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tsumuus · 24 hours ago

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when he sees me

katsuki bakugou x reader, blind date, first date, fluff, ooc?, based on this drabble, probably my longest written fic(around 2300-2400 words, but like thats a lot for me😭)

main masterlist | bnha masterlist

You’ve never considered yourself the romantic type.

Not for lack of curiosity, but because the idea of romance felt like standing on the edge of a cliff. Sure, the view was breathtaking, but one wrong move and you’d plummet into the unknown. Relationships demanded too much- a risk of losing control, of exposing parts of yourself no one else had seen, only to have it thrown back in your face.

That’s why, despite Mina’s relentless campaigning to set you up with her “perfect guy,” you resisted.

“C’mon, he’s not like other guys,” she insisted one afternoon, her golden eyes sparkling with determination.

You sighed, stirring your coffee absentmindedly. “Mina, you’ve said that about all of your friends. And let’s not forget how the last one ended up being obsessed with his ex.”

Mina laughed. “Okay, fair, but this guy is different. He’s… grounded. Straightforward. No games, no fluff. I think you’d actually like him.”

“You’ve said that before too,” you teased.

Her pout was almost convincing. Almost. “Just trust me. One date. If it’s horrible, I’ll never bring it up again. Deal?”

You hesitated, weighing the risk of one awkward evening against weeks of Mina’s pestering. Reluctantly, you gave in. “Fine. One date.”

The restaurant was warm and inviting, its soft lighting casting a cozy glow over the wooden tables and shelves lined with potted plants. Mina had texted you the details earlier: 7 PM, party for two, under your name. She’d been oddly tight-lipped about who your date was, insisting she wanted it to be a surprise.

You were still skeptical, but a small part of you was curious. Maybe Mina was right this time. Maybe.

You arrived a few minutes early, hoping to gather your thoughts before meeting your mystery date. The host greeted you with a polite smile and led you to a small table near the window.

“Your party hasn’t arrived yet,” they said, pulling out your chair.

“Thank you,” you replied, sitting down and scanning the menu.

Minutes ticked by. You started to wonder if you’d been stood up when the door opened, and a blond man walked in, his sharp crimson eyes scanning the room.

You froze.

Even from across the restaurant, you recognized him. Katsuki Bakugou, pro hero and household name, exuded an aura that was impossible to ignore. He wasn’t wearing his hero costume, but the fitted black sweater and dark jeans were somehow just as striking.

Your heart sank. There’s no way he’s here for me.

But then his gaze landed on you, and he started walking over.

“You’re the blind date?” he asked, stopping in front of your table.

You blinked up at him, stunned. “You’re…”

“Katsuki,” he said, pulling out the chair across from you and sitting down. “Guess we’re both surprised.”

It took you a moment to recover. Of all the people Mina could have set you up with, this was the guy she’d chosen? Pro hero, explosive temper, and notorious for being brutally honest? It didn’t make sense.

“Uh, yeah,” you finally managed. “Nice to meet you.”

He gave a small nod, studying you with an intensity that made you shift in your seat.

The first few minutes were… awkward. He wasn’t exactly a conversationalist, and you weren’t sure how to navigate the situation. But as the evening went on, you began to notice things you hadn’t expected.

For one, he wasn’t as intimidating as you’d imagined. Sure, his words were blunt, but there was a surprising warmth behind them. He listened when you spoke, his attention unwavering. And when he talked about his work, there was a passion in his voice that made it impossible not to be drawn in.

“So, you’re friends with Mina?” he asked at one point, breaking the silence that had settled between you.

“Yeah. We’ve been friends since middle school,” you said. “She’s been trying to set me up for years. Guess she finally got her way.”

He snorted. “Sounds like her.”

You smiled, relaxing slightly. “What about you? How did she convince you to do this?”

“Didn’t take much,” he admitted. “She said you weren’t annoying, so I figured it was worth a shot.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “High praise.”

“It is,” he said, smirking.

Despite yourself, you laughed. The more you talked, the more you realized that he wasn’t what you’d expected. Beneath the sharp edges and fiery reputation was someone who was honest, genuine, and… kind. In his own way.

When the night ended, he walked you to your car. The cool evening air was a welcome contrast to the warmth of the restaurant, and you found yourself wishing the night could last just a little longer.

“Thanks for tonight,” he said, his hands shoved into his pockets. “Didn’t think I’d like this whole blind date thing, but… you’re not bad.”

A small laugh escaped you. “You’re not bad yourself.”

His lips quirked in the faintest of smirks. “See ya around?”

For a moment, you hesitated, the weight of your fears pressing down on you. But then you met his gaze- steady, genuine- and you felt something shift.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “See you around.”

That night, as you lay in bed replaying the evening in your mind, you realized something strange: you weren’t overthinking it. You weren’t second-guessing every word or analyzing every gesture. Instead, you felt… calm.

For the first time, the idea of letting someone in didn’t feel like a leap off a cliff.

It felt like the beginning of something you didn’t want to lose.

You didn’t expect him to call.

Even though the night had gone surprisingly well, you told yourself not to get your hopes up. He was a pro hero, after all- someone whose life moved at a pace so fast it felt impossible to keep up. People like him didn’t have time for something as fragile and delicate as a budding relationship.

Still, the memory of his smirk lingered, sharp and vivid in your mind. The way his crimson eyes had softened ever so slightly when he teased you- so subtle you wondered if you’d imagined it- made it impossible not to replay the evening over and over.

Three days passed. You told yourself to move on, to not dwell on what was probably just a casual dinner for him. That is, until your phone buzzed with a text.

Katsuki: Hey. You free for dinner this week?

The message was so short, so him, that it took you a moment to process it. Your heart stuttered, and you stared at the screen for what felt like an eternity. Was this real? A small, incredulous laugh bubbled out of you. You couldn’t deny the warmth spreading through your chest.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard. Should you reply right away? Wait a few minutes? Was it too eager to answer so quickly?

Finally, with a shaky breath, you typed back:

You: Yeah, I think I could be convinced. When were you thinking?

The pause before his next reply felt like forever, but when it came, it was so straightforward you had to smile.

Katsuki: Friday. 7. Same place.

Simple. Confident. And as you stared at the message, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope.

The first couple of dinners were... awkward, to say the least.

It wasn’t that Katsuki made you uncomfortable- far from it. But there was something about the way he carried himself, the unwavering intensity in his gaze, that made you hyperaware of every word you spoke. He wasn’t a conversationalist, either. The silences between you felt heavier than they needed to, filled with the unspoken tension of two people trying to figure each other out.

He wasn’t oblivious to it. One evening, while you sat across from him in a cozy, dimly lit restaurant, your fork hovering over your plate, he tilted his head and raised a brow.

“You gonna stop acting like you’re walkin’ on eggshells around me, or do I need to pry it out of you?” he asked bluntly, his tone laced with teasing, though his crimson eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.

Your fork clinked softly against the plate as you set it down, caught off guard. “I’m not walking on eggshells,” you retorted, though the heat creeping up your neck betrayed you.

His lips quirked in a knowing smirk. “Yeah, you are.” He leaned back in his chair, taking a sip of his drink, never breaking eye contact. “Just say whatever’s on your mind. I’m not gonna bite.”

There was something disarming about the way he said it- gruff but sincere. His words loosened something inside you, and before you realized it, you were laughing, the tension in your shoulders melting away. “You really don’t hold back, do you?”

“Don’t see the point,” he said with a shrug, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “It’s more fun when people are just themselves. So, quit overthinkin’ and just talk to me.”

It was easier said than done, but something about the way he said it- direct, no room for doubt- made you want to try. And so you did. Hesitantly at first, testing the waters with little anecdotes and random thoughts. But as the night went on, the words flowed more freely. You told him about your day, about things that annoyed you, things that made you laugh. And Katsuki listened.

Really listened.

He didn’t interrupt or interject with meaningless comments. He just let you talk, his eyes steady on yours, nodding here and there or throwing in a dry remark that made you laugh despite yourself. By the time the check came, the air between you felt lighter, less strained.

When he walked you to your door that night, hands shoved into his pockets and that familiar scowl softening just a fraction, you realized you were looking forward to the next time you’d see him.

Things between you shifted after that. Slowly, in small, subtle ways. Dinners turned into late-night conversations that carried over into texts throughout the week. Katsuki wasn’t the type to blow up your phone with messages, but when he did text, it was always something meaningful- or hilarious, though he’d never admit he was funny on purpose.

One night, he called out of the blue.

“Look outside,” he said gruffly, not even bothering with a greeting.

Confused, you walked to the window. Sure enough, there he was, standing on the sidewalk with a bag slung over one shoulder, his free hand holding up his phone.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, laughing as you opened the door and stepped outside to meet him.

“Thought you could use a break,” he said, holding up the bag. “Brought food. Don’t argue, just eat.”

It was simple, thoughtful gestures like that- the way he remembered little things you said, like your favorite snack or how you liked your coffee- that caught you off guard. He wasn’t trying to impress you; he was just... himself. Honest, genuine, and surprisingly caring in ways he’d never admit aloud.

The night it all came to a head was unplanned, much like the way your relationship had unfolded. You’d been feeling restless all day, the kind of itch beneath your skin that no amount of pacing or distractions could soothe. Katsuki must have noticed when he stopped by after work, because instead of sitting down like usual, he grabbed your hand.

“C’mon,” he said simply, tugging you toward the door.

“Where are we going?” you asked, though you didn’t resist, letting him lead you out into the cool night air.

“You’ll see.”

He didn’t elaborate, and you didn’t push, curious despite yourself. He walked with purpose, his hand warm and solid around yours, guiding you through streets you didn’t recognize until you reached a quiet rooftop overlooking the city. The view was breathtaking- glittering lights stretching out as far as the eye could see, the hum of distant traffic a soothing backdrop.

“Wow,” you breathed, stepping closer to the edge to take it all in.

Katsuki leaned against the railing, watching you instead of the view. “Thought you might like it,” he said after a moment, his voice softer than usual.

You glanced back at him, your chest tightening at the way he looked at you. “I do. It’s beautiful.”

He stayed quiet for a beat, his gaze dropping to the ground before meeting yours again. “You’ve been outta it lately,” he said, his tone careful. “Figured you needed to get outta your head for a bit.”

The words hit harder than you expected. You swallowed the lump in your throat, the weight of his attention- his care- making it hard to speak. “Thank you,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Don’t mention it,” he muttered, though the faint blush creeping up his neck betrayed him.

The silence stretched, comfortable now, as you both watched the city lights. But something was shifting between you, unspoken but undeniable. You felt it in the way he stood closer than before, his shoulder brushing against yours. In the way his crimson eyes softened when they met yours.

“Katsuki,” you began, your voice trembling slightly, “why do you... do all this? For me, I mean.”

He stiffened slightly but didn’t look away. “Why wouldn’t I?” he said, his tone defensive, like the answer was obvious. “You’re important to me.”

The confession hung in the air, raw and vulnerable. Your breath caught, and before you could stop yourself, you reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his. He stared at your joined hands, his expression unreadable, before squeezing back.

“You’re important to me too,” you said softly, the words carrying more weight than you expected.

And in that quiet moment, surrounded by the glow of the city, something between you clicked. There were no fireworks, no dramatic declarations, but as Katsuki leaned in, his forehead brushing gently against yours, you realized you didn’t need them. This- his warmth, his presence- was more than enough.

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loafysainz · 2 days ago

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hey gorgeous! how are you? can i request a story where carlos is just a normal guy with an average paying 9-5 and y/n is secretly a millionaire that’s a ceo with a massive company but hides it and lives in his small house and his average lifestyle but he somehow finds out and is complete shock? if not no problems ❤️

MY RICH GF | CS 55

carlos sainz x fem!reader

warn: no warn

hope you like it sender!! 🤍

There’s a saying—if you’ve ever read Fortune, the magazine that actually knows where the world’s richest hide their money:

"Not every millionaire is easy to pin down. Don’t trust any rich list you see—it barely scratches the surface." And that’s exactly how people describe The YLN Family.

Carlos had no clue. Not a single one.

Because as far as he knew, you were just a normal, stable employee at Finance Corporate—some mid-level corporate job that paid well enough but wasn’t flashy. You had a nice apartment, dressed well, never seemed to stress about money. But nothing about you screamed insane generational wealth. He never questioned it. Why would he? Not everyone in his life had to be ridiculously rich.

What he didn’t know was that your family owned the biggest car manufacturing empire in the world. That your father had spent millions making sure his family name was nowhere near any public records, that your assets were buried under layers of shell companies, trusts, and offshore accounts.

The only article that had ever mentioned your parents was some old feature in Legacy & Wealth, calling them “the ghost millionaires of the auto industry.” But that was it. No photos, no real details. Just speculation.

And Carlos? He was so far from putting the pieces together. He still thought youre just regular employee, but maybe you just saved up. He still thought it was a little weird that you never mentioned money struggles, but maybe you were just really good at managing finances.

The thought that you could buy and sell half the grid without breaking a sweat? Never even crossed his mind.

*****

Carlos had planned the night perfectly.

His company had been invited to the grand launch of your own company—some huge new venture that, apparently, was a big deal in the industry. He wasn’t exactly thrilled about going, but when he realized it was a black-tie event with free-flowing champagne, he figured he might as well make the most of it.

And since he didn’t want to go alone, he’d asked you to come with him.

"I can’t," you’d said over coffee that morning. "I have to work late."

He hadn’t pushed. You were always responsible like that—always staying late, never complaining. He even felt a little bad for you, missing out on a fancy event just to sit in an office under fluorescent lights.

Except now, standing in the middle of the ballroom, Carlos wasn’t sure whether to laugh or just be pissed.

Because there you were.

Not in an office. Not in work clothes. Not stuck behind a desk.

You were standing at the front of the room, shaking hands with executives, your name being announced like royalty. And as the words left the speaker’s lips—"Tonight, we celebrate the launch of (Company Name), a vision brought to life by none other than YFN"—Carlos finally realized.

You hadn’t been "working late."

You were hosting this.

Carlos downed the rest of his drink and walked up to you just as you stepped away from a conversation.

"You know," he said, voice laced with something sharp, "I didn’t realize 'working late' meant champagne and a whole damn ballroom."

You turned, eyes widening slightly in surprise before settling into something softer. "Carlos—"

"Guess I should’ve asked what kind of company you work for, huh?" His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Would’ve been nice to know my girlfriend isn’t just 'doing fine' but actually—what do they call you? millionaire heir?"

