#otherwise you have a wet pilot

[makoredeyes]

Bob Hoover 1G roll fail (which is impossible in this model aircraft lmao)

[tervaneula]

u said leoichi drabble prompt request. consider. one injured and the other protecting them and then the injured one has to calm them down bc 'they're okay, really, promise, rest now'

OKAY SO this fused with a ghost of an idea I've had for a while and it ended up being a bit more serious than the prompt called for and a lot longer than just a drabble. (It's ~1120 words.) CW: blood and injury

Also I made a silly header thing I don't know what to do with, so I'm putting it here since this fic doesn't come with art of its own :'3

“Yui, I’m okay–” 

The rabbit turns his head to look at him, furious. 

“I heard your shell crack, Leonardo, and I'm not an idiot! Now stay down and let me handle this!” 

He falls quiet for a moment before redirecting his glare towards their adversary and then adds a muted, “Please.” 

There's no compromising with Yuichi in this state, apparently, and Leonardo stays right where he got crushed between metal claws and the concrete, splayed on the ground next to those very same claws which had gotten swiftly cut from the wrist for their transgressions.

He does roll onto his side to get his body weight off his shell, and yeah, alright, one or more of the old cracks that never healed properly must have split open again. It's tough to breathe and his back feels… His kimono is sticking to his shell and his back feels wet now that he's paying attention, and that. That is not good. 

Just his luck to run into a massive mecha wreaking havoc on an otherwise lovely day, huh. He wasn't even supposed to be on patrol and thus is embarrassingly swordless. 

Good thing that his date and their resident samurai always carries his. 

The slider watches as Yuichi does quick work of the metal hunk's wiring behind its knees, his frighteningly sharp katana slicing through the cables like butter. The mech falls with a ground-shaking rumble, unable to rise again, arm flailing as it tries to catch the rabbit. It's no use, Yuichi is much smaller and faster – and as soon as he reaches the mech's head, it's already rolling. The construct immediately loses power and Yuichi wrenches the windowed hatch in its chest open. Turns out there's no pilot, just a program-operated dashboard, and he makes sure that none of the controls are functional after he's done with them. 

Leonardo thinks he could watch Yuichi trash villains all day long, he's practically mesmerised by the strength hidden in that soft frame despite his shell throbbing unpleasantly in tandem with his heartbeat. He sighs, lovestruck. 

As his final move, Yuichi thrusts his katana into the heart of the mecha and Leonardo sees a spray of ink-black oil splash all over Yuichi's face and the front of his kimono. It makes him laugh and he realises his mistake too late, his lungs struggling to draw breath again as he finally gets hit with the pain, his body trying to stop him from moving; from causing any more damage. Shit, shit, shit. 

He had hoped he wouldn’t need to bother any of his brothers today since he was supposed to spend the whole day with Yuichi but he knows to pick his battles, now. He opens the comm link embedded in his prosthetic, contacting someone who he knows will pick up. 

“Che~ello!” comes the cheerful answer in just a few seconds, and Leonardo can't help but smile. 

“Mikeyyy, hermano, I'm in a bit of a pickle,” he wheezes, feeling the shift in his little brother's energy as soon as he hears the strain in his voice. 

“Leo? Are you okay?” 

“Not really, no,” Leonardo grunts. “Got into a scuffle with some big haywire robot– don’t worry, that’s taken care of. I suspect Donnie will want to scrap it for parts. Um. My shell’s– my shell’s cracked though.” 

Leonardo can vividly imagine the colour draining from Michelangelo's face and it would be funny if he wasn't acutely aware of a broken shell coming with the very real possibility of his innards turning into outnards. 

“I'm calling Draxy. Stay put, I'll get Lee to pick you up.” 

“Right,” Leonardo sighs, the line going out just when Yuichi is finally done with the mech and rushing to his side, face haphazardly wiped from oil. His gaze is sharp as he kneels next to him, sweaty and out of breath, and Leonardo thinks he looks like a knight. Or maybe like a samurai of the old, in this case. 

“There’s my hero,” he coos before Yuichi can get a word out and the rabbit’s brow furrows. 

“Don’t start,” he snaps but his tone softens almost immediately, “I saw you calling someone. It’s bad, isn’t it? It… it looks really bad.” 

“Yeeeah, this kimono is definitely ruined,” Leonardo laments, “unless you know how to, gh, get blood out of corduroy? No? Or the obi?” 

Yuichi stares. 

“A– a shame, really, I did like this one a lot–” 

“Leonardo!” Yuichi interrupts him and grabs his bicep, looking two seconds away from crying. Leonardo frowns. He knows he’s getting a little delirious but he was sincerely trying his best to lift his mate’s mood. 

“Leon, please, you’re rambling. Is someone coming? Can I do anything?” 

“‘m not rambling,” Leonardo grumbles, hissing when he fills his lungs again. “Leo’s coming to get us, Draxy– Draxum will treat the shell. And no, better keep the obi in place until we get to the medbay.” 

Yuichi’s shoulders slump and he sighs, most likely relieved that he’s not going to have to figure out how to deal with a cracked shell. Leonardo does not like the lingering worry in Yuichi’s gaze one bit, though, and he offers him a grin. It’s a little shaky but whatever. 

“Heeey, bunbun. Listen. This is nothing I haven’t been through before. I’ll be fine.” 

Yuichi gives him an honest-to-God kicked-puppy look and Leonardo thinks it’s the most adorable thing he’s ever seen in his life. He almost tells him so but Yuichi cups his cheek and his forced grin melts away into surprised silence. 

“I hate seeing you hurt,” Yuichi murmurs, leaning down to press his forehead against Leonardo’s. The slider’s eyes flutter shut and he lifts his hand to hold onto Yuichi’s wrist. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I mean it. I should’ve been more careful.” 

Yuichi huffs and leans away to gently bump their foreheads together. 

“It wasn’t your fault.” 

“Maybe, but ’m still sorry. Didn’t want to worry you.” 

“You’re an idiot,” Yuichi says, exasperated. “You should know that at this point, I’ll always worry.” 

Leonardo grins and this time it’s genuine. Breathing in his partner’s scent is like a balm to him, even if it’s tinged with the bitterness of motor oil, even if his body currently thinks that breathing is overrated. Even if he just got called an idiot by none other than said partner. 

“Raincheck on the date?” he mumbles, and finally he gets a chuckle out of the rabbit. Yuichi straightens his back and flicks him on the nose. 

“Like you even needed to ask. Idiot.” 

Before Leonardo can express his displeasure of being called an idiot for a second time there’s the familiar electric hum of a portal opening behind him, and someone whistles. 

“Sheesh, old man. That kimono is definitely ruined.” 

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Bookmark my Heart

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader

Description: You're not the audiobook type. You much prefer reading over listening to books. It would just be your luck that an audiobook got you into this predicament. His eyes are piercing as you fumble with your phone to mute the volume, his voice blaring from the device.

Warnings: None! (Though I do believe Flirty!Rooster is a warning I should call out.)

Themes: Meet-Cute, Flirting, Coffee, Books, Smut Books

Word Count: 3456

A/N: So, if you all aren't aware, today is the lovely @roosterforme's birthday! I couldn't think of a better way to celebrate Em and all of the amazing things she does more than to write some Rooster for her. Happy Birthday! I hope your day is as wonderful as you are! So without further ado, I'm pleased to present you all with Bookmark my Heart, a fic where Bradley Bradshaw is an audiobook narrator and the reader, nicknamed Paper, runs right into him! All my thanks to @horseshoegirl and @desert-fern for beta-reading this fic and catching all of the places where I've missed commas as well as updating my phrasing!

My Masterlist

AO3: Cross-posted Here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted Here!

You’re not the audiobook type. Something about having someone read the pages, providing inflections and changes of tone to the otherwise inflectionless words tends to kill your imagination. So you much prefer reading over listening to the books you’re in the mood to peruse. It would just be your luck that an audiobook got you into this predicament. His eyes are piercing as you fumble with your phone to mute the volume, his voice blaring from the device. But maybe you should back up a little bit.

It all started, like it usually did for you, with a book. Unlike normally though, you aren’t talking about Keats, Byron, Shelley, or Austen. This time, the book that was your downfall was something you’d usually classify as chick-lit. Not that chick-lit is a bad thing. There are quite a few romance novels which are beautifully written and that you enjoy reading and re-reading. It’s just not normal that a romance novel, something smutty and provocative, would end up being talked about on podcasts and the news. That’s not considering how all of your female colleagues seem to be talking about the very same book. But that’s the other interesting thing. They’re not even discussing the book’s contents. More like they’re discussing the narrator’s voice in the audiobook edition - how deep and smooth and raspy it is.

It hadn’t even been a full day before the curiosity got the better of you and you purchased the book from Kindle Unlimited. It took you the better part of two weeks before you actually screwed up the courage to listen to it though. Maybe you shouldn’t have picked a Saturday morning when you were running errands to listen to the book. In your defense, there was no better time to listen to the book other than a day when you’d be spending quite a long time in the car with nothing else to do. You’d definitely miscalculated. Dear lord, this man’s voice?! It’s deep and raspy, something smooth and dark in how he voices the syllables. It’s the kind of voice you’ve once heard referred to as panty-wetting - an epithet you’ve never understood until now.

The book has you squirming as you walk through the grocery store. There’s sweat dripping down your spine as he talks about something involving fighter jets and the men (and women - you always feel like you have to correct) who fly them. You’d never have thought that flaps and ailerons could ever be that alluring. You have to take a minute as you leave the grocery store, sitting in your car in silence practically heaving just at the way the word “Doll” had dripped off of his lips. Maybe you can buy into the hype a little bit. It’s not often that you find a romance book in the male perspective after all. As far as finding the pilots sexy goes, though, what can you say? You’ve seen Top Gun - both movies - those boys in their dress whites are awfully sexy.

You send a little prayer of thanks to Rooster Bradshaw, whoever he is, for narrating this book. Just his voice has already made your boring Saturday running errands a thousand times better. You don't even mind that you're melting in the San Diego heat without the air conditioning on as you collect yourself. At least there is only one thing you have left to do today. As a reward for finishing up your errands, including odious activities like going to the bank and post office and grocery shopping, you'd vowed to treat yourself with a romp through your favorite bookstore.

Like you mentioned earlier, it all started with a book. What can you say? You're nothing if not predictable. The Breezy Bean is your favorite coffee shop and bookstore. It's a small shop nestled right in the midst of cobblestone streets and overshadowed by apartment buildings on either side. It's always a zoo trying to get parking, but you can't regret the competition for parking when the books are as good as they are and the coffee is even better.

Lara's not at the counter, but her business partner and best friend, Emily is, and you wave at her absentmindedly as you tangle the cord of your headphones around your index finger. The entire shop smells like coffee beans, paper and ink. You could spend forever here, and you're sure you have, at the very least, spent the entire day in the shop before. The shelves tower over your head, creaking under the weight of everything they hold. You're not a woman on a mission today, content to just meander until a cover catches your fancy. The eyes eat first, after all, isn't that what they say? If only you knew how true that statement would be.

The whole time you're listening to the book, tasting the words on your tongue seconds after Rooster says them, teasing the syllables out like you're trying to snatch them from his lips. Is it any wonder that after about four hours of listening to his voice, you're starting to imagine what the main character of the book looks like based on how Rooster sounds? You're only human, after all. It's quiet and dim in the back of the store, the shelves lit only by the small lights shining from the wall sconces. This is your favorite section of the store. There's a squashy green armchair here with a small table, and this is where you usually sit and wile away the hours.

It's rare that anyone ever ventures into this corner of the store. So it's a surprise when you see a man standing right in front of your favorite chair. He's tall and ridiculously handsome, wearing an eye-wateringly bright Hawaiian shirt and slim-fitting jeans. Like everyone in California, he's got Ray-Bans flung into the neckline of his tank top. The truly unique part of his look is the mustache he's carefully cultivated on his upper lip. He’s holding a book in long-fingered hands, lips pursed as he scans the pages, leaning gently against one of the shelves.

You try your best to squeeze past him in the narrow aisle, wondering if Em and Lara have squeezed more shelves back here or if you've just gained weight when it happens — your headphone cord snags on the buttons on his open shirt. You try to untangle it, unsuccessfully, but then your phone falls out of your pocket and rips your headphones right out of the jack.

You were just getting to a good part, something filled with innuendo but not quite at the sex. That's your only silver lining. Because when your phone nosedives to the, thankfully, carpeted floor sans your headphones, the audio keeps playing way too loudly for the hushed environment. To add insult to injury, your phone is closer to him than it is to you, and well, you've embarrassed yourself enough. The last thing you need is to get eye-level with a stranger's dick while your phone is narrating smut in a bookstore.

“Good book?” There's a smile on his face, and you nod timidly as he hands you back your phone. You pause the app and turn the volume all the way down before his words, or well, you should say, the sound of his voice sinks in.

If you weren’t mortified before, you're even more so now. Obviously, your brain does not compute, so your brain-to-mouth filter isn't working as you blurt out, “You're Rooster Bradshaw.”

It doesn’t surprise you at all when he starts laughing - a full body, belly laugh which fills the stacks with the mellifluous sound. If you had any doubts before that you'd run into the Rooster Bradshaw at your favorite coffee shop before (which you didn’t - see your intimate knowledge of his voice from earlier), you wouldn’t have any now. His character had actually laughed not fifteen minutes ago in the book. Well, now what are you supposed to do? You feel hot, embarrassment crawling its way up your throat as you shift your weight back and forth. Rooster's smiling at you as he stands back, lounging against the shelf like he's waiting for you to get your shit together. You'd hate to break it to him, but you don't think that's possible.

“I'm sorry.” You try your best to hide your face because he does not need to see what your facial expressions are doing.

“What do you have to be sorry for?” You shrug a shoulder as you busy yourself by turning around and trying to force yourself to read the titles. “It's not every day I run into pretty girls in my favorite bookstore, listening to me narrate a book about US Naval Aviators.”

Flirting shouldn’t be the thing which puts you at ease in this situation. There really must be something wrong with you. You’ve never done anything like this before. What happened to the girl who would have run away the minute the phone fell? She might not be facing down the sexiest man she’s ever seen, but at least that version of her isn’t at risk of heart palpitations.

“I hate to break it to you, Rooster, but a lot of pretty women are listening to you right now. This book has made its way onto podcasts and PBS. The author herself has been interviewed gushing about your professionalism and how you say the word “aileron.” Despite your mortification, you find yourself mirroring his relaxed position against the shelves. “Though I do have to correct a part of your statement there. What about yoga pants, glasses, and a messy bun makes me pretty? Because I’d call myself a mess.”

“Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to say you’re a mess, pretty girl.” Rooster grins as he tugs the shoulder of your cami up from where it is sliding down your arm. “Don’t you know exactly how devastating you look in those yoga pants?”

You’re left dumbstruck, reeling as he leans even closer to you. All of a sudden, you’re inundated with the scent of his cologne as he crowds into your space, and you’re forced to tip your head up to keep eye contact. Of course, the motion makes your glasses tip on your face, and you can’t lift a hand up to resettle them on your face without brushing up against every inch of the man, nearly squishing you into the shelf. There’s a scant few centimeters between you as you try to string words together.

