A/N: THE NEW EPISODES OH MY THE NEW EPISODES. I swear when he started crying I cried right with him. This is way more than I expected of this show, I'm so happy omg
No beta, we die like Scorn
Warnings: slight mentions of murder and torture, Maul being Maul, ‼️personal opinions‼️
Word count: 753
Reblogs are very appreciated, since it helps my posts reach more people and motivates me to continue writing 🫶
𖹭 He struggles a bit with reacting to your sadness and tears in a different way than he would react if it was him. He was taught to hate, to turn all his pain into anger and strength. When HE is down or on the verge of tears, his first reaction is an immediate show of strength and anger. But when it's you, he realizes he doesn't want to teach you that, doesn't want to do to you what Sidious did to him. So he'll try to be gentle and caring with you. He'll stumble a bit on the way, but he'll do his best. He'll try. For you. You're the most important person in his life, his light in the dark. You're the only person who still manages to bring out good in him, helps him heal. You give him hope that he might even feel genuine happiness one day. He wants to protect you, make you feel safe, LOVED, even if he sometimes doesn't know how to
𖹭 His initial reaction would depend on the situation
𖹭 If you come to him crying and hug him, he'll freeze for a moment — unsure what to do — and then slowly wrap his arms around your shaking frame
𖹭 If he finds you crying, the first thing he'll do will be to growl out a "who?" He's not good with cheering people up; he's never had to do it before, so — naturally — his first instinct is to protect you in the only way he knows how — through violence. He will want to deal with whatever made you cry IMMEDIATELY
𖹭 If you don't respond, he'll stand there for a moment, unsure what to do. Then he'll slowly approach you and sit down next to you, asking you what you need. He'll stay with you, just letting you know that you're not alone. He won't necessarily initiate physical touch, though, unless you make it clear you want it
𖹭 If you do respond, he'll immediately go on a quest to bring down whatever made you sad. Some torture and murder might (read: absolutely will) be involved
𖹭 If you extend a hand and grab him to stop him from leaving, he'll be a little confused and hesitant at first — he was taught crying was a weakness, and he'd never let anyone see him like that, let alone actively seek somebody out — but he'll sit down next to you, pulling you — albeit a bit awkwardly at first — into his arms
𖹭 He'll hold you close and speak in a low voice, assuring you he'll deal with whatever made you sad, and that you're safe with him. He'll also assure you that you're strong and brave, throwing in how much you mean to him occasionally.
𖹭 See, Maul is good at manipulation. He knows the right words to say. But he doesn't WANT to be like that with you. He wants to be sincere. And when he tries to, he finds himself at a loss for words. Everything that comes to his mind sounds empty. He can't promise you that you'll be fine — he doesn't even know what's going on. He's not good at assuring about feelings in a way that doesn't sound manipulative. And you know him well enough to pick up on that tone of his voice that he uses to manipulate people. Sure, some days he's great at comforting you. But sometimes he just can't find the right words, so he simply settles on holding you close, letting you feel his steady presence, pulling you against his chest, letting you listen to the beat of his hearts, letting you know that he's here and you're not alone.
𖹭 If you decide to tell him what's going on, he'll be GREAT at validating your emotions. He has a lot of experience with different negative emotions — anger, sadness, grief, guilt, you name it — so he likely knows what you need in the moment
𖹭 Now, if you just feel down but don't explicitly cry, he might handle it a bit better. Of course, there will still be murder — or threats of murder, at least — involved. He'll try to cheer you up the best he can, possibly bribing you a little, by letting you do things he usually doesn't, or doing things with you he usually wouldn't
𖹭 He'll also definitely offer to train with you to let you burn through your emotions
Summary: Orion Pax has been your personal Knight, swore to you since you were 20. Years pass and you natively fall in love with him. On your 25th birthday, you discover the truth … Orion is actually Optimus, one of the 13 Primes and he only accepted to be your personal guard to be close to your evil step sister. Optimus loves her, not you.
MEDIEVAL-CYBERTRONIAN AU: Cybertronians landed on Earth many years ago and integrated themselves in human society, eventually gaining status and power. They are an equal to humans and romantic relationships with Cybertronians (although rare and most of the time reserved only for the high class) are accepted by society. Most noble families wish for their sons/daughters to marry a Cybertronian. But most Cybertronians are secluded and Sparkmate each other. More will be explained in the story.
