay calm, Zakhaev smirked.
"See this is what happens when you don't speak." Zakhaev pressed the blade against her cheek, staring at her.
"Now we can't have you bleed out…" He grabbed antiseptic, before pouring it on Elvira's wounds. She laid her head back in pain, but not a single word came out of her mouth. 
Zakhaev laughed in amusement, no matter how long it would take. He would get the Task Force's information either way.
A couple of days had passed since Elvira's capture, and she endured all lengths of interrogations and torture. Her knee was still dislocated, the wounds on her arms still opened. Zakhaev had fun opening the old scars Elvira built up over the years.
"She isn't getting a damn word out, why don't you try? You Are well known for your interrogations, given your past." Zakhaev gestured to the 5th Knight, he opened the door for him.
Elvira slowly woke up, she was hungry, dehydrated. Exhausted, she wanted all of this to be over, hearing the door open she looked up to see a person walk into the room. Her eyes widened slightly. "Adler…" She whispered.
Adler stepped into the room seeing Elvira had been taken hostage by Zakhaev, he stopped walking not a word escaped from his lips. 
"She doesn't mean anything to you anymore Adler, you know that. Do you want to waste all the work you had built up, Go on get the information out of her." Zakhaev ordered.
Elvira felt her whole world being torn apart. The man who took care of her, taking her under his wing… Protecting her and showing her that the world wasn't always cruel and harsh, it meant boring. She straightened her picture a little, glaring at Adler. "Do your worst." 
Adler felt his heart being crushed, he didn't want it to end this way. Of course he didn't forget that what he had done was for the better. "Last chance, where's your team?" He grabbed a fist full of her hair.
"Have you got a good shot?" Soap asked, seeing Price had the sniper in his hands waiting for a good time to strike.
"I do… But what if I hit Elvira too? She could die…" Price sighed softly, taking a deep breath. The last thing he wanted to happen was to see her die, after taking a deep breath. He aimed the sniper at Adler, finally pulling the trigger.
Adler got shot in the arm as he groaned in pain falling down onto the ground, the guards became aware someone was on the premises. One of the guards helped Adler up, letting him and Zakhaev get to safety. While Elvira was pulled up, and being forced to walk out of the warehouse. 
Soap, Price and Gaz took the chance to approach towards the warehouse, they quickly ran inside only to see a guard holding Elvira hostage with a knife to her throat.
The guard quickly sliced the wound on her face and her neck before throwing her on the ground, quickly the guard got shot by Gaz. Ghost quickly went towards Elvira, Price did too.
"Elvira!" Price felt the worry strike into his chest as he knelt down, staring down at her. Ghost was putting pressure onto her wound on her neck, as it was the most vital part.
"I'm calling an emergency exfil now." Gaz contacted Shepherd over comms to quickly get an exfil on their location as they found the location of Wolff, now her life was in grave danger.
"Look at me Elvira, you're going to be ok." Price assured her, as he took hold of her hand. Ghost was wrapping her neck in a bandage, since the bleeding had finally stopped. She was struggling to stay awake.
"I found the location of Russell Adler, he seems to be running away. What should we do?" A pilot spoke over the comms.
"I'll go get him." Price replied over the coms was angry beyond words, he stood up and began to walk away. "Get Elvira safely to Exfil Ghost!"
"Yes Sir!" Ghost replied , he lifted up Elvira as he, Soap and Gaz quickly went away to go to the location of the exfil.
Adler managed to escape, holding onto his arm in pain leaning against the tree. He felt regret hitting him, Elvira… He hurt the only thing he ever cared about. He stared in the distance thinking what he should do next.
"Adler." Price stood there in between the trees, before then finally showing himself as he stepped towards him. "You know why we've been chasing you for some time now don't you?" 
"Course I do, all the things I did. I didn't do them for nothing." His arm was still covered over the wound he got from the sniper. "You're not very good with a sniper, are you John?"
Price felt the anger boiling up inside of him, as he got his pistol out and he loaded it before aiming it at him. "Maybe not, but I'm doing something I should've done a long time ago." He pulled the trigger, and the bullet hit Adler's head and he fell to the ground.
"Boss? Boss, are you there? It's an emergency quick!" Ghost called for Price through the comms, and Price immediately rushed back to where exfil was.
Elvira's life was on the line, she flatlined and Ghost managed to bring her back alive. He watched Price run in and the exfil easily lift up from the ground, to get them back to base.
"We need your blood Price, both of you have the same blood type. Her life is on the line." Ghost said as he got the equipment ready.
"Take as much as you need. I want Elvira alive." Price said, rolling up his sleeve for Ghost so he could do the transfusion, once everything was hooked up. The blood transition began, after a few minutes Ghost stopped the transfusion. Elvira had a little more colour to her face but not much.
"What did you do, Price? What happened to Adler?" Soap asked as he looked to Price.
Momentarily he stayed silent, he took a deep breath before muttering softly. "I killed Adler… I had to, I should've killed him when the sniper scope was right fucking there-"
"You did all you could, mate… We managed to get Elvira, and that's all that matters alright? We just have to break the news to her, that's all…" Soap assured, placing a hand on his shoulder.Price nodded a little, his eyes focused over to Elvira who was resting. She was put on morphine to numb the pain, while she was asleep. For the duration of the ride, Price held onto her hand. The hours had passed and they got back to the Task Force Base, when the plane landed Elvira was taken into emergency surgery, while the others had no choice but to wait.
Around early evening, Elvira finally got out of surgery and was placed into the medical ward. Price was allowed to walk into the room, seeing Elvira was slowly beginning to wake up.
"John…" Elvira whispered softly, seeing Price had walked into the room, her hand trying to reach up to him.
"Hey, hey… Don't move too much…" Price spoke softly, taking a seat down beside her, holding onto her hand. "I'm here Elvira, don't worry… How are you feeling?"
"My body hurts, everywhere… It really hurts." Elvira spoke with a whisper, she premeditated her eyes a little again as she looked up to Price. "What happened to Adler?"
Price fell silent as he took a deep breath, trying to prepare himself to word it carefully as possible. He fared that she may hate him for what he did. "I had to kill him, Wolff, I… I'm so sorry." He looked at her.
Elvira felt her heart being crushed, but there was a part of her deep down that she wouldn't even have the guts to kill Adler. Like how she didn't have the guts to kill Perseus back in Cuba, she placed her other hand over Price's hand.
"It's ok…" She spoke softly. "You had to do what needed to be done, I'm glad I didn't have to do it… Because I wouldn't have the guts to kill him anyways…"
"I was so scared to lose you… So scared…" Price helped onto her hand, he didn't want to hide her hand tightly; In order not to hurt her.