“What makes you think I don’t know how good these pants make my ass look?” You smirk just a little, screwing up all of your courage to peer up at him. “But really, this outfit is comfortable.”

“Comfortable is not how you’re making me feel, honey.” There’s a heat in his gaze as his voice rasps out the words. “But maybe we can both get a little more comfortable and have a cup of coffee together?” 

Only two people will ever know if your hand strays right over the seam at the front of his jeans as you walk away. “I’d love to, but maybe you need to take a few minutes in seclusion, Mr. Chicken.”

You feel giddy as you walk away because things like this don’t just happen to girls like you. You don’t flirt with men you've just met. And you definitely do not brush over the dicks of men you've just met! The counter is nearly empty as you walk up, and you know Em has clocked onto the fact that your hands are surprisingly empty of books.

“Hiya, Paper!” You roll your eyes only a little. Buy a stack of paperbacks once a week from a bookstore for months, and this is exactly what you’ll be nicknamed. “No books today?”

“Hey, Em. Can I get a latte, please? And whatever the gentleman in the Hawaiian shirt orders is on me.” You grin at the sight of her eyebrows ticking up until they’re nearly in her hair.

“What has our sweet little Paper been doing today, huh?” You shrug just a little, grinning as she hands you your drink. “I’ve been reading, Em!”

“Of course you have!” You’re laughing as you make your way to a table for two in the corner.

You’re smiling outright when Rooster swaggers out of the shelves a few minutes later, and Em clocks the Hawaiian shirt on his broad frame. She’s half drooling when he orders an Americano. As she turns to make his drink, you get the messages in short order.

What the fuck, Paper!

This is the man you’re buying a coffee for?

Damn, girl! I’m going to need all of the details. STAT!

You put the device away only when the chair opposite yours slides out, and Rooster settles in. You'd promised a full detailing of the encounter to Em, and you wouldn't be surprised if Lara interrogates you the next time you see her as well.

“So, obviously, you come here often, then.” He’s smirking as he sips on his coffee.

“Yup!” You’re just as chipper as you blow over the surface of your own mug.

“You come here often enough that one of the owners just threatened me with the loss of my…” He pauses like he’s not sure if he should laugh or cry as he says the words, “...crown jewels…” and grimaces before continuing, “...if I hurt you.”

“She also called you Paper. Why’s that, Honey?”  

You lean forward, feeling just a little more confident as he mirrors your position. “Tit for tat, Bradshaw, if that even is your last name. You tell me something about yourself, I tell you something about myself.”

“Deal?” You stretch your hand out and gasp when he takes it and sets it down to the side of the mugs.

“Deal.”

“I’ll start.” Your faces are inches apart from each other. He's whispering, and you have to lean forward even further so you don't miss a single word. “My name’s Bradley Bradshaw. I didn’t want to use my real name while narrating those books.”

“And Rooster was what you decided on?” His chuckle and yours rise into the air in perfect harmony.

“It was a nickname I got in college. I was always the only guy in the dorm up before 9 A.M.”

You take turns sharing your life stories and quite a few secrets until your coffees are long gone. You find yourself telling him all about how you got your nickname and how you’ve been feeling stuck for the longest time. With Bradley, it doesn’t feel like another boring first date. If it weren’t for the faint hiss of the espresso machine and the clank of mugs and cutlery you wouldn't think there was another person in the room but the two of you. There are butterflies in your stomach, and your entire body shudders when he hooks his ankle around yours and tugs you closer. That point of contact has your blood turning into molten lava in your veins as his hand trails gentle patterns across your upturned palm.

“Hey, Paper?” It takes an inhuman effort to drag your eyes away from the magic Bradley Bradshaw is committing just with your hands in his own.

“Hey, Em.” As you say her name, you realize how dark it is. “The store’s closing, isn’t it?”

“Yup. It actually closed an hour ago. You looked so cute together that I called Lara, and we made an executive decision to let the two of you keep talking for just a bit longer.”

Your face feels extra hot because Em’s looking at you like she’s liable to start laughing at any moment. You don’t want to know what your hair looks like now, not after hours of running your fingers through it. It’s probably even more of a mess than it was when you literally ran into Bradley hours ago. A great first impression, right?

“Let me settle up then, Em.” If your voice is hushed and a little more subdued, it’s because reality and panic are settling in.

“No, sweetheart.” Bradley’s voice is even firmer as he stands up and places a hand on your arm. “Today is on me, I insist.”

You know exactly when Em puts it together, because her eyes widen to a comical degree. She was the biggest reason why you bought the book in the first place. “You’re Rooster Bradshaw!”

For the second time today, you find yourself laughing along with Bradley, though the sounds of his laughter doesn’t put you at ease in quite the same way as it did earlier. Em’s laughing too, and she looks gorgeous in the golden light. At least she’s put together in a way you’re so obviously not. Maybe you should have taken your mother’s well-meant advice when you were younger - dress to impress, for you never know who you’re going to meet. But you haven’t taken that advice, choosing to dress simply and comfortably. It works when you can’t wear any makeup when you work in a laboratory and when all of your nice clothes would be at risk of chemical spills at worst and covered by a lab coat at best. So you walk through life in a swirl of well-worn jeans, tee-shirts, yoga pants, tank tops, camisoles, sneakers and sandals. There are a few dressier items in your closet, but they’re so far in the back that you haven’t worn them in probably a year and a half. Em’s cute outfit and wavy, non-greasy hair probably feel like a breath of fresh air to him. The same goes for the timber of her voice and how she sounds so elegant. 

If you didn't know any better (because you know Em, you do), you'd think that the words the two of them are sharing by the counter now are flirtier than settling up a bill. It doesn’t help the green, envious monster sitting on your shoulder, though. Nor does it help when you run to the restroom and take a look at yourself in the mirror. You look worse than you thought you did. Your face is wan and pale, the bags under your eyes have bags, and your hair is so greasy that it lays limp when you release it from your bun. Your lips are chapped, and fuck, how did you manage to drip coffee onto yourself?! You only drank one cup! What's left to show you that you've made a huge fool of yourself?

Your hands shake as you splash water on your face and put your hair back in its sad bun again. Just a little longer and you'll be home, wallowing in peace at yet another failed potential relationship. At least the water has brought a blush to your cheeks and cleaned the worst of the smudges off your glasses. Bradley probably has Em's phone number by now, right? It's probably best not to get your hopes up too high, else you find yourself falling from a prodigious height.

Instead, you're pleasantly surprised to see him still in the shop.

“Hey!” His face lights up when he sees you, and you're sure your earlier pep-talk about managing your expectations hasn’t worked at all. This is going to hurt. “So, I know talking to a stranger for hours at a coffee shop probably isn't the best first date. So would you maybe want to go on a real one sometime soon?”

“Y-you're serious?” He smiles and hands you his phone, unlocked.

“Put your number in there, Paper.” Your mind's not working at all as you type the ten digits in. 

“Why me?” 

His smile is warm and fond as he takes the phone back, types something and hits send. Your notification tone goes off soon after. 

“It's not every day I run into a pretty girl listening to me reading a romance novel who doesn't fawn all over me once they realize who I am. It's been nice talking to you. I feel like you're the first person in a long time to see Bradley, not Rooster.”

He holds the door open for you, a hand finding its way to the small of your back as he walks you out to your car. He even opens the door for you, a chivalrous action which has your heart flip-flopping in your chest. “Baby doll?”

“Yeah?” He takes advantage of the height difference between you to tip your face up as he feathers a kiss across the apple of your cheek.

“It helps that your ass looks damn good in those yoga pants!” 

You're laughing despite yourself as you drive away. Maybe audiobooks aren't as bad as you think? Or, well, at least their narrators aren't.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE, ON WATTPAD, OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE, ON WATTPAD, OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

Taglist:

@desert-fern @horseshoegirl @dakotakazansky @sarahsmi13s @teacupsandtopgun @footprintsinthesxnd @roosterforme @beyondthesefourwalls @mak-32 @thedroneranger @chaoticassidy @shanimallina87 @kmc1989

[pragerswoman]

Unexpected

Pairing: Miles X y/n

Warnings: smut, MDNI, Nsfw

A/n: hey hope you guys enjoy sorry I have been quiet my brother just had a baby and I've had my daughter 😌

"Damn it, Miles, keep it together!" Y/n hissed, her eyes narrowed as she piloted the shuttle through the dense alien foliage.

"I'm trying," Miles Quaritch grunted, his hand gripping the armrest so tightly his knuckles turned white. "But something's wrong with me, I can't stop... feeling like this."

The cockpit of the shuttle had tension as Miles' body quivered with an uncontrollable urge, his gaze flicking down to the bulging erection pressing against his tactical pants. The mission was critical, but an unexpected encounter with a native plant had left him in a state of heightened arousal. An aphrodisiac had seeped into his skin through the microscopic thorns of a rogue bush, and now he was a ticking time bomb of desire.

Y/n glanced at him, her own heart racing for reasons beyond the danger of their mission. "We're almost there," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "Just hold on a little longer."

Miles leaned his head back and groaned, the aphrodisiac coursing through his veins like liquid fire. "I don't think I can," he said, his voice strained. "It's too much."

Y/n bit her lip, weighing their options. They were too close to their target to abort now. But she could see the desperation in Miles' eyes, feel the heat radiating from his body. She knew she had to act, and act fast.

"Alright," she said, her voice a low purr that seemed to echo in the confined space. "But only because we're about to hit the jackpot, and I want you at your best."

With a swift motion, she unbuckled Miles' harness and pushed him down onto the cold metal floor. He looked up at her, his pupils dilated with need. "Y/n," he groaned, his voice thick with lust. "What are you doing?"

"What needs to be done," she replied, a sly smile playing on her lips. She knelt down and unzipped his pants, freeing his raging erection. "Now, be quiet. I need to focus."

Miles' eyes rolled back in his head as y/n's warm, wet mouth engulfed him. Her tongue swirled around his shaft, her teeth grazing gently. He groaned, his hands balling into fists as he fought the urge to thrust into her.

Y/n's eyes never left his face as she worked her magic, her mouth moving with purpose. The sound of her sucking filled the small cabin, the only noise in the otherwise silent shuttle. Miles could feel his orgasm building, his entire body taut with tension.

As the shuttle touched down, y/n pulled away, wiping her mouth. "Better?" she asked, her voice teasing.

Miles nodded, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Much," he managed to say.

The ramp lowered with a hiss, and the two of them stepped out into the alien landscape. Miles took a deep breath, his senses still heightened from the aphrodisiac. He could smell the musky scent of his own arousal, mingling with the sweet fragrance of the exotic flora.

"Let's move," y/n said, her voice firm. "We've got work to do."

Miles nodded, his thoughts still a whirlwind of desire. As they ventured into the jungle, the aphrodisiac's grip on him didn't lessen. If anything, it grew stronger.

The dense foliage closed in around them as they moved deeper into the jungle. The air was thick with humidity and the calls of unseen creatures echoed through the trees. Miles' erection remained a persistent throb, a constant reminder of the unfulfilled need that still raged within him.

Y/n's eyes never left the path ahead, her senses on high alert for any signs of danger. Despite her professional demeanor, she couldn't help but feel the heat of Miles' gaze on her as he watched her every move, his eyes hungrily devouring her form.

Her own need grew with each step they took, and she knew she wouldn't be able to ignore it for much longer. The aphrodisiac was affecting her too, the scent of his arousal driving her wild. When they reached a small clearing, she turned to him, her voice low and demanding. "Take me now," she said, pulling him into a passionate kiss.

Miles didn't need any further invitation. He yanked her down onto a soft patch of moss, his hands already at the zipper of her suit.

Y/n's moans filled the clearing as he exposed her to the cool air, his mouth finding its way to her eager pussy. He licked and kissed her, savoring the sweet taste of her desire. His teeth grazed her sensitive flesh, eliciting a gasp that turned into a plea for more.

Her nails dug into his shoulders as she arched her back, the intensity of his tongue against her clit sending shockwaves through her body. The aphrodisiac had her senses on overload, every touch feeling amplified. Miles pulled her closer, his face buried between her thighs as he feasted on her, her juices coating his mouth and chin.

With a snarl, Miles ripped off his shirt, his chest heaving with desire. He paused just long enough to pull her suit down to her waist, exposing her perky breasts to the open air. He took one in his hand, squeezing it roughly, his thumb circling her erect nipple.

Y/n gasped, her hips bucking as she reached down to tangle her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer to her pussy.

Their passion grew wilder with each passing second. Miles' tongue delved deeper, lapping up her nectar like a starved animal. He felt his own climax approaching, his cock straining against the fabric of his pants. With a growl, he stood up, shucking his pants and boxers in one swift motion.

Y/n watched him with hooded eyes, her chest heaving with anticipation. "Take me, Miles," she begged, her voice hoarse from the need that had built up within her. "Take me hard."

Without a word, Miles positioned himself between her legs, his cock standing at attention. He slammed into her with a feral growl, the force of his thrust making her eyes roll back in her head. Her nails raked down his back as he began to pound her with an intensity that matched the beating of their hearts. The moss beneath them grew slick with their combined sweat and the juices of their desire.

Y/n wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, her teeth sinking into his shoulder as she tried to stifle her screams. The aphrodisiac had turned her into a writhing mass of need, every sensation magnified to the point of painful pleasure. Miles grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back to expose her neck to his hungry kisses. She moaned, her hips moving in time with his, urging him on.

The sound of their bodies slapping together filled the clearing, punctuated by their desperate gasps for air. Miles' grip on her hair tightened, guiding her movements, controlling their rhythm. He knew exactly how to drive her wild, and with the aphrodisiac fueling his own desires, he had no intention of holding back.

Y/n's eyes were glazed over, her mouth open in a silent scream as she felt herself climbing towards an orgasm that threatened to consume her entirely. Her nails dug deeper into Miles' back, leaving trails of red in their wake. She pulled his face to hers, biting his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. The pain only served to spur him on.

Miles could feel his own release building, his balls tightening with every thrust. The aphrodisiac had his body on the brink of explosion, and he knew he couldn't hold out much longer. With a primal roar, he slammed into her one final time, his cock pulsing as he unleashed a torrent of cum deep within her. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced, a veritable flood that seemed to never end.

Y/n's body clamped down around him, her orgasm crashing over her like a wave. Her teeth sank into his shoulder, biting down hard in a mating instinct that the aphrodisiac had brought to the surface. The pain only intensified his own pleasure, his hips jerking erratically as he emptied himself into her.

The clearing was filled with the sound of their ragged breaths as they lay tangled together, the aftershocks of their shared climax rippling through them. The aphrodisiac had pushed them to the edge of sanity, their passion a wildfire that had consumed them both. Miles' cock remained semi-erect, still buried inside her, and he could feel the warmth of her inner muscles as they spasmed around him.

Y/n's eyes fluttered open, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. She licked the blood from her teeth, a hint of savagery still present in her gaze. "Well, that was unexpected," she murmured, her voice a mix of amusement and awe.