There was a pause. You exhaled, pressing your lips together before tilting your head slightly.

"Are you mad?"

Carlos blinked.

He wanted to say yes. Wanted to tell you how stupid he felt for never realizing. But the truth was, he wasn’t angry. He was just—stunned.

"I don’t know," he admitted. "Should I be?"

You sighed, shifting closer. "I didn’t hide it to lie to you. I just… I wanted to be normal. With you."

Carlos let out a breath, running a hand through his hair. "And what, you thought I wouldn’t be able to handle it?"

You shook your head. "I thought you wouldn’t look at me the same."

Silence stretched between you. Then, finally, Carlos let out a dry chuckle, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little.

"You know, I should’ve guessed something was off when you never complained about rent."

You laughed, warm and genuine, and Carlos felt the last bit of his frustration melt away. Because at the end of the day, you were still you—the person he’d fallen for. The same way he was still him. And this? This was just another thing to understand about each other.

"So," he said, smirking slightly. "Since you’re secretly rich, does this mean you’re paying for dinner next time?"

You grinned, leaning in just enough for your perfume to cloud his thoughts.

"If you’re nice to me."

Carlos exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. "Unbelievable."

And just like that, everything was right again.

#f1 fanfiction #f1 fic #f1 imagine #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz x reader #f1 fluff #carlos sainz #carlos sainz jr #cs55 #f1 x reader

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achromatophoric · 2 days ago

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Enid: Wednesday Friday Addams! Why is Yoko in the infirmary with a freaking dozen broken bones?!

Wednesday: Hmn. Impressive.

Enid: Excuse me?

Wednesday: Tanaka is sturdier than expected. I was certain that she had shattered at least 60% of her skeleton.

Enid: 😧

Enid: *covers her face and screams*

Wednesday: *nonplussed*

Enid: *drops her hands and takes a deep breath*

Enid: Wednesday. Give me one reason—one GOOD reason—why I shouldn’t tear you a new one.

Wednesday: Perhaps I desire for you to tear—

Enid: WEDNESDAY!

Enid: ☝️😡

Wednesday: Ahem. The reason is… I was beating someone with a bat.

Enid: *incredulous glare* So how did Yoko get hurt? Did she somehow trip and fall into the path of said bat?

Wednesday: No, she was said bat.

Enid: 😦

Enid: Yoko was the bat.

Wednesday: *nods*

Enid: 😐

Enid: 😤

Enid: Moon grant me patience—

Enid: Why, Wednesday? Just. WHY?

Wednesday: Do you recall a particularly offensive idiot known as Big Andy?

Enid: 🤔

Enid: The douche normie who thinks he can “convert” lesbians? Self-proclaimed “biggest buck in Jericho” and raging transphobe? That Big Andy?

Wednesday: The same. You see, the fool thought to lay a hand on Divina.

Enid: What? Ooh, that jerk! But that still doesn’t explain why.

Wednesday: As it turns out, Big Andy isn’t only transphobic. He also suffers from a debilitating case of chiroptophobia.

Enid: *blinks* Chiropto… bats? He’s terrified of bats?

Wednesday: Beyond terrified. He voided his bowels before I even managed to break his nose. It was quite magnificent.

Enid: 🫢

Enid: Wait. Nope. That doesn’t mean it was okay to use Yoko like it.

Wednesday: *sighs* Fine. It was her idea.

Enid: What?

Wednesday: Loath as I am to admit it, Tanaka was the one to devise such an inspired act of brutality. I was merely a willing participant.

Enid:

Enid: Do you honestly expect me to believe that?

*ding*

Wednesday: You may want to check that.

Enid: 🤨

Enid: *checks her phone*

Enid:

Enid: She posted it to TikTok.

Wednesday: She had Thing film the incident.

Enid: It’s trending. #BadBitchBeatsBigotWithBat.

Wednesday: An adequate alliteration.

Enid: 🤦

Enid: My best friend is an idiot.

Wednesday:

Wednesday: So about tearing me a new one…

Enid: Not the time.

Wednesday: *pouts*

#enid sinclair is exhausted #wednesday addams #enid sinclair #yoko tsuno #wednesday netflix #incorrect wenclair #wenclair #incorrect wednesday addams #incorrect wednesday quotes #incorrect quotes #ficlet

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hxlxnaaa · 3 days ago

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hello my favorite fic writer !!!!!!

could you possible write something where after a long week or couple of shifts at the hospital mc notices that zayne’s hands are looking really rough and cracked (due to hand washing and his ice evol) so she makes it a point to get him a super nice and effective hand cream?

just like pure lovey, dovey, mushy, gross, adorable fluff.

thank uuuuuuuu

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

★ 𝐚/𝐧: little fluffy blurb for you, anon :)

Zayne, who preaches taking care of oneself but lacks doing so himself. Forgetting meals, sleepless nights, stress and strain regarding his patients and career. It’s not uncommon for the little things to slip his mind.

Zayne, who holds your hands in his often, reeling in the softness of your palms, delicate like a jasmine petal. It’s a harsh contrast to his rough, dry, cracked skin; broken and raw from the cold of his Evol mixed with countless times of washing his hands before and after surgeries and touching patients during checkups, going through pocket hand sanitizers at least once a week. You don’t mind though, still fiddling with his fingers as you talk, tracing circles on his palms, kissing the cracks on his knuckles. He thinks it must be uncomfortable, holding his hands, but you show no care.

Zayne, who tries to make a mental note to get lotion, but always forgets. Maybe a bit on purpose, as he enjoys your moments spent together where you massage your own sweet scented lotion into his dry, sore skin. He relishes in the soothing feeling of your gentle touch, along with the much needed moisture. When you’re apart, the scent lingers and it’s a heartwarming reminder of your presence.

Zayne, who adores you and your care. If he’s working late, you’re on your way with dinner. Little post-it-notes are left in his briefcase, reminding him to eat and take breaks, along with sweet messages and doodles reminding him of your love. He comes home to your warm embrace, the safe haven of your arms. If he’s stressed and overworked, you somehow always manage to pull him back together.

Zayne, who worked a late night at the hospital, arriving at your shared home to the kitchen light still on. On the table sat a neatly wrapped blue gift box, with snowman stickers stuck sporadically around the top. A post-it-note sat beside the box, ‘A little something for when you’re at work and I’m not around, since you keep forgetting to get it yourself <3’. Untying the blue lace, in snowflake wrapping paper sat your favorite lotion. The gesture makes his Evol turn warm, heart swelling at your thoughtfulness. Though he wouldn’t get the same gentle massages that you’d give him while away at the hospital, the gift was absolutely enough for him.

Zayne, who just really loves you.

(divider by cafekitsune)

#zayne x reader #zayne x you #zayne x y/n #love and deepspace zayne #zayne #l&ds zayne #lnds zayne #lads zayne #lads #lnds #lnds fluff #zayne love and deepspace #zayne fluff #zayne x mc #love and deep space

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arkofangels · 2 days ago

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Don't wait up

Summary: In the heart of Gotham, you juggle the pressures of your final year at college and your prestigious Wayne Tech internship while sharing a cramped apartment with your chaotic but well-meaning roommate, Mia. A quiet night in quickly takes a turn when Jason Todd—your elusive criminology classmate—crashes, quite literally, onto your fire escape, wounded and bleeding.

a/n: slight swearing, mention of blood/injury, not proofread I wrote this half-asleep

You never thought Gotham would be home. Not really. It was a pit stop, a means to an end, a place where you could work, grind, and claw your way toward a future that didn’t involve dimly lit apartments and the constant hum of sirens outside your window. But Wayne Tech’s internship program was too good to pass up, and now, here you were—sharing a cramped studio apartment with Mia, your chaos-loving, party-going, endlessly exasperating roommate.

Mia was a hurricane, a whirlwind of bad decisions and infectious energy that somehow made life feel a little less bleak. She had a way of pulling you into her orbit, dragging you to bars, forcing you to meet new people, reminding you that there was more to life than deadlines and high-stakes projects. But tonight? Tonight, you needed quiet. Needed stillness. Needed a break from everything and everyone.

You curled up on your bed, cradling a mug of tea as lavender-scented air from your diffuser wrapped around you. The new semester was already stretching you thin—your grades had slipped last year, and you weren’t about to let that happen again. You had a plan. Study. Work. Graduate. Get the hell out of Gotham.

And then the window rattled.

The sound wasn’t loud, not at first, but something about it sent a spike of unease through you. The city had its own rhythm, its own sounds—the low thrum of traffic, the occasional shout in the distance, the ever-present hum of life pressing against the glass. But this? This was different. A sudden impact. A groan of metal under weight.

You turned, heart in your throat, just in time to see a shadow slump against the fire escape. A hand smeared red streaks across the glass, and beyond it stood the last person you’d ever expect to see in this part of the city.

Jason Todd.

You knew him. Or rather, you knew of him. The quiet guy in your criminology class who always sat in the back, never spoke unless called on, and somehow still managed to answer everything perfectly. The guy with the sharp eyes and the sharper wit, the one who never stuck around after lectures, always disappearing before anyone could get too close.

And, apparently, the guy bleeding out on your fire escape.

Your first instinct was to call the police. But something about that felt... wrong. Jason Todd wasn’t the type to be involved in anything illegal—at least, not in the way that would warrant calling the cops. But the leather jacket, the streak of red across his chest, the faint emblem of a bat barely visible beneath layers of fabric—it all told a different story.

Your stomach twisted.

You knew what you’d seen before. The Red Hood. A myth, a ghost, a brutal hand of justice that left criminals broken in Gotham’s gutters. You had seen him once, in passing, in Crime Alley when you’d taken the wrong turn after class. You’d been more intrigued by his tech than the man himself—wondering what kind of genius had built something so efficient, so powerful, so lethal.

And now he was here. Bleeding out. On your fire escape.

“Fantastic,” you muttered, grabbing the first aid kit you kept under your bed. You weren’t a medic by any stretch, but this was Gotham. Everyone had to learn basic wound care at some point.

You unlatched the window and shoved it open. The cold air bit at your skin as Jason tensed, his hand twitching toward the pistol at his side.

“Relax,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “I'm just trying to help”

His mask tilted up, white lenses locking onto you. A pause. Then, with a grunt, he staggered forward, collapsing onto your couch with the kind of drama that suggested this wasn’t his first time doing this.

“Thanks,” he muttered, voice rough, like gravel scraped across asphalt. “Hope you’re not too attached to this couch.”

“Not particularly,” you shot back, already pulling out gauze and antiseptic. “But I’d rather not have to explain a bloodstain to my landlord.”

Jason let out something that might’ve been a laugh, but it turned into a wince. You peeled back the ruined fabric of his shirt, assessing the damage. A deep gash along his side, ugly but not fatal. He’d live. Assuming he didn’t pass out on you first.

That was Jason Todd. The guy who never talked in class. The guy who was always there but never quite present. And now, the guy bleeding out on your couch, wearing the unmistakable gear of the Red Hood. Your classmate. The vigilante. The myth you’d only half-believed was real.

Your hands kept moving, more out of instinct than conscious effort, dabbing antiseptic onto the wound, pressing gauze against it. The weight of the realization settled in your chest, heavy, cold.

Jason Todd was the Red Hood.

It should have sent you into a spiral. It should have had you freaking out, or at the very least, demanding an explanation. But instead, you found yourself slipping into something easier—small talk, grounding yourself in the mundane while your mind scrambled to process everything else.

“What the hell did you get into?” you asked, threading a needle with steady hands.

“Let’s just say Black Mask and I have some... unresolved issues.” His smirk was sharp, even through the pain. “He doesn’t play nice.”

“Neither do you, apparently.”

He didn’t deny it. Just watched as you worked, his breathing slowing as the pain dulled to something distant. You didn’t ask the obvious questions. Not yet. How long had he been doing this? How had no one figured it out before? What else had you missed, sitting three rows behind him in class, thinking he was just another student with sharp eyes and sharper instincts?

The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken questions. You weren’t sure why you spoke, why you let curiosity override common sense, but the words tumbled out anyway.

“The mask,” you said, nodding toward the helmet on your coffee table. “Tech like that doesn’t come cheap.”

Jason’s lips quirked. “What, you looking to upgrade?”

“Maybe,” you admitted. “I’m a tech designer. It’s kind of my thing.”

He blinked, like he was seeing you for the first time. "Wayne Tech?" he asked, his gaze lingering on the employee ID you’d left on the coffee table, his expression unreadable.

“Intern,” you clarified, finishing the last stitch. “Not that I’d expect you to care, Mr. Vigilante.”

“Wayne Tech, huh?” His tone shifted, edged with something unreadable. “Guess that explains why you’re not running for the hills right now.”

You snorted. “Please. I’ve seen worse injuries in the R&D lab. You’re lucky I didn’t just slap a band-aid on it and call it a night.”

That earned a real laugh, low and rough, but not unpleasant. “Fair point.”

You leaned back slightly, taking him in. The Red Hood. Jason Todd. The same person. And yet, nothing about him had really changed. He was still the sharp-eyed guy from class, still the one who always seemed to know more than he let on. The only difference was that now you knew, too.

“Not many people build helmets with integrated HUDs and infrared vision,” you shot back, “or crash into my fire escape, bleed all over my couch, and make themselves at home, But here we are."

Jason smirked, something softer beneath it.

As the silence stretched between you, the sudden jingle of keys at the apartment door shattered the fragile stillness. Both of you froze, your breath catching in your throat.

Your stomach dropped.

Mia was home.

"Oh shit... that's my roommate," you whisper sharply, snatching Jason's mask off the table. Without thinking, you step closer and position yourself in front of him, blocking the unmistakable bat emblem on his chest with your body. It wasn’t subtle—you could feel Jason’s eyes on you, probably amused despite the situation—but it was the best you could manage under the circumstances.

The door flew open, and Mia swept in with her signature flair, her hair slightly disheveled and her eyeliner smudged. She froze mid-step when her eyes landed on Jason sitting on the couch.

"Uh... hi?" she said, raising an eyebrow, her gaze darting suspiciously between you and him. "Did I miss something?"

"This is... Jason," you said, fumbling for words and gesturing awkwardly toward him. "He’s in my Data Analysis class. Had a bit of an accident and, uh, needed some first aid."

Jason gave her a small nod, his expression unreadable. "Nice to meet you," he said smoothly, somehow managing to make the situation seem less bizarre than it was.