"Not even death can get me…" Elvira caressed his cheek gently, she felt the exhaustion hitting her again. Trying to stay awake, but it wasn't working.
"Rest Elvira, you need it. I'll be here I promise… I won't leave your side again." Price laid her arms down gently, making sure she was comfortable on the bed. 
Elvira nodded and began to fall asleep again, she held onto Price's hand, not wanting to let go. And he didn't let go either, he watched her sleep as he remained in the room with her.
18 notes · View notes
unknownjpegs · 2 months
Text
siblings
When they emerge from the car, they are so obviously Xavier’s sisters that it makes his heart crack open. To see himself, reflected in their pale, freckled faces, that shade of red that is so uniquely them. He feels instantly like the world has been put on the correct axis, is spinning the exact way it should. Him there, and them here. Seeing Theresa and Jessica make his arms swing open immediately, an unconscious effort that is purely, hug me, I love you.
And both of them oblige, laughing as they’re scooped into his arms. As he peppers kisses over Jessie’s face and shakes Tess’ shoulder with nothing but affection. They all laugh that same, that big smiling laugh. They have to unwind a little from each other, all three having the same gangly long limbs.
“Did you enjoy the show?” He’s asking her, a hand planting itself on top of her head. She’s shot up a few inches since the last time he saw her—which was admittedly too long ago. Her mascara is running off, because she’d tried not to cry and failed. Jessie sniffs and rubs at her eyes and nods happily.
“Enjoyed is an oversimplification—I think she lost her fucking mind.” Tess nudges Jessie with an elbow, which makes her little sister swat at her in typical little sister fashion.
“Is this merch?” Xavier holds Jessie by the shoulders, glancing down at the black hoodie she has thrown over herself, large but short, because she’s getting far too tall. The way all Wolffe children seem to get. “Stop. Don’t tell me you bought this. I could have gotten you free shit, Jess.”
“I wanted to support the band.” She’s pouting at him, childish and authentic. Sometimes, he cannot unsee her as a toddler, wandering around the living room with those uncoordinated arms thrown out around her. In the dark lighting of the the venue parking lot, roped off for privacy, she is clearly a pre teen and wildly growing. He pets down her choppy pixie cut and the affection he has for her makes him feel almost melancholy. Missing all those years of her life, like he had before.
“Is that Tess fucking Wolffe?” Lark jumps from the tour bus stairs, landing deftly into a jog.
“In the flesh,” she replies, before dissolving into more laughter as Lark snatches her up around the middle. Even though she’s six-foot-even and he’s topped out at five-seven, she’s easily hefted and falls forward a little over him as he does. She’s got a hand up, waving and Xavier glances behind to see Matilda. At the sight of her, Jess slips closer to Xavier bashfully.
Are you at that stage? Xavier wonders. Where everything seems to be embarrassing and awkward. He pets her hair again, turning away from Lark chattering Tess’ ear off to face Matilda.
“This is Jessie.” She’s met Tess before—Lark’s a fond and familiar Wolffe friend. He’d crashed in their house for almost a year when he’d been kicked out as a teenager and Xavier’s mother had informally adopted the boy into the redheaded brood. It was why Lark had been easy to connect with in the aftermath of—well. The aftermath. Matilda struts over in her confident, beautiful way, making Jessie’s eyes go bigger and bigger. She holds out a hand.
“Matilda, but my friends call me—”
“Mati,” Jess answers, eagerly scooping that hand up and shaking it with enthusiasm. “I’ve watched your interviews.”
“Okay, don’t lead with that,” Xavier jokes, shaking Jessie’s shoulders. She’s absolutely undeterred. References specific ones, asks questions about keyboards (“I play trombone in the school band.” “That’s so fucking cool.” “Really?” And Jessie looking like she might cry again) while Xavier’s eyes skate toward the bus. Land on Mouse standing there. For a moment, he sees something very lost in her eyes, very human and almost painful before she cleans it off with a sneer.
“Security,” she laughs in her sarcastic rough voice. “You didn’t tell me your older sister was so hot.” Tess bumps against Xavier’s shoulder as she comes closer, eyes sliding toward him. Xavier thinks distantly of the text messages they’ve exchanged about this group of musicians, and his never ending vent on how frustratingly rude Mouse could be.
“That’s so sweet of you.” She slings an arm around Xavier’s torso, pulling them closer. “People used to confuse Xavier and I for twins, so it’s kind of awkward that you’re essentially calling my little brother hot too. But I take compliments, sure.”
Mouse is instantly disarmed, her hands in her giant denim jacket and her eyes blinking. Xavier has to put a hand over his mouth to conceal a smile, otherwise it might goad her into finding her tongue again and saying something mean back. Instead, Mouse’s attention diverts to Jessie.
“You’re wearing my design!” It makes his little sister explode with excitement immediately, nearly a jump to her. She’s taller than Mouse and Xavier feels wounded watching her round her shoulders, hunch a little. He wants to tell her not to. Don’t start doing that now, or you’ll never stop trying to make yourself smaller. “Do you want to see the prototypes for the next merch drop?” Mouse slinks her hand around Jessie’s, her smile that ever present giant, somewhat devious in it’s cut across her face.
“No,” Xavier says immediately, shaking his head, and Jessie makes a wounded sound. He feels his shoulders hunching up with tension, eyes glaring at Mouse’s innocent wide stare. “No, c’mon, Jess. They just got done a show. They’re tired. We have to drive for like five hours tomorrow—”
“Whose tired?” Matilda’s arms sling over Jessie’s shoulders, pulling her in for a backward hug. “I’m not tired.”
“Never been tired a day in my fucking life,” Mouse quips, walking backward with her hand still on Jessie’s. His little sister looks downright star struck, trailing after them with a big, open mouthed smile.
“I can go on the bus! I can go on the bus?” She looks at him, pleading up hearts in her eyes to convince him. That’s something she never seemed to forget; how easy Xavier could be plied if she gave him big, wet, sad eyes. Maybe he’d spoiled her as a kid. That’s not your kid, he tries to remind himself. That’s just your little sister. You were a kid too.
“Mouse,” Xavier’s voice becomes low, threatening. He watches the door to the bus swing open. His heart skips a little at the peak of a brown hand.
“Oh relax,” Tess says, waving them on. “Like Matilda’s gonna let anything bad happen.”
Xavier watches a glimpse of long, curly brown hair—as if Benji is poking himself outside to see what all the noise is and he instantly turns to Tess. His heart feels like its doing more than just skip.
“Come smoke with me,” Xavier says, grabbing her elbow and twisting her around toward the back of the bus.
“Sorry, it’s all I have.”
He grimaces at the cherry flavored nicotine vape, but accepts it anyway. They lean against the back bumper, effectively away from the noise of the concert goers leaving. He should be around front, helping the rest of security to herd people away from the bus. He should be on that bus, making sure no ones giving Jessie candy or red bulls—which Mouse has in stock up to her fucking eyeballs.