[swifty-fox]

HAD TO INCLUDE BUCK FROM MANITOWOC

(Clegan Postwar Longshot Snippet)

“He was always a bit tiny, you know? Couldn’t swim either,” Bucky chuckles “I taught him how to. Pushed him right off that rock over there and told him the best way to learn was just by doing.” he shakes his head “Buck from Manitowoc…he was a good kid, a real good kid. Shipped out to the Pacific a few months before we deployed. He was killed.” John shakes his head again, a little rougher this time, “Some middle of fucking no-where island called Talugai.”

“I’m sorry John.”

John nods, smoothies his mustache with his thumb and forefinger, “You think I could have saved him? If I’d gone into the Marines instead of becoming a pilot?” 

Buck lets himself drift a little closer. The John in front of him right now reminds him uncomfortably of John from the Stalag. Far away and struck with a melancholic fog that nobody could seem to reach him through. Not even Gale sometimes.

“I don’t think anyone could answer that.” 

“He was like you.”

Buck grins despite himself “I know, I know. Look just like-”

“No.” John interrupts, voice pitched low, “I mean he was like you Gale.” 

Buck watches his fingers swirl through the water, “You mean a pansy.” 

“Ain’t there any nice names for it?” 

He can’t help but chuckle, even as that thing twists tighter and tighter knots in his stomach. Was he just a replacement for a friend that never came home? A nice place-holder for a childhood friend that he hadn’t been aware he’d been filling in for? 

“None that I’ve heard. It’s not really a nice, decent thing”

“I think you’re plenty nice and decent Gale.”

“Hmm”

“I feel this…sense of regret,” John admits quietly, “That I wasn’t better friends with him. We came down here cause we both liked catching crawdads, but I never made much effort otherwise.”

“So then how’d you know he was queer?” Buck splashes water across his shoulders, feeling the tight irritated feeling of a coming sunburn.

“He kissed me.”

Gale freezes, hand halfway to his shoulder. He doesn’t dare look over at John, wets his lips nervously, “How’d you feel about that?”

“Confused,” John sighs out, sinking lower into the creep up his lips, the barely there current lapping against them. Gale never imagined he’d be envious of water. “When he realized what he’d done he tried to run. I chased him halfway through the damn forest before I caught up. Told him I was real flattered but I had a girl already.” 

Sunlight glimmers off the water, bright and shiny like it had once glimmered off a B-17’s wings. Buck closes his eyes and tilts his head back. Wasn’t that just the way of John Egan? Taking everything in stride with a joke and a quick word of assurance.

“I promised him I wouldn’t breathe a word to anyone, but I think he was still pretty spooked. He stopped showing up to hunt crawdads after that. Next thing I knew I was back home and he had been shot in the war”

“Nothing you could have done John,” Gale says quietly.

John’s eyes flicker darkly and he starts making his way towards shore where a patch of green grass flutters invitingly. “You can’t say that about everything, Buck.”

[lightwise]

TBB S3E8 - Reactions

- Poor Echo—he really is not getting any screen time is he

- Crosshair’s look of concern when he tells Omega she should be staying away from Rex and Echo 😭

- Okay Omega’s guilt is so clouding her judgement at this point. Poor kid really thinks it’s her fault that all those clones died—no baby girl, the shadow assassin would have gone there anyway whether you were there or not. My heart aches for her

- Hunter 🤝 Crosshair: keep Omega safe at all costs.

- Hunter’s lil “come on” head tilt 🤩

- PHEE!!!! I have been waiting for you!!!

- Crosshair: Who!?! 😶 PRICELESS. EXACTLY WHAT I EXPECTED FROM HIM MEETING HER 🤣🤣🤣

- Not Omega serving as the narrative admitting that Phee is, in fact, much to our dismay, a pirate 🏴‍☠️

- I’M GETTING BOTH MY GIRLS BACK IN ONE EPISODE

- Just slipping a Tech mention in there, why don’t you stop ripping my heart out

- Fennec!!!

- And Cross has the same reaction to Fennec 😆 —he’s finally starting to learn about the life that his family has lived during their time apart

- Hunter being in full dad mode and also being very perceptive about Crosshair hiding his hand issues. He may not always be able to say this about himself, but Hunter admitting that ignoring something won’t make the problem go away is huge growth from him.

- Thank goodness Hunter can pilot. This would be a very short season otherwise

- Cool space station

- I love when Star Wars is grimy city underbellies and neon lights 🤩

- The guys look SO GOOD in purple. Jus sayin

- As does Fennec (Queen that she is)

- I’d let those boys hem me in a booth anytime

- Ming-Na Wen is really pulling out all the stops for Fennec’s voice

- Hunter in neon bar lighting is something so personal to me

- “Ruined one of my scores” lol Fennec is salty tonight

- “More than you’ve got” she doesn’t even know how much they have on them but she knows it’s not enough 🤣 but also where is that 30k credits that Omega won?? They could have used that?

- “We made a deal. I’m going to keep it as long as you hold up your end”

- “Ten? For THAT? That’s what I thought”

- Gosh that water looks nasty

- Wet helmet Hunter instead of WET HAIR HUNTER??? Fffffffsssss Jennifer *clicks tongue in disappointment*

- That is so many mines

- “Close doesn’t count” 🥺

- It’s really interesting to me that this show has been focused solely on the Batch as a family this season. We’ve been on Pabu multiple times and have seen hardly any other residents, no one trying to be neighborly or prying (even though we know Shep has tried to make sure Crosshair is comfortable). The focus is on the Batch themselves this time, not their dynamic with the outside world.

- “You don’t like anything” “true” at least he’s self aware by now lol

- Batcher’s like “you like meeee!”

- Hunter’s senses are back baybee

- Never knew I needed to see Wrecker yeeting space alligators until today. Glorious. Straight up punching them in the face 🤣🤣🤣

- Ohhhh Wrecker giving back her sass blow for blow!

- “So what happened with the kid?”

- I will die on the hill that Fennec cares about Omega deep down

- “Just…seems odd. Considering our past”

- Love that the atmosphere on this planet is orange and it’s Fennec’s episode

- “They thought Omega would be safer with you guys. Guess they were wrong about that” she is not pulling any punches

- “Money’s not everything” you right boy

- “That’s because you don’t have any” phewww 🤣🤣🤣

- Pulling the blaster across the throat in a kill motion?? Hunter what are you doing to me right now 🥵

- “Pretty much” lolol

- This dude is so creepy looking. Giant bug eyes were not what I was expecting

- “You heard me!!” Oh Wrecker is done, done

- Man this guy does not go down easy.

- Bug spit. Nuff said

- “I doubt that” oh Cross, honey, I know, I get it

- THEY HELD HANDS

- I REPEAT SHE HELD HIS HAND

- Sorry I’m having Kenobi show Obi-Wan and Leia handhold flashbacks 😭😭😭😭

- Okay okay I’m back. I think.

- “You’ve missed a lot” “I know”

- Okay just rip my heart out why don’t you

- That is one of the most beautiful sunsets I’ve ever seen

- Pointy finger scrunched brow Hunter is the best Hunter

- “You can either fight me or trust me. Good choice” 😮‍💨

- Hunter getting tipped off that ramp is uh…is ummm…doing something to me. What, I’m not sure 👀🫠

- I also find it really interesting that they’ve barely had us on the Marauder at all this season. Foreshadowing?

- Both Fennec and Phee make the same two fingered salute to the boys after talking to them. Cute.

- Ohhhhh is she…is she selling them out?? Who is she talking to? Cad?

- Wait no she wouldn’t pass them over to someone else if any money could be gained on her side. I bet she’s talking to Ventress. I really wanna know how those two know each other 👀

- Wow. Things are really going to get interesting from here. Can’t wait.

[mykingdomforasong]

Needed to get my fanfiction groove back, so I asked @theydjarin to send me a place, a position, and time period for a skysolo fic (madlibs style).

General tags for smut, unsafe sex, probably unsanitary sex, spit as lube, and an intense swing from dirty talk to earnest conversations about feelings, all mid-fuck. Also, twin swap au.

~

It was going to be a quick jump back to base. Han hated to see Leia take off on her own for some kind of Jedi training he never got the memo on, but he was glad he got to see it at all. His eye sight was mostly back now. Lando wouldn't let him pilot them off of Tatooine in the sandstorm though, so Han sat at the Dejerak table, waiting to see if the prince would join him for a game or something.

Luke had fled to Han's room and shut the door soon after they made it back to the ship. He'd been able to borrow some additional outer layers, but not many. Han hadn't actually seen him in the gold-trimmed loin cloth, but Lando mentioned it being "pretty unfortunate. It would have been hot anywhere else." Between the sand that had surely made it's way into every sensitive crack on his body, and Jabba's slimy tongue, he couldn't blame him for taking off to the shower before Han could even ask what are we?

Han tried to focus his eyes on the meter for the Falcon's water supply, which he was sure was slowly slipping down as Luke showered. Han ran a hand through his hair, trying to shake out the sand. The ship's data readings looked blurrier than they usually did at this distance. Han started to panic that the carbonite had seriously damaged his eyes.

"Your eyesight should return to normal soon," he heard Luke say. He turned. Luke was a blurry vision himself -- just a rough outline of colors standing down the hall, but still gorgeous despite the blurred edges of his frame.

Han never quite understood how he knew exactly what he was thinking. "If it doesn't, the Rebellion can help restore it. They replaced Leia's hand."

"What happened to Leia's hand?" Han asked as Luke came into focus. He was wearing his own clothes now, tan fatigues that were more well-tailored than anything the average soldier got, his wet hair combed down to one side.

"She lost it against Vader," he said simply, "trying to save you."

Han leaned back in the booth, spreading his arms across the back of the seat, inviting Luke to sit. Han was no mind reader, but he knew what Luke thought -- that he and Leia were something. Maybe they could have been, but Han's eye was always somewhere else. Once he saw the prince covered in garbage, shouting at him, he was a gonner.

"A lot happened in the last few days, then," Han said.

Luke's eyes widened before he forced his face back into a diplomatic, neutral gaze. "It's been six months, Han."

Han buried the sudden rush of existential horror that brought on, taking a deep breath through his nose to stifle the knot in gut and lump in his throat. He'd deal with that later.

"Took you guys that long to rescue me?" He tried to joke.

Luke finally sat next to him. Up close he could see the bags under his eyes, a bruise the peaked up above the collar of his shirt, and the red spots on his otherwise flawless skin.

Luke started to respond, but Han cut him off, choosing to be honest for once in his life. "You all did your best. I appreciate you coming after me like that."

Luke nodded. The air started to feel thicker, and Han felt his finger tips start to itch with anticipation. Luke was scooting closer to him, pressing the outside of his thigh up against Han's. Luke's head turned towards Han just a little; he looked the rest of the way with his eyes. There was something cunning and determined in them, and Han understood finally that this is what it looked like to be seduced by royalty. Oh if only Leia could see him now. She might have been his best friend (besides Chewie, of course), but she never had any faith he'd pull it off.

The silence between them told Han now it's your turn. He's said it twice, now say it back.

Han hooked a finger under Luke's chin and turned his head the rest of the way. "I love you," he said.

"I know," Luke grinned. Luke threw his arms around Han's shoulders, letting the romantic moment hang for just a few seconds before using the leverage to climb into Han's lap.

He felt Luke's erection press into his stomach right away. He's hard. He's been hard the whole time, Han thought, I must be blinder than I thought.

Romantic, careful kisses quickly slipped into messy, careless, and needy ones. Luke's hand was on the side of Han's face, trying to pull them ever closer.

"How long until we land?" Luke breathed.

Han tried to look past him to the controls, but he couldn't get a clear reading. "We've probably got time," he said. They were sure to be swamped the moment they landed. "If we're quick."

"Can I fuck you, Captain Solo?" Luke asked, not wasting a moment. He pressed his lips to Han's neck as he waited for an answer.

Han's brain went haywire, but his hands knew what to do. He started undoing his own pants, freeing his own erection quickly.

"That's a yes then?" Luke asked.

"I haven't showered in six months," he warned, "and I've never been fucked by royalty either."

"That's okay," Luke promised, shimmying his own pants down, "we like it dirty."

Han grabbed the front of Luke's shirt with both hands before leaning back. The booth curved, forcing him to shift awkwardly as Luke landed on top of him. He heard Luke shimmying out of his pants as he pressed his mouth back onto Han's, one hand cupping the underside of Han's thigh. But with one leg up in the air Han started to feel his lower back slip off the booth. He broke the kiss as he started to fall, trying not to make any noises that would make the whole thing more embarrassing.

He tumbled to the floor with a quiet oomph, but Luke's hands were on him soon, pulling him back up. Luke's cheeks were flushed, and his dick was still hard and waiting, not turned off at all by Han's fall. If anything, he looked more aroused.

"Let's scoot down," Han said, pulling Luke more wards the end of the booth where the cushion straightened out a little more. "It's easier here."

"Oh, is it?" Luke said, faux-betrayal in his voice.

"Sorry princess, did you think I was a virgin?" Han asked, using the moment to fully take off his pants.

"I wouldn't be surprised," Luke teased. Their lips met again, this time Luke was more teasing, biting Han's bottom lip, a hand on Han's side, manipulating his body to go where Luke wanted it.

Before Han knew exactly what Luke was doing, he found himself on his hands and knees, facing the corridor to the cockpit. It was closed, but if Chewie or Lando were inside, all they'd need to do was open the door to catch them.

"Lando is in there," Luke said. "If that makes you nervous?"

"Lando's seen me in worse spots than this," Han said. Lando had put him in positions like this, but he wasn't about to tell Luke that. "But I do have a bedroom, if you're nervous."

Luke pressed his back over Han's, his hard cock resting in the cleft of his ass. He leaned over, biting the shell of Han's ear before whispering, "I like when I get caught."

"Always been a rebellious one then?" Han said, his voice waving as he did, revealing just how much Luke exhibitionist streak turned him on.

Luke hummed an mm-hum into Han's neck as he kissed his way down.

Han had imagined plenty of time what fucking Luke would be like. In most fantasies, they were in some nice bed, fancy, bubbly wine in abundance, and they made love slowly. But they were at war, and Luke was full of surprises.

He felt Luke spit before rubbing it in, the gentle press of his fingers against Han's hole was a welcome bit of friction after leaving his hard cock so neglected.

"Whenever you're ready baby," Han said. He'd taken enough cocks in his life. He'd gotten a good look at Luke's. It was nice, but shorter than Han's own, and smaller than most of his toys. He'd take it no problem.

Luke didn't waste anymore time. He pressed into Han like wanted him to feel every minute of the last six months. "Slower," Han said.

"Sorry," Luke said, genuinely apologetic for his pace. "I should have planned better." He slowed down, letting Han enjoy the slow drag of his cock inside him, filling him up.

"There was lube in my room," Han said, before gasping as Luke bottomed out. Luke paused for a moment there, letting Han enjoy the feeling. Han could have stayed there for the rest of the war, impaled on his royal cock. Luke probably would oblige.

"Oh, I found it," Luke said as he started to move slowly, "your toys too. Borrowed a few of them."

Han groaned, overwhelmed at the thought. "I'd like to see that," he said.

"I'd like if you watched that," Luke said, promising a future. Alright then, Han thought, we've gotta end this war, and come out the other side of it.