The Last Knight Optimus x Female Reader (Maybe Megatron x Reader later)
2.5k words. Arranged Marriage/ Knight & Princess? Idk just read it yall
--- PART 2 ---
….
You ran through the gardens of the castle to get to your room.
You wanted all of this to be a bad dream but the pain in your heels made you realize that this was in fact, reality.
The personnel just watched as you ran past them, some calling your name and others with a worried expression in their faces.
Finally, you reached your room and immediately, closed the door behind you, locked it and buried yourself in your bed.
You had listen to it all.
Orion, your knight, the bot that you loved … loved someone else.
Your step-sister.
She had finally stolen everything that was once yours. Your childhood, your dresses, your pets, your room, your place in court, your family and now him.
It would have been fine if Orion had loved another woman but why did it have to be her? That same woman who killed your pet when you were only seven and she was ten. Nobody believed you. Your father even striked you for telling lies and believing the lies that your step-mother would say about you.
“She’s a bad child.”
“She bullies Elizabeth.”
“She disrespects her elders.”
After your mother died, your father remarried. More out of duty than for actual love. He was a good man but he never grieved properly. He is out of the castle most of the time. Traveling to foreign lands to expand the family business. You would see him two times out of the year, maybe three if you were lucky.
And so your stepmother was in charge of everything and had the final say while he was gone.
“My lady?”
You hear his voice from behind the door.
“I was informed by the personnel that you ran through the corridors, looking distressed … I would like to confirm your well-being if you allow me.”
A couple of years ago, in one of his travels, your father had saved the life of Zeta Prime. As a thank you, Zeta Prime sent Orion Pax, a guard of the Primes, to serve the Starlight Family. Your father, seeing that you had been alone for many years, decided to give him to you as your loyal Knight.
But that was all a lie.
Orion was Optimus, the 13th Prime and he became your Knight to be close to your sister.
You had heard him talk to Jazz, his best friend about it. In deep detail.
“Oh my Elizabeth! She’s good and kind! Gentle! I cannot live without her! I need to see her, to know that she’s safe! I cannot do this anymore, Jazz! I have even engraved her initials inside my chassis, she’s the one Jazz! I would give up on my title of Optimus Prime if that meant I could have her. She is my sparkmate and I’ll be bonded to her!”
“My lady, could you please answer my calls?”
His voice is worried and you hate him for it. Because it's all a lie. All of it.
“Go away!”
You scream and your voice cracks as the tears overflow.
“My lady please! Just tell me what's wrong … Do not make me break your privacy.”
His voice is louder, more anxious.
“I command you to leave me alone!”
There’s a long silence after that.
“As you wish, my lady.”
He left after that.
Oh, how much you wished all of this was a nightmare. How much you wished you had not heard that conversation. Being unaware of the truth. Believing that Orion was still your Orion and not some mighty Prime.
.
.
.
It was one of those rare days in which you were invited to a council meeting. Your step-sister had long ago taken your place and your opinion mattered too little.
Today you wore a blue dress. Your family’s colors were white and gold but you stopped wearing them the moment your sister decided to wear them too. Not because it was improper but because you wanted to feel like at least something 'belonged' exclusively to you.
It has been a couple of days since you last saw Orion, you had released him for a week of his duties which he didn’t care much about either. He was enjoying his time with Elizabeth and you for sure didn’t want to interrupt.
“It is time the daughters of the Starlight family part ways and marry … this meeting is to decide the fate of the two sisters.”
Of course, the only reason why the council would invite you to a meeting was to talk about your arranged marriage.
“Now there are two prospects we are seeking into … Lord Megatron, leader of the Decepticons, is looking for a wife.”
Lord Megatron had the reputation for being a cruel leader. A Cybertonian with power that equals the Primes. It is said that every time he tried courting someone, they would deny him due to his cruel ways. He lives in solitude in his kingdom with the rest of the Decepticons.
“And … there’s the rumour that the 13th Prime, Optimus Prime, is also looking for a partner.”