Instead, he leans beside his older sister, puffing away at that disgusting little vape. It tastes funny on his tongue and makes him oddly thirsty. But it is a satisfying and instant hit that makes his hands stop shaking a little.
“I forgot she was such a big fan,” Xavier admits as he passes the vape back to Tess, who promptly hits it and billows white, thick vapor. “Even before Lark got me the job.”
“She has a poster of Matilda on her wall,” Tess replies with a laugh. “I forgot that they were so popular. It’s like one day Lark went from being a guy who slept on our couch to being,” she peeked around the bus and then back to Xavier.
“Yeah, it’s weird,” he instantly agrees, nodding and gesturing for her to give him the vape back. They stay like that for a moment, comfortably quiet. Xavier is, with no exaggeration, actually exhausted. He did front line duty, which meant he stood in front of the stage and constantly had to push people backward and sometimes, people hated him for that. Sometimes, people got a little too friendly because of that. He moves a hand through his hair, feeling sweat build up and sighing.
“Why are you trying to keep me from meeting Benji?”
The vape clatters to the ground, making Xavier swear and instantly dive to pick it up.
“I dunno what you mean—”
“I have literally known you since birth.” Tess takes the vape out his hand and shoves it into her pocket. Xavier hates that this is her, I mean business gesture. “You are the least subtle man in the world. He was about to hop off the bus and we walked around the entire thing to avoid him.” Xavier clears his throat and without something to hold, instantly starts fiddling with his own fingers. Laces them together and unlaces them and cracks tired and aching knuckles.
“Uh,” he laughs. “He’s tired. That’s all. After a show, he has to ice his hands and do like—stretches for them. It’s rough.”
“Oh,” Tess draws the word out, nodding. “Stretches.” She lifts her hands and splays them out. “How so?”
“Like this.” He imitates Benji’s routine hand stretches, shakes them out when he’s done.
“Fascinating. Does he have a favorite color?”
“I think it’s green.” Tess snorts, making Xavier frown and pull at his hands again.
“And how does he take his tea?” She asks, shoulder knocking into his.
“He doesn’t drink American tea—wicked snobby about that. He picks up iced black coffee when—Hey. Stop that.” Xavier pushes himself off the bus and stands in front of Tess with an accusatory finger pointed her way. She is grinning, her eyes bright and delighted up at him. “You’re fuckin’ evil, Tess.”
“What? Sue me. It’s fun watching you talk about him in person.”
Xavier thinks about their text messages and how Mouse’s annoyances were not the only thing they talked about. How Benji’s name flicks across those little blue bubbles more often than maybe it should. How once, Xavier had sent her a candid photo of him, a beer glass up to his mouth and eyes swayed to the left while he listened to Matilda. He’d been unable to open that text message chain for the rest of the night, because if he did, he’d get stuck staring at the photo he’d taken and sent. Benji had looked that fucking beautiful in it, the low bar lighting making his skin look rich and warm. He had eyelashes long enough to cast fucking shadows on his cheekbones.
“It reminds me of Dara. You haven’t dated anyone since then—”
“Don’t bring her up,” Xavier says, his stomach souring. He wants to think about that picture (the shadows of eyelashes, of his hand around that pint glass, wet with condensation), but the mention of her name reminds him of that slim engagement ring that still sits in the dresser of his childhood bedroom. Sometimes, the weight of it feels like a physical reminder of how he’d been so naive before the military. How he’d been so young, he’d thought he’d marry his high school girlfriend.
And thinking about her makes him think about the marines and makes him think of things he keeps trying not to think about.
“I just want to at least meet the fucking guy you’re dating, Xavier.”
“We’re not dating,” he replies, sliding his hands into his back pockets and staring at the ground. “We are—” His hand, that he’d only just pocketed immediately slides up to his neck instead, palming the back of it. “Why does it matter?”
“Well, I would like to make sure he’s cool.”
“He’s a drummer, of course he’s cool.”
“I want to make sure he’s kind. And I want to know what he’s like and make sure that—”
“Why are you being so fucking weird right now, Tess?”
She stands up, instantly defensive. They are too similar like this. Both of them very obviously their father’s children. He only has three inches on her, but he still straightens, because it makes him feel better. And Tess, who is well versed in that stance, glares at him instead. Refuses to correct her posture and give in. She folds her arms instead, across his chest. Neither of them have gotten loud yet, and it’s most likely because the ghost of their little sister lingers inside the bus they are directly outside of.
“Is this because you had to be the one to pick me up from the base hospital?” Xavier accuses her, without actually meaning it, and yet it’s something that has lingered on his tongue for years. Always there, always waiting for a moment. Tess’ anger drops instantly, her eyes blinking up at him, bright, clear and the same shade of green as him.
“What do you mean?”
“I know I was fucked up, okay?” Both Xavier’s hands brush back through his hair then, his chest slowly heaving out a long and shaky breath. “I get that I was—like, I wasn’t okay after I broke my ribs and got discharged. And I’m—I’m really fucking sorry you had to be the one to help, alright? But you don’t have to act like I’m going to fall apart all the time now.”
Tess’s arms unfold and all the anger in her seems to slice off like water wicked away. She reaches out, like an offering and Xavier’s cheeks go hot as he puts his in hers. She squeezes it.
“You think I’m worried about you because you have PTSD?”
Xavier hisses, stepping toward her.
“Don’t say that so loud.”
“Don’t call me loud,” she snaps back and then instantly laughs, with her head back, eyes crinkled and almost crying. “And don’t make me angry again, Xavier. Fuck, you are so good at making people angry, you know that?” She folds both her hands around his and shakes it angrily. He loosens, watching her.
Theresa had been his savior as a kid. She had been his whole world. They really had been called twins, their sullen middle sister, Emily easily tucking herself away with a book. They’d been elbow to elbow in every single mischievous moment he could remember from childhood, convincing her to follow occasionally.
When he had joined the military, she had been the one to drop him off at the bus station that would take him away and irrevocably change him forever. She had also been the one to pick him up from the base he’d been transferred too, with bones inside him that would permanently hurt forever.
“I’m not worried about you because of what happened before. I’m worried about you because you’re my little brother. You’re always going to be my little brother. Even when you’re wicked fucking tall, and wicked fucking annoying.” She shakes his hand again with every wicked and stares at him with such a loving glare.
“Okay,” Xavier says, his mouth dry and his eyes decidedly not dry. “Uh, that’s kind of why I was avoiding you meeting Benji. You’re like, very intense sometimes, Tess.” They both laugh at that, her finally letting his hand go and reaching for the vape in her pocket. Xavier swipes a hand under his eye and groans and rubs his shoulder. She hits the vape and he looks around the bus and instantly freezes.