Mia narrowed her eyes for a moment, clearly not convinced, but then shrugged it off. "Right. Well, I’ll leave you two to... whatever this is," she said, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and disappearing into her room without another word.

The door clicked shut, and you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. "That was close," you muttered, turning back to Jason. He was leaning back now, one eyebrow raised, clearly amused.

“Data Analysis class? Really?" he asked, the corners of his mouth twitching into the faintest smirk.

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms. "You're welcome for saving your secret identity, by the way. And it's not that bad—we're going to the same college. She’s bound to see you around campus eventually."

You let the silence settle for a moment before shifting your weight, glancing at him. "So," you began, your voice softer now. "What's it like? Being..." You gestured vaguely at his suit.

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Being what? A guy who bleeds on random people’s furniture?”

You rolled your eyes. “A vigilante. You know what I mean.”

He leaned back, his gaze fixed on you, as if weighing how much to reveal. “It’s not glamorous, if that’s what you’re asking. You get used to stitches, bruises, and sleeping with one eye open. But… someone’s gotta do it.”

You shifted on your feet, watching him carefully. "Hey, you know you don’t have to do this, right? There are people—Batman, for one—who can handle this kind of thing."

Jason let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. "Batman can’t save everybody." His voice was firm, unwavering. "Someone has to step up."

"And that someone has to be you?" you asked, your voice quieter now.

He shrugged. "Guess so. Not like I could sit back and watch this city tear itself apart."

Your lips pressed into a thin line. There was something undeniably admirable about his resolve, even if it sounded like a lonely existence. A life of sacrifice. Before you could respond, the sharp buzz of Jason’s phone cut through the quiet room. He glanced at the screen, his jaw tightening.

“Trouble?” you asked.

“Always,” he muttered, standing up and grabbing his jacket.

“Thanks for the patch-up. I owe you one.”

And just like that, he was gone, swallowed by Gotham’s shadows. You stood by the window for a long moment, the cool night air brushing against your skin.

You weren’t sure what this meant, if it meant anything at all. But one thing was certain—Jason Todd had crashed into your life, and something told you he wasn’t done yet.

#arkofangels #fanfic #Jason todd #jason todd x reader #dc universe #batboys x reader #batboys #not proofread

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richardsphere · 3 days ago

Text

the Evilustrhater Kwagatama scene is just fractally bad.

The Evilustrhater Kwagatama scene just... sucks. It breaks down on any level of thought. 1-Only Kwami should be giving out kwagatama. (cause its literally the only bit of agency the little slave-gods have). Mari spends this "giving up her Guardian-authority" scene usurping Tikki's authority. (It doesnt matter if we're meant to "reasonably assume" Tikki gave permision for this. It still should've been Tikki handing it over.) 2-It further unbalances the team dynamics, by putting Rena into a position of at least nominal authority to, at some point in the future, take away Chat's ring, should she decide to do so. Ladybug continues to make decisions that effect the entire team, without consulting any members of her team. (Even Rena wasnt consulted on this decision, and has it foisted on her instead. But then, this might be deliberate if we're getting Ladynoir Conflict/Miraculous Civil War)

3-It erodes Alya's relationship with Trixx. At least on a symbolical level. By giving her a Bug kwagatama, before ever giving her a fox one, thus implying symbolically that her relationship with Tikki is better then her relationship with Trixx. 4-simultaniously it erodes the symbolism of the Kwagatama as trust between Kwami and Hero. Mari needed to be a hero for months living with Tiki side-by-side fighting evil on the daily before Tikki gave her a kwagatama. Adrien only got his in Reunion, thats a season 5 episode. Adrien had to die multiple times, faced multiple apocalyptic threats and prevented World War Three before he got a Kwagatama. (put a pin in that one btw, its going to be relevant later). Alya has only used the Ladybug Miraculous once, and that was seemingly enough. 5-It obviously undermines Fu's sacrifice. Setting up a "just own the magic friendship-necklace and you'll get your memories back" reveal immensely undercuts the weight of Fu's amnesia. To be clear, I was always expecting that they'd find some clever loophole to protect Marinette from said amnesia. But having it be a magic necklace that she's had since Season 2? Saying "the problem was solved before it was even introduced" doesn't so much reduce the threat, as it removes the threat entirely. I was at least expecting her to have to train with the Order or something, finish the training Fu never got to learn how to protect herself in advance, maybe a potion from the Book Fu never deciphered in time? or have someone else on the team figure out how to restore her memories after the fact. (IE: Felix could definitly make a "memory-restoring" senti, Maybe a cameo from Liirii "liberating" her from the chains on her memories.) But saying "Oh, you just needed your Kwami to trust you and you wont ever get Fu-ed" is just... shitty. 6- It casually implies that Fu went through not one, but two World Wars as the Turtle wielder, but never managed to earn Wayz' trust. after all, if he did he'd have a Turtle Kwagatama, and the show would've been much different. --Edit cause i somehow forgot 7- Do we really need a third back-up guardian. We already had the guy from Ephemeral, and Luka went to the order to train for that very same position.

#miraculous s6 spoilers #miraculous salt #miraculous criticism #miraculous season 6 #evilustrhater #Ml s6 #ml s6 spoilers #miraculous spoilers #miraculous ladybug #ml writing critical

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cloversnstrawberries · 2 days ago

Note

Can I request a platonic yandere Stars members (Wesker, Jill, Chris, etc) with a fellow stars member

If won't/don't do multiple people, could you do Wesker or Chris

All of your work has been very good and I love the layout of your blog and the actual work

Have a good day or night

platonic!yandere!S.T.A.R.S & S.T.A.R.S!gn!reader headcanons ! !

masterlist !

includes albert wesker, jill valentine, chris redfield, and rebecca chambers !

additional notes; hello!! i absolutely can do multiple people, and thank you so much for dropping this request, i had a lot of fun writing it :) and aaugudhg,,, i literally died when i read this,, you're so sweet (˃̣̣̥ ︿ ˂̣̣̥) i'm sorry i took so long to finish this!! i really wanted to make sure they all had a lot of content/were equal (more or less) in word count :D i also hope i got their characterizations correct,,

the dynamics for this is fatherly albert, big sister jill, big brother chris (+sister claire, because i find myself incapable of not including her), and little sister rebecca!! yandere found family dynamics.. yandere found family dynamics save me...

warnings; Overprotectiveness, possessiveness, jealousy, (very slightly) implied kidnapping(?), manipulation, guns, light violence/mention of, Reader being left out of the loop, isolation, and probably more that i may have forgotten :[ if you think there's any I should add, please let me know!! :D

w/c; Albert (3.0k) | Jill (2.6k) | Chris (2.9k) | Rebecca (3.3k)

Albert Wesker

Even if you weren't qualified for it, he'd have you on the Alpha team. You’d been shooting for a position in the Bravo team, but somehow-- someway, you managed to charm your way into the captains good graces, enough for him to put you in the Alpha team,

Don't get me wrong, that doesn't mean you're going on missions with them. There were a few times where you did-- only because his higher ups (Umbrella, though you didn’t know that’s who he had to answer to) forced Wesker's hand, saying that you'd need to be demoted if you weren't actually going out in the field.

No, you were usually stuck behind, doing paperwork. You weren't complaining-- not usually, anyways. Yes, it often got boring and repetitive at times; but it's leagues better than the chaos you'd had to endure on the few required missions you went on every now-and-again.

And even then, your captain claimed they were some of the more mild missions the team had gone on. If that was mild, you sure as hell didn't want to see what the extreme could possibly be.

All in all, you were pretty alright with being saddled with all the technical things-- there were some you couldn't do, like the personal recounts that members had to fill out after a particularly high-stakes mission; but you did a good chunk of it.

One time, when you were heading to the break room for your lunch-- passing by Wesker's office, you heard him being... unusually loud. Animated, you're sure; the frosted window giving way to the interior obscured the finer details, but you could still see how he paced back and forth.

His hand was pressed to his ear-- no, his hand was holding a phone; the kind that can detach from their bases, that he was pressing to his ear, and you could practically feel the agitation that was just radiating off of him in droves.

It's not your fault-- that your curiosity got the best of you. That you tucked yourself against the nearby wall and pressed your ear to the door. If Wesker ever found out that you'd been eavesdropping, then he'd surely demote you-- or fire you entirely, was the more logical conclusion.

Which gave you all the more reason to not get caught. Despite it all, you liked this job. You liked the people you worked with-- you couldn't bare the thought of losing this job, if only because of your beloved co-workers.

The door was thick, but your captain was loud enough that you could catch most of the conversation.

It seemed like he was talking to his higher-ups-- strange, the thought of him having to answer to anyone but himself. It makes sense, though-- now that you've come face to face with it.

"I'm not sending them with the others," was what you heard first. You wondered who he was talking about-- and what he wouldn't be sending this mysterious person to, that seemingly, all other S.T.A.R.S members were going to.

...Quickly, you realized the only logical conclusion was that he referring to you. Maybe it was a high-stake mission, and whoever held authority over him (God, that never stops feeling like a strange concept to you) was saying you hadn't met whatever mission-quota required to stay on the Alpha team.

Which checks out, seeing as you were trained for the Bravo team-- graduating in the same class as Rebecca Chambers, not a single lick of real-world experience under your belt; you got the job on the basis that it'd be smaller stuff. Easy stuff, something a rookie like yourself could easily do without much trouble or personal harm.

For some god-forsaken reason, Captain Wesker was certain you'd make a fantastic fit for the Alpha team.

Whoever his higher-ups were, didn't seem to agree with him at all. And you wouldn't blame them! The last mission left you so shaken that Wesker told-- no, demanded-- you to take PTO. Reluctantly, you'd gone along with it. he sent you away with a pat on the shoulder, telling you to relax-- not worry about work for the three days he'd allotted you.

You weren't even sure if he could do that, just hand you PTO out of the blue. But then again, he is your boss-- and you have no personal experience in being such a thing to anyone, so who's to say.

Suddenly, a crash sounded out behind the door-- you jumped, leaning just a little further forward to make sure nothing seriously bad happened--

One of the chairs opposite from Wesker's own, the ones he'd tell anyone from interviewees to employees to have a seat in-- had somehow tilted over, and the loud crash was from when it collided with the ground. If you didn’t know any better, you’d assume that Wesker had, in a fit of uncharacteristic (to your knowledge) and explosive anger, shoved the innocent piece of furniture over.

A funny though— your captain, usually so calm and collected, doing something as silly as shoving a over a chair because he was having a tough time with his boss(es),

Really, you should've pulled yourself back-- but you felt rooted to the spot, watching as the clouded, but still recognizable, figure of Albert Wesker was absolutely just seething inside the office-- even through the barrier, you could see how tightly he was gripping the phone. Any harder, and it'd probably turn to dust in his palm.

Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration-- but he was holding it very, very tightly; his jaw clenched so hard that you worried for his teeth. If it'd been you, your teeth would've cracked ages ago with how tightly he grinding them together.

"I don't care what the execs want, Birkin! They're not going. I'm not sending them in like the others." Huh. That was the first time you'd ever gotten a name to the mysterious, possible higher-ups of your captain. You don't recognize the name from the precinct-- or any branch of Raccoon City law enforcement.

Maybe not a higher-up, then? Perhaps an acquaintance, or someone on a similar level of work hierarchy as Wesker? Maybe even a friend, if you were feeling so inclined.

But that didn't explain why they appeared to be talking about something relating to S.T.A.R.S, about a mission that you (you assumed he was talking about you, but you could be wrong) were being completely barred from for seemingly no reason.

Then, Wesker laughed-- an incredulous sort of noise, equal parts angry as it was mocking to whoever was on the receiving end of this phone call.

"What's got him so riled up...?" You mumble to yourself, unable to keep in your confusion-- as soon as you realized your mistake, Wesker paused. You darted back, heart pounding-- you should just head for your lunch break already. you were afforded a generous 30 minutes, but you'd probably used 1/4th of the time allotted,

If you weren’t careful, you'd waste half, or maybe even the entirety, of your break; if you didn’t restrain your curiosity soon,

And yet, you didn't leave. Didn't turn on your heel and run away like a dog with its tail between its legs.

Warily, you stared at the door-- willing the knob not to turn, praying to whatever would answer you that your boss hadn't heard that little question you'd intended entirely for yourself.

When you pacing started up again, his heavy boots thudding against the scratched hardwood floor of his office-- you breathed a quiet sigh of relief, and continued the task at hand.

This time, you didn't dare lean forward to see what he was doing. Having learned your lesson, you stayed far from the window; but just close enough to hear clearly.

A heavy, heaving sigh came next-- and you could practically visualize it now, your captains ever-present sunglasses pushed up to rest on his head, disturbing his perfectly gelled hair just a tad-- fingers pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

"What am I going to do with them, huh?" He... was repeating what the other person, this Birkin, said over the phone-- you think. That's the only way you could make sense of why he could've possibly said that.

A few moments of silence followed, before Wesker-- tone eerily calm, such a stark contrast to the irritated-- no, dare you say enraged-- demeanor he'd had less than five minutes ago.

It was giving you whiplash-- Wesker didn't make much sense with his emotions and personal actions on a good day, when he was actively trying to make himself understandable to you and the other S.T.A.R.S members.

He must be pretty damn close with this Birkin person-- making no attempts to hide his strangeness, the almost cryptic and archaic way he experienced and expressed his feelings.

"Well, you know better than to think I'll spill it all over the phone, Birkin." The name was said more fondly, supporting the idea that this Birkin was a friend of your captains-- we all get annoyed with our friends form time to time, yeah? Maybe that was it.

Maybe... this wasn't even about S.T.A.R.S at all? Would that be considered a stretch? You aren't too sure, the nerves eating away at you eased at the thought-- the idea that Albert was simply speaking about his own personal affairs.

In the absence of your anxiety about being involved in whatever he was talking about, you felt an immense guilt settle, heavy and suffocating in the back of your mind.

You had half the mind to just turn on your heel and head back to work-- to eat lunch at your desk, and work twice as hard on your assignments that day. Either because you wanted something to take your mind off the fact that you butted in on your Captains personal life (something he's obviously very cagey about in the first place, god knows how he'd react knowing that you'd pried some information about it from listening into his conversation, while he stayed entirely unaware to your presence) -- whichever made the most sense. Both, if you were feeling like being honest with yourself.