There’s a collective gasp in the room. Your stepmother and sister looked at each other excitedly while the other members of the council shared a knowing look.
Nobody knew who the 13th Prime was. It was a mystery that only the Primes knew. But it was said that he was a beautiful and gentle bot.
But you knew that truth. It was Orion. And it all started to make sense.
“Of course, a marriage between the Primes and the Starlight House would be extremely beneficial,” said the Master of the Meeting. “Of course, I would expect that Lady Victoria Starlight will carefully examine each of her daughters and choose wisely which daughter she would like to propose as a prospective wife for the bachelors.”
You didn’t even have to look at your step-mother to know that your fate was sealed.
And at this point … nothing matters anymore.
.
.
.
“So, how does it feel knowing you’ll marry the worst Cybertronian in the entire world?”
You walk through the gardens to have some peace of mind but it seemed like Elizabeth had plans to interrupt that.
“At least I will be free from this place,” you say without keeping a steady face, yet not looking at her.
“But won’t you miss your dear Orion? I thought you loved him,” she said in a mocking voice. “Oh wait … He loves me! Did you know he climbed Mount Angel just to get me my favorite flower?”
Mount Angel was an extremely dangerous place, even for Cybertronians. But knowing Orion, he probably didn’t even care about his safety. He only cared about getting that flower for Elizabeth.
The gardens extended all the way to the horse stables where you could see the caretakers from afar, taking the horses for a stretch and practice.
You made a slight turn and looked at the rose bushes. They have started to wither. These were your mothers favorites and you took extremely care of them. Seeing them like this wrenched your heart, especially because you didn’t know why they started to die.
“Ugh, I knew I should've used a stronger poison,” your sister said as she looked at the roses. “They didn’t die soon enough like your mother.”
Angered, you turn around and slap Elizabeth and she falls to the ground.
“(Reader)!”
The two of you turn only to find Orion running towards the two of you.
“How dare you hurt her! She’s your sister!”
"Not by blood, at least." You thought. "Only by law."
Orion helps Elizabeth stand up. Pretending to hold back tears, she holds onto Orion as if her life depended on it.
Of course, he would take her side.
“Please Orion, do not be angry with my sister!” Elizabeth pleaded, looking straight at his optics and he was bewitched by her. “I spoke without asking for permission first … I shouldn’t have done that—”
Suddenly, a loud neigh is heard. A horse was fast approaching the three of you.
Orion didn’t even hesitate to pick up Elizabeth and save her from the danger.
In the commotion, the horse brushed past you. The impact made you land in the ground aggressively, making you hit your head and quickly fall into a heavy slumber.
.
.
.
When you woke up, Orion was on his knees next to your bed.
It's been a long while since you ended up in the nursery room. Your head still hurt but at least you could still see with clarity.
When you looked over to Orion, he had that same faceplate. One full of shame and embarrassment. You had seen this face before. Once when he read a poem to you, written by him, a story about a knight falling in love with a princess. Little did you know that he wrote that poem for Elizabeth.
“My lady … I did not full-fill my duty to protect you—”
“Shut up,” you tell him. “I do not want to hear it.”
Looking at him is painful. You want to cry. You want to tell him the truth. That you know everything … but what good would that make? That won’t change his feelings. If anything, it would only push him to confess to your sister sooner. And the only thing you want to do now is to simply leave quietly. To free Orion from his duty and just leave to the Decepticon Kingdom to never be seen again.
And you will do just that but in due time.
“If you wish to punish me … I’ll accept anything to wish to rely on me,” Orion said. “But I beg you, do not punish your sister for my lack of discipline.”
Even after everything, his mind and spark still thought of your sister. A part of you wanted to yell at him, to tell him to go away and leave you alone forever. But how could you be angry at him when his only sin was to love?
“Orion,” you sign heavily. “Do you care for me? Even if it's just a little?”
His optics show indignation, as if he can’t believe you had just asked him such a thing. Still on his knees, he keeps his gaze on you.
“I will lay my life for you if you asked me to, my lady–”
“Then why don’t you act like it?”
Optimus looks side to side, a clear sign that he was about to tell you something important.
“Permission to talk informally?”
“Permission granted.”