“Hi,” Benji raises a hand. Xavier makes a strange noise in reply and then clears his throat.
“Were you—”
“No, just stepped out.”
They stare at each other for a moment. Benji’s hair looks wild, all long and pretty and messy. It gets like that, after shows and Xavier likes to tame it down himself. Likes brushing fingers through it, laughing at snags in the curls and likes feeling Benji shift against him as he does—Xavier blinks a few times before he remembers his sister behind him.
“This is Theresa.” He gestures awkwardly as she slides around the bus. “She goes by—”
“Tess. My sister watched a compilation of you cursing during interviews the entire ride to the show. I like your accent.” Benji snorts—which is decidedly a good sign, because it’s one of his amused snorts. His brown eyes are beautiful when they turn on him again and they make his heart squeeze painfully.
“Yeah, little sisters askin’ for a sibling.” Xavier glances to Tess, who starts forward before Benji lifts one of his hands. “Nah, asked for Xavier.” The parking lot has vacated entirely, so it’s quiet except for a little stir of wind. There’s a group of security guards talking not too far away, sharing a few laughs around gifted beer. It is not louder than his heart in his ears. Xavier laughs and its an awkward sound.
“Okay,” he says awkwardly. As he passes by Benji, he feels the back of the drummers hand brush over his—this small comfort carries him all the way onto the tour bus.
Jessie is firmly asleep in the passenger seat of Tess’ car hours later. Xavier has to lean in and kiss her temple and she doesn’t move when she does. Her cheeks are still pink from the nights excitement. She’d been fawned over, naturally. Xavier hadn’t needed to worry about her on the bus—well, she had crashed from all the candy and at least one red bull, but she’d been taken care of. Had a new hoodie prototype that wasn’t released yet. Signed CD from Ewan. More pictures than she needed of herself and the band.
Tess gives Xavier a hug before she goes. Refuses to answer a single whispered question about what her and Benji had discussed outside—they’d been out there for a while. The entire time Xavier had tried not to press his ear to the bus window and listen.
When the car pulls away, he’s still waving long after it’s gone.
“She’d get along with Saha,” Benji says beside him.
“Which one?” Xavier looks over at him. He has to tilt his head down a little. Benji hasn’t looked up yet, watching that car turn tiny in the distance. Xavier has that urge to pet that hair down, even now. When Benji does look up, he doesn’t manage to get out an answer before he’s being kissed.
It has none of that usual, open mouthed neediness they usually have for each other. When Xavier’s hand touches Benji’s neck, slides up and cups his cheek, they stay soft. There’s not even tongue, just two mouths pressed together in joint, pleasant intimacy. Xavier pulls away and even still, he’s breathing a little harder. Not the kissing that does it. The closeness. His thumb caresses over Beji’s cheekbone.
Then he pulls away and looks up at the night sky. His hand pulls away because he’s awkwardly shoving it into his pocket, his other trying to desperately correct his messy mop of red hair.
“Uh, Benji,” he starts. He risks a glance down, but Benji has pressed in closer, so they’re chest to chest—or rather so that Benji’s chin is notched into his sternum. He looks up at him and makes Xavier’s heart feel too big for his ribcage. Xavier laughs and puts his hand back to Benji’s cheek. “Would, uh,” he starts again and pauses. Benji’s defined brows raise a little. “Are we—uhm.”
Xavier laughs again and folds a hand over Benji’s eyes.
“Please, dude, I can’t handle when you look at me like that.”
“M’not doin’ anythin’—”
“You are looking at me, man. Like, looking at me so hard.”
Xavier’s hand drops away, revealing those dark brown eyes again. The drummers cheeks are a little darker, his skin turning ruddy on his cheekbones. He feels Benji’s arms sliding around his waist, hands dipping into his back pockets so he can’t get away. He doesn’t mind being trapped like that. Outside, in the night air, in an empty parking lot. It reminds him of the first time they ever kissed. The hand he’d used to conceal that beautiful gaze slowly winds into his hair, cups the back of Benji’s skull.
“Are we dating?”
“Yeah,” Benji’s reply is immediate. His smile has gone from it’s usual snarky, crooked grin to something so big and beautiful that Xavier memorizes it instantly. He’ll recall that smile as often as he can, whenever he needs it. Because it’s his, this is his smile, one that Xavier has never seen Benji give to anyone else.
He means to say something sweet or romantic or articulate. But that smile has obliterated any chance of stringing together words. Instead, he leans in—
“Get on the fuckin’ bus, what the fuck?” Lark’s voice cuts out through the parking lot, making them jump. “It’s four in the morning! Bunny is going to fucking kill us!”
Benji laughs, hands squeezing against Xavier’s ass in his pockets and making him jump a little and laugh too. And they continue laughing, even over the loud lead singers laughing—and the only thing that stops that laugh is another kiss until Lark decides he has to step off and physically drag them back.
The next day Lark finds them, both sleeping in that shitty top bunk cot that Xavier drew the unlucky short straw. He’s not tall enough to see them directly, but one of Xavier’s pale arms is dangling down and there’s a dark brown one fixed against the side of his friend’s face.
“They can’t be comfortable,” he mumbles as Matilda slides behind him. She’s putting her sleepy nose against his shoulder and kissing the fabric of his shirt.
“He can sleep anywhere.”
“Which he?” Lark watches Xavier’s fingers twitch, wonders if he’s having a good dream.
“Both.” His eyes transfer to his girlfriend as she lounges out on the tour bus couch, one hand over her tired eyes. Her shirt is lifted a little, revealing her pale, pretty hip bones. He spares Xavier and Benji one last thought, in the form of a text message sent to Tess that says ‘THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU FINALLY THANK YOU’ before he slinks his way over to Matilda.
1 note · View note
aereres · 2 years
Text
Reputation | 4 | - Toto Wolff, Carlos Sainz Jr
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Summary: Professor Wolff knows, and you realize that you have to make a decision.
A/N: This part ain't really about Carlos but I wanted to keep the GIFs for each part alternate lmao. Anyway, hope you enjoy!
Word Count: 2,1k
Warnings: Swearing, degradation, SMUT. This might be a little dark for some.
Toto had never been that angry in his entire life. He had been frustrated, he had blown off on people before, but the anger that he was experiencing just then was something he couldn’t explain. It was visceral, raw, almost animalistic.
His hands were tingling, they wanted to wrap around Professor Sainz’s neck until he learned his lesson. You were his. You were his, and he needed to back off.
Why had you been in Professor Sainz’s office in the first place? You didn’t need him as much as you needed Toto. Could some guy as young as Carlos even treat you as well as he did?