But, the next thing he said made your blood run cold-- your muscles lock up and your spine straighten. You're sure you resembled a rabbit ready to bolt than a trained (albeit new) member of S.T.A.R.S.

"But I'll let you in on a little secret," His voice wasn't as loud as it was clear-- precise, and it felt as if he was directly addressing you-- but you knew that couldn't possibly have been it.

"I've grown rather fond of them, and I don't feel like giving them up to be one of our little lab rats.” After that ominous bit of information was dropped like a bomb on you, Wesker went quiet.

The person on the other side of the phone must've been responding-- within half a minute, Wesker continued speaking himself.

"I wouldn't call them a pet, Birkin. More like a companion. To call them a pet would suggest they're so much lower than me; which isn't true at all." For a split second-- despite all the... strangeness of his other words, and the context of it all (no matter how disjointed and incomplete it was with you), you let warmth curl around your heart and ease any aches and pains.

For a second, you'd imagined that-- minus the clear superiority complex, he could've been giving you this odd compliment. Could be complimenting you to his friend.

You knew it wasn't so, but you couldn't help but dream for it. You always craved Wesker's praise and approval, no matter how pathetic it'd be to admit that, it was the truth. Honestly, you're surprised you haven't accidentally called him dad before.

And if you did let something like that slip without catching yourself, you'd hand in your two-week notice yourself-- given that you don't die of embarrassment before you had the chance to.

He laughed-- you'd never heard him do that before. Sure, he’s chuckled before; and he'd snickered a few times, but never laughed.

You were shocked by how he laughed-- it seemed more fit for a cartoon villain rather than a specialized police force captain. Maybe that's why he didn't do it often? Previously, you'd just assumed he found very little amusement in most things; or was just physically incapable of laughing for some unforeseen reason.

He'd stopped pacing a little while ago-- you'd been far more focused on his words, that you hardly saw a point in keeping track of his movement, or lack of such.

But, oh god, did you realize it when he started moving again--

It sounded like he was heading toward the door.

"I know, Birkin." Your captain said-- his voice closer. Fear gripped your heart; you had to move, you had to move now, or he'd find you out and you'd be absolutely done for-- That's something you can't really get past in this line of work, eavesdropping on your bosses private conversations-- whether or not he was speaking with a higher-up or a personal acquaintance.

No matter what, if that door opened and he saw you-- then you could kiss your job goodbye, and probably any chance to get a different job in this field ever again.

Nobody liked a Nosy Nancy, did they? Especially not Wesker-- who'd snapped at nearly everyone (noticeably, everyone but you) who'd had the misfortune of even entering the goddamn breakroom while he was in there and taking a call.

He laughed again, far too close for comfort-- you had enough wits about you to stumble back; if he were to open the door now, your position wouldn't as incriminating as before. No longer bracing against the wall, ear pressed to the door of his office.

But still, not a very good look; you just standing there. But your curiosity would be the end of you-- it made you stay stuck to the spot, wanting to catch the last bit of the conversation, even if you didn't understand it at all.

"Yes, yes. I'll be sure to keep them out of your work. As long as you keep your work from them, You know how I feel about my things getting damaged." The knob began to turn-- and as the door began to creak open, the beep! from his phone signaling that the call was over--

You still didn't move, not until the very last minute; turning on your heel, you barely got a few steps forward before your heart dropped your stomach, at the sound of--

"How long have you been out here?" He... didn't sound mad. A strange undertone of... amusement, you think, colored his tone. Fear and relief flooded your body at once-- relief at the idea that he didn't know any better,

And fear that you'd have to either fess up, or lie to cover your ass.

"I just got here, sir." You said, lying through your teeth. It's moments like these, where the fact he's always wearing sunglasses makes you feel even more nervous then if he wasn't-- because, as it was, he was absolutely impossible to get a read on, expression wise.

Then again, there's no real telling if him losing the sunglasses would help at all-- but it still gave you immense anxiety. Not being able to see the look in his eyes, not being able to see any possible emotion he may hold in them.

A few seconds pass by, spent by internally queueing up your goodbyes to your fellow co-workers-- bracing yourself for the worse, for him the reveal that he knew you were lying; because obviously, he'd know. You were an awful liar, and he'd told you so numerous times before,

Though, always with a sort of fondness in his tone-- the kind he never seemed to spare to anyone besides you. At least when you're present, that it-- could be a completely different story while you out of the room.

...Probably not, given how your colleagues always seem to surprised by how 'soft' Wesker was with you-- it'd gained him the nickname 'momma bird', only whispered when you all know that there's not chance of him finding out about it.

"Hm," He said-- before stepping to the side, pulling the door with him, his arm outstretched, silently inviting you inside. You didn't take it, still so nervous-- had he seen you? did he see through your lie?

"Well then, aren’t you going come in? There is something you wish to speak with me about, yes? Or were you just checking in on my well-being?” Finally, you felt the pressing weight of absolute hopelessness lift from your shoulders, the tension visibly leaving your body all at once.

He quirked a brow at your silence, at your immobility-- you jolted, and nodded enthusiastically, scanning your brain for anything you could possibly talk to him about. You'd just been on your way to lunch-- that was it, you had nothing to speak with him about.

But he seemed... expectant. And you swore you saw a smirk on his face--

Well, it was better not to overanalyze it. You followed his 'invitation' (more like a command) and headed into his office; he gestured to the two chairs opposite of his own bigger, fancier one-- he hadn't picked the chair up from the ground yet, you realize.

You stood there for a moment, before picking it up for him. However, you sit in the other one. He gave you a token "Thank you." Before walking around the desk and sitting in his own chair.

Never in your life had you been so quick to bullshit some random, silly question-- that strange little smirk never left his face, but you opted to ignore it in its entirety. If you kept thinking about it, that'd only serve to make you even more anxious.

You didn't know it-- you didn't know how he was looking at you from beneath the sunglasses, like he was studying you. Like he was planning something-- and maybe if you had, maybe if his eyes hadn't been obscured and you would've somehow caught the concerning glint in them, then maybe you could've saved yourself a hell of a lot of trouble down the line.

Jill Valentine

When you first joined S.T.A.R.S, you and and Jill hit it off in an instant-- getting along like a house on fire, Chris jokingly remarked.

You could either be on Alpha or Bravo team, but no matter what, Jill latched onto you like nobodies business. Showing you around the office-- at times hijacking the tour your boss was giving, just so she could give it herself. She always got away with it because she was so enthusiastic about it.

If you were on Alpha team, she'd constantly be pairing up with you during missions; no doubt about it, she's keeping you as close as humanly possible. You don't have a choice in it.

Now, if you were apart of Bravo-- she'd definitely try to change that, to put a good word in for you to Wesker... only to get shot down, and for him to tell her that you were right where you were supposed to be. And unless you showed a 'great deal of talent he otherwise hasn't seen', then you would stay with the Bravos.

Suddenly, after that conversation, she started to drag you from your desk and take you to the shooting range-- like, daily. She'd try her best to help you improve anyway she could, including (but certainly not limiting) how to handle a gun, how to properly utilize a melee weapon against both an unarmed and armed perp, hand-to-hand combat, how to pin someone bigger than yourself down and keep them down,

and of course, her Specialty, lockpicking. You took to it like a fish to water, she said-- it was by far what you were best at among the things she tried to teach you at the point, and she could barely contain her glee at that fact.

However... it was a completely different story for the other things she tried teaching you. The kinds of skills that you develop naturally over an extended period of time, over multiple missions. Something you can't just... learn.

You weren't skilled enough in aim to hold a gun like she tried to teach you to, and in the same vein-- you weren't skilled enough in handling the gun to use the tips and tricks she gave you for aiming.

It was like a never ending cycle, where you couldn't do one thing, and when she tried to target it form another angle-- that didn't work either, because you couldn't do the first thing.

It was extremely frustrating for the both of you, particularly Jill. She did great at not showing it, though. She was all smiles as she gave you a pat on your shoulder, and said you'd get it eventually.

Eventually was the keyterm-- but Jill refused to believe that'd it'd take any longer than two weeks tops to get you up to Alpha team status.

That, evidently, did not happen. She had to switch tactics, and came up with the idea of doing more joint missions with Bravo.

Jill is very... protective, and at first, you thought nothing of it. You saw it as normal for this line of work, for her to be watching your back-- always checking in on you after missions, trying to push you to be your best, so on and so forth.

But then, you started to notice just how... far she could go with it. Apparently, if she was in the office and you were out on a mission-- she wasn't able to get anything done, and all she could do was just wait for you.

Her captain-- the head honcho, someone you don't like interacting with all too much out of pure, unexplainable primal terror at his very presence, often referred to her as 'your dog', 'your guard dog', your 'lap dog', or something else along those lines.

You wanted to tell him to stop, that it was degrading to Jill and just plain rude-- but you were too scared to stand up to him. It was silly, how a S.T.A.R.S member-- even if you were apart of the secondary team-- could go on missions and be just fine, but tremble at the idea of asking your boss to 'please stop calling your employee, my co-worker and friend, a dog'.

However, when he'd say it in front of Jill, she never seemed too bothered by the title.

If anything, she looked proud to be labeled as your guard dog-- one time, you asked her about it. Asked if it bothered her, and told her that if need be, you could probably sic the regular RPD police captain on Wesker if she was too afraid to speak up against it (God knows you were).

That conversation... didn't go how you were expecting it to. Actually it didn't go anywhere, not by your measures at least.

Jill laughed, said "Oh, that's just how he is!" and then completely switched topics, asking you if you'd watched Blade yet-- and if you wanted to tag along to the theaters with her to see it.

You didn't have the heart to steer the conversation back, so you just let her dodge it. But hey-- at least you got to see a movie out of it? Granted, she was probably going to ask you anyways, but still. It takes away a bit of the guilt you have for not pushing the issue, weirdly enough.

At some point, whether or not you get on the Alpha team doesn't matter anymore-- because somehow, for a completely archaic reason that nobody (including yourself) but the two main people involved could figure out, Wesker begins planning and executing more joint missions between the two teams.

It'd be a good thing, if you could just believe that this was entirely the A team captain's doing-- of course with the involvement of your captain as well, but he was much less involved from what you could tell.

But the thing is-- you just couldn't bring yourself to believe it. The proud, almost victorious looks Jill kept giving you on the first few joint missions-- like the cat who caught the canary, or a gladiator who just won the match of the century-- made you question if the decision had laid solely on Wesker.

During this joint missions, Jill was hard-pressed to let you out of her sight. Even when your captain suggested the teams go opposite ways; you always stuck behind. Maybe because you didn't want to worry Jill,

Or maybe, just maybe, it was because of the way her grip tightened on your hand, arm, shoulder-- wherever she was holding you-- tight enough to bruise (if you didn't have your tactical gear on, of course).

Whatever the reason was, whether it be one of the two, or an unseen third option, you never split off with you team on these joint missions.

Neither captains said anything of it-- sure, Marini would give either Wesker or Jill a strange, almost suspicious, look-- but he never commented on it. At least, he never commented on it with you.

It was strange, yes, but you chocked it up to her history in the military-- for lack of a better reason. Maybe she saw a rookie in need of help, and took it upon herself to help you any way she could; that much was evidenced by her rigorous training sessions she'd been subjecting you to until the joint missions started up.

But still, it didn't feel like... that. It didn't feel like she was simply a co-worker-- you saw her as a friend, and you're sure she felt the same about you; she never seemed to have viewed you as her subordinate, like you'd viewed her as your superior for a(n albeit short) amount of time.

You and Jill hung out all the time outside of work, completely unrelated to S.T.A.R.S at all-- movies, skating rinks, and carnivals; anything and everything interesting happening in and around Raccoon City, Jill was always sure to drag you along.

Then, it escalated to hanging out at each others apartments/homes. More often than not, it'd be her place-- it was nicer than yours, an actual home and not just a residence. There were pictures and posters hung up all over the place, her own personal touch having reached every corner of the apartment.

Sometimes, you'd forget how you met her-- that she was really just a co-worker, at the end of the day. You were fresh out of training, slapped right in the workforce, where you'd met Jill. You don't know how these things work, in all honesty, you never quite understood how to make friends past the kindergarten way of going up to someone, hand extended, and straight-up asking "Wanna be friends?"

Eventually, you progressed to practically living with Jill. It was unofficial-- but with how many sleepovers you two had, you were barely at your own place anymore. Hell, you had your own toothbrush at her place!

She didn't comment on it much-- the one time she did, you two were camped out in her living room; the couch pushed back, chairs pulled from her kitchen table and various sheets and blankets draped over them; pillows and cushions below, along with more blankets.

A pillow fort, to say the least. Right in front of her big CRT TV-- you were watching X-Files, something Jill had expressed interest in started, but only wanted to if you started with her.

You were dropped right at the start of Season five-- there was a marathon going, preparing for the new season that was preparing to release 'soon' (it never said a specific date, just an ominous 'soon' was all the network could afford at this point), but you two picked up on the little bits and pieces pretty quick, piecing it together with things from previous seasons that'd you'd hear here and there from others.

both of your were laying on your stomachs, propped up by pillows so you could 'sit up' comfortably, your arms braced against the floor, while Jill was more or less laying down, her chest resting on her folded arms as she watched the TV diligently.

When it cut to commercial, she turned to you, and out of the blue, just...

"When I was a kid, I always wanted a sibling, y'know?" You turned to face her, and hummed in acknowledgement, "Oh?" You said, prompting her continue the thought.

She turned back to the TV, mindlessly staring at the Mr Clean ad playing at the time-- but it was obvious her mind was elsewhere, she probably didn't even register when the ads switched, or what it had switched to.

"Yeah," She started off with, as the ad transitioned to Taco Bell "A little one, specifically. One I could share clothes with, give advice to," She turned to you again, a sly little smile on her face as her arm reached out and lightly-- playfully, barely any force behind it-- pushed you.

"Sleepovers in the living room-- all that jazz. The stuff they showed on TV and I read about in Babysitters Club." You felt a smile break out over your own face-- a warmth blooming in your chest.

Maybe this wasn't normal for co-workers-- to view each other as family, just like you two did; but you didn't care. Whether or not it was a normal thing remained unseen by you, but even if it wasn't...

You wouldn't trade it for the world.

...Even if Jill got a little too protective at times-- acting more like those dads in films, that'd come to greet their daughters prom date with a shotgun in hand and a violent threat on their tongue than the sister figure you viewed her as.