He stands up and walks towards your bed where he sits next to you. Things like this had become normal between the two of you. Even occasional touching of shoulders , of course, never skin. But the two of you had gone through so much that the act of not being close could even be considered rude.
“I’ve just been distracted. My house is forcing me to marry soon and I am just worried about who my future wife will be.”
Liar. You thought. But it wasn’t a complete lie, Elizabeth is the one he wanted … but what if Zeta Prime wanted him to marry someone else? Someone like him should marry a princess. You don’t see why the King would be opposed to having one of his daughters marry a Prime.
“Sometimes I forget that you still belong to the Prime House … even if you are not a Prime,” you lie.
“Well, I sometimes wish I wasn’t … I could choose someone I love if I weren’t.”
“I don’t think that’s what worries you … Is it something else?”
Somehow, you always had the ability to read his mind. It was something he loved about you. The unspoken understanding you had of him.
“... What if I am not good enough for her?”
You look at his optics and you know he wanted to tell you the truth. He can’t keep his gaze when he lies. But he looks troubled and your heart aches. You didn’t want him to hurt.
You wore gloves all the time, and too often have touched his faceplate. Today, you do the same. Softly you caress his metal and make him turn to look at you once again.
“Do you remember the first time we met?”
You ask him and he quietly nods.
“You were very nervous and you were terrible … terrible guard,” you say with a smile, remembering the times when Orion didn’t know the basics of chivalry. Walking on the other side of the road, offering his hand when you step down of a carriage, carrying you carelessly from one place to the other.
“You made a lot of mistakes but you learned from them,” you said. “And now you are the most famous Knight in all of the Seven Celestial Kingdoms.
He closes his optics to focus on your touch. Yes, you wore gloves and he always wondered what your skin would feel like. Soft, he imagined and very, very warm.
“You will make mistakes but as long as you learn from them … I am sure your future wife will love you, no matter what.”
As you kept his gaze, you understood that you loved him. You truly did. He is kind and gentle and fights for what he believes is right. He might love your sister, but that’s not his fault. Maybe she’ll change once they marry, Orion’s kindness could rub off to anyone.
From what he was saying, it seemed the Primes wanted him to marry someone else. Someone of a higher status, you assumed.
You had accepted your fate. But that doesn’t mean Orion has to. You’ll help him marry your sister and then you’ll marry Lord Megatron and live a quiet life, content to know that Orion will live a happy life.
Orion held your hand and gently kissed it. His gratitude eternal, his devotion pure.
May this be your final act of love.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
--- PART 2 ---
A/N: I watched a Chinese drama with this premise …. So I had to write it. Since the Cybertronians arrived early on human history, I thought that humans would be more involved in the cosmos … that’s why I plan for everything to have a “space-related- medivial” theme to it. More will be developed later … maybe. I really need to go back to writing my other fics :(((
Imagine that Davy Jones probably sometimes feels a little bad because he can't hug you that well, due to his crustacean arm. However, in an attempt to make up for that, he'll gently caress your face with his tentacles whenever you kiss him or are simply close enough for him to reach. He'll use some of them to lift your chin and angle you closer to him, and others to softly stroke your cheeks, your temples, or simply your whole face. It probably felt a little funny the first time he did it, but he's very careful when he does it and you soon learned to enjoy this way of him showing affection.
Summary: you leave for california without really saying goodbye to rhett, you're back in Wabang two weeks later, and you run into someone very familiar. this is part two.
Pairings rhett abbott x fem!reader/best friend!reader and slight bob floyd x fem!reader
Warnings: rhett being rhett, emotional constipation from both rhett and reader, slight love triangle, but not really, slight rhett x maria, bob floyd has entered the chat, reader stress smokes, possibly inaccurate rodeo circuit terms ( i googled everything), possible inaccurate depiction of us navy, i've seen topgun/topgun maverick several times, but it's been a while, dagger squad makes a cameo, fluff, language, angst, fem!reader with vague descriptions, little to no use of y/n, and proofreadish.
WC: 4.9K
Author's Note: thank you for all the comments on the first part <33. clearly, i don't know how to end things. so here's the second part, including another lewis character i haven't written for before.
previous part II lewis pullman masterlist
Part of you regrets not telling Rhett you're leaving for California. It's safe to say you hardly talked to him since he took you to the creek. But you did run into him once before you left town.