“What were you doing?” Toto said, voice stern, authoritative, as he looked down at the younger man. “I thought you were smarter than this, Sainz. First rule you learn: never sleep with a student.”
Carlos scoffed, making the anger inside Professor Wolff’s body turn even bloodier. “I saw the way you look at her,” the Spanish said, voice dark. “Don’t lecture me about this shit when you’re the one who looks at her like she’s a fresh piece of meat to bite into.”
Toto’s face formed a scowl, fists balling at his sides. “Pay some respect, boy,” he said, voice close to a growl. “Who I talk to is none of your business.”
“Oh, yes?” Professor Sainz mocked, an arrogant smirk on his lips. “Stay away from her. I’ve never liked to share, and I won’t certainly share her with you.”
“I’ll get you fired,” Toto smirked, folding his arms over his chest. “I’ve got the upper hand in this, Sainz.”
Carlos just scoffed, flaring his nostrils as Professor Wolff turned his back to him, heading towards his own office. As Toto opened his door, anger flowing through his veins, the Spanish’s voice caught his attention one last time.
“You can try whatever you want, Torger, but I’ll always have the upper hand.”
There was no explanation to the man’s words, just his door shutting, leaving Professor Wolff on his own in the hallway, confused and angry. Rolling his hand in a fist, he threw a punch to the wall, the noise echoing inside the building. He shut the door harshly behind himself, throwing his glasses onto the desk, accidentally knocking over one of his family pictures.
The sight of his son and his wife made his jaw clench, eyes shutting as he tried to get them out of his head. It was not the right moment.
He was angry at himself for indulging in someone as young as you were. Actually, he was angry at himself for cheating on his wife, multiple times, with you. He was angry at himself for putting his wedding at risk, and he was angry at himself for acting like his teenage self all over again.
Yet, his body just couldn’t stop. His body couldn’t stop needing you, needing your sweet moans and your scent. It was an animalistic kind of need, something he didn’t know how to control.
“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath, rubbing his eyes for a second before sitting himself down on his chair. His phone started ringing from his side, his eyes snapping open to read his wife’s name on the display. “Fuck, not now.”
He pressed the red button, the ringtone coming to an end as he sighed out a long breath.
Were you even worth it?
He couldn’t answer himself.
-
You needed to be honest with yourself: you were skipping class because you were a coward.
You had been avoiding Professor Wolff for days, now, skipping his classes to avoid his anger. Or disappointment. You didn’t know which was worse.
Standing in front of his classroom’s door, you watched him talk to his students. Torger was fascinating, to say the least. All strong muscles and messy hair, you couldn’t help the shivers running down your spine. He was truly breathtaking.
You didn’t know why you were there. You didn’t know why you were waiting outside his door, staring at him like a creep as he taught his other class. Were you there to ask for forgiveness or to beg?
Were you there to put an end to your relationship with Carlos? Or were you there to beg for Professor Wolff to keep his mouth shut? You were too confused to even give yourself an answer.
Door almost slamming against your face, you inserted yourself back in reality, noticing the people from the class trying to get past you to leave the building. You were drowned by the crowd, continuously mumbling apologies as you tried to swim against the current like a clueless fish.
Deeply, that was what you really felt: clueless, confused.
When the last person bumped against your shoulder, you truly started to breathe again. It felt like you had just come back to life. The door remained open for you to see Professor Wolff, his eyes already on you.
“Ms. Y/L/N,” he said, voice holding authority as he pointed towards one of the many empty seats. “Sit down, please.”
You batted your eyelashes in confusion, estranged by the way he spoke as if he had known you’d show up, as if he had read your mind. Nonetheless, you took a seat in front of him, attentively watching his body language as he folded his arms over his chest.
His jaw was clenched, muscles tense as he stared at you for what felt like ages. You felt uncomfortable under his burning gaze, and your hands were growing more and more shaky with every passing second.
“What did I tell you, a couple of weeks ago?” His dark voice almost scared you, his tone reminding you of how your father spoke to you when you got in trouble as a kid. “I want you to say it.”
You swallowed the lump in your throat, your eyelashes batting as you tried to hold back your shame. Your head bowed on its own, making you look ridiculous. “As long as I’m yours, you won’t tell a soul.”
“You put it nicely, I see,” he chuckled darkly, his footsteps inching closer to you. His hand grabbed your cheeks harshly, squeezing them together and lifting your face up to look him in the eyes. “Too innocent to even use my own words.”
You were left speechless, your eyes landing in his as he held you in his harsh grasp, assessing his dominance over you.
“And what were you doing with Professor Sainz, the other day?”
You closed your eyes, inhaling harshly as the shame rushed through your body. You tried to push yourself away from his grasp to look down at your lap, but his free hand only grabbed your hair, tugging it harshly to grab your attention. “Answer me, slut.”
“I- I’m sorry,” you breathed out, your words muffled under his grasp as you held back tears of regret. “I’m so sorry.”
He laughed loudly, mocking you, making fun of you. Pulling you out of your chair by your hair, he pushed you towards his desk, bending you over until the skirt you were wearing revealed your ass.
“You’re not going to talk?” He asked, voice close to your ear as you felt his palm grasp one of your ass cheeks. “Gonna treat me with disrespect after how well I’ve spoiled you?”
Guilt. That was what you were feeling.
An unexpected smack made you yelp loudly, the burning of your bottom making your cheeks flush a deep shade of red. Did he just spank you?
“You don’t treat your Professor like that, Ms. Y/L/N,” he stated, delivering another spank. “You’re not in the position to do so.”
With one of his hands still gripping your hair harshly, he pulled your head up to meet his eyes. “I’ll ask once more. What were you doing with Professor Sainz?”
You just shook your head, closing your eyes as a few tears spilled down your cheeks. Another harsh slap was delivered to your skin, making you sob loudly as you braced yourself against the hard wood.
“You’re a whore,” Professor Wolff spat out, his lips tugged in a frown. “Can’t keep your skirt down. How many students of mine had the opportunity to cum on you, too?”
The humiliation you felt was making your body suffer, your eyes bloodshot as you cried. Your mouth couldn’t even open. You felt like a kid again, getting lectured by the adults for something you had done. The experience was familiar.
Professor Wolff smacked your ass another time, pulling your panties down your legs and quickly dropping his own pants to his ankles, aligning himself with your entrance. “Didn’t think I’d have to set rules, but that’s what happens when you disobey.”
His member thrust inside you with no warning, your pussy shamelessly wet after the spanking. You moaned out, a hand gripping the edge of the desk as he picked up the speed with every passing second, becoming ruthless.
“Drop him,” he grunted in your ear, hands gripping your waist tightly as he kept his pace. “Drop him or I’ll get him fired.”