On one of your more low stakes joint-missions, one where you all had to track down a group of lost frat boys from the local university (who'd gotten turned around in the local forest while high, and cried about zombified dogs hanging around when you'd found them), one of the aforementioned frat boys had the grand idea of hitting on you.

His bad pick-up line was cut short as a gun shot whizzed by you two-- just narrowly missing his head, and loading itself into a tree about 30 feet back.

Understandably, he started freaking out-- he pointed to Jill, and yelled about how she tried to kill him. Wesker shot her a glare-- you think he did, couldn't really tell with the sunglasses, but the way he tilted his head gave you that vibe-- and Jill just shrugged her shoulders.

"I thought I saw a wolf." Was all she gave for an answer-- flimsy at best, an obvious lie at worst. Wesker let it go, though-- to your knowledge. Sure, he told her "This'll have to go in the report.", but when you read over the report later-- there was no mention of the shot Jill took at a 'wolf' during that mission.

After the mission was over and you'd got the group back to where they were meant to be, she threw her arm over your shoulder-- pulling you close and saying "That's why I don't like dealing with these college-types all too often, they always do this. Don't let 'em walk all over you though, 'kay? You deserve better than that." before she pushed off, leaving you with that... cryptic piece of advice.

It was a good piece of advice-- don't get me wrong! Jill was just... like that sometimes, giving you cryptic, almost archaic in nature, pieces of advice before bouncing off to somewhere else-- smiling like nothing was amiss.

maybe to her, it wasn't. But to you, these behaviors of hers weren't getting rather concerning. Maybe because they were becoming more frequent, or maybe because they were getting more intense. A mix of the both, honestly.

Still, you didn't confront her about it.

You kept having sleepovers with her-- to the point where you like, actually lived with her. You don't even remember what color your bedroom walls in your apartment were-- or even what the kitchen looked like.

Eventually, she asked you to move in with her. Saying it'd be easier, since you were basically wasting your money-- paying rent for a place you hardly ever visit anymore. Not many of your things remain, most were packed up and placed in Jill's guest/storage (or, what was once her guest/storage room, but you'd now taken it over) room. You could probably get all the stuff left in one trip-- except maybe the furniture, but even then, the furniture wasn't too much of a loss.

You'd be surprised what college students will put out on the curb at the end of the school year-- or, to be more specific, the private university students. Still, you were a little proud that nearly 95% of your furnishings had come from that method-- walking along the alleyway of streets with a lot of rental places for the local university's students.

It was a logical step and you knew it, officially moving in with Jill, that is. But the way she worded it was... odd.

"C'mon, what am I good for if I don't help out family?" She could've meant that figuratively-- if anyone else said it, then you would've defaulted to that;

But knowing Jill, that just wasn't the case. Hell-- you got called Rookie Valentine by one of the regular cops just a couple weeks ago, and when you went to correct them-- they just laughed and brushed you off,

"Fightin' with ya sister, huh? I used to do that-- with my dad, 'a course. Deny my last name 'n all that." Then, the cop gave you a pat on your shoulder and walked by you "Whatever you're upset about, it'll blow right over; trust me, bonds like you's two have don't go away like that."

Maybe it was stupid-- how quickly you folded, simply nodding your head; within a second or two, Jill had practically flown into you, her arms outstretched. She pulled you into a tight embrace. You reciprocated it-- no reason not to, after all.

But... hey, at least you don't have to deal with your landlord anymore, yeah?

Chris Redfield (and claire)

In some ways, Chris and Jill act pretty similarly when it comes to you. In others, they were near opposites.

For example, If you happened to be on Bravo Squad, he would much rather have you stay there indefinitely. He knows how mentally and physically tiring the Alpha team's work can be compared to Bravo's, which were pretty much just backup, in simplest terms.

He'd want to distance you as far away from Alpha teams work as he could manage. There's not point in putting you through that-- his way of protecting you is shielding you from it all by keeping you uninvolved, where Jill would much rather prefer to have you involved, by keeping you right next to her at all times.

You two hit it off the moment you stepped into that office- of course you did, who didn't get along with Chris? He was a literal ray of sunshine, and every morning, you couldn't help but look forward to that beaming smile he'd always give you once he spotted you.

It was normal-- run of the mill. You two were just friendly in a way co-workers were friendly; you saw yourself as no different then everyone else, when it came to how Chris treated you.

But it was small things-- at first, but they began to pile up, and up, and up-- until you couldn't help but notice them. It's not like you're painfully oblivious to everything,

...Just this, you reason with yourself. Listen, it's not your fault you didn't realize you were a special case to Chris! You thought it was normal, how he'd always drop by your desk when you both had morning shift, and slide a muffin, danish, a doughnut-- whatever he'd gotten that day, over to you.

He'd always check up on you, make sure you were eating properly-- he didn't try to cover it up either, didn't try to pull the tried-and-true "You need the proper nutrients to do your job well!", he just straight up admitted that he wants you to be healthy. No ulterior motives-- just... wants you to take care of yourself, because that's what you're supposed to do, for your own good.

He's a very caring person-- you assumed that he had this same level of caring for everyone in the office.

One time, when Claire swung by the office during her winter break-- she immediately beelined it to your desk. It was a little intimidating, because for a split second, you didn't know who she was; to be honest, you were a little afraid she was here to yell at you for messing up on a mission somewhere along the line; either as a civilian or a higher up, even though she didn't seem too far in age from yourself.

But as soon as it clicked-- right before she got up to your desk, that she just had to have been Claire Redfield, Chris' younger sister, you relaxed just a bit. She was probably just introducing herself to the newest addition; after all, most everyone else seemed to know her personally, or have at least met her once or twice before.

She was pretty nice, actually-- you two had a good conversation, and you're pretty sure you left a good first impression on her. But meeting her-- how she greeted you for the first time, was what tipped you off to the fact that no, Chris does not go out of his way to make sure all his co-workers are eating well, or keeping up with a solid sleep schedule like he does to you.

"Hey, you're the new addition to the family, right?" is what she said, word for word. At first, you thought nothing of it; thinking that she was referring to S.T.A.R.S as a family-- Jill did that pretty often, and you'd caught Chris doing the same a few times before.

You nodded, and you two got to talking. She was nice to talk to-- lively and animated, and you found yourself falling into a comfortable sort of routine. It was as if you'd known each other your whole lives-- she knew a lot about you, but just stuff that you'd told Chris, or he'd picked up on in passing.

"Does he talk about me a lot?" You remember asking, anxiety tinging your tone. Claire clocked it immediately, and leaned over slightly, from where she was sitting atop your desk; and gave you a pat on your shoulder, as you sat in your office chair.

"Hey, don't worry about it. It's all good things, and you sure as hell live up to how much he hypes you up during our calls." Yeah, you remember Chris saying he called his sister as often as he could. You were always impressed by how family oriented Chris could be. It was sweet, how often he'd talk about his sister.

A little bit of weight eased off your chest, as you let out a breathy little laugh "Hah-- that's good." You felt a little silly for being worried about it. Of course Chris told Claire about you, he's proudly boasted before that he tells her everything-- you were sure he treated the others no differently.

Even if you weren't on the same team as him. Even if, more often than not, he had to go out of his way to interact with you. You're sure Claire heard a lot more about the newest Alpha recruit-- you'd never spoken in depth with them, just passing "Hello"'s and "Good morning"'s as you pass each other on the way to your respective sections of the S.T.A.R.S office.

When there was opening in the conversation, you casually asked "Do you know anything about the new Alpha team recruit? I think their birthday is soon, and I want to get them a card." You were trying to take a page out of Chris' book-- being nice to everyone, going out of your way. It was a small operation in the grand scheme of things, S.T.A.R.S. It was best to try and make everyone feel at home.

Claire paused, her brows furrowed "...There's a new Alpha recruit?"

Why did that give you such a bad vibe? Why did it feel like an ill omen, you'd asked yourself at the time-- you quickly responded, unease curling in your gut for a reason you couldn't quite place at the time.

"Uh-- yeah, his name is... Mark, I think. He joined about a month ago, from what I know. Tall guy, ginger hair, seems to be in his mid to late 20s." Even as you described the man-- a very distinctive person, you think; there was no flash of recognition in Claire's eyes.

Claire seemed to think it over, before shaking her head slowly "No-- I don't think Chris has ever mentioned a Mark."

"Huh..." You said under your breath-- never mentioned him? They work together, on the same team-- you haven't been here much longer than Mark has. It set off alarm bells in your head, that he told Claire so much about you, and yet... she didn't even know Mark was with you guys in the first place.

There was a beat of tense silence between you two, then another-- until Claire suddenly said "How do you feel about roller skating?", obviously trying to divert your attention from the matter at hand.

You let her-- and you two fell into a conversation about roller skating, that eventually progress to ice skating, skateboarding, surfing-- those kind of activities/sports.

It had to have been at least an hour and a half before Claire got pulled away-- Marini approached you two, and shooed Claire off, like, literally. Made the motion with his hands and everything, as he told her "Redfield, you're distracting my team member. Go bug your brother."

Claire huffed, rolling her eyes as she pushed off your desk "Yeah, yeah. I'm going." It surprised you-- how casual she was with Marini, and disrespectful. But, she doesn't work under him, so you guess she has nothing to fear with upsetting him, since he isn't her brother's superior either.

...You just hope she's a little more delicate with Wesker.

Before leaving, she gave a quick little side hug, and told you "Catch you later, okay? It was nice meeting you.", you nodded and smiled, returning the hug best you could "Same goes for you. It was nice talking to you."

Claire laughed as she pulled away, giving you a light, playful punch in your shoulder "Hey, no need to be so formal. We're family now, I won't gut you for talking like an actual person.", Marini cleared his throat, and Claire rolled her eyes again-- leaving without another word to either of you.

She did, however, give you a little smile a wave, before she headed over to the A team's part of the office.

'we're family now', she said. Did that mean anything, or were you just overthinking it? She was just being friendly, you told yourself-- the Redfield's did this with everyone, you assumed.

After that, you and Chris started to go from work friends-- co-workers who were friendly with eachother, to actual friends. The first time you two hung out outside of work, was in a quaint little 24/7 diner near the RPD station.

The two of you had gotten off at the same time, 10 PM-- and Chris had dragged you along with him, saying that he wanted to get to know you more, without Marini or Wesker showing up at any given moment and telling their respective members to get the hell back to work, or for the member of the other team (often Marini to Chris) to leave the other alone, so they could do their work.

Chris always took it with a laugh and a smile-- but... well, it was stupid, you think. That look in his eyes couldn't have meant anything-- you'd never seen him look like that, but it was scarily close... hatred? No, irritation, it had to be. You don't think Chris is capable of hatred directed towards anyone short of a war criminal, in all honesty.

But at any rate, it's still an odd idea-- Chris being irritated at someone who isn't in the wrong. Objectively, Marini was doing nothing wrong; he was your boss, and he wanted you working while on shift.

But the way Chris would look at him suggested otherwise, like Marini had just kicked his dog or burned a belonging of his.

It was weird.

You forced yourself to-- well, not get used to it per se, the weirdness of it never went away, but you tried not to dwell on it too much. Tried to ignore it best you could, and while it was difficult, more often than not you could manage just fine.

Anyway-- it went well, hanging out with him at the diner. It was fun, and light-hearted; no imminent threat of the fun being broken up by a mission for work (while the chances weren't necessarily zero, they were very low while you two were off the clock-- unless it was like, a world ending sort of deal. if that was the case, then you'd have more problems at hand then getting called into work abruptly...), just you, Chris, and the local family diner that was done-up to look like a time capsule of idealized 1950s Americana.

He dropped you off back home-- insisting that you don't walk home so late. After that-- after he learned that you walked home after every shift, come rain or shine, and despite the time of day (or night), you always walked.

When Chris realized this-- every time you got off shift together, whenever he was available; he'd drive you home. You thought it was sweet, but... confusing to say the least.

Surely, he'd do the same for anyone else, right?

As the months passed and your friendship progressed-- where you hung out almost every weekend, completely unrelated to work in any capacity, it hit you like a ton of bricks that Chris wasn't just like that. Not to the level he was with you-- yes, he was kind and accommodating to everyone, but wasn't going above and beyond for anyone but you.

But... why? What was so special about you? How come he didn't do this for other new recruit-- that joined not so long after you, who was on his team. He definitely naturally sees/runs into the guy more then he sees you in passing.

It just didn't make sense, and no matter how much you thought and thought about it-- it never managed to get any better. You never understood it any further, and you all but gave up on trying to understand the reason behind it.

You could ask Chris about it, but then that'd be awkward, and you don't want to deal with that-- you don't want to seem like you're coming at him or anything. It might just be because you're younger, so assumed that sort of mentor role because he was in that position one?

By now, you've come to terms with that. That it doesn't make sense, and you'll probably never be able to make sense of it on your own-- and you were too scared of upsetting Chris to actually ask the guy.

So you kind of just... stuck in a loop. But that's fine-- because you had things to distract yourself with! Like your hobbies, and work, and hanging out with your friends;

...Maybe not the last one, thought. For some reason, all of your other friends have all but dropped off the face of the earth. You tried reaching out to one--

Only to find out that they were... in jail. It was a minor offense, but still. That wasn't like them at all-- it'd been their sister to pick up the call, and you'd been subjected to a very, very heated telling off by her.

She seemed to think it was your fault, that you sicced 'your brother' on them for some perceived slight-- one that you couldn't think of, and neither could she.

You tried calming her down, but it only ended with the call abruptly ending-- her screaming at you to "Leave my family alone! Yours has done enough damage to ours ot last a lifetime!"

Then it was over.

Whether or not you have brothers-- you know that couldn't be right. If you did have brothers, then you know they wouldn't-- or just didn't have the means to-- lock your friend up in jail for... whatever it was, you think it was some traffic related violation.

Something that you know can be easily staged-- Marini had told you so before, as you sorted through some old cases. These sorts of violations were usually a dead giveaway that the recipient had pissed off a cop, who wasn't above faking an offense to get back at them.

You could only think of one person who'd possibly fit that weird description-- Chris was sort of a brother to you, in loose terms. He acted brotherly with you, is what you'd like to call it.

Really, you want to confront him about it, but you don't have enough evidence.

He wouldn't do something like that, yeah? He's a good guy, he wouldn't fuck up someone's life by wielding his position of power over them for no reason at all. It had to be unrelated-- just a weird set of coincidence. You don't think you've ever told Chris about that friend, so how would he even know about them?