It feels weird and unnatural to go weeks without talking to him. Rhett has never been a very good texter or a phone call person. You're lives are so interconnected that you don't even bat an eye when he shows up at your house without notice.
Rhett is close with your parents, just as you are with his. Ever since Rebecca disappeared, Amy has grown closer to you, which makes this whole situation tense and awkward whenever you run into Amy or Cecilia in town.
You're grateful that Cecilia doesn't pry, but she knows something has happened between you and Rhett. During the weeks you and Rhett weren't talking, she would drop hints about his well-being and give you a knowing look.
The week before you leave for California, you're out with Amy to pick up some horse feed for Royal.
Amy has been oddly quiet the whole car ride, and even when you were loading the feed into your dad's truck.
"Can we get some flowers for grandma?" Amy asks as you get back into the truck.
"Of course."
You drive back into town and park in front of the florist shop. You and Amy get out and enter the store. You follow her around the store, and she stops at the tulip section.
"Those are pretty," you say, coming up behind her. She shrugs before turning to face you.
"Maria brought some to the house the other day," Amy says, her tone giving nothing away. Your heart starts beating faster at the mention of Maria.
So it is serious. If Rhett is bringing her to the house, you think.
All the more reason to leave for California.
"Oh," you say, turning your attention to some roses on the other side. "Do you like her?" You don't know why you're asking. Deep down, you're thinking, do you like her more than me?
Which is ridiculous, since you've known Amy her whole life and were her babysitter for quite a long time.
"She's alright. Rhett really likes her." Little does Amy know that her little innocent comment feels like a punch to the stomach. "But he really likes you, too," she adds, giving you a coy look.
"I would hope so. I've been friends with him forever."
She hums. "I think he like likes you."
"Ha, you're funny. C'mon, hurry up and pick some flowers, so I can get you back home," you nervously reply and usher her along.
As you're dropping Amy off, you see Rhett and Perry coming out of the barn. Your heart skips a beat as you and Rhett make eye contact through the windshield.
Amy runs up to them, and you see she's saying something to her dad before running off to the house. Perry comes over to the driver's side, and you roll down the window.
"Hey, stranger," he says.
"Hi."
"Dad says you have something for us?"
You glance back over to Rhett, who's watching you and Perry.
"Yeah, it's in the back."
He nods and goes to the back of the truck. You hear him yell to Rhett to come over and help. You pretend to be on your phone when Rhett passes by the passenger side.
You think that's the last you'll see of him since you're leaving for California tomorrow, but it's not.
You run into him later that night at the bar again.
Out of all the places your dad wanted to meet up with his buddies, it had to be at this bar. Granted, it was the only bar in town.
You're outside waiting for your dad to finish up drinking with his friends. You hope he's almost done, because you saw a familiar truck in the parking lot.
Your dad sent a text saying 10 more minutes, which means at least 20.
You're getting anxious for a number of reasons, and you've been stressed these past few weeks. The number one cause of your stress is Rhett, and how you two haven't talked.
You hate leaving things like this, but you're still not sure how to make amends with Rhett; you'll cross that bridge when you get there.
A horrible habit you started a few years ago was smoking, but you only do it when you're stressed. Even though you're an adult, you still try to hide the fact that you smoke from pretty much everyone.
You're leaning against the building, staring out across the street, when the door opens, you can hear the loud ruckus from inside for a moment before the door slams shut.
"Thought you quit," Rhett says from behind you.
When you turn around, you see that he has a slightly guarded expression on his face.
"It's a hard habit to kick," you reply, taking another drag. Rhett observes you.
"You comin' in?"
You shake your head, you expect Rhett to go back inside. Instead, he leans against the building, facing you. There's a palpable silence that lingers between you two.
Two people who are bad at words.
Terrible at expressing feelings.
You're about to say how you're going to California tomorrow when the door opens again. It's Maria.
A look of surprise washes over her face when she sees you and Rhett.
Rhett, still unaware of Maria's presence, starts to move closer to you. You take a step back, and he frowns.
"Rhett," Maria calls out, striding up to the pair of you. She flashes you a smile, and you force a small smile back. Marial slides closer to Rhett and wraps an arm around his waist.