"That's a good enough reason to keep living as any," Luke said. Maybe their heads were in the same place, or maybe Luke really was a mind reader. "Actually," his fingers dug into Han's sides, "you're the perfect reason to keep living." Luke's voice had changed -- he wasn't dirty talking Han anymore. No he was just ... talking. Earnestly, openly. The way they really never had before. They'd fought, but there was always ... subtext to it. Not now though. Now everything was just ... text.

"You'd better live through this, baby," Han said, letting himself be earnest for moment (although earnestness didn't come naturally to him, at least not when he was on the bottom). Luke was still rocking into him at a steady pace. Han could feel his arousal building low in his belly, but he wasn't near close yet. But he didn't reach down to touch himself. It felt like the wrong moment.

"Well then you'd better not let me die," Luke said.

"Never. You saved me, I'll save you." Luke kissed Han's neck, before picking up his pace. Luke reached around, finally -- finally --touching Han, stroking him in time with his thrusts. Han wasn't close before, but Luke was doing something to him that was bringing him close to the end rapidly. Maybe Luke just did that to him.

"Fuck, Luke," Han said.

"I'm gonna cum," Luke warned.

"Please baby," Han said. He figured, mind reader that he was, Luke would understand his instruction.

Han gasped when he felt Luke cum inside him, thrusting slower and slower as he released, letting Han enjoy the last few drags of his hard, pulsing cock as he did. Luke kept his hand on Han's cock as he came, and Han was quick to follow after him.

He'd never enjoyed the messiness or the stickiness of cum inside him, but Luke's was different. Luke's he seemed to crave. He wanted to blow him more than anything. He wanted to suck his cock and taste every drop of him. But he'd never particularly enjoyed going ass to mouth, certainly not after six months of carbonite. And by the way Luke was panting, he didn't think he'd be up for it either.

Luke slipped out of him slowly. Han stayed where he was, not exactly sure how to avoid getting cum stains on his own ship. Well, he thought, wouldn't be the first.

He felt Luke press his sleeve to his hole, wiping it gently with some expensive fabric, hopefully not from his home planet. "Sorry," he whispered, although he didn't sound very sorry.

"I'll shower quick," Han said, turning around now to face Luke, planting his bare ass on the seat as he reached for his pants.

"Han," Luke said. "Kiss me?"

Han didn't waste time. He let his pants fall to the floor again as he captured Luke's mouth with his own.

"I'm not lying," Luke said, "so you'd better not be either. I love you." Luke pressed their foreheads together.

"I know you can read my mind, baby," Han said. "So you know I love you too."

~

"We'll be landing in just about -- whoa-ho," Lando said, leaning against the corridor wall as he stared at Luke and Han. They stared at him wide-eyed, both of them with their pants half-way off. Judging by their soft cocks, messy hair, and tell-tale smell in the air, he'd bet this ship he'd caught them after a quick and dirty fuck. "That cockpit door is more soundproof than I remember."

Lando didn't get a great look, but he was pretty sure he saw the prince's cock go hard again, just as he pulled his pants up over it.

~

If there's one thing I'm gonna do, it's create an AU where Luke grows up basically royalty. Also they never take their shirts off, so they are winnie-the-pooh-ing it the whole time.

[cetaitlaverite]

Why All This Music?

Masters of the Air - Rosie Rosenthal x OC

here's your final chapter! the epilogue is to follow! masterlist is linked here <3

41. How to Exist

Thorpe Abbotts was empty of airmen once more. It was also empty of planes. Everything had been packed up and carted away, the crews had flown the B-17s back the way they’d come, first to Greenland and then to the States. Freddie, Jem, and Millie walked through a ghost town on the way back from the officers’ club to the wireless operators’ hut.

Most of the other remaining personnel had gone home this afternoon. The Americans had all gone yesterday. It had been a tearful goodbye for everyone involved but, at the very least, Freddie and Millie would be stateside themselves very soon and would be in attendance at every reunion held henceforth.

Jem and Paddy were staying put in Jem’s hometown of Brighton - for now, at least, while they decided how they wanted to navigate their life together.

It hadn’t been possible for Freddie and Millie to fly home with their pilots. Moving twenty-something years’ worth of belongings from one country to another made for a lot of luggage, they had soon discovered when conversations about logistics had commenced. But they were taking a ship over together, sharing a cabin so they wouldn’t feel too homesick on the journey. A new life would be waiting for them on the other side.

But that would all come later. Tonight, Freddie, Millie, and Jem had one final sleepover in their old hut left in them, and two bottles of stolen whiskey to go with it.

“I can’t believe it’s all over,” Millie said, kicking idly at a stone in her path as they walked.

The stars overhead blinked lazily down on them. Soon, they’d no longer have to navigate solely by starlight and the light of the moon. While Britain’s blackout was set to endure a few months longer, America’s lights were all switched on. It would be strange, Freddie thought, to be in a country which had been largely untouched by the war - well, on the surface, that was.

Freddie had tears stinging in her eyes, as she had for most of the day. Her office was all packed up, the materials she’d borrowed sent back to the RAF depot and the things which were hers loaded into her footlocker. At some point she’d come to believe that the war would never actually end, and now that it had she knew she’d miss Thorpe Abbotts the way she was bound to miss Oxford, the way she’d been missing Vienna for a while now; it was a home just like both of the others, just like New York would come to be soon, too.

“I’ll miss our sleepovers most of all, I think,” Freddie said, her voice wobbly and wet.

Jem scoffed playfully. “You won’t need our sleepovers anymore, Fred. Not when you’ll be having sleepovers with Rosie every night.”

“I’ll always need our sleepovers,” Freddie protested. “Even when I’m a mum. Even when I’m old.”

“Then let’s always have sleepovers,” Millie declared. “Once a month, just like we’ve been doing since we first met. We’ll stay in a hotel. And we’ll telephone you, Jem, until you finally screw your head on straight and realise the party’s on the other side of the ocean and follow us over there.”

Jem laughed and teasingly disagreed but Freddie could hear a sadness in her laughter. She didn’t want to be left behind just as much as Freddie and Millie didn’t want to leave her behind, but they all had lives to start. Everything had been put on hold while the war was on, and they’d entered it so much girls, were leaving it so much women. They couldn’t stay attached at the hip forever but they’d always be tethered together, an ocean between them or otherwise.

“I’ll have to go over for your wedding anyway, Mils,” Jem reminded her with a weak, watery laugh. “And your second wedding, Fred. So we’ll have our next sleepover then.”

“We can have a joint hen party, Fred!” Millie declared. “And all the wireless ops will be invited!”

Freddie laughed. “Yes! Absolutely! So you absolutely have to come, Jem, because we’ll need you there for that.”

“Yes, yes,” Jem agreed, batting them away with a lazy swipe of her hand, “I’m very popular. I’ll be there.”

Their laughter was loud in the quiet as they came upon their nissen hut, drowning out the singing of crickets and the rustle of leaves and the distant sound of a crunching, solitary pair of footsteps.

Meatball was waiting for them on Freddie’s old bed inside the hut. Cecelia had gone home this morning, so really it was Freddie’s bed again now. Millie and Jem had helped her drag her belongings back in there and they’d dressed it up to look the same as it had when she’d lived there, though there was now a picture of her and Rosie on their wedding day taped up on the wall above the bed alongside the pictures which had been there before.

The whiskey was opened. The first bottle went down much too fast. But they savoured the second, because they’d only ever been able to finish two bottles and they didn’t want the night to be over too soon.

They spoke of their memories from their time together during the war, all the ups and the downs. They shared their fears for the future as well as all the things they were excited about, confessed regrets and reassured each other that, while they’d each made some mistakes in their time, they hadn’t ever gone too far astray.

They danced together to music that they sang and laughed louder than they ever had, as though trying to ensure the others wouldn’t forget the sound of their voice. And when they hugged they hugged impossibly tight, squeezing the air out of each other, as though trying to imprint a permanent mark on each other’s hearts.

When, eventually, the time came to go to bed, far later than they had ever gone to bed before, they all settled into their own beds, the three of them in a row the way they had been at the beginning. But after no more than ten minutes, into the silence of the hut, Jem started to cry and they all bundled themselves into Millie’s bed together. It was a tight squeeze, three adult women in one single bed, but they managed, with no shortage of elbows in faces and knees in stomachs and grunted complaints that someone was hogging the blanket.

They all woke the following morning with cricks in their necks and aching backs, but none of them would have changed their final night together for the world. The pains they took with them on their ways home were a lingering reminder of the love they shared, the sisterhood they had formed during some of the world’s darkest hours.

Alma and Felix were not following Freddie to New York. This was a journey she needed to make alone, they said. She needed to set up a life for herself with Rosie and she couldn’t do that if she had her parents there to hold her hands through it, not really.

So one week later Freddie had her luggage packed and piled into the back of the car while she sat on the floor playing with her dogs one final time. She wasn’t sure when she’d next see them - when she and Rosie had their second wedding, she hoped - but she knew it would be too long.

Tears came dribbling down her cheeks, ruining the makeup she’d only recently applied, but she couldn’t find a single part of her which cared. Earnie and Bruno knew something was wrong. They always had a sixth sense for when Freddie was returning to Thorpe Abbotts - it was the bags sitting by the door, Freddie always thought. Only this time she wasn’t going a mere few hours away, she was going across the ocean, leaving her life in England behind to start a new one in America.

It was every bit as hard as she’d been fearing it would be.

She had Earnie cuddled against her chest and Bruno draped across her lap, doing her best to split her attention between the two of them. And both sets of their eyes were sad as they looked up at her. It was terrible having to leave them.

“I love you both so, so much,” Freddie told them, pressing firm kisses to both of their heads while Alma stood back with Meatball on a lead. “I’ll miss you more than I can say.”

Earnie let out a small whimper. Bruno rubbed his head into her legs.

Felix came in from putting the last of her bags into the car and smiled sadly at the scene before him. “Ready to go, schatz?” he asked softly.

Freddie let out a sob. “No.”

“Now, none of this,” Alma asserted. She handed off Meatball’s lead to Felix and crouched beside Freddie on the floor. “I know it’s hard now, but think how much harder it would be if you were staying here and it was Rosie you’d be missing. We’ll all come visit soon, and you’ll be so busy getting settled and picking out a house we’ll probably show up before you’re even ready for us.”

“I want you to come with me,” Freddie wept, turning her face into her mother’s shoulder.

Alma didn’t say anything, just let Freddie cry a little bit more before she eventually had to pull herself together.

Slowly, reluctantly, Freddie pushed herself to her feet and pressed kiss after kiss to Earnie’s head and cheeks. “My little boy,” she cooed, nuzzling her nose into his neck, “I’m going to miss you so much.”

Earnie licked her cheek and she let out a sad little giggle. Bruno weaved his way around her legs and she laughed. “You too, Bruno, my not-so-little boy.”

She lingered a few moments longer, whispering words of adoration to her dogs, before, finally, she placed Earnie down in his bed and led Bruno to his, kissed them both one final time on the head, and followed her parents out of the front door.

It was an hour and a half on the train to Southampton, where her ship was leaving from. Freddie had to say goodbye to her father at the train station in Oxford, but Alma was coming with her to help her with Meatball and her luggage. And at the port Alma boarded the ship alongside her, helped to get her settled into her cabin, then accompanied her on a walk around the ship with Meatball so he could stretch his legs.

The sea air was salty and cooling on Freddie’s cheeks, filling them with a rosy flush. Meatball was clearly enjoying the feeling of the wind in his fur, closing his eyes into the breeze and sitting against it.

The sea was so alien to Freddie. She’d been to the seaside a few times in her life, yes, but she’d grown up in cities and spent the last six years of her life in the midst of immense expanses of fields. The closest she’d gotten to any sizable body of water was the English Channel when she’d flown over it on the mercy missions Rosie had let her go on with him.

To be standing here now, on a ship set to cross the Atlantic Ocean, was one more stark reminder of how different her life was about to be, of how much her life had changed over the course of the war. No longer was she nineteen and in love with the boy next door, spending her days practising her piano for university. She would never be that girl again.

“It’ll be okay, Wils,” Alma said softly as they leaned against the rail of the ship, watching the other passengers board. “I know exactly how you’re feeling, the conflict of it all, but it’ll settle. There’s so much to be excited about in the years ahead of you. You’ve been tethered here for so long and I’m so pleased to see you finally heading out into the world. And we’ll only be a phone call away.”

“You’ll be an ocean away,” Freddie protested weakly.

Alma smiled. “Your husband’s a pilot,” she said. “I’m sure you two can figure something out in case of an emergency.”

Reluctantly, Freddie let out a small laugh and rested her head on her mother’s shoulder.

A contemplative silence fell, broken only by the whistling of the wind and the distant call of the ship’s crewmen to each other. Freddie shut her eyes and tried to focus on the feeling of her mother’s shoulder beneath her temple, the warmth of her, the smell. She tried to commit it all to memory so she could call it back when she needed it, could remember what it was like to have her mum so close.

“I barely know how to exist in peacetime,” Freddie spoke up after a while. “I’ve been a wireless operator for so long.”

“You’ll love it,” Alma assured her. Freddie could hear the wide smile in her voice. “You and Rosie will finally get to experience being newlyweds the way you always should have. You’ll love getting to live with him and all of the many small, wonderful details which come with being married. There are so many parts of your life which you are going to absolutely adore and which you don’t even know about yet.” Alma turned to kiss Freddie’s head and smiled into her hair. “I know you don’t feel very excited right now, but I’m so excited for you, Wils. And I couldn’t be prouder of you, I really couldn’t.”

Alma stayed until Millie arrived and then everyone - Freddie, Alma, Millie, and Millie’s mother - was in fits of tears. Alma’s tears were happy, she insisted, and Millie’s were excited. Freddie’s were conflicted and Millie’s mother’s were sad. But they all four of them knew it was the right thing they were doing, hard as it was. Freddie and Millie had lives to start across the ocean and they had been delayed for far too long.

As Freddie and Millie stood at the railing of the ship, waving to their mothers on the dock below, holding on tightly to each other with their free hands, Freddie tried to embrace the conflict of emotions inside of her; she was sad to leave behind her family and her life but excited about her new one, she missed Rosie terribly but she was so glad to be reunited with Millie. The thrill of the adventure rivalled with the fear of it, but she tried to find the joy in that. She didn’t want her life to be perfect, after all; nothing which was important to her had ever been truly easy. So when the ship pulled away and she cried big, unstoppable tears, she smiled through it, worked hard to focus on the fierce beating of her heart beneath the fierce ache of it, and turned her face into the sunshine and the wind. Never once had she been entirely sure what was ahead of her - even when she thought she had she’d been wrong - so she tried not to fear what she couldn’t yet predict and focus on her courage.

Whatever the rest of her life held for her was sure to be a big adventure. However it unfolded, she couldn’t wait to find out.