You didn't bother reaching out to your other friends-- hoping they'd reach out to you. It was stupid, your fear of getting an earful from a pissed off family member again-- or getting blamed for whatever happened.

So you just... well-- you wouldn't call yourself a coward, but Chris couldn't be it. He just wouldn't have done something like that, especially without clear reason-- it couldn't have been him.

Again. Nothing made sense-- it hurt, knowing you'd probably lost a treasured friendship for something you don't know anything about,

But at least Chris is there to ease your ills, right? At least he answered your phone call at 10 PM, and stayed with you for an hour after that, comforting you as you cried and told him that you didn't know what was going on.

he was so genuine as he comforted you-- even over the phone, which you knew had to be harder to do than comfort someone face to face-- that you ended up letting it go.

You ruled out the idea that Chris had been behind it all-- maybe because you really didn't think it'd ever been a viable explanation,

Or maybe, deep down, you know Chris could-- if pushed far enough-- probably be capable of something like that. Despite how you interact with each other, how you talk like you've known each other your whole lives, you'd known each other for under a year by that point.

But you selfishly hoped-- and presented this hope as fact to yourself-- that he didn't do it, because he really was one of your closest friends; especially since everyone else drifted away from you.

You couldn't lose him too-- or Claire, because you know that if a falling out happens with one, it's sure to follow with the other. They're like that, the Redfield siblings, as you've come to learn.

And you'd rather not be caught on the receiving end of Claire's world-ending death glare, thank you very much. You don't think you could handle it-- emotionally wise, that is.

Rebecca Chambers

Surprisingly, You'd probably be better suited on Alpha team when it comes to Rebecca.

Still, you probably graduated in the same class as her; however, you weren't a child prodigy like she was. You being older then her gave you leg up in the recruitment process, which landed you in the Alpha team and her in the Bravo team.

You may not have interacted with each other a whole lot during school-- no real reason, you two just never crossed paths all that often.

But after joining S.T.A.R.S at the same time, you two made a sort unofficial pact to stay together; despite being on two different teams, you'd try to look out for each other. For one, you were a little worried about hazing.

Was it a silly thing to be afraid of in workforce? Well, yeah-- but there was still a possibility. If any field of work would incite some sort of frat-esque hazing ritual, it'd be law enforcement!

So you exchanged landline numbers, and kept tabs on each other as much as you could. You took initiative a whole lot, and kept watch on both your and Rebecca's co-workers.

In the end, nothing happened. Obviously-- since there was such a miniscule chance it would, but the 2-3 week period of this, of constantly checking in each other (usually you to Rebecca, since Bravo members tended to be a little less mature on the basis of the less real-world experience and such; and she was young, an easy target in the eyes of people who didn't quite know her), built up a pretty solid rapport with the younger rookie. One that couldn't just easily fall to the wayside.

Even though you're on different teams, you still encounter each other pretty often. At first, it was a practical thing-- you checking up on Rebecca,

Until Rebecca started seeking you out for more normal things. Like to tell you about her latest mission, or a funny thing her captain did-- to exchange stories of your respective team members being absolute goofballs, so on and so forth.

it was nice, these little chats you'd have. They were never very few and far between, not even at the start-- Some were accidental, like bumping into each other in the break room, clocking out at the same time and having a little chat before heading out, so on and so forth.

But as the weeks went on, turning to months of working under the same roof-- If there was ever a moment where she could come find you, you better bet your ass she was there.

From the moment you stepped in the building in the morning, to whenever you came back from a mission; when you were getting ready to leave, Rebecca would do whatever she could to be near you. Sometimes they were conversations-- where you put your own thoughts and whatever into the topic, but sometimes it was just Rebecca explaining something she was interested in, or telling you every single tiny, microscopic detail of a story she'd already told you before.

You never stopped her-- it never hurt anything. Due to her being the youngest, people let her get away with it. As long as both your reports were turned in on time and done well, then what does it matter that you talk to each other while you were at it?

At some point, Rebecca would definitely just pull a chair up and do her work at your desk. Her own desk at the section with the other Bravo members went unused for long stretches of time-- you were fine with it.

Again, it was nice having someone to hang out with. She didn't talk to whole time, most of the time, you two lapsed into a comfortable silence as you did your own reports/paperwork at your own leisure. Sometimes, one of you would pop up with a little comment, spurring a response from the other-- but it never went much further then that, in those moments.

...That's when Marini cut in though. Saying it'd be better for Rebecca to head back to her own space-- to stop bothering you. You tried your damn best to reiterate that "No, she's fine. I swear, I work even better when she's here--" But a quick, withering glance from Marini made you reluctantly shut your mouth.

Rebecca looked heartbroken-- you met her eyes, and tried to convey your apology that way. She didn't look angry or upset with you, just sad about the circumstances. Understanding, that you'd done all you could in the moment, as she grabbed her papers and went to push the chair-- that'd you'd known as her chair for a few weeks by then-- into where it was actually meant to be, in an unused desk right by yours.

Marini was watching the whole time, arms crossed and one eyebrow raised. You saw how Rebecca's hand trembled ever-so-slightly under her captains scrutinizing gaze, and you reached out to pat her hand comfortingly; stopping her in her tracks. "Hey, it's okay. I'll get the chair, you go to your desk, okay?"

She looked up, and you gave her a reassuring little smile. She looked kind of like a kicked puppy-- it tugged on your heart, made you wish you really could do more.

She nodded, and softly said "okay.", and you'd expected her to pull back, to straighten up and walk off. Soon enough, you realized that, for whatever reason, she wasn't moving as long as you kept contact with you.

You removed your hand-- she looked saddened by the loss, but took it in stride, as she turned and trailed after Marini as he (presumably) led her back to Bravo's section of the S.T.A.R.S office.

it's not like they were really separate from each other-- or even blocked off per se, not in a purposeful way. You were just stationed on the far side of Alpha's side, the little dividers interspersed here and there primarily blocked your view of most Bravo team desks.

However, Rebecca's was right on the edge between Alpha and Bravo's unofficial-official sides of the room, and you were able to still look over at her from time to time.

After that-- you considered going to Wesker about it, but you were certain he'd either do nothing, or throw thinly veiled insults your (and indirectly, Rebecca's) way. Something along the lines of "Do you think this is grade school? That I'm a teacher you can negotiate a seating chart with?"

No matter how much you cared for Rebecca, you couldn't bring yourself to face that possibility of the utter mortification that talking to Wesker would undoubtedly bring you.

Two weeks passed, before Wesker pulled you into his office. He told you to sit in one of the two chairs opposing his own.

You bit your tongue, stifling the burning question of "Am I in trouble?" and waited for him to start on his own.

Apparently, Rebecca's performance had been experiencing a sharp decline during you two's times apart. Instead of firing her, Wesker sought to find another route to it.

"Would you say you two are close? Chambers and you?" He asked, and you had to question that yourself-- do you? You certainly see Rebecca as a friend, but a work one. Separate from a 'full-fledged' one, since you only see each other during work.

Finally, after a few suffocating seconds-- sat across from Wesker, his elbow resting on his desk as he held his face in his hand. You could feel him staring intently, even if you were unable to actually see that that was the case.

"Yeah-- I'd say we are. Why?" And then, that's when he told you about her performance, and presenting you with an opportunity that you took readily;

"How about you take a sort of mentor role for her? It seems she's having trouble acclimating to the workforce, which I wouldn't quite blame her for. She may be a child prodigy academically, but ultimately, she lacks the experience someone of your age does."

Immediately, you nodded-- before pausing, and asking "Have you talked to Marini about this?", and Wesker shook his head "No, I thought it'd be best to discuss this with you before going to him. Knowing Marini, he'd probably be less then stoked by this. I wouldn't want to go through the trouble of readying him only for you to decline the offer."

"...Yeah, makes sense." Was all you said-- You stayed there for about 15 more minutes, before being excused.

As you opened his door, a question crossed your mind. On a whim, you turned and asked "How long will it take, do you think?" You feared you might've been too vague at first, but Wesker seemed to know exactly what you meant, answering with his own "It shouldn't take too long at all, perhaps a few days at the most. I'd like to have this system integrated as soon as possible, before Chambers' performance rate drops low enough to where I have to consider letting her go."

You nodded, internally praying to whatever could be out there that she could keep it up for a little longer- long enough for your captain to talk to hers, to get this sort of mentorship up and a running so she can get back on track.

True to his words, three days later, and you walked into the precinct with your desk having been moved around; the empty desk besides yours had been moved, your desk turned sideways and the unused desk pushed to meet with yours.

It was set up to have someone there, no longer empty, it had a lamp, a computer, and some organizers and office supplies on it. Obviously, Wesker had gone through with the mentorship-- and when Rebecca came in a few minutes after you, her bus having been a little slow than usual, she was absolutely ecstatic.

She was talking a mile-a-minute, saying she didn't actually think Wesker would go through with it. In the end, she gave you a celebratory little hug; and you didn't hesitate in returning the favor, wrapping your arms around her and giving her a light squeeze before releasing her,

She took a few moments longer to unwind her arms from your waist, but you didn't mind. You were sure she was happy to be sat next to you.

Wesker never called you in about Rebecca's declining report quality/performance again, and that led you to believe that the issue was completely resolved.

Marini would come over sometimes, pull Rebecca off for a mission or something that needed the entire Bravo team present to hear. Every time, you would see her off with a little encouraging gesture. At first, it was a simple smile or squeeze of her hand-- then, the occasional hug.

But now, she borderline refused to leave with anything less than a hug from you. It wasn't bothersome-- it was comforting, actually.

And all was well and fine for a while-- until Alpha started to be called away for more and more missions, leaving your desk unoccupied more often than not.

While it didn't seem to be taking a toll of Rebecca's work performance, she was looking a little worse for wear. She was always so worried-- you didn't understand it, but you tried your best to be accommodating. The missions you went on were hardly dangerous, sometimes you'd be pulled in to answer a larger scale call about nuisance-- it always got like this around this time of year, Chris had lightheartedly told you before.

Move-in day for the local university brought a lot of traffic offences, and RPD usually outsourced some of these to S.T.A.R.S; rush week brought about a lot of nuisance complaints, frat parties obviously needed to be broken up from time to time-- things that the RPD were meant to do, but their hands got so full that S.T.A.R.S ended up stepping in where need-be.

But what worried you was, as weeks passed by with this uptick in missions, Rebecca was starting to seem so tired. Like she wasn't sleeping properly, and she was stiff and jerky in her movements.

Like she was sore. like she overexerted herself, and you asked her about it. She gave you the same bright, cheery smile as always-- and just said she was training harder than usual.

You didn't have the heart to go any further with it, just telling her "...Okay. Just make sure to take care of yourself, and don't push it, okay?", and she'd eagerly nodded, promising you "I will! Don't worry about me."

That didn't help anything, because she seemed to get worse-- during her off day, you bounced on over to the Bravo team's side of the room, and asked one of her teammates "...Hey, have you noticed anything strange with Rebecca recently? Has she been doing okay on missions?"

And Forest, the one you'd approached-- didn't look too worried at all. "Huh? Oh, yeah! She's been doing great! better than usual, actually." You made a questioning little noise, thinking over what that could possibly entail.

"...Has she been doing a lot of overtime, too?" And Forest paused, thinking about it "Uh... Yeah, I think she has."

"And has she told you why she's doing this?" Forest shrugged, giving you a little smile, none the wiser to Rebecca's less than stellar state, no doubt. "I think she wants to get on your team-- I know she's been hitting up the shooting range more than usual. Probably aiming for a different position than medic, 'cause Alpha doesn't really have a need for it."

Okay that... explained a lot, but did nothing to ease your worries. You thanked him, before heading back to your own desk; you made up a plan to confront her on it the next day, but the right chance never presented itself.

The first time you two hung out outside of work, was after she collapsed right before heading off. Just... fell right into yourself arms-- exhaustion and overexertion having taken its toll on her. You hadn't been able to ask her about it, before she keeled over from it.

You bit your tongue, preventing yourself from mumbling a little "i told you to take care of yourself..." but decided against it. And you'd stood there for a little while, just holding her-- then, you shook her awake, gently.

"mm?" She questioned, her eyes fluttering, and you asked "Rebecca, how do you get home? Do you walk or take the bus?" You don't feel good about leaving her on the bus like this-- hell, you don't even know if they run this late, the clock hung on the wall shining proudly, proclaiming it to be 11:07 PM.

But if she walked, you literally wouldn't ever forgive yourself if you made her go through that in a state like this. She mumbled her answer-- Walk.

Goddamnit.

"...I'm gonna have to drive you home, you okay with that?" She huffed, and leaned further into you. "'Kay." It's not like you feel good about this either, per se, it was just the best option at the time.

So, you carefully set her in the passenger seat of your car, buckled her in, shut her door and headed to your own side. You managed to get an address out of her-- a better part of town, thank god, so that made you feel at least a little better.

Through the whole thing, you had to keep yourself from trying to poke and prod about it all. About her pushing herself to her limits-- seemingly to join your team. It made you feel bad, guilty; as if you were the cause behind it.

Realistically, you probably were.

When you got to the quaint little one-story rental Rebecca resided in, you were just as careful to get her out of the care as you had been to get her in.

You helped her along and up to the porch; she took out her keys, but just before inserting them, asked you to stay. That she'd feel more comfortable if you stayed. You got a closer look at her face, under the glow of her automatic porch light, and realized how she was a little... thinner.

"Yeah, but I'm gonna make you some food. That okay?" You tried to frame it as a command at first-- but went back on yourself mere moments later. This was her house after all-- if she didn't want you cooking, then you couldn't do much about it.

She gave you an almost... mischievous little smile before chirping back an "Okay. That's fine by me." Before inserting the key and letting you two in.

You ended up cooking her something simple-- it wasn't a problem of she didn't have the food, that she wasn't eating. She just either forgot to between all the training, or didn't have the energy to make anything. That's okay-- you suppose you understand it, even if it was to such an extreme that you worried deeply for the younger S.T.A.R.S member.

And then, she asked you to stay the night. You two set up camp in the living room, with you on the couch and Rebecca on the trundle-esque pullout below; and watched some late-night TV (namely Murder, She Wrote; which put you right to sleep no matter what). When you two woke up-- you'd been the first to rise.