You look away from them. "Okay, well, I should get going. I'll see you around," you quickly say, and basically speed walking back to where you parked your car.
You hear Rhett tell Maria to wait for him inside as he hurries after you. You almost forget that you're supposed to be waiting for your dad when you reach your car.
"What's the hurry?" Rhett asks as he watches you try to find your keys in your bag.
"I have an early morning."
Pause. "Ya don't have time for a beer?"
You briefly close your eyes as you collect yourself. "You know what they say about three's a crowd," you lightly reply.
Rhett casually places his hand on top of the car door, preventing you from opening it.
He's too close to you. His scent surrounds you. Some people might find it strange that you like the smell of gasoline. The scent of it also lingers on Rhett, even if he hasn't been working on his truck or the tractor. And how the smell of the rodeo always follows him around.
But underneath all that, you can still smell his aftershave. The one he's been wearing for years. The one you helped pick out.
"Maria won't mind," he finally says, but you both know that's not true.
"Another time."
Rhett sighs. "I have an out-of-town competition in a couple of days. You still wanna ride with me?"
Your drops. "Um, Rhett...I ca-"
"Is that Rhett Abbott?" Your dad's loud voice startles you both, and Rhett backs away, turning to your dad.
You watch as your dad and Rhett make small talk before your dad pats him on the back and wishes him luck on his upcoming competition.
Thankfully, in his slightly drunken stupor, he doesn't mention you going to California.
---
San Diego is vastly different than Wyoming, and it almost gives you a shock. Your friend, Sierra, is there to pick you up from the airport, and she's all smiles and sunshine when she greets you at the baggage claim.
It's refreshing being around her bubbly personality, and it seems like no time has passed since you last saw her in person.
"I still can't believe you're here, here," she gushes once you're on the way back to her apartment.
"I know. It's kinda surreal."
"I can't wait to show you the place. It's literally right off the beach. Oh! And did I mention it's a wedding on the beach? You're gonna love it. Ah! I get you for a full two weeks, it's going to be so much fun!" You can't help but laugh. Her excitement is contagious.
"Who is your sister marrying?"
"Okay, don't judge," Sierra says, giving you a side eye.
"I would never. Dani is great."
"It's a navy guy."
You raise an eyebrow. "Navy?"
"Yeah, you know those people who fly those super cool fighter jets?"
You have no idea what she's talking about. "Oh, that sounds interesting?"
Sierra laughs. "It's okay. It took me a while to understand as well. But he's really nice."
"What's his name?"
"Rooster."
You can't help but snort. "Sorry, what?"
"Oh, sorry, that's his callsign. His name is Bradley Bradshaw."
"Wow. Now I know why you call him Rooster," you joke.
Once you're at the apartment, Sierra finally mentions Rhett.
"How's Mister Brooding doing these days? You haven't mentioned him in the past few phone calls? He's okay, right? He didn't get too badly hurt, like last time? I can't believe he's still bull riding."
"Um...yeah, he's good," you slowly say, and she senses you're holding something back.
"Oh my god...did you confess your feelings? Is he being weird? I can see Rhett running away at first, but then coming around, because it's you," Sierra says, reaching out to grab your hands.
"C'mon, be serious. I haven't said anything."
"Hey! I am being 100% dead serious. I remember the last time I was back home, and the three of us went out. Dude, Rhett wouldn't stop looking at you. It was crazy. I seriously thought something would have happened by now. If not feelings, then definitely sexual tension."
"Sierra!" You turn away from her, feeling your face get warm.
She giggles. "What? It's true. You may be blind as a bat, but I'm not."
"You're crazy. Besides, he's with Maria."
Sierra scoffs. "Until one of the Tillerson brothers starts giving her attention again."
"It's different this time. They're actually dating and they have been for a month now."
Sierra makes a face. "It won't last," she assuredly says.
On the inside, you're hoping she's right.
A couple of days later, it's the wedding. You feel a little lost since Sierra is the maid of honor, and you're left alone until the reception.
The whole ceremony is beautiful; it reminds you of a cheesy romance movie, but in a good way. And it's the first time you get to see Dani's soon-to-be-husband.