Another tear slid past your eye as you let your forehead lean against the wood. What had you done? Torger’s body was getting you closer and closer to your edge, making you unable to think properly. What were you going to do?
Your professor’s hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing its sides to catch your attention. “Did you hear me, you little slut? If I see you with him one more time, he’s done.”
His cum coated your walls, but you barely even realized it. Left with your ass in the air on his desk, he pulled out of you and fixed himself up, walking towards his chair to pick up his bag.
He took a moment to glance at your fucked up frame holding onto his desk for dear life, his face in a disgusted frown. “Stay away from him.” Was all he said, walking out the door, leaving you completely on your own in the large, empty classroom.
A sharp sob left your lips, your eyes closing as you relished in your shame, feeling empty, stupid for even showing up. You felt weak, almost used, with his cum running down your thighs.
You felt like a slut, just like Professor Wolff had said, and you hated yourself for it. You hated yourself for finding yourself in that situation in the first place, just because you enjoyed the way both men were treating you.
The pleasure you felt, though, could never repress the emotional pain that the affairs brought you. From the recent jealousy to the extreme power that both men held over you, you felt repressed, tired.
What were you going to do?
You weren’t willing to let Carlos go, you didn’t want to. You didn’t want to say goodbye to something that could have led to more. You didn’t want to say goodbye to him yet, even though you barely knew a thing about him. You didn’t know why, but you just couldn’t let yourself do it.
Lifting yourself up from the desk, you looked at your discarded pair of panties sitting on the floor. You threw it inside your bag, drying the tears on your cheeks with the palm of your hand.
You couldn’t let go of Carlos, but you had to.
You couldn’t let go of him, but you needed to. Because you wouldn’t be able to live with the fact that you selfishly made him lose his job.
As much as you wanted to enjoy yourself, you just couldn’t.
You weren’t going to ruin his life.
Leaving the room unlocked, you walked out the building, heading for Professor Sainz’s office. Glancing inside the small window, you saw him. Sitting with the collar of his shirt unbuttoned and his hair messy, he looked beautiful. His plump bottom lip was pulled between his teeth, eyes concentrating on his laptop.
You held back a sob as you picked up your phone, pressing on his contact and typing in a quick set of words.
I’m sorry. I can’t do this anymore. The whole thing.
Your thumb hovered over the ‘send’ symbol, heart slowly shattering as you pressed on it. Looking inside the room, you saw Carlos look at his lit-up phone, eyes tired. Countless emotions crossed his features, first starting with confusion. He picked up the device, but you didn’t let yourself look anymore.
You headed towards the parking lot, leaving behind not only the building, but also all the hopes you had with Carlos. The pain was unbearable, but it was what you had to do.
You were a homewrecker, a liar, a slut. But you weren’t going to be selfish.
He deserved to be happy more than you did.
Taglist: @joshasf @crescentmooninspring @miahelen @lillict @berzisworld @thirstyybitch @tiredbuthappy @surfgirxl @haterpenny @caitscraps [If your url is crossed, I wasn't able to tag you]
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happytroopers · 3 years
Note
crosshairs fic idea: reader is gossiping with coworkers (maybe medics idk) about who the most attractive clone is and reader mentions crosshair and he somehow finds out and teases her
Teasing // Crosshair x reader
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“It’s definitely Captain Rex. ” Tula, a Rodian nurse from the 212th, stated decidedly. You giggled into the shitty GAR rationed caf.
“That’s just cause your into blondes.” You teased, content with the rounds of chuckles at the mess hall table as Tula’s teal cheeks blushed blue.
“I still don’t know why we’re having this conversation, they’re clones, they all look the same! Thats like the whole thing.” Rys groaned uncomfortably, the only man at the table of civilian enlistments. It was rare for some many of your friends to be in the same place at the same time- but medical staff and engineering alike, every six months after your first deployment civilian enlistments were shipped back to Coruscant for a week long training refresher.
“You can’t say that, it’s rude!” Tula slapped his arm, eyebrow ridges furrowing over her galaxy eyes. He held his hands up in surrender.
“Yeah Rys, we won’t assume you’re any less straight if you admit that Wolffe is clearly the most attractive.” Raina grinned, her peach colored lekku twitching at the thought of the commander. You considered the idea but shook your head as other names got thrown around.
Kix, Fives, Bly, Keeli, Cody, and a couple other names you didn’t quite recognize the names of were tossed around the table. Haircuts, scars, tattoos, personality all became deciding factors as you at your dinner, occasionally chiming in to tease your friends.
“Ok then, who do you think the hottest soldier is?” An engineer from some outer moon data post asked after you teased her for her choice- Tup, a younger soldier in the 501st that you hadn’t met since your transfer to Clone Force 99.
You held your hands up, ready to evade the question. But Raina interjected, a challenging look on her face. You’d gone through academy with the peachy colored twi-lek and her sharp tongue was almost faster than her flying. You knew that look, and it didn’t bode well.
“If you don’t answer, I’ll tell every trooper I see all week that you said it was them.” She threatened with a smirk that said she already knew she had won. The smirk grew to a grin when you let out a defeated sigh.
“Well, in my own personal opinion, that Crosshair is the most attractive man we work with.” You admitted quietly. An honest answer on your part, you did think he was attractive even if you’d never say it to his face. Immediately, several pairs of disbelieving eyes landed on you.
“What? He doesn’t even count!” Rys pointed an finger at you to emphasize his point, “he doesn’t even look like the other clones!”
You shrugged as Tula slapped the back of his head again, her voice scolding as she hissed, “You can’t say that either!”
Then she looked at you, “Really though? He’s meaner than a burned gundark.”
“He’s scary.” Raina nodded.
“He’s an ass.” Another one of the 212th enlistments echoed from down the table. You’d forgotten that a few of the units they were assigned to probably had worked with Clone Force 99 at some point. Nevertheless, suddenly, you felt a need to defend the sniper who had finally become what you’d consider a friend.
“Ok, so it takes a while to get to know him, but...” you started, thinking of all the amazing qualities no one else saw because they weren’t with him all the time, “he’s loyal to a fault, really funny, always pulls me out of sticky situations and usually manages to keep me out of them to begin with, once you get to know him and how he is, you see how much he cares about his-“
“Ok, sure,” Raina cut you off, clearly not believing the cold eyed sniper could care about anything or anyone. She paused to pitch her voice up, flutter her eyelashes, and clasp her hands beside her face like a cartoon princess, “we don’t know him like you do~”
She interrupted herself with a snicker before she continued in her normal voice, “and all that bantha crap, but this is about attractiveness. What makes him hot? And don’t give me any of this, personality is all I look at shit.”