[latibvles]

POET!!!! :D hello my friend! may i please request ‘napping in sunshine’ for an OC of your choosing? one that is maybe established or a new one you’ve made but haven’t had anywhere to put yet? or anything you want that sparks some fun!!! :) thank youuu!

right so does anyone have those OCs that you didn't plan to launch but... they breach containment and demand to be seen? that's what happened here. so uh... here's June, one of several members of a lady-pilot crew who deserves nice things. and also a couple name drops of another one of these girls there are ten of them total please send help you know how Taylor swift has her vault songs? This is like one of those for me

—

## NAPPING IN SUNSHINE

June Cielinski is deserving of nice things.

June Cielinski works just as hard as everyone else here, and June Cielinski knows what it is to go up and come down. Because Sergeant June fucking Cielinski pulled her friend bloodied and battered out of the fort because that’s what a good teammate does. And apparently her quick first aid in the air is what kept Hughes breathing all the way back to England. So maybe nice things are rationed, but by God if she doesn’t deserve them.

The sun warms her skin and this spot of land is quiet. Her jacket feels softer than it’s ever been, beneath her back like this, and she’ll worry about plucking blades of grass from her hair at a later time. She stretches out her legs, her arms, letting out a whine of approval before resettling into the spot. A nap is a nice thing, a nap on a sunny day is a nicer thing. It’s quiet and warm and before she’s even realizing it she’s dozing off, eyes fluttering shut almost too easily.

Because there’s always a catch, isn’t there?

She doesn’t know how long she’s been laying there before she hears indiscernible swearing, a huff, a bark, and she’s too late to stop it before her face is wet and she lets out a wheeze as a husky steps unceremoniously onto her stomach to attack her with kisses.

“Jesus Christ, Meatball!” June huffs, attempting to sit up with one eye shut. She whips her head around twice as the husky begins to sniff her all over, before her eyes settle on DeMarco jogging towards them and she lets out a huff. “Your dog nearly took out my spleen, DeMarco— okay, okay, I’m petting you,” Meatball is fairly adamant, shoving his head into her hand that would otherwise be pushing herself off the ground.

DeMarco pauses once he’s crossed the threshold and stares with a grin curling at the side of his mouth.

“You don’t seem too mad about it, Cielinski.”

“Oh I am, I just believe in berating the owner, not the dog,” She declares, giving him a narrow-eyed look while still scratching the spot behind Meatball’s ears. He whines approvingly, and DeMarco snickers at the sight. “This is why we can’t have nice things, y’know. ‘Cause jokers like you gotta go and ruin it.”

“It’s a dog, Cielinski, not a—”

“And this—,” she gestures to the sky above. “—is the best weather we’ve had in two, no, three days! And, y’know, I could be appreciating it like everyone’s telling me to all the time but someone let his dog off the leash!” She doesn’t realize she’s raised her voice until Meatball stops demanding the attention of her hand and instead decides to eye his owner curiously. June is, admittedly, only mildly surprised that he isn’t arguing back at her. She turns her head back towards the dog. “Where’re you coming from, anyway?” she asks, as opposed to apologizing for the snap.

“Hospital. Figured I’d swing by, check on some of the guys.” He offers. June nods but can’t bring herself to look up at him.

“…and Carrie? Is she still…?”

“Smokey sent her up to Redgrave a couple hours ago.”

“That’s good.”

She’s surprised that he isn’t seizing the opportunity to blow his lid at her. She sits there and he stands in a stiff silence that lasts too long for her standard. Meatball is content to turn over in the grass, belly up and oblivious to the somber note of their conversation.

“What were you doing?” He asks, trying to bring back some of the snark to his voice, nudging her leg with his toe. June huffs and finally tilts her head up to him, squinting against the sunlight and involuntarily narrowing her eyes.

“A nap, Benny. I was taking a goddamn nap. A real good one.” He hums with a slight nod, and June watches as he walks around her to settle in the grass on Meatball’s opposite side, reaching out to scratch his awaiting belly. June’s lips tug into a frown.

“Th’hell are you doing?” He pays her no mind beyond looking up through his dark lashes, then reverting his attention back to the dog.

“Take it. Your nap. You’re not the only one who likes the sunshine, y’know.” She’s not wholly convinced, even as she leans back on her palms.

“What’s your angle here, DeMarco?”

“Well in case another joker with a leashless dog comes around they’ll have to get through me first.” There’s a grin curling at the corner of his mouth, and June bites her lip as she lays back in the grass, arms folded across her chest. “And don’t think I didn’t catch you calling me Benny, Juuuune.” There’s something about the way he drags out the sound of her name that makes her want to laugh. But she doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he actually made her laugh.

“Uh huh, whatever, just be quiet.”

June turns on her side, if only to hide the grin steadily making its way onto her face.

[neonponders]

A Merman themed part 37 for @wrecked-fuse ‘s pocketverse 🧜🏻‍♂️ ~ based on this post where I rant about marine biologist!Steve x shark!Billy with his pilot fish guppies 🍣

Part 36 (main plot)

Part 31 & 32 (werewolf!Billy chapters haha)

( pt. 7′s art 🎩 ) ( pt. 9′s art 👀 ) ( pt. 14′s art 💨 ) ( pt. 19′s art 🦇 ) ( pt. 20′s art 🍳) ( pt. 27’s art 🦦 )

~ on ao3 ~

• • •

Steve lifted the binoculars to his face to better see the horizon. The dolphin pods were busy today; gleaming fins arched over the water ever since dawn. Warm seasons brought out the fish, and therefore the predators, but Steve was looking for a very specific fin...

“GUH!” he blurted when a jet of water hit him in the ear. His heart gave a jolt at the sight of the merman in the turquoise shallows. His long lower half resembled the silver body of a reef shark, with the black tips on his fins to match. Steve liked how the light silver of his tail picked up the blues and greens around him, making him look born out of an oyster or something.

He couldn’t stare at the creature’s top half for long, though, since his two little pilot fish were currently yanking on Steve’s leg hair. “Ow! I see you. Stop that!”

Their tiny faces broke the surface tension as he carefully lowered himself to sit in the calm surf. Steve had suffered through the hours of biology lab because he was good at swimming and wanted his life to mean something, but he never could have predicted such a discovery. The merman he rambled about in his notes as William01 - dickhead fish with killer eyes and weirdly good at picking up card games. Accidentally called him Billy once and it stuck - was enough for his entire career, let alone the very special guppies he swam with.

Steve just couldn’t ignore his own face staring up at him from the pool in the mer-shark’s massive, clawed hands. It made sense why he’d chosen to reveal himself, when a much larger, walking version of the fish started poking around his waters. The other guppy resembled the shark himself, with his longish waves of sandy blond hair, large hot water eyes, and an attitude that Steve just couldn’t stay away from.

In an instant, Steve knew he would never get to publish anything about these three. He could never subject them to an aquarium tank for study. ‘Pilot fish’ wasn’t an accurate description of them since they didn’t have stripes. They both had green and blue gradient tails. Steve didn’t know if mer-people kept up the hierarchy of sharks-eat-fish, but it didn’t take a genius to see that Billy prioritized taking care of his guppies than eating them. And the little ones were fiercely devoted to him.

Cupping his hands together, Steve gave the littles a wading pool to relax in as they started firing off,

“Stevie! What food you got?”

“I wike your colorw today, Stevie! Biwwy has a shell wike that!”

Steve looked down at his watermelon pink shirt. “I’ve got a snack the same color. Do you guys eat plants?”

“Swimy kewlp!”

“And the fwilly stuff that fawlls off boats,” little Steve giggled. “And the big wed coins!”

Big Steve took this to mean sandwich lettuce and tomatoes. Billy cocked a brow at him. Steve reassured, “I brought the meat you like.”

His long tail had been curved around them, but now moved with alarming, effortless strength to move Billy further up the beach. He achieved Steve’s cooler and started rummaging. What usually made food come flying out like confetti, this time he pulled out the watermelon with a quizzical look at Steve’s shirt.

Steve knew Billy was smart, but he must have watched a lot of tourists and boat people in order to know how the flaps of the tupperware container opened. Otherwise it would be spooky, how intelligent he was.

Billy took a wedge of fruit out of the box, observing how his strength made pink juice fall into the water. The littles dove over Steve’s fingertips exclaiming, “Wet us taste! Let us see!”

Steve watched them taste the juice Billy squeezed over them, and then his smaller self lifted his face above the water with his mouth wide open. Steve’s heart clenched when Billy held the watermelon below the surface for them to hold onto his fingers, chomping away.

“It’s just cwunchy water!” little Billy both complained but also went in for more.

“It’s yummy but what arwe those?” little Steve asked, pointing at the peaches that had fallen out of the cooler. Big Steve grasped one, rotated it in the water to get rid of the sand, and took a bite right through the velvet flesh.

“It’s a peach. Have a taste.”

It was Billy who leaned in for a bite. The littles caught a ride on his hair, tugged along on the ropes and watched his reaction. Steve could only guess, if he scavenged human foods, he had long since figured out that he could eat omnivorously.

Contrasting his silver tail, pink infused his cheeks and chest. The littles took this as a good sign and held onto Steve’s fingers as they nibbled the fruit. Little Billy cried an excited, “Wooo! Zingy! I wike this. Way better than cwunchy water.”

The cooler already stood precariously close to the water, so Steve handed the fruit to Billy and went to push the cooler back. He returned with a handful of pepperoni coins as well as a slice of turkey. “I’ve got some mild pepperoni and the turkey you liked last time.”

Billy took a pepperoni slice and examined it with a growing smile on his face. Then he used his voice, and Steve knew the legends of sirens had to have come from somewhere, because his voice resonated inside Steve’s mind just as much as in the air. What animal is shaped like this?

All the brilliant colors of the summer’s day went spotty with darkness. Even after so many visits with him, Steve still had no tolerance for Billy’s voice. Through the shadows of his fainting spell, he heard the littles scold, “Biwwy! Why’d you do that?”

“The food’s fwoating away!”

Let it go, there’s more in the box.

“Biwwy, you did that on purpose!”

“Stevie? Stevie, wake up!”

The hold on his mind began to loosen, and he felt the warm, wet hands on his cheek. All at once, he knew he lay in the water, but wondering what kept him from sinking made him push through the fog and squint open his eyes. Billy smiled down at him, strong arms cradling him steadily in the ocean’s sway. Steve blinked and decided to keep his eyes shut. The sun was too bright for this. “If you wanted to hold me, you could just ask.”

Billy merely smiled, and then spit another stream of water over his face to wake him up more. Steve grimaced. “Dickhead.”

[theonlymanintheskyisme]

cravings pt 3.

dub-con. homelander is homelander. smutty. may possibly be a part 4, not decided yet.

You had a proper conversation with him today. You talked for ten minutes. Ten whole, beautiful minutes. His eyes remained fixed on your mouth the entire time. How your mouth looked as it formed the words. How you smiled at his responses, even though he was acting on auto-pilot.

He’d made you smile.

After last time, he’d promised to himself he’d stop. Wouldn’t touch you again until you were together. And, he had. It had been three nights since he’d fingered your cunt, and whilst the smell and feel of you stuck in his mind, he hadn’t disturbed you again.

Granted, he’d watched you through your window, but he hadn’t touched you.

His resolve had held. And that? He was proud of.

But today had been too much.

Breaking his own newly set rules for you. Standing in your room once more. Watching you, half under the covers, naked. Goosebumps on your upper arms.

You’re cold.

It’s a cold night, and still you’re sleeping naked for him. That had to be the reason. Otherwise, honestly, why would you be naked when it was so cold?

You loved him.

Without so much as another thought, he started to bring the covers up. And then, he paused. Finding himself pulling the covers back, and climbing into bed with you. Almost on instinct, you tucked in beside him. Seeking the warmth of his form.

If he didn’t know better, he would’ve sworn his heart stopped for a moment.

It was the longest he lingered for a good while. Taking you in as you slept beside him, peaceful, dreaming of him. Of some perfect life he would give to you in time.

But he could never resist. He was a very tactile being. It came with growing up so void of contact. He’d never get enough of touch. 

Soft leather caressed your cheek. His hand resting there, and he swore you leaned into his touch. Fuck, you made his head spin.

And that’s how he lingered, maybe for about half an hour. Midnight slipped into one in the morning, and then two. You didn’t move much. Maybe it was because his presence, his warmth cemented you in place. And then, unable to resist for much longer, having held his position for the longest time, his hand moved, fingers shifting to brush over your lips.

Then, pushing them into your mouth.

There’s no way you’re asleep as he watches your mouth tighten around them, and then he can feel your tongue brush over them through the material.

Christ. It’s the hottest thing he’s set eyes on. Blood rushes straight down between his legs. He’s so impossibly hard as he watches you lazily suck his fingers like they’re the most delicious things you’ve ever tasted.

The only regret he has is he didn’t take his gloves off first. Though if he had, there was a chance he would’ve came from the stimulation alone. You did that good of a job of ruining him.

You really did.

You never open your eyes, though. Your breathing has sped up, as has your heart rate, and he can smell your arousal forming between your legs. Growing wet. If you’re awake, you’re reluctant to let him see.

Like it’s a secret. Like acknowledging it would make it stop.

Knowing the shaking of the bed would ruin the moment, make it so you would inevitably open those gorgeous eyes of yours is the only thing stopping him from taking himself out and stroking himself in a frenzy. So he remains trapped here, hungrily watching as you take his fingers. He pushes them deeper in. 

It’s fucking pornographic.

Won’t be able to focus on anything else when he sees you tomorrow. Stuck on thinking how that mouth would feel against his aching, throbbing cock. Struggling with his size, because you’ve got a small mouth, but determination and desperation to taste him pushing you through. Fuck, you’d stretch your mouth out to take him as much as your cunt would stretch around him.

It becomes too much.

The smell of you and the feeling of you through the leather. The moment he presses his free hand between his legs, he feels it. The sodden mess as his body gives in. It’s wholly unsatisfying, and uncomfortable as it instantly starts to dry, but fuck.

Look what you made him do.

Fingers slowly removed from your mouth, he leans in. Places a single kiss to your cheek. And then he’s out of there. Gone into the night, leaving you and your half asleep state alone. But warm.

[bluebellhairpin]

Katsuki Bakugo X Reader

Summary: The heat of December is scorching, and on the hottest day - where you want nothing more than to crawl into a freezer and never come out - Katsuki drags you out to the beach.

Warnings: An Australian summer. You've adopted Katsuki's potty mouth.

Listening to: 'Heat Waves' by Glass Animals - "Road shimmer wiggling my vision, heat, heat waves I'm swimming in a mirror."

Series Masterlist || Masterlist || Ko-fi

Half the Shatterdome’s air conditioning went out and it was far too hot. 

You thought to yourself as you sat in the control room next to the only unoccupied desk fan in the facility, that you bet they never had such a problem at the Anchorage Shatterdome being too cold. At least they could always put on more clothes - when it gets hot you can only take so much off. 

You hadn’t seen Katsuki all day, and if he were anything like you he’d be looking for a cold spot but unlike you he’d probably have had the luck to have actually found some place with a nice cool breeze. You mostly hoped he’d stay away for today - you didn’t want to deal with this heat and his attitude all at once. 

He had gotten more bearable over the last few weeks - being deployed to fight a few times and a couple more test runs with the neural link had you both working together well. Knowing how his brain - being inside it - helped you understand and tolerate him much more than anyone else in the entire city, let alone the Shatterdome.