He's not what you expected, and you think the mustache is a little ridiculous, but somehow it works for him. After they say their 'I dos' and kiss his groomsmen, all make a ruckus, except for one.
Sierra finds you immediately at the start of the reception.
"C'mon. I want you to meet everyone. I think you'll love Nat," Sierra giddily says and starts pulling to the front of the venue.
"Sierra, wait-I don't think-" You try to say, but she's too excited to properly listen to you, and soon you're facing a whole group of strangers minus Dani.
"Oh my god. It's good to see you," she says, pulling you into a tight hug, and then she introduces you to everyone. You have to admit it's a bit overwhelming trying to remember all their names. The ones that stick out are Natasha, Bob, Javy, and, of course, Jake.
Dani introduced him as Hangman, but he quickly corrects her, giving you an overly charming smile and a lingering handshake. He's attractive, but definitely not your type.
You're a little surprised to learn that he's part of the Navy. With that smile, he looks like he does toothpaste commercials.
The reception is very laid back, and there's no assigned seating. You cling to Sierra, who sits with the dagger squad.
You're mainly listening to them all talk, sometimes over each other, but it's entertaining. Mickey and Javy are the most amusing. They're eager to tell you all about Top Gun and the training they do.
Jake finally starts asking you questions.
He's sitting right next to you and leans in a little closer. "So, what's your story?" He asks.
You feel like you're put on the spot as all eyes are on you. Compared to their daily lives, yours seem mundane.
"Um... kinda boring compared to yours."
"Come on. Tell us," Natasha encourages.
"Well, I'm from a small town. So there's not much to do. Right now I'm working at a cafe, and I might go back to school."
"Where are you from?" Reuben asks.
"A small town in Wyoming."
"Very small," Sierra adds, and you both share a small laugh. The person on Sierra's other side perks up.
Bob leans over a bit to see you. "Where in Wyoming?"
"Uh, you probably haven't heard of it. It's Wabang."
Recognition crosses his face. "Oh, I've been there."
"You have?" Sierra says incredulously. "Bob, you never told me, and you knew I'm from there."
He shrugs. "Must have slipped my mind."
"Aren't you from Montana, though?" Sierra asks.
"Yeah, but I have some family in Cheyenne."
"What a small world," Jake comments.
A little later, the dance floor opens up, and after the first dance with the bride and groom, Sierra tries to get you on the dance floor. You keep making excuses about how you're still jetlagged and how you'll join her later.
She pouts. "I don't wanna leave you by yourself." It reminds you of how she said the same thing during prom senior year. Your date ended up being a dud, and you spent most of the time sitting at a table trying not to constantly look for Rhett.
"I'll keep her company," Bob offers, and she beams at him, and then Jake is sweeping her onto the dance floor.
There's a comfortable silence that falls between you and Bob as you people-watch.
Bob moves over to the chair that Sierra abandoned, bringing him closer to you.
"So what kind of plane or fighter jet do you fly?" You ask, turning to him.
Bob looks a little shy, and he fiddles with a napkin. "Oh, I'm a backseater, WSO for Nat."
You giggle. "I have no idea what that means, but it sounds cool. What does WSO stand for?"
Bob smiles and starts explaining his duties as a Weapon Systems Officer. You're drawn in as he tells you how he got into Top Gun and what their daily life is like. He's patient and answers all your questions, even the ones you think sound stupid.
"So what do you do for fun?" Bob finally asks once you're out of questions to ask him about Top Gun.
"I go to rodeos," you automatically say.
Bob slightly adjusts his glasses, looking intrigued. "You're in the rodeos?"
"God no. My best friend rides bulls. He's extremely good at it."
Bob looks impressed. "Sounds a little dangerous."
"As opposed to what you do for a living?"
He shrugs. "Different kind of danger."
You nod in agreement. "True, one time, Rhett got seriously hurt. He was in the hospital for weeks. I called him crazy for wanting to get back on when he was barely recovered. He's always doing stupid-" You stop, you're realizing how you're kind of ranting to Bob. "Sorry."
"No, it's okay. I mean, he's your best friend. But I can kinda tell where he's coming from."