You were stiff from sleeping in your work clothes; it was off day, thank god, but it wasn't Rebecca's. Despite any apprehension you might have about it, you got up and set yourself to getting a good breakfast ready for her. You let her sleep as long as possible, before nudging her awake, a plate of pancakes in one hand, and some maple syrup in your other; since she had the half-used bottle on her countertop, beside of ready-made pancake mix, your assumed she was pretty fond of the breakfast food.

her eyes lit up, and sprung up to hug you-- the plate almost slipped from your hand, but you managed to narrowly escape tragedy as you readjusted your grip, and hugged her back best you could, with your hands full and all.

You pushed the trundle bed back into the couch while she added syrup to her hearts content, then you two sat down.

Really, you wish you could've just let her eat in peace-- but you had to confront her about the cause behind your impromptu sleepover. You two had a long, productive talk about it; about how she should care for herself more.

It ended in a truce, where she wouldn't do so much overtime or train so much it exhausted her, if you two hung out outside of work hours. Because at the core of it, that's why she'd wanted to get on Alpha. So she could be with you, even on missions.

You thought it was sweet.

And in a way, it was-- but... maybe not as textbook sweet as one would assume. You two were nearly inseparable, joined at the hip less than a month later. You stayed over at each other's places a lot-- and you started to view her as more than a friend, far more like family than anything.

You had silly fights-- bickered over dumb stuff that didn't mean anything in the end, you play fought, you poked fun at each other; really, it was no fault of passerbys to think you two were a pair of siblings; that you were her older sibling as you helped her tie her ice skates before you two went out on the rink.

That wasn't the problem-- you didn't mind it. However, you did start to notice how people seemed to... swerve you two. How you became more and more isolated, little did you know, that was entirely on purpose.

Rebecca cared for you a lot-- cared for you like an older sibling. She just wanted to keep you safe-- can't get hurt if she's the only one you interact with, right?

#yandere resident evil x reader #yandere albert wesker #yandere jill valentine #yandere chris redfield #yandere rebecca chambers #yandere headcanons #platonic yandere #platonic yandere x reader #albert wesker #jill valentine #chris redfield #rebecca chambers #platonic yandere resident evil #resident evil #resident evil x reader #yandere resident evil #my writing #requests open #reqs open

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legacygirlingreen · 24 hours ago

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Touching Revelations || Captain Rex x OFC Mae (NSFW)

Author's note: Howdie there folks. Continuing on with the snapshots of our favorite Captain, and (hopefully) your favorite doctor on Pabu! As a reminder this is part of a collaboration with @leenathegreengirl as part of her AU series. You can find the full image on both her page HERE or all the way at the bottom. Anyways, thanks for stopping by and if you are new, feel free to check out her page, where you can see more of the AU. - M

Summary: Captain Rex seeks some solitude while he's traveling alone after a long day, as his routines seemingly continue to be undone by feelings growing a bit more undeniable.

Warnings: Male Masturbation, sexual fantasies, kind of pervy (but more in a horrified light than anything), slight illusions to breeding kink, mentions of penetration/strip tease

Minors go away.

Pairings: Captain Rex x OC Mae Killough (her info found HERE)

Word Count: 5,500+

Masterlist || Previous Section || Next Section (Coming Soon)

All clones did it, whether they admitted it or not. Anyone who claimed otherwise was a liar. During the war, privacy was a luxury few could afford, and quick moments of solitude in the fresher became a necessity. Fortunately, Rex had the rare privilege of private officer's quarters, granting him more seclusion than most. Yet, there was something irreplaceable about the feeling of warm water cascading over his shoulders, a rare moment to let go and feel truly at ease with himself.

It wasn’t that he never indulged in the occasional moments of respite during shore leave—he certainly did. Unlike many of his brothers-in-arms, he didn’t actively seek out such opportunities, preferring to let them come to him. Yet, from time to time, he found himself in the company of a charming woman who offered him her appreciation for his service in ways that were impossible to ignore. He wasn’t one to turn down their gracious offers, knowing better than to let a fleeting chance slip through his fingers.

Still, those moments were rare, and truth be told, he had grown accustomed to relying on his own hand for satisfaction. It was simpler, predictable, and free of the entanglements that often accompanied more intimate encounters.

Over time, he’d come to accept solitude as part of his life. The fleeting affections he experienced on shore leave were just that—temporary, like waves crashing on the sand before retreating into the vast, indifferent sea. There was no permanence to them, no promise of anything more than a brief break from the grinding monotony of his duties.

Perhaps that’s why he didn’t seek it out the way others did. Many of his brothers treated shore leave like a hunt, prowling for companionship to fill the void left by endless days on the front lines. But for him, the chase felt hollow. The warmth of another’s touch, though intoxicating in the moment, was quickly replaced by an ache that seemed deeper somehow, more profound.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want more—he did. But the idea of tethering himself to someone felt as unrealistic as anchoring a ship in a storm. His life was unpredictable, driven by duty, and there was little room for the kind of stability that a real connection required.

He became quite familiar with the solitude of his right hand, the fantasies within his own mind, and the fleeting privacy offered by the confines of a fresher.

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

The day had dragged on, an unrelenting slog of challenges that felt insurmountable. Frustration weighed heavily on Rex’s shoulders—nothing he’d done had gone according to plan. The intel he’d been counting on had evaporated into thin air, and his contact had been compromised before he could secure anything useful. He’d barely managed to get out unscathed, though the near-miss left him tense and exhausted.

As he leaned over the controls, ensuring the autopilot was engaged, Rex finally allowed himself to step away from the cockpit. The silence of the ship seemed louder than usual, amplifying the gnawing weight of failure pressing on his chest. Yet, it wasn’t just the mission that troubled him. It was the absence of Echo—a presence Rex had grown to rely on more than he cared to admit.

Not that he could blame him. Echo deserved to be with his wife-to-be, building a future Rex couldn’t fathom for himself. And what was Rex left with? The hollow title of a soldier with no army, fueled only by a stubborn resolve to cling to a life that no longer existed? A clone too set in his ways to imagine anything beyond the battlefield? Or maybe just a man too tightly wound to think clearly, running on fumes and purpose that felt increasingly fragile.

Yeah, probably that last one.

One perk of his most recent stay on Pabu was the repair of the hot water generator by Tech, which meant he could finally enjoy an endless stream of warm water after the grueling hours of the day. It was a small luxury that made a big difference, and as Rex reached for the controls of the fresher, his dirty hand fiddled with the temperature setting out of habit.

He stripped off the grimy clothes without a second thought, tossing them into the corner to deal with later. There'd be time for a proper wash when he made it back to base. These days, there wasn't much about the GAR he found himself longing for, but the ease of having droids on hand to handle the laundry was definitely a perk. Not having to worry about washing his fatigues had been a convenience. But as simple as it was, there was something oddly freeing about these everyday tasks—the small acts of self-sufficiency that reminded him he had more control over his life than he once did. Scrubbing clothes, though seemingly trivial, became a symbol of that freedom, a reminder that, for all the structure and orders that once defined his existence, he was now in a place where he could make his own decisions, even about something as mundane as laundry.

The warm cascade of water pouring over him felt like an indulgence, a rare moment of pure relief. It was as if every muscle, every thought, was being soothed by the gentle pressure, leaving behind only calm. Not that Rex was a religious man—he had long since abandoned any belief in an afterlife—but if there were such a thing, he imagined it might feel like this: like a long-awaited exhale, like a weight lifting from his chest, leaving only peace behind.

He wasn’t sure how exactly he ended up like this, his weathered palms instinctively curling around himself. It was almost automatic, like an ingrained reflex that had taken root during the years of war. Back then, he would have easily blamed it on the constant pressure of water rations—the brief, rushed showers squeezed in between missions or moments of solitude snatched in the most unlikely places. He’d learned to survive on the bare minimum, to find peace in the fleeting privacy that he could steal away, even if it was just for a few precious minutes of quiet in the shower.

Now, there were no rations, no hurried schedules. He didn’t have to share the water with anyone, didn’t have to rush or sneak away. Yet still, the habit remained. His hands moved almost as if by instinct, finding their way to his body, wrapping around himself without thought. In truth, there was nothing left to blame except the way his mind and body were constantly on edge, the tension that clung to him after years of battle and loss. Even here, in this moment of solitude, he couldn’t shake the remnants of that adrenaline, the tightness in his chest that made him long for something to hold on to, even if it was just the simple act of gripping his own skin.

It wasn’t about necessity anymore. It was something deeper, something his body had learned to do long ago—an anchor in a world that had constantly been out of his control. Even now, it was the only way he knew how to steady himself when the weight of everything, past and present, threatened to pull him under.

By touching himself.

Rex wasn’t one to seek out encrypted holochannels. He had experienced enough moments in real life to know that sometimes, the old-fashioned way was better. For him, that meant retreating into his own mind, crafting his own fantasies. He’d had his share of encounters during times when he was granted some freedom, fleeting moments with women that blurred together into a single, faceless figure he could call on whenever he needed. It was simple, uncomplicated, and—most importantly—free of guilt. He could indulge without consequence, without the weight of expectations or the complexities of real connections.

The soldier didn’t necessarily need a clear starting point—his mind wandered wherever it chose, moving in its own rhythm. As his hand moved steadily along the length of himself, he found his thoughts drifting, no particular direction guiding him except the ebb and flow of his own desires. In the quiet, he imagined a pair of legs—strong, yet graceful, the kind that held an effortless power.

His mind traced the shape of them, starting with slender calves that led up to firm, muscular thighs, each curve and line reminding him of strength and subtle beauty. There was something magnetic about the way they moved in his imagination—something simple, yet deeply captivating. The way the muscles flexed, the smoothness of the skin, the promise of both strength and softness in one form. It was the sort of thing that, at its core, could be easily overlooked, but in his mind, it became something almost hypnotic.

And as if he was visualizing a real woman standing in front of him, he moved his attention to just slightly above. Eye’s closed as the steam only built around him, Rex couldn’t help but picture one of the most beautiful curves of a woman’s body. The kind of thing he and his brothers argued over the merits of in the solitude of their barracks.

He wasn’t sure why exactly he’d always preferred a woman’s behind and the lovely visual it provided. Perhaps it was rooted in the simple aesthetics. A wish to latch his large hand on and just feel it under his grasp. Or the fact that he could get away with copping a glance more often in that arena than a woman’s chest. Regardless of the reason, he always appreciated a full, round, ass.

Deep within, the man had always been drawn to the idea of painting fair skin with the impression of his own hand, a touch that would linger long after he had gone. There was something profoundly primal about it—the raw, intimate connection of watching himself mark that vulnerable place. In those moments, it was as though the boundary between reality and something greater blurred, bringing heaven into the tangible world, if only for a fleeting instant. A handprint, a silent but powerful reminder, left its trace for later, a testament to his presence, his claim.

It stirred something wild in him, something fierce that he often tried to suppress. Though he was a clone, that didn’t diminish his natural biological instincts. The urge to reproduce—an inherent part of him—hadn’t been erased with his creation. In fact, after the removal of his inhibitor chip, that primal drive, once muffled and distant, had grown louder, more insistent. Now, during moments like these, it wasn’t a faint whisper in the recesses of his mind—it was a guttural, urgent call that resonated in the deepest corners of his consciousness, pulling at him like an unyielding tide.

That’s a nice train of thought…

His hand quickened, grip tightening as he leaned back against the wall, seeking the stability it offered. The steady rhythm didn’t do much for Rex; he craved the shift in pressure and speed to bring him closer to release. This time was no different. He flexed his hand, adjusting his motion to pull himself closer to the edge, all the while letting his mind drift away from the present moment.

At times, his mind seemed to latch onto the more uncommon, often unnoticed details—those subtle aspects that others would likely overlook. With his eyes closed, an image began to form in his mind, and he was taken aback when it settled into a pair of eyes. Innocent. Wide. Trusting, yet strangely familiar, as though they held a story of their own. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand the appeal of such a gaze. There was something profoundly captivating about the submission they conveyed, the way they looked up at him with quiet vulnerability, as if they understood their place in the moment, beneath him.

But beyond the submissive nature in their stare, there was an undeniable beauty to those eyes. Not that he considered himself a romantic by any means—he wasn’t one to indulge in such sentiments—but the vibrant blue tugged at something deep inside him. It was a hue he knew all too well, one that had marked his existence, one that had come to define him throughout much of his life. Cobalt blue was his color—his identity in a world of little variation among him and his men. Seeing 501 blue staring back at him was a strange comfort.

A stray curl of hair that fell between them was another detail that caught his attention. It drifted between them like a soft, teasing gesture, framing the stunning eyes in a way that felt almost intimate. He’d always admired long, curly hair on the nat-borns when they were planet-side. There was something almost intoxicating about it—the bounce, the way it seemed to possess its own rhythm, its own life. It wasn’t just the texture that fascinated him; it was the femininity it exuded, the divine softness that contrasted so sharply with the harshness of the world around them. It was delicate, almost ethereal, a thing of beauty that was both natural and profound.

Not only that, but the curl was a dynamic shade of red—a color that always managed to captivate him, no matter the context. It wasn’t the garish, artificial red that so many of the women at the bar seemed to wear. The kind of hue that screamed of chemical concoctions, a clash of tones that burned his eyes and assaulted his senses with the lingering scent of synthetic dye. No, this was different. This was the kind of red that reminded him of something more natural, something raw. A vibrant, fiery hue that seemed to pulse with life—one that Rex had often associated with the women in the contraband magazines he’d come across in his years of service. Magazines hidden under the thin, uncomfortable mattresses in the barracks, carefully tucked away between flimsy sheets of paper, waiting to be discovered during routine inspections.

It was a shade of red that spoke of effortless beauty. It was neither too bold nor too soft, but instead, it held a unique vibrance that couldn’t be ignored. That deep, almost untamed red—a color that appeared in flashes of flame, in the quiet of sunsets, and in the rich, soft strands of hair that had always seemed so impossibly alluring to him. The kind of red that belonged to women in those glossy, forbidden pages—women who exuded a kind of captivating charm with every glance, a beauty that felt untouched by the world around them.

It was a color that told a story without words, one of fiery independence, untamed grace, and an almost dangerous allure. Rex had always found himself drawn to it, unable to resist its pull, as if it carried an unspoken promise of something more—something beyond what the sterile, clinical walls of his life had ever offered. The same shade as…

Then, as though his mind were playing a cruel trick on him, a fantasized voice echoed in his skull, sharp and clear, revealing the one he had been imagining all along. The full image solidified in his mind, and with it, the truth of who he had been fantasizing about all this time became undeniable.