You doubt you’d have warmed up to him so fast if you didn’t. 

But that didn’t mean you would actively seek out his company on a day with weather that made you want to rip someone's throat out. 

The only thing you could think of being worse was a Kaiju attack was having to get stuffed into your pilot suit - which would be like trying to fit a latex bodysuit onto a cow. And even if you were sharing a brain, and tolerated him more than you were currently tolerating the sun, you doubted your ability to not argue long enough to get a kill in. 

A stack of papers landed on the desk beside your propped-up feet and you were met with Shinsou - a young LOCCENT transfer from Hong Kong with purple hair and cheeks like a cooked lobster. 

“Been out on the beach?” you asked, grabbing a booklet and fanning yourself with it since the desk fan was being useless. 

“No,” he grumbled before moving off to the water dispenser, “Just ran up to the helicopter pad for those.” 

“You don’t run in this weather mate, that's how you get heat stroke and die.” 

“Well tell that to your boyfriend.” he said, flopping in the seat next to yours and tipping half his cup down the front of his shirt. “Either he likes how hot it is or he’s gone insane.”

“What?” you barely conjured the energy to turn your head in shock. “I mean he’s normally a little shit, but like,” your voice lowered, “How bad is it?” 

“Man was up on the pad and soaking it all in like a solar panel.” Shinsou likewise was soaking up the mild breeze through his wet shirt. “He’s gonna die.” 

“Maybe I should rescue him.” you mused, although not wanting to move. “Can’t have my co-pilot shriveling up on me like a dried apricot.” 

“He didn’t look so bothered. I think he’s more reptile than he lets on.” 

“Maybe I could just call him here over the intercoms.” you altered your suggestion - the both of you now having separate conversations. “Make him come to me instead so I can check he’s still alive.” 

“Not a snake. But he's not much like a crocodile either.”

“I’d get in trouble though. Might get an exception because it’s so hot but.” 

“A dragon. Dragons are reptiles.” 

“What the fuck are you both talking about?” You dipped your head over the back of your seat to meet upside-down red eyes. Speak of the devil, and Katsuki appears. 

“I’m glad you’re here. Was thinking you had a death wish.” He frowned. 

“Why?”

“Because you were outside.” His frown only deepened.

“It’s nice out there.” He said, even if the sweat dripping down his forehead says otherwise as you scoffed. “Have you even been out there yet today?” 

“Unfortunately.” Shinsou muttered. 

“No I have not. But I can tell.” you sighed deeply, wishing the warm air did more to cool your lungs. “Live here long enough and you gain that ability.”

“Bullshit.” 

“You never believe me Katsu.” You raised your arms, letting the breeze hit all your sweaty spots. “It’s not fair.” 

“C’mon.” Katsuki said, rolling your chair out and practically pulling you to your feet. “We’re not on duty and I think you need to go somewhere to cool off. You're talking nonsense.” 

“But poor Shinsou -” 

“Yeah poor me, getting abandoned for air conditioning and -” 

“Leave him, you know I don’t socialize well.” Katsuki said. “Let’s go.”

Katsuki, despite the fact he had a strict stick up his arse, had commandeered one of the Shatterdome’s Jeeps, fastened you into the passenger seat with little fight. 

Not that you had the energy to kick and scream at him to leave you be like you wanted to. 

You had half a mind to ask where you were going, and another half to remind him which side of the road he was supposed to be driving on - America brainwashed you, you’d told him, and he slammed on the breaks at a red light as payback. It almost sent you to your death through the front windscreen as California Gurls played loudly from the radio. 

You almost died to Katy Perry, which would’ve been his fault, and you would’ve haunted him for forever. 

When he pulled up at Bondi Beach - of all the places - you crossed your arms. 

“Are you serious?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Bondi is so full of tourists,” you groaned, sulking into your seat, “I know we aren't the most popular Rangers, but if someone recognises us we won’t be left alone. A Ranger is still a Ranger.” 

“That’s why I’ve got these,” he reached behind him into the backseat and pulled out an array of clothing accessories, “Hide those pretty eyes and stuff your hair under that cap. No one will look twice.” 

You huffed in defeat, snatching a pair of too-big sunglasses and a cap with a bright orange X across the front from his hands. 

“Enough attitude, or I won’t get you ice cream like I planned to.” 

“Who are you, my dad?” you said, stepping out of the car and closing the door with a loud thud. 

“Sure ain’t.” Katsuki said, then a wicked grin grew on his face and you knew you were in for it. “But I’m sure I know as well as you do that you’d like calling me -”

“I am not listening to you! Not!” you said, stomping away and making a beeline for the water despite the fact you had to trudge through the heat past the carpark and sand, or that you had no swimmers on. 

He barked a laugh behind you, and you could tell - you knew it because you knew him that well already - that he was still looking at you. And you knew - because you did - that he’d get you your ‘pity me because of the heat’ ice cream no matter how you acted. 

That’s what happened when you were in someone's head. You knew what they thought about almost anything. You knew what he thought about you, despite how he tried to shove it off into the most unreachable corners of his mind. 

He liked you. You didn’t mind. 

[rjmartin11]

You Wanna Bet?

(One Shot)

Pairing: Elvis & female!reader

Summary: Elvis is the love of your life, and you live happily at Graceland together. You and Elvis make a bet to see who can go without sex the longest. Who do you think will break first?

Word Count: 4.7K

Warnings: Kissing, may have cussing, and all the above SMUT!!! Only for mature audiences. View discretion is advised!

Author's Notes: I got this idea from an episode of the 90s hit sitcom Martin. I was just picturing Elvis in this situation with his girlfriend, and it turned into this. Enjoy.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ🎲✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ

Elvis and I have a whirlwind romance full of fun, laughs, passion, and amazing, mind-blowing sex. It was like we two couldn't keep your hands off one another.

We dated for a whole month before Elvis officially put the moves on me. Then, it was a never-ending game of sex. A new position even day. A make-out session in the morning. A blow job in the afternoon. Elvis made me a co-pilot of the mile high club. Thirty thousand feet in the sky at take off!

After nearly a year of nonstop love making, I started to question if this was all I was good for. I know you love Elvis as a person. His kindness and generosity were unmatched. He knew how to make me laugh, but I wondered what it was about me that kept Elvis interested. I don't think myself the prettiest girl, though Elvis always said otherwise.

"How's my pretty girl doing?" He'd say, kissing my neck. Whispering in my ear.

"Better. You're here." I'd reply. Elvis is the love of my life. I'd do anything he would ask of me. He didn't want much. Just my time, which he filled with dirty moments.

This morning, Elvis left Graceland early for a special recording session. Leaving me alone with my devices. I helped clean around the house a bit and helped cook in the kitchen. I was never one to be waited on. I've always liked to help.

I decided to make one of Elvis' favorite cakes. Ms. Mary was kind enough to help me bake it. I did all the mixing and stirring. Ms. Mary heated up the oven and floured up the bundt pan.

I heard a ruckus coming in through the front door, and I knew Elvis was home. My heart swoons, but I don't go running to him. Instead, I allow him to come to me. I know the cake is baked enough for the aroma to fill the house. Elvis will be here in three, two, one...

There he is coming around the corner into the kitchen. He smirks at meas he enters the room.

"Hey, baby girl." Elvis says, walking in the room. He rounds the counter and kisses your cheek. "It smells good."

"I'm glad you think so because it's a Coca-Cola Bundt Cake. Your favorite."

"Oh no. That's not my favorite cake." I look at him in shock and worry at my mistake. I could have sworn Coca-Cola Bundt Cake was his favorite. I glance at Ms. Mary, and she's just as confused as I am.

"I'm sorry, E." I say, rubbing the front of my apon.

"No worries, baby. Really. I have this book upstairs that will tell you my favorite cake." Elvis takes me by hand and walks me up the back stairs to the bedroom.

"So what's your favorite cake, Elvis?"

Elvis puts me up against the wall and lays a big kiss on my lips.

"You're my favorite cake, Y/N." Elvis kisses me passionately, and I reciprocate his action. Elvis slides his hand between my legs into my wet heat. I can't help but moan at the sensation of his touch.

"Baby, what did I say about wearing panties?" Elvis scorns me.

"To not to." I breathe.

Elvis shakes his head and rips my panties off. I moan loudly, gripping ahold of his shoulders. You know what's coming next? Elvis tosses my panties to the side, unzips his pants to display his hardened cock. He thrusts into me fast and furiously. He knows all my spots to make me moan, scream, and cum when he wants. I'm completely at his mercy.

Five minutes later, we're both back downstairs in the kitchen with the Mafia eating cake.

"This is some good cake." Lamar says.

"Best cake in Tennessee! I'll have another piece." Joe chimes in. "Ms. Mary bakes the best cakes."

"Actually, Joe. My best girl made it for me." Elvis throws his arm around my shoulders, bringing me closer to him and kisses my forehead.

"Y/N, I didn't know you could like this." Lamar says.

"Thanks, Lamar." I answered him. "It's really nothing."

"Baby, this is something. If Ms. Nancy or Ms. Mary needs a break, I got you." Elvis says.

How did I get the sweetest guy in the world? Must be fate. Elvis is in a great mood, so maybe he'll be willing to hear me out later about our intimate life.

Two hours later, the guys leave for home. Elvis and I walk them out and see the parade of cars leave out the gate. We both head back inside, holding hands.

I look up at Elvis as he locks the door. He has the lusty look in his eyes.

"Alone at last." He says, cupping my face in his hands and kissing my lips.

My heart swoons, but I gently pull away from him.

"Hmm. Elvis, we need to talk." I interrupt.

"Okay, let's talk." Elvis says, walking us into the living room. We both sit on the sofa.

I take a deep breath and look in those beautiful oceanic hues that would bring me to my knees. I shake off the sensation of lust and clear my throat.

"Is everything okay, baby. You're scaring me." Elvis says.

"Fine, I just... need to talk to you about us."

"My favorite subject." Elvis says, leaning forward to kiss me.

I pull away. "E, is this all I'm good for? Sex?" I asked.

"What?" Elvis asks, confused at my reaction.

"Is sex all you want from me? Why am I here?"

"Are you kiddin'? I love you, Y/N. I love everything about you." *pause* "Almost everything." Elvis smiles at me, then brushes my cheek.

"Other than sex, what is everything you like about me?"

"Hmm, let's see." Elvis sits and ponders for a moment. "I love your laugh. I love the way you laugh at a joke, even if it's not that funny. You think about other's feelings because you care. I love the way you care. I appreciate it when you listen to me about the spiritual things of the world. You understand me in a way that most don't. Y/N, baby, you took the time to make my favorite cake. No girlfriend of mine has ever made me my favorite cake! That's why I love you. All these things just make you more attractive."

"I love you, too, Elvis. I love you because you choose to show me the things that are important to you. Things I know you wouldn't open up to others about. You have a beautiful soul that matches your beauty on the outside. You're so special." I say, sliding my hand up his jaw and into his hair.

We both place our foreheads together for a moment. Elvis leans down and kisses my lips. It goes for an innocent kiss to a passionate kiss. To that let's fuck kiss.

"E, wait." I pull away.

"What, baby?" He says.

"You say all those beautiful things, and yet you still want to sleep."

"Y/N, you like it just as much as I do. If not more. Especially the way you moan my name. Elvis, oh Elvis. Don't stop. Right there. Harder, please." He mimics me.

I widen my eyes, and I back hand his arm.

"Shut up, Elvis Presley! I do not!" I say, lying to myself if I'm being honest. "I can go without sex longer than you can."

"Like hell you can!"

"Wanna bet?"

"What's the bet, baby?"

"No sex for a week. No French kissing. No fingering. No licking. No blow jobs. No eating. No masturbating. No foreplay. No mounting. No. Sex." I list my demands and cross my arms, waiting for Elvis' response.

I can see the blood leave Elvis' face. His jaw clutches, and he swallows away his pride. Physically. Elvis loves a good bet. He loves competition, but this is a bit much even for him. No sex of any kind for an entire seven day stretch.

"Okay, baby. I'll see your bet, and I'll raise it to two weeks."

Shock courses through me at the thought that he makes such a counter offer.

"Okay, Elvis Presley. Deal." I say.

"Should we seal it with a kiss, Y/N?" He whispers, looking me in the eyes.

"No kissing. Remember?"

"No. You said no French kissing."

I shake my head. He's right. I did say no French kissing because I would hate to miss those lushes' lips of his.

I look at him and lean over to peck him on the lips slowly. As I move away. I say,

"The deal starts now, E."

"Fine with me, baby."

"The first one who cracks or gives in loses."

"What does the winner get?"

"What do you want?"

Elvis pauses for a moment and thinks about a prize. Then he smirks at me. "I'll tell you when I win, baby."

"Ha ha! Do you really think you'll win against me?"

"Absolutely, Y/N. You can't resist my charm. These good looks. My blue eyes. This..."

Elvis takes my hand and places it over his hardened dick. My heart sinks, but I gently pull away.

"We shall see."

Day one: Elvis and I slept in the same bed but kept our distance. He left for work early and returned to find me sitting in the living room on the sofa, face deep in a magazine.

"Hey E." I smiled at him as he walked in.

"Hey, baby. How's your day going?"

He asked me.

"Oh, amazing." I explained. "I cleaned out the closet and got rid of some old clothes. Threw away some old shoes of mine. I helped Ms. Nancy with dinner. Made another cake."

"Coca-Cola Bundt Cake?" Eagerness layers through Elvis' voice.

"Yep. We needed another bundt after the Mafia devoured the first one. How was recording?"

"Good. Got through two songs without breaking a sweat." He said.

"I'm proud of you."

"I'm proud of me too. I think I deserve a bath." Elvis says as he starts to go upstairs.

"Oh, Elvis..." I said, truly knowing his intentions. "No masturbating, remember?"

"The bet is still on. I'm really just going to take a quick bath and get ready for dinner. I swear."

"Okay. I'll see you in a few minutes."

"Five minutes tops, baby."

Day two: I love our bed. Other than being one of the most comfortable beds, it's king size. We don't have to invade each other's space. Any other day, we spoon each other, but with the bet going, we stay on our sides of the bed.

I actually volunteered to sleep in another room, so neither of us would be tempted, but Elvis loved having me close by. I loved being near him, but I feared one of us would crack too soon.

Elvis turned over and grabbed me up in his strong arms. It felt great being in his arms. It is one of the safest places in the world. Every girl deserves to have this feeling... well, if you're in the beginning of a bet, maybe not this feeling.

"Put Little Elvis away." I firmly said.

"He wants to play." Elvis said, his voice full of sleep.

"Are you caving so soon?"

"No, I'm not. You're caving."

"Only if I give in and I'm not giving in. But you're cheating. You came on my side of the bed."

"Technically, this is my whole bed."

I turned and looked at him like he lost his mind. I pulled the sheets and blankets off of me and hissed, "Technically, I can leave."

I stormed to the door, and Elvis rushed behind me. He grabs me from behind and buries his head in my neck.

"Baby, I just joshin' ya. I promise to stay on my side and behave."

I turned and looked at him. Elvis gave me those big, beautiful puppy eyes. I faulted under his gaze like a ton of bricks. He walked me back to bed and kissed me goodnight once again.