“And if I tell you, you’ll leave me alone?” You asked, though it was more of a demand. Tula nodded, she had always been a little boy crazy, and was dying to hear the scoop. You sighed again, hoping your cheeks weren’t too flushed, “fine, He’s very unique looking, in all the best ways. He’s very tall and lean, but crazy built. I’m into the silver hair, and believe it or not, under the armor that man has the best ass you’ll ever see.”
Tula was leaning on the table, giggling wildly at the juicier bits of you description. Raina had leaned back in her seat, and rolled her eyes, “To each their own, I suppose.”
Fortunately for you, the conversation switched to complaining about to the soldiers that were in charge of your training. There was a rumor the Fox used “civilian training” as punishment for his men when they earned a reprimand. It made sense, all the Coruscant guardsmen that were tasked with running drills with you weren’t exactly thrilled to be there. As if any of you were either.
“Yeah, I definitely don’t understand that attitude. We get it, you don’t want to be here, neither do we, but we are so let’s just get it over with- with out the..... are you even listening?” You were in the middle of your tangent when it was clear none of your group was listening to you. Instead there were all staring over your head with varying looks of slight fear, curiosity, and overall disdain. Tula was the one who attempted to subtly point behind you. At first you feared it was one of the troopers in charge of your training, so you quickly turned around with a forced apologetic look on your face.
To your surprise, you found Crosshair. Helmet free, as usual he had a toothpick between his teeth as he gave your group an appraising sweep. He had the same look on his face that he did when he was sizing up ‘the regs’- until he got to you. It took a year for him to stop looking at you that way, but his slight sneer eased out to neutral-which when it came to the sniper, it might as well have been an ear to ear grin.
“Crosshair! What are you doing here?” You asked, turning around in your seat. In addition to his sudden appearance, just his president was slightly confusing. Typically, Hunter would come himself, or send Tech- all to avoid a potential fight. Your training mates looked slightly bewildered at the amicable exchange.
“Springing you. We’ve got an assignment.” He shrugged after plucking the toothpick from between his lips. Like a true creature of habit, he started twirling the stick between his fingers. You quirked an eyebrow motioning to the other civilians.
“You can’t ‘spring me’, it’s GAR regulation for me to do this training refresher.” You reminded him, he rolled his eyes- but you weren’t sure if his disdain was for your use of air quotes or just disdain for GAR regulation in general. With any member of the Bad Batch, it was usually general disrespect for the rules. You gave him a look before continuing, “I still have three more days.”
“Is it really training? You could run circles around anyone here, especially them.” He drawled as he nodded his head over his shoulders at the table of red painted troopers who were eyeing him in distrust. Your eyes went a little wide, was that a compliment? And then you ducked your head at the offended glares of your table. In an effort to prevent a fight, you stood quickly before letting him lead you off.
“They’re aren’t gonna let me leave, Crosshair.” You reminded him, looking up to meet his eyes. He smirked a bit, setting his eyes forward.
“How are they gonna stop us?” He challenged, dropping his smile to glare at a passing trooper.
“Well, ion cannons come to mind.” You mused before clearing your throat, “You guys could always go with me, you went on plenty of missions before you got stuck with me. It be like the good ole days.”
He didn’t laugh at your joking tone, but shook his head, “You’re one of us, you stay with us”
You were stunned to silence for a second, despite your friendship he’s never referred you you as ‘one of them’. Heat rose to your cheeks as you exited the corridor into a lift, so Crosshair diffused the tension.
“Mission takes precedence over regulations. When have we been know to follow the rules, anyways.” He mused, swiping his ID card so the lift would let you out in the hangar. He relaxed a bit when you snorted a laugh before he continued on, “Besides, how can pull you out of sticky situation if you’re on a different planet?”
You froze in your spot, stomach dropping and cheeks flaring with red hot embarrassment; you had forgotten the cardinal rule of working with Crosshair.
If you didn’t have eyes on Crosshair, Crosshair definitely had eyes on you. And in this case, apparently ears as well.
“Ok, look-“ you started, hoping to ease your embarrassment, but all of the excuses you could come up with fell flat before they made it out of your mouth. Fortunately, the lift door slid open, allowing you to escape before you could further your embarrassment.
Crosshair actually chuckled out loud, long legs easily traipsing past you as he headed towards the Havoc Marauder. Momentarily, he twisted around to walk backwards, pointing his toothpick towards you, “Don’t worry, your ass is almost as good as mine.”
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clonecyare · 3 years
Note
21 for the kink prompt? hmmmmmmmm with wolffe or cody? TY TY!
21. Early morning sex + Wolffe
|| spicy hc masterlist || Tag list form ||
While Wolffe can be super full on when he fucks, he also gets work out a lot of the time
Being a commander is hard, okay?
More than once you've woken up in Wolffe's arms at stupid o'clock in the morning with warm breath on your neck and his hard cock pressing into your ass
You turn in his arms and press your forehead against his. It's still dark but you know he's awake and watching
He makes a little sleepy grunting sound when you push his briefs down and start to stroke his cock slowly
"Commander, did you wake up hard for me?"
He fucking whimpers, just the once but it's enough, fucking your closed hand and nods
He fumbles with your panties but you just push his hand away and coo at him
"Let me take care of you. Of us both."
He moans and just nods, and you thank the Maker he's so open and trusting with you
Sometimes Wolffe just needs to be the one getting taken care of
You push him onto his back gently and discard your panties, straddling his thigh
Wolffe is moaning and grunting in minutes
Between you stroking his cock and riding his thigh, he's in bliss
You lean down to kiss him ans his kisses are soft and needy
He's distracted and his impending orgasm and the feel of your cunt soaking his thick thigh
"Cum for me, Commander, let go"
You whisper right in his ear and it's too much
He cums all over your fingers with a tired shout of your name
He's so busy riding his high that he barely notices you slip off his thigh and straddle his hips
He only notices when he feels your fingers move on his cock again
He cracks his eyes open in time to watch you push his cock through your slick folds, spreading your wetness and his release down his length
He catches on pretty quick and grabs your waist, positioning you over his cock
"Good boy, you learn quick my Wolffe."
His answering sound was a half-moan, half-whine at your praise
Instantly you're slammed down on his cock and he's wasting no time planting his feet on the sheets and fucking up into your cunt needily
You brace your hands on his chest and push him back down
"Ah ah ah, what did I just say?"