Curvy, long legs, muscles shifting with each movement, water clinging to her pale skin like a second layer. He had seen those limbs before—balanced gracefully atop a surfboard on Pabu. Leading to that perfectly shaped ass, heighted by the delicate curve of a feminine lower back, all clad in a blue bikini upon the sand. Blue eyes had once stared up at him from the hull of his own ship, wide with amazement and wonder, a gaze that seemed to see straight through him as he tried to twirl the petite woman in his arms.

And those bouncy red curls, brushing against his cheeks from the gentle ocean breeze, their vibrant color catching the fading sunlight, glowing with a golden hue that made them look almost alive. The light made them burn brighter, a fiery halo that intensified the pull she had on him.

Then came the voice—the voice he knew all too well, still echoing in his mind, soft and filled with ecstasy. “Rex… yes.” It moaned, and he refused to open his eyes, unwilling to let the fantasy slip away. Teeth pulling plush pink lips behind a flash of white as he let the truth settle in.

Mae. He was fantasizing about Mae.

This wasn’t the usual fleeting fantasy that so often danced through his mind—the fragmented, nameless woman whose face was nothing more than a blur, a fleeting memory of someone he may have seen once in passing. No, this was something different. It was a vivid, intricate mental image of someone he knew well, someone whose presence had become a part of him. This was her. The image wasn’t hazy or incomplete; it was full, detailed, as though his mind had painted her with a clarity that made her feel more real than anything else in his world.

Had he been able to summon the same self-control he had relied on so many times in his life as a soldier—self-control that had kept him alive through countless missions and dangerous encounters—he would have stopped. He would have forced his hand to still, his eyes to open, and he would have put an end to the perverse act before it even began. But something inside him, some deep, unexplained force, kept him anchored in the fantasy. The mental image of her—the woman with whom he had shared such a rich companionship, a bond that ran deeper than anything he’d ever expected—overrode the disciplined restraint he had long prided himself on.

It was as though the very thought of her, the connection they shared, made the rules of gentlemanly behavior feel irrelevant. The boundaries he had once lived by, the ones that kept his emotions and desires in check, dissolved under the weight of this overpowering need. For some reason, Mae made him forget the lines that had always kept him grounded.

It wasn’t that he had ever intended to cross that line, not with her. She wasn’t some fleeting distraction, some unattainable fantasy to be locked away in his mind. She was real—her laughter, her presence, her touch—things he had grown accustomed to in ways that made the idea of imagining her like this feel both intoxicating and dangerous. There was a depth to their companionship that went beyond the physical, a connection built on respect and understanding. He had never allowed himself to imagine her in this way before, not like this.

But now, as the image of her lingered in his thoughts, he couldn't help but indulge in it. She had always been there for him in ways that went far beyond what anyone else could offer. In a world where he had learned to shut down his emotions, to push past the desires that could cloud his judgment, she had quietly unraveled the walls he had so carefully constructed. It wasn’t the passion that drew him now, but the intimacy they shared—the trust, the warmth, the way they could be open with each other in a world that didn’t often allow for it.

Her face, her body, the way she moved—his mind replayed every moment, every shared glance between them. Each small detail now seemed amplified in the haze of his thoughts, as if his own body was betraying him, wanting more, needing more. He could almost feel her—her scent, her warmth, the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips.

But even in the haze of his desire, there was a part of him that still fought against it. He couldn't lose control, not over something like this. He had always been in charge, always kept his emotions at bay. Yet now, it seemed as if his own mind and body were taking him to a place he hadn’t planned to go. The more he fought it, the stronger the pull became, as if the very thought of her held him captive.

It was a twisted sense of vulnerability, a rawness he hadn’t expected to feel. She had never been a fantasy before; she had been his equal, his friend in every sense. Yet now, in this moment, she was something more—something his mind wanted her to be, something he wasn’t sure he could control anymore.

“Rex…” The artificial voice, an uncanny mimicry of hers, called to him, sending a ripple of heat through his veins. He watched as a playful smirk curved on those full lips, a look that seemed both teasing and knowing. At first, the images had been drawn from tangible memories—moments he had lived, moments that felt real. But now, as the vision took on a life of its own, he realized he wasn’t simply recalling what had already passed. No, now he was conjuring things that hadn’t happened. Fantasies, unspoken desires that had long been buried in a part of him he rarely acknowledged.

Delicate hands twisted into a soft blue shirt, dragging it up as more and more pale skin was revealed. A small thatch of neatly manicured curls briefly drew his attention before the swell of round breasts came bouncing before his view. Perky rose colored peaks just begging for a taste. The sight was glorious to behold. Not that he’d neglected to notice the way that her smaller frame amplified the shape or the side of such breasts, but the idea that he’d assumed them to look that way uncovered was something he’d unpack later. Right now he was so close to release simply at the thought of burying his length between those breasts even just for a moment.

Hand clenched so intensely around himself as the steam nearly shook him from the fantasy, Rex clung on the best he could. Moving faster as he felt that telltale sign he was nearly there came in the form of beads of precum leaking over his hand. Body shaking from the exertion of it all, he finally came to one last thought.

His body laying down. Rex could see the contrast of tanned skin on porcelain as his hands tightly gripped the curve of her waist. Mae perched herself above him, strong thighs straddling him. Smirk decorating her lips while she ran her nails up and down the expanse of his chest. The bounce of both breasts and curls as she leaned back, surrendering to the feeling of himself inside her body. “Rex… please.. fill me up-” came the song most delightful to his ears as he did just that.

Well, not in her body, but his cock throbbed desperately as he spilled white ribbons of cum all over his fingers. Eyes finally opening, Rex saw just how sizable the mess was through the steam of the fresher. He couldn’t recall a time there ever had been that much mess.

Reality shattered around him in an instant, crashing through the fragile bubble of his thoughts with brutal force. His mind had unraveled, driven by the image of the only woman he had ever allowed to mean something more than just a passing interest, the one he had held in such a profoundly deep regard. It had been a moment of weakness, one that exposed the rawness inside him he had long worked to suppress. The weight of that realization settled like a stone in his chest, suffocating him. The fantasy, the desire—everything he had indulged in—felt alien now, a betrayal of the very principles he had spent his life upholding.

Disgust curled in his gut, bitter and sharp. How had he let it go this far? How had he let himself become so tangled in a web of longing and fantasies that didn’t belong in the reality he had crafted for himself? The very thought of it sickened him, and he recoiled from the vulnerability he had unwittingly exposed.

Snatching the bar of soap from the small cutout in the wall, he scrubbed his skin with a desperate urgency, as if washing away the grime of the day could somehow erase what he had done. He lathered until his skin burned, raw and red, before finally pausing. Tilting his head back into the steady stream of water, he let it rinse the dirt from his short hair, hoping clarity might come with it. But all he could find was one question echoing through his mind.

Why her?

He had long since convinced himself that she was just a friend—nothing more. He might have believed it, too, if she hadn’t always been there, trailing behind him with that sweet, effortless smile. If she hadn’t given him that ridiculous little offering—a necklace, of all things. His eyes dropped to it now, glinting against his chest, almost mocking him. She had been the first woman to treat him with genuine kindness, not out of flirtation or manipulation, but out of a simple, quiet respect for the man he was.

And yet, he wasn’t blind.

He had done his best to ignore it, to shove down the thoughts that threatened to surface. She was beautiful—undeniably so. That’s why Jesse had teased him that day on the beach, throwing out some crude joke about how the pretty doctor should give him an STD exam.

Wait.

His movements stilled, the water forgotten as his mind latched onto the thought. Shutting off the shower, he hurriedly dried himself, his pulse quickening as a realization settled in. Maybe that was it. Maybe Jesse’s little joke had planted the seed, giving life to a fantasy he hadn’t even realized was forming. Maybe that’s why, when he was alone, it was her hands—small, delicate, yet certain—wrapped around his cock in the dark corners of his mind.

The thought offered him a strange sense of relief. It was just that—just a fantasy. Nothing more. Pulling on a pair of briefs, he moved through the rest of his routine with practiced ease, shutting down any lingering doubts before they had the chance to take hold.It was easier to blame Jesse then confront the idea he might be falling for her.

At best, he could admit that he might have let himself get too consumed by his physical desire for her. Even that acknowledgment felt wrong—uncomfortable and out of place—but after what had happened, he couldn’t deny it. He had lusted after a friend. That was a line he shouldn’t have crossed, one he would need to be mindful of the next time he saw her. For Echo’s wedding no less. A day in which would be filled with romance and-

Rex stopped himself with a disgruntled shake of his head, as if someone were around to hear his loud thoughts. He would be rigid at his brother’s wedding. He could be polite, but he would not engage with her more than he needed to even if it pained him so. Those walls needed to stay high enough that pretty doctors couldn’t climb them.

Stretching out on his bunk, he checked the systems, ensuring no alarms had gone off. The ship hummed softly around him, the vast emptiness of deep space his only company for the next few hours. The solitude would do him some good—a chance to clear his head. Because even with a logical explanation for his feelings, the guilt and confusion still weighed heavily on him.

Just as his body began to relax, his datapad chirped. He sighed, annoyed at the interruption but knowing better than to ignore it. If there was any kind of avoidable danger, he couldn’t afford to let it go unchecked.

Flicking on the screen, he expected the usual—a fuel-level warning, an ETA adjustment, or maybe a quick message from Echo. But when he opened the waiting notification, his breath caught, and the pad nearly slipped from his hands.

It was a photo.

Glasses slid halfway down a delicate nose, tired eyes fighting to hold a smile. Messy hair framed flushed cheeks, evidence of exhaustion from what had clearly been a long day. Beneath it, a message appeared: Late nights are the worst. Hope yours is much better than mine :)

The image hit him like a punch to the gut and a flutter in his chest all at once. She looked utterly worn out, yet still so achingly beautiful. He hadn’t realized how much he had been bracing himself for her to reach out, but now that she had, his emotions tangled even further. She messaged him every night, a habit they’d formed long ago. And when he wasn’t dodging enemy fire or barely able to stand, he always responded.

Here, tucked away in his private bunk with no one else to overhear, he usually ended his days with these lighthearted exchanges. But tonight, with her image staring back at him, the comfort he usually found in her messages had turned into something far more complicated.

For a long moment, Rex simply stared at the screen, unsure what to do. The familiar pang of guilt twisted in his chest, tangling with the warmth her message brought. She had no idea what she was doing to him—how her sweet words and tired smile were unraveling the restraint he had worked so hard to keep in place.

Keep it together, he told himself. Don’t make this more than it is.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he tapped out a reply, keeping his tone light and casual.

Long flights are never fun, but I think you win the “rough night” competition. Try to get some rest when you can—don’t overdo it. Captain's Orders.

He hesitated, rereading the message, debating if it sounded too cold. But before he could second-guess himself further, he sent it. Leaning back on the bunk, he stared at the ceiling, willing his mind to quiet.

Her reply came almost instantly.

Rest? What’s that? Pretty sure I’ll be on my feet until the sun comes up. At least I’ve got something to distract me now ;)

The winking face made him clench his jaw, a sudden heat building in his chest. She wasn’t flirting—not intentionally, anyway—but it was the way her words always felt so personal, as though she genuinely wanted his attention. And damn it, she had it. She always did.

He started typing, then stopped. His thumb hovered over the screen, unable to decide if he should keep responding or put the datapad down and end the conversation there. But then another message popped up before he could reply.

How’s the flight so far? I bet it’s quiet. I’d trade my chaos for your peace right now.

Quiet? Peaceful? That was what she thought this was. And in a way, she was right—out here in the stillness of space, there was nothing but the hum of the ship and his own thoughts. But right now, those thoughts were anything but peaceful.

His fingers moved before he could stop them.

I’m not sure you’d like it. Too much time alone out here makes a guy think too much.

The moment he sent it, he regretted the vulnerability. It wasn’t like him to open up like that, not even to her. But she responded almost immediately, her words striking a chord he hadn’t expected.

Thinking isn’t always so bad. Just don’t let it get the better of you. You’ve got people who care about you, Rex.

He exhaled sharply, his chest tightening at her words. You’ve got people who care about you. Did she mean herself? Was that what she was trying to say? Or was he reading too much into it, letting his mind twist her kindness into something it wasn’t?

He had to stop this.

Rolling over, he typed out a quick reply.

Thanks. I’ll try not to overthink it. Get some sleep, Doc. You need it.

The dots indicating she was typing appeared immediately, letting him know she hadn't deviated from his message, reading it instantly and forming a response without delay. Soon another message came across his screen.

That's a polite way to say I look terrible. Not that I blame you, these eye bags could carry a venator...

Grumpily sitting up, as if sitting up would somehow aid him in typing his message, he quickly replied without a thought before he could worry over the interpretation. Perhaps it was because he was angry with himself for the action he'd only very recently just undertaken, but something about the way she degraded herself didn't sit right with him.

Not at all what I meant, and you know that. Your eyes might show you're tired, but that doesn’t mean they're anything less than beautiful. Just… making sure someone forces you to get rest since we both know you have a habit of neglecting that. Whatever you are doing can likely wait till the morning. So just do me the solid and head home and get the rest? People care about you too.

This time, he didn’t wait for her response. He placed the datapad face-down on the small table beside his bunk and turned away, closing his eyes and willing himself to sleep.

But her image lingered in his mind—the tired eyes, the soft smile, the way she had reached out to him like she always did. It was comforting, and it was torture. And no matter how tightly he tried to close his eyes, he couldn’t push her away.

His datapad chirped one last time, and despite his better judgment, he reached for it. He told himself he was just checking—just making sure it wasn’t something urgent. But deep down, he knew the truth. He wanted to hear from her again.

Her message was simple.

I suppose you are right. Goodnight, Rex. Sweet dreams.

That was it. No teasing remark, no playful jab—just a quiet goodnight.

He exhaled, sinking back into his pillow, the tension in his body finally easing. Maybe it was the exhaustion setting in, or maybe it was the warmth her words left behind, but for the first time that night, he let himself stop fighting it.

And whether he wanted to or not, she was the last thing he thought of before the stars faded into darkness.

Full illustration by @leenathegreengirl !

#star wars #tbb #legacygirlingreen’s writing #pabuverse #oc mae #mae killough #captain rex x oc #the clone wars au #the clone wars fanfiction #captain rex fanart #captain rex #ns/fw

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