We stayed on our sides of the bed. I heard him get back to sleep, but I stayed up and contemplated the situation. If I caved to him getting me to lay back down, what was stopping me from having intercourse with him? Maybe this is a more difficult situation than I originally thought it to be.

Day Four: We both behaved ourselves on day three. Elvis kept his hands busy at work and did things with the Mafia before coming home completely spent.

I made myself busy around Graceland house. Dusting, swiping, and baking more cakes. I tried my hand at a double chocolate three layer cake. I impressed Ms. Nancy with my baking skills.

"Y/N, you better stop making these cakes, or I'll be out of a job." She joked.

"No, Elvis loves you. You're part of the family. I'm just trying to keep my hands busy and out of trouble." I told Ms. Nancy, as I icing the cake.

"Out of trouble? You've been cleaning this house from top to bottom for the last four days. Ms. Mary took me what you be doing on my off days. You got the maids talking and all. What's going on?" She asked, with true concern in her voice.

I stopped playing over the cake and looked at Ms. Nancy. Oh, how serious she appeared. She reminded me of my grandmother at times. The same down to earth care and attitude. This face meant that I better explain myself immediately. I sat down on the stool beside her and spoke.

"I had a really vivid dream last night, and I'm just trying to keep it at bay." I told her.

"You wanna talk on it, hun?"

I shook my head. "No, ma'am."

She nodded her head and left it at that. I couldn't tell her. My dream wasn't a nightmare but a fantasy. A fantasy I fear would come true. Me jumping on Elvis and riding his dick out to kingdom cum!

Of course, I enjoy the intimate pleasures of being with him. I love him, but this test wasn't just for him. This test was for me as well, and I feel myself failing. I will win.

Day Seven: I decided to give the house a break and go have a spa day with a couple of the girls. Joanie and Sandy are my two most trusted friends whom I love dearly.

We three sat by the hydration pool after our massages. Just decompressing from things and worries. I was mainly using massage therapy as a substitute for my sexual needs. They did everything but tap me where I needed it the most.

"So, Y/N, what's new? What's the word from Graceland?" Joanie asks.

"Yeah, Elvis still laying the pipe or what?" Sandy jokes.

We all laugh out loud at Sandy's comedic puns.

"Actually, we have a bet going, ladies."

"Oh? What's the bet?" Joanie asks, curiosity hanging off of her lips.

"No. Sex for two weeks."

"WHAT???" The ladies say together.

"Yeah."

"What day are you on?" Sandy asks.

"Day seven. Only seven more days to go." I confessed.

"What the hell have you been doing with yourself?" Joanie pondered.

"Cooking, cleaning, and reading."

"Oh, you just been working to keep yourself distracted?" Sandy said. "Who is this challenge hurting the most? Elvis or you?"

"I believe that it's harder for me, and originally, I thought it was Elvis. But... I'm struggling, too."

"What does the winner get?" Joanie asks.

"We haven't decided yet, but I believe it's bragging rights if we're being honest."

"Don't. Give. In. You gotta win this!" Sandy stated. "For wives everywhere!"

We all started giggling and laughing at the statement. It's sad we live in a time where we women can't be known for enjoying sex.

Before Elvis, I didn't really do anything. I had one boyfriend who took my virginity, and we did things, but nothing exciting. After Elvis, my world of sex changed drastically. Elvis opened my mind and broadened my horizons in the vertical incline. Oh, the pleasure is enough to make my pussy throb.

I came home to Graceland with Joanie and Sandy in tow. We were giggling on about nonsense we believed was funny. Our personal inside jokes from our talk earlier today. Our laughter ceased when we had yelling from the other side of the door.

Elvis was mad about something. What I couldn't say. He had tantrums every once in a while, but nothing like what we were seeing.

"Fuck! Can everyone get shit right in this house!" Elvis hollered.

Jerry, Lamar, and Sonny were seated in the living room opposite the dining room. As Elvis continued his rants in the kitchen, the ladies and I gathered in the living room.

"Hey baby, what's up with Elvis?" Sandy asked Jerry as she sat in his lap.

"E's been on edge for the last couple of days." Jerry explained. "Extra annoyed and a few temper tantrums. He threw a stool at Ronny during a recording session yesterday."

"Oh god. Is Ronny okay?" I asked.

"He's fine. He dodged it, but still, this is not like E.P." Sonny said. "Y/N, have you noticed anything weird going on with E. P.?"

I was speechless. I noticed something other than... oh no. Annoyed? Temper tantrums? Aggression? Is this because our lack of love making? Elvis may get mad at times, but he's a sweetheart. He's the type of guy that would give the shirt off his back. If there was laughter in the room, it would be coming from Elvis.

"I... I think it's over the bet we made a week ago." I said, speaking slowly.

"What bet?" Lamar asked curiously.

"Elvis and I made a bet last week. To see who could go without sex the longest."

Sandy and Joanie closed their eyes, knowing about the bet prior to my confession. The guys...

"You bet what?" Lamar says, dropping his hands in shock.

"Huh, Y/N, E.P. can't function without... sex." Sonny said.

We all hear a chair crash and jump at the noise in the dining room. Elvis storms up the stairs to our bedroom. Red slowly walks out to us in the living room. He has this stunned look on his face, and the next minute, we hear the upstairs door slams.

"Guys, Elvis ripped me a new one, and I don't think I can sit. What the hell is up with him?" Red said.

Sonny chimes in. "Elvis hasn't been laid in a week."

Red looks at me in shock. He gets down and kneels before me as if to say a heartfelt prayer.

"Y/N, listen to me. You must put whatever the hell it was between you and Elvis behind you and fuck him. Fuck him for all of us!" Red beseeches me.

"Honestly, Y/N, this bet is not worth all of the attitude E.P. is giving the guys." Sandy pitched in.

"This is over a bet?" Red said. "Lose. Lose for us all."

"Red, you need to calm down. Get a grip on yourself." I said, standing up.

"No, you need to fuck Elvis or he'll kill someone and think it maybe me." Red says.

"Red, you don't get it. None of you get it. It's not just a bet. It's... more than that." I tried to explain, but it's like the words weren't clear.

"Do you think he doesn't love you, Y/N?" Sandy asked.

"No, Sandy. That's not what's in question. I just..." I shake my head because the words just won't come out.

"Y/N, Elvis is crazy about you." Jerry says. "When he's at the studio, he talks about you nonstop. He asks us if we think you'd like the song he's doing."

"Y/N." Red says, standing up off the floor. "If it helps, all jokes aside, you're his favorite topic."

I'm at a loss for words. It's not that I didn't believe Elvis when he told me he loved me, but I guess I needed reassurance.

"Maybe we should go." Joanie said, grabbing Lamar's hand. She gestured to the door, and everyone followed behind.

"Y/N, maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing if you caved in." Jerry said before exiting out the door with Sandy following behind.

I shut the door and lock it. I plant my back against the door and look up the staircase. I stand here contemplating our situation. Our bet. My bet, really. I set out to prove that there was more than sex between us. That I was good for more than a roll in the hay. How could I ever believe that this beautiful man didn't love me?

"Ms. Y/N?"

I glanced over and see Ms. Mary looking at me. "Are you okay, sugar?"

I bite my lip and say, "I'm just fine, Ms. Mary. Why don't you take the rest of the night off? Elvis and I will be fine for the night."

"Okay, Ms. Y/N. I'll see you tomorrow."

Ms. Mary walks away from me, and I make my way upstairs. I knocked on the door listening for Elvis.

"Who is it?"

"E, it's me."

He opened the door to let me in. Elvis walked to the bed as I entered and shut the door behind me. I sat next to him on the bed, crossing my legs. I felt like he was closing himself off from me.

"E, is everything okay?" I asked him, grabbing his hand.

Elvis looked down at my hand and intertwined our fingers together. He nodded his head to me but said nothing. He was still stewing from earlier. Just trying to cool himself down from his random outburst.

I crawled closer to him to lean my head against his shoulder. He leaned his head against mine, and I could feel the tension easy off of him as he relaxed him shoulders.

After a little moment or so, I moved my head from his shoulder to face him. I cupped Elvis' angelic face, looked into those pools of deep cerulean depth, and kissed his sweet, pouty lips.

"I see your beautiful soul, E. You beautiful being." I said, my lips against his forehead. I kiss his head deeply.

You know," I started to say. "I haven't told you in the last seven days that I love you."

"Yeah, I noticed." He said with a bit of bitterness behind it.

"Well, I do. I love you, Elvis Aaron Presley. With all my heart, and I'm sorry I allowed this silly bet to get so serious. And you win. Everything. Not only this stupid bet, but you win my heart."

Elvis was searching my face to see if I was joking. We were only at day seven, of course.

"What?" He asked, confusion expressed on his face.

"Baby, you win. You win. I give up. I need you inside me like Wednesday." I whisper.

I kissed him once again with vigor, slipping my tongue inside his mouth and rubbing his crotch. He moaned in my mouth as I did so. My touch alone gave him the evening wood I needed to satisfy me.

I laid him back against the bed and crawled on top of him. I unbuttoned his shirt from top to bottom button. I playfully kissed his belly button, licking the perimeter. He has a thing about his belly button. He loves this so much that he moans.

I undo his pants and pull them down, revealing Little Elvis. Oh, I missed him and could tell he missed me too, by the way he twitched at me. Without warning, I placed my mouth on the head of Elvis' hardened cock. The skin is soft and dripping with the salty taste of precum. I moan as I make out with his dick.

"Oh, fuck, baby." Elvis moans, sliding his hand in my hair and roughly gripping the strands with his fingers.

After sucking him off for a few minutes, I popped him out of my mouth and climbed on top of him. Elvis pulls off my bra, revealing my breasts to him. He sits up a bit and takes one of my nipples in his mouth. His muffled moans vibrate through my chest. I swear he makes my heart speed. I cradle his head as he uses his tongue against my nipple.

"Oh god. I missed this." Elvis says, pulling me in closer with his arms.

Elvis kisses his way up my chest to my neck and feels his way down my skirt. He lifts up my skirt and squeezes my ass. He looks at me in surprise.

"No panties?" He questioned.

"No panties. Just as you told me." I responded.

He kisses me then raises me up onto his cock. Oh, the way he fills me up causes obscene cries to escape my mouth. I missed this. Elvis takes his time with me. Raising me up and down off his cock. He feels so amazing.

After what feels like an hour of pure bliss, I cum all over Elvis, and he cums inside me. Oh, I needed this from him.

"Damn, baby." Elvis said, collapsing next to me.

We sat there trying to catch our breath. Sex with Elvis was amazing and fun, but this was better than the love we made a week ago. It could be because we went without it for too long.

I rolled over to lay on his chest and kissed his cheek.

"How does it feel to be a winner, Mr. Presley?" I asked him.

"Like winning another Grammy. Amazing. This is better than any award." Elvis said, wrapping his arms around me. We cuddled for a while until I broke the silence.

"So you won the bet. What do I owe you? We never said what we do if we lost."

Elvis gave me a look, and a smirk graced his ethereal features. He moves out of the bed, gets on his knees, and opens the nightstand drawer.

"Come here, Y/N, baby. Please?"

I scooted to the side of the bed, planting my feet on the soft carpet and covering my breast with Elvis' blouse. We looked into each other's eyes mesmerized by love.

"Y/N, you mean the world to me. You're the most important person in my life, and I love you so much." Elvis says all these things, and I smile. He continues. "I said this last week, but I love how you care about the deep feelings of others. I dream about things, and I wake up ready to talk to you about them. When I sing, it's all for you. I see you looking at me, and I pray for your approval. I want to run to you for everything."

Elvis brings his hand up; in it, there's a small black velvet box. I stop breathing. My heart is pounding, and my chest is heaving. Is this what I think it is?

"Y/N. My love." He takes my free hand and holds it. "This has been the best year of my life so far. With you, I can be myself. You enjoy life with me like nobody has. I want you to be with me for the rest of our lives. Will you marry me?"

Elvis opens up the small box and displays the most gorgeous diamond ring I've ever seen in my life. I feel the tears stream down my cheeks, but the words won't come from my lips.

"I...I don't know what to say." I confess.

"Baby, please say yes."

"Yes, Elvis, yes!!! I love you so much!"

I bend down, hug him, and then I kiss you precious lips. If I needed any more convincing and reassuring, this was it. I would never have given him an ultimatum about marriage. I was absolutely flabbergasted yet ecstaticed.

Elvis takes the ring out the box and places it on my left finger. As he does this, I feel a jolt of energy pass through my hand to my heart, and butterflies erupt in the pit of my tummy. This was more than I ever hoped for.

"E, how did this go from a bet to a proposal?" I asked him.

"I wanted to win the girl, not the bet, baby."

"You did win. You won my heart, E."

"That's all I ever wanted."

Elvis grabs me and kisses me, laying us back down in the bed to cradle one another. I glance at my ring, and my love, who gave it to me.

"I'm sure once we're married, our sex life will calm down." Elvis says.

"You wanna bet?"

Taglist: @missmaywemeetagain @beeandheroddobsessions @headfullofpresley @everythingpresley @epforeverohyes @plasticfantasticl0ver @pianginferno @powerofelvis @ab4eva @foreverdolly @searchingforgravity @thatbanditqueen @daffieapple @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @epsgirl @richardslady121 @literally-just-elvis-fics @thememphisflash1935-1977 @vintageshanny @iloveelvis @c-rosenn

[multi-fan-dom-madness]

Chapter 14: Ruusaar (Second Chances - Hunter x reader)

Ruusaar. n. foundation.

Chapter Summary: Reunited with your squad, you and Hunter come to an understanding.

Chapter Warnings: canon compliant as far as Echo going with Rex to fight for his brothers; I nearly cried writing this one, y'all, so angst but also feelings!; if I missed anything, please let me know!

Word Count: 2,421

Read it here on AO3!

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You scramble to your feet, heart stuttering in your chest. “Hunter, where. Is. Echo?” 

“He’s not dead,” he says. He pushes to his feet, a few loose curls bouncing on his forehead. “He’s...well, I’m not sure where he is, exactly.” 

Your knees nearly give out as relief crashes over you. He’s alive. Only Omega’s hand slipping into your own helps to ground you, keep you steady. Meeting her red-rimmed eyes, tears prickle in your nose. 

“Explain,” you say, looking back up to Hunter. 

Lips pressed into a thin line, he nods once, before leading you to the cockpit. The wash of the hyperspace vortex is familiar—but the empty co-pilot seat shatters the otherwise comforting sight. Tech glances over his shoulder in acknowledgement of your entrance. 

Hunter lowers himself into one of the other seats, and you mirror him across the small space. Crawling into your lap, Omega curls up against your chest; you wrap your arms around her, a surge of protective warmth blanketing you. You’re home. You’re safe. You’re okay. 

Wrecker sidles into the cockpit and silently takes the remaining empty seat, the co-pilot chair. His usually happy and unbothered expression is drawn and tired, eyes downcast. A trill of alarm flits through you. You glance at Hunter for reassurance.

Rubbing a hand over his face, Hunter sighs. “We were on Coruscant a few standard weeks ago.” 