Your voice is soft and inviting that even though he's at least twice as strong as you, he falls back as if he weren't with a pretty groan
"Let me take care of you"
You sit up properly and start to ride his cock with practiced ease, walls fluttering around his thick cock and gripping him tight
He's in heaven, muscles turning to jelly as he watches the last of the sheets fall prettily down your back and leave your full bare to him
His mouth is slightly slack, watching his cock disappear into your pussy
Wolffe is a tits man, let's be honest
So with your breasts bouncing so enticingly he can't help but grab both in huge hands, rubbing calloused thumbs over your pert nipples and rolling them
You cry out his name, arching your back and doubling your efforts
Wolffe answers with loud, unabashed moans of his own
When you lock eyes with Wolffe his breathe hitches and almost as if on cue, he cums with a shout of your name
One of his hands drops quickly to circle your clit eagerly and it pushes you over the edge
Your pussy is clenching around his cock and your gushing over his length
You collapse on Wolffe broad chest and it's as if all tension in his body the previous day has just melted away
His cock is slowly softening inside you hit you don't love, just cuddle into him
You smile tiredly when a warm hand starts to softly pet your hair, and the light flicks off
His voice is soft and warm when he speaks into peaceful calm of the room
"Thank you, cyar'ika"
----
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@captainrexsfuturewife @kybacrystal @djarrex @sitherin-mxschief @daceydeath @ahsoka1 @gotomarvelgal @savebbycross @ourafanofeverything @sergeant-hunter @queencousland101 @paige6768 @echofoxfives @call-me-a-fool @m0mmat0rtle @kirinpl @shit-spiced-chai-says @lackofhonor
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loth-wolffe · 3 years
Note
YOU KNOW I HAD TO COME IN WITH COMMANDER FOX,,,, THE LAMP PROMPT PLEASE (5th) <3
- your murder husband
anything for my murder husband<3
The lamp prompt
Pairing: OUR BELOVED COMMANDER FOX x reader.
Word count: 1,1k (sorry it's just,,, i love him your honor) not proofread we die like men.
Warnings: makin out with the Commander 👀. i think i wrote the word shiet once (1) but i don't remember if I deleted it or what. there's also the possibility that a certain someone is going to steal something. implied sexy times at the end but nothin wild.
a/n: i didn't kill him anna don't worry i love him too much. hope you like this hubby<3
It was one of those days, where you felt the urge to do this particular something, an itchiness in your mind you needed to scratch, but this wasn't something you had in mind when you first wake up.
Fox was standing in front of you, a few inches away because there just wasn't enough room in th supply closet you had dragged him into less than two minutes ago.
"I need to tell you something," you say, hands starting to sweat with the thought of oh shit, you're actually doing it.
He doesn't move, and you hate that damn bucket he never seems to take off. The amount of times you had seen him without it in the Senate building were few, maybe two times, and only because he needed some caf in his system.
"Could you–" you stare at the black visor, and you shiver at how intimidating he looks, he tilts his head just a little, and it's unbelievable how even with a covered face and an undying silence, he can say so much. "Could you take that off, please?" you gesture the helmet with you hand, and you're surprised how quickly he follows.
It usually takes you more convincing.
But maybe it's your pleading eyes, or your nervous tone, maybe it's how you have pulled at your lobe six times now in the past minute.
You're met by two brown eyes, gentle, kind, with little expression lines on each side, his curls wiggle as they cascade down his forehead, they look messy, uncharacteristically tousled, he must've forgotten to gel his hair, the helmet not doing much to keep them in place.
It's worse, now that you can see his expression, because now, when you say the words out loud, you'll see the rejection in his face first.
"Uh," you smile awkwardly, "could you put it back on? It's making me anxious."
He says your name, a warning without a threat behind it, he's rushing you, in a way, but you understand, he doesn't have much time to spare, and yet he's making some for you.
"Right," you murmur, more to yourself than to him. "I..." you start, sucking a breath as you say it and letting it get caught on your throat as your eyes find his.
Expectant, awaiting. He looks beautiful, with his gray hairs starting to grow on the sides, and that wild single curl on his forehead that reminds you of a superhero from a movie you once saw, and he stands there, having no idea of all the things he does to you.
Your name rolls off his tongue again, and you swear you could hear it forever.
"Sorry," you chuckle, cheeks warming with embarrassment because only you, and only now, could forget what you were about to say with just taking a little glance of him.
In your defense, he is the prettiest man you had ever laid your eyes on.
"I don't... I don't really know how to say this, but–"
"Is this about the lamp I broke yesterday?"
You blink.
"What? No, it's– wait that was you?" He smiles sheepishly, and your heart jumps in your chest at how cute he looks.
He should be in prison, you think, for making you feel like this.
"I was going to replace it."
"You..." and you could've said so many things, you don't have to, you're okay, there's no need, you're the love of my life please marry me, but you don't, instead, you go, "don't even have credits."
He scoffs.
"The chancellor is renovating his office."
"You were going to steal, to the Chancellor, your boss, a lamp?"
"It's not stealing if he's going to throw it away." His tone is as if it's the most obvious thing in the world and you can't help but laugh. He's too pure sometimes, and your heart aches for him because he deserves so much better.
His commlink blinks with a new call and dread fills you, you haven't told him yet, he can't go.
When he's about to answer, you spill it, like some kind of word vomiting, quick and unstoppable.
"I love you."
Fox stops mid movement, index finger so close to the comm's button, eyes flying to find yours in case he hadn't heard right.
"What?"
"I uhm, I love you."
And before you know it, his lips are on yours, a sound that it's something between a moan and a whimper scapes from his throat, and it's everything you both hoped for, his lips are soft, slightly chapped, but they feel like heaven.
He explores your mouth with what feels like the time of the world, taking his time to savour every single movement, drunk on your touch.
A little groan leaves him when your fingers tug the small curls at the nape, and you wish to stay like this forever.
"I love you too," he mumbles into your mouth between kisses, "always have," his hand curls into your hair, pulling you impossibly closer, "always will."
It's not long before the comms crack to life, an awkward Commander, the Chancellor requested to see you, is heard from the other line and you suppose is a shiny.
He pulls away for enough time to reply a quick, sharp "copy that" before reconnecting your lips together, pushing you against the door.
And you could've thought about how different it's his voice when he speaks to anyone that isn't you, so authoritative, unyielding, and so tender with you, so willing, but it's the weight of his body against yours and the faint smell of his cologne that makes your head dizzy and you can't think straight.
You look at each other, and he pecks your lips, you think it's his goodbye, but it isn't.
"One more."
And he does, taking his time to get familiar with your touch, with how your lips feel, how they taste. It's intoxicating.
"Okay," but he can't get enough of you, not when you're so close, when he just got you. His lips find yours again. "I have to go." It's more for him than for you, his words floating in the air as they are left ignored when he dives in for another kiss.
"Fox," you murmur, a little, lovesick smile threatening to spill between his kisses, "you'll be late."
"I'll come over to your place later" He says, but it sounds more like a question, between sloppy kisses traveling from your lips to your neck and back, a breathy yes leaving your mouth as he finds that sweet spot in the skin of your throat. "Good," he says, lips brushing yours and it's embarrassing how addicted he already is to your kisses, to your touch, "can't wait to taste you properly."
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