Jaw dropping, you narrow your eyes at him, feeling a little betrayed. The entire time you’ve known these men, protecting Omega has been their number one priority—going to the literal heart of the Empire is probably the most counterintuitive move they could have made. And they made it without you. 

Hunter drops his eyes from yours, grimacing. He continues, “An...old friend needed help with something. It had to do with other clones. We couldn’t say no. Echo decided to stay with our friend to keep helping other clones get free of the Empire.” Rummaging in one of his pockets, he pulls out a smooth, black holopuck. “Here.” 

You catch the puck in one hand. Pressing the button, a miniature blue hologram of Echo gutters to life. Omega shifts in your lap; you hold the puck so she can see the holo, too. 

“Nav,” the recording starts, and you can’t help the grin that tugs at your lips. Echo continues, “Listen. I don’t know when this will make its way to you, but you deserve to know that I don’t blame you. There are no easy answers these days. 

“I’m going to work with an underground network to free clones from the Empire and fight for clone rights. My comms will be off. But send me messages; I’ll see them...whenever I come back online.” The image of Echo grins bashfully and rubs at the back of his neck. “Not sure how often that’ll be. But I’ll comm you all as soon as I’m able, just so you know I’m alive.

“Take care of the kid, Nav. And take care of Hunter. Ask him—” Echo’s gaze draws away from the recording device, and in the background are muffled voices, Tech calling for the drop out of hyperspace, if you had to guess. “Well, that’s my cue. I’ll see you around, Nav.” 

With that, the blue glow fades. 

Omega sniffles, burying her face against your shoulder. You mindlessly rub her back, drawing soothing circles. Your own face is wet with tears. Hunter offers you a tight, sad smile. 

“I know you and Echo were close,” he says, his voice soft, softer than it should be. 

You can only nod. “How—” Your voice breaks, and you clear your throat. “How long ago was this?” 

“Two standard weeks, give or take,” Tech says. “Our friend contacted us not long after we left Iridonia. We completed another unsuccessful mission for Cid. The Marauder was stolen; we retrieved it, obviously, and then we received the transmission. We thought it was you.” 

Wrecker perks up at this part of the story. “Yeah! We took a vote and went back for you.” He grins and says, “We all voted to go.” 

You glance between him and Tech, before your gaze settles once more on Hunter, who is avoiding looking at you. “All of you?” 

Hunter meets your eyes for a fleeting moment—long enough, though, that you recognize the pain behind the shield he’s thrown up around himself: It’s the same pain that’s lodged itself between your lungs and breastbone since they left. When he drops his gaze again, he nods slowly. “All of us.” 

“Well,” you say, warmth creeping up your neck, “thanks for that.” 

Tech swivels his seat around. “Now I believe it is your turn to explain. What were you doing in an Imperial detention facility? And if that transmission did not come from you, who sent it?” 

You squeeze Omega a little tighter, unsure how she, of all of them, will react to this news. After a moment, you say, “I think it was Crosshair.” 

Drawing back from your embrace, Omega peers up at you with wide eyes, a glimmer of hope overtaking her expression. Wrecker’s jaw drops, while Hunter works his. 

“Explain,” Tech repeats. 

You recount the appearance of the strange ship, your encounter with the sand lion, the brief conversation with Crosshair before he stunned you, and the time spent in his ship. You don’t omit any details, not anymore. They deserve the truth, and you deserve to tell it.

When you mention the name Tarkin, each of them tense, glancing at one another. 

“What is it?” you ask. 

“Tarkin’s no friend to clones,” Hunter says, a bite of anger in his voice. “If he’s after you, he’s after us.”

“We’ll be safe, though, right?” Omega says. “Maybe he still thinks we’re dead. After all, if Crosshair survived on Kamino and told the Empire we escaped, why haven’t they been chasing us?” 

“Good point, kid,” you murmur. She flashes a toothy smile, before her face drops again. 

“So, Crosshair is a good guy again?” Wrecker asks. His brow is furrowed in genuine confusion. 

“He is still working for the Empire,” Tech says, “so that part is unclear.” 

Hunter catches your attention, his eyebrows raising just a fraction, asking a silent question that you’re relieved you can still decipher. You nod; he leans back, face vacant, staring into the middle distance. 

“Let’s say he hasn’t told the Empire you’re all alive. He also used a comm frequency that can no longer be traced because it’s off-world,” you say, holding up fingers as you list evidence. “He waited until after I was in custody so it couldn’t be pinned on him. And unless another clone has taken up the habit of carrying toothpicks, who else would have left one with my pack?” You shake your head. “I don’t know about ‘good guy,’ but...” 

“He helped us,” Hunter says, quiet, thoughtful. “For now, that’s going to have to be good enough.” 

“Do you think...” Omega’s voice trails off, like she’s afraid to finish her question. 

You shrug with one shoulder. “I dunno, kid. Crosshair has to make his own decisions.” 

She slips from your lap and pads across the cockpit to curl up in Wrecker’s grasp instead. Cold without her, you tug your legs up to your chest, resting your chin on one knee. The five of you sit in silence. Today has been a whirlwind. Somehow, you wonder if being captured and brought to Coruscant hasn’t left the squad in a worse spot than if you had just...told them about your past in the first place. An admiral knows your name now. Who else in the Empire has accessed your file? Brain cycling through progressively more and more anxiety-fueled thoughts, you lose track of time.

A soft blip-blip-blip from the control console breaks you out of your spiral. Blinking, you peer at Tech, who eases the ship out of hyperspace. Through the viewport, you stare out into the vast black void, dotted by specks of burning gas. Another few moments, and Tech throws the lever once again, sending the ship hurtling through another hyperlane. 

Omega has fallen asleep on Wrecker. Gently, he cradles her closer, then stands with more care than you’ve ever seen him move. The girl doesn’t even stir. Sending you a soft smile, Wrecker ducks out of the cockpit to put Omega in her room; when he doesn’t return, you figure he’s probably gone to sleep, as well. 

Sleep sounds nice, but despite your aching eyes, a fresh knot of tension has twisted your heart up, and you know you won’t find rest until it passes. 

“You guys should rest,” you say, voice hoarse. “I’ll take watch.” 

Hunter begins, “You don’t have—” 

You hold up one hand, and he falls silent. “Please,” you say. “Let me do this.” 

Tech offers no argument, and, unlocking his datapad, shuffles out of the cockpit with a mumbled, “Goodnight.” When the door swishes shut behind him, you thud your head back against the headrest. Hunter, though, remains in his seat across from you. You study each other for what could be moments, or could be hours. You don’t know, and right now, you don’t have it in you to care. You’re home; that’s all that matters. 

Echo’s words drift to the forefront of your mind. Take care of the kid, Nav. Like you weren’t already planning to do that. But it’s his request that you take care of Hunter that has you stumped. Sure, Echo was the first to realize you harbored a crush on Hunter, but taking care of him? And what was he going to tell you to ask Hunter? 

Swallowing against the sudden lump in your throat, you worry your lip. “Hunter.” 

His gaze flicks to you. In the blue-white lights of hyperspace, half of his face is hidden in shadow—the un-inked side, giving him an intimidating presence. Or it would be intimidating, if you didn’t recognize the deep well of exhaustion and confusion in his glimmering eyes. His mask has dropped, you realize. Shoulders slumped forward, permanent frown, chest rising with shallow breaths: you’ve never seen him this stressed. Maybe he’s just never shown you this side of him before. 

You continue, “Thank you. Really. You didn’t have to come back, and I’m grateful you did. I owe you. All of you.” 

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, pressing his fists against his eyes. He draws the bandana off as he sits up straight again. Free, his curls cascade over his forehead and tumble to his shoulders. You want to freeze him here, take a holoscan, do something to capture the way he looks in this moment. Without the bandana, he looks so...young. Scared. 

“You owe us more than that, Nav,” he finally says, voice low and scratchy. “But we came back because we don’t leave one of our own behind.” 

You consider his words, weighing your own. Is that what I am, one of yours? is what you want to say. Instead, you sigh. “What about Crosshair?” 

“Like you said, he has to make his own decisions.” Hunter searches your face. “We’d welcome him back if that’s the next choice he made.” 

There are so many things you want to say in this moment. Apologies, explanations, questions, answers: none of the words feel right, none of them string together in ways that make sense to you. You want to ask about Crosshair’s scars. You want to know every detail of what happened while you were gone. Kriff, you just want him to tell you where you stand. 

Slowly, telegraphing every movement before you make it, giving him ample time to get up and leave, you make your way across the cockpit. He merely looks up at you, head tilted to the side. When you raise your eyebrows in your own silent question, he hesitates for only a moment before opening his arms. Trembling, you settle into his lap, much like you had that night on Quantxi. His body is warm, almost hot; his arms are strong where they rest around you. You want to cry. 

“Are we going to be okay?” you whisper. 

He looks down at you for a long moment. This close, you spy the freckles hidden beneath his tattoo, admire the lines and creases around his eyes, study the depths of his gray irises. He’s so close that his warm breath puffs across your face. 

“I was...” He shakes his head, thumping his head back against the seat. “I am angry with you for lying to us—to me. But these past two weeks....” He falls silent again. Then, quietly, so quiet that you’re only certain he speaks because you’re pressed against him: “I missed you more than... more than I thought I would.” 

Your heart leaps. “Let me fix this. Let me make everything up to you.” 

“I’m not good at this,” he says. “I’m not good at...feelings. Not good with people.” 

“You’re good with Omega,” you offer. 

His lips twitch. “She’s a clone.”

“Ah, right,” you say. “I’m nat-born, how could I forget?” 

“S’not a bad thing,” he says. “But I don’t know if this is something you can fix, Nav. I think this is something that just has to be.” 

Biting your cheek, you reach up hesitantly. His cheek is coarse with day-old stubble, but he lets you turn his face towards yours so you can meet his eyes again. 

“Then let it be with me,” you say. 

He nods and leans forward. You stay absolutely still, freezing in his arms. He presses his forehead to yours briefly, his curls tickling the sides of your face, so close that you’re damn sure he can hear every nerve in your body shrieking. When he pulls back, the soft look he gives you nearly makes you sob. 

His expression falls in the next heartbeat, his eyes screwing shut. “One more mistake, Nav, and you won’t ever see us again.” 

“I- I understand,” you whisper. Any louder, and you won’t be able to hide the way you’re holding back tears. 

He nods. For a second, you think he’s going to accept that as the end of the conversation and stay here with you, to hold up his end of the bargain, to let whatever hurt he needs healing to sit between you. But he nudges you to your feet and, without another glance, disappears into the cargo hold. The near-deafening silence of hyperspace presses in on you, and you sink to your heels, shaking. 

Tag list: @the-hexfiles @fjordg @idoubleswearimawriter @skellymom

[leonisdumbasallhell]

Sorry if there’s an obvious place this is listed but I couldn’t find a FAQ, what colored pencils do you use for sketches? I’ve found a mechanical pencil with blue lead, but it’s so soft I can’t get a feel for it so I’m looking for alternatives :/

Hi! I don't have an FAQ but that's a good idea I should do that!

And bro, I love talking abt art supplies, so here we go lmao

Blocking/base sketch: Prismacolor col-erase Rose (I can't find just the rose on amazon, but if you have an art store nearby they should have the colors individually, but here's the whole pack on Amazon) Great for blocking and fill, it erases fairly well though can leave some discoloration if you press too hard, but thats the same with a graphite pencil as well. I feel the width is too chunky to do good detail work, but It's great for getting some baseline structure down.

Refined Sketch: Pilot ColorEno 0.7 Mechanical Colored Pencils Soft Blue (On Amazon, Though I also use the blue, pink, and purple pencils too, so here's the whole set) Love these so so so much, gen my fav thing I've ever gotten. They're erasable, refillable, and a great color. I will say, if you use one color a Lot like I do, they tend to break after a few years, I'm actually using the light yellow housing with blue lead in it instead of the blue housing cause it Broked. But otherwise, great pencils. The lead is a little thin and breaks easily, but otherwise, highly recomend.

Inking: Microns, .01, .005, .03, and .05 (On amazon) Microns are great, I love them, they're archival, they look good. Only issue I have is they smear if you paint over or erase them while they're still wet, but that's cause I'm impatient.

Black blocking/panel lines: Pentel Pocket brush and Micron Graphic 3MM (Pocket brush and I can't find the Graphic 3MM online???? I get it at Blick, but it's a 3mm chisel tipped pen) Love my pocket brush I've had it for like. 10 years now, it's great! It's refillable, and the pen itself lasts literally for ever. and I use the 3mm pen for panel walls, also love it, it gives a wide variety of widths with a lot of control. Great pens!

But yeah, these are what I use for my uncolored things, If ppl are interested in what I use for colors let me know I can go over those too lmao. I hope this helps! Getting the pilot pencils was a game changer for me fr tho, I love them so much!

[gremlins-hotel]

I have a really dumb question, but I’m assuming you know the answer: what’s the difference between top speed and cruising speed on a plane?

Not a dumb question at all! An aircraft’s top speed is, of course, the maximum airspeed it can achieve. Maximum speed is not maintained for long periods of time due to the fact that it can destroy the engine, it wastes fuel, or can otherwise cause wear and tear on the airframe as a whole. Cruise speed, on the other hand, is the average speed it travels for maximum efficiency and generally for safety. This is a general rule for commercial, recreational, and military aircraft as far as I’m aware. These speeds can also change with the aircraft’s altitude or whether they are ‘feet wet’ (over water) or ‘feet dry’ (over land). (E.g., The USAF F-16C/D has a maximum speed of ~1,350 mph (~2,173 kmh) but a cruising speed closer to 575-600 mph (most likely; the actual number is unknown, though an earlier variant, the F-16A, is listed to cruise at 577 mph.))

Another quirk of (specifically American) fighter jets* is the setting known as “WEP,” or war emergency power. (*Many modern air forces who also have domestic aero programs make jets with a similar setting, though it goes by different names). WEP started with WWII-era American piston-pusher propellor fighters. Designed to only be used in emergencies, it is a throttle setting that forces the aircraft’s engine to produce more than 100% of its rated power for (in US craft) up to five minutes. It is a throttle setting most often barred behind a physical lock that a pilot must break to access. (In the P-51D, there was a hard wire that would stop your throttle joystick from being moved forward; if slammed ball to the wall, it would snap the wire and force the engine into WEP.) WEP can absolutely destroy and melt an engine, and if not destroy it, it often damages it to a level that means it will need repairs if it’s lucky enough to get back home.

WEP gives a (jet) fighter pilot extra thrust in the engine, which will affect their performance, and as mentioned above, it is for emergencies. Usually in a dogfight, but might be accessed for evasive countermeasures/countermaneuvers when under scrutiny of a missile or other kinetic projectile. Over the years, most other militaries have developed a similar WEP feature, with a notable example being the Soviet VVS seen in the MiG-21bis. Designed to compete with the brand new and far more advanced F-16/F/A-18, the MiG-21bis was fitted with a brand new engine that could allow for two minutes of WEP that actually gave it a near-match in terms of performance! However, a consequence was that the engine might be unserviceable upon landing and cooldown due to lower quality materials.