The rest of the night you spent with Bob. Talking about anything and everything. He's a bit quiet, but he's quite funny in a dry sense of humor kind of way, and he's witty.
You don't even know what time it is, but it must be close to midnight. A slow song starts playing, and Bob watches as you watch the couple pairing off and slow dancing.
"Do you want to dance?" Bob quietly asks.
"I might step on your feet."
He leans in and teases, "Well, it's a good thing I wore the right shoes."
You roll your eyes. "Okay, don't say I didn't warn you."
Bob just smiles and holds out a hand for you to take. He's quite the gentleman with his modest hands and respectable distance between your bodies, maybe a little too respectable.
"Bob, I don't have cooties," you joke, glancing down at the space between you two.
"Oh," he mumbles and pulls you closer. You look at his face, and you have to admit Bob is very attractive in a clean-cut way.
He continues, "So how long are you in San Diego for?"
"Another week and a half."
"Oh, so you'll be around for Javy's birthday. It's this weekend. Sierra is invited, and you're more than welcome to come too."
It sounds appealing, but you're hesitant about saying yes. Everyone has been welcoming, but you still get a bit anxious in unfamiliar social settings.
"I wouldn't want to intrude."
"You won't," Bob insists.
You give him a look. "Isn't that up for Javy to decide? He's okay that a total stranger is going to be crashing his birthday party?"
Bob rolls his eyes. "It's not crashing if you're my plus one."
"Fine, but be warned, I am a clinger due to my social anxiety."
"Cling all you want," Bob says with a smile.
At midnight, everyone waves off the happy couple, and you and Bob exchange numbers.
Sierra spots that interaction and starts questioning you about Bob.
"So, you and Bob got close, huh?"
"Sierra, please. I'm so tired I think I could fall asleep standing up."
"Fine, but one last thing. Bob is a sweetheart, a good communicator, a good listener, loyal-"
You start laughing. "What is this? You're auctioning him off or something?"
Sierra playfully pushes you. "Noooo. I'm just saying you have options."
"What are you talking about? I'm leaving in less than two weeks. I'm not interested in finding a boyfriend or whatever."
"Why? Because of Rhett?" She bluntly asks.
You freeze. The majority of the night, Rhett wasn't on your mind, and that was a foreign feeling. The past month, your mind has been consumed by Rhett and Maria.
"Maybe," you admit, and she groans.
"Rhett is stupid. Rhett is off with Maria. You're here, have fun. I'm not saying hook up with randoms, unless you want to. But at least be Bob's plus one to Javy's birthday party. The whole group is starting to like you. I mean, it's a bummer that Dani and Bradley won't be there, but I will," Sierra pleads with you, and she has a point.
Why not spend some more time with Bob, even if it doesn't turn into something else. He's funny, easy to talk to, and cute.
"Fine, why not?"
---
The next week and a half go by in a blur, and you're kind of sad that you're leaving. Sierra is, too. Over the last few days of your stay, she has been dropping not-so-subtle hints about how she'll be out of a roommate in a couple of months.
You don't make any promises, but you keep telling her you'll think about it.
What have you been doing over the past week? Well, you've been spending a lot of time with Bob. Even after the wedding, he texted you, which really surprised you.
You and he texted nonstop back and forth until Javy's birthday party.
Which was at a bar called The Hard Deck, a hangout spot that the dagger squad frequents all the time. You thought that after that, his interest would fizzle off, but it didn't.
That night at the birthday party seemed to make you two closer. Bob told you how he had long days and his schedule was sometimes all over the place. Which was fine with you, any spare chance he had, he was texting you.
Rhett hasn't reached out once since you've been in San Diego, but you assumed that much. He has to know by now that you're out of town. His mom or Amy would have said something in passing about you leaving.
Especially when you didn't show up for his out-of-town competition several days ago. Your mom texted you saying she went, and all she said was that it didn't go well.
That night, when she sent that text, you called Rhett without thinking. He didn't answer, and you didn't leave a voicemail.
Since then, you've kinda been distracted by Bob. If he got off early or had a short day, even on his long days, he would ask if you wanted to do something, and you would say yes. He took you all over San Diego each day you guys did something different.
During your last hangout with Bob, you promised him you would keep in touch and that you might be back in a couple of months.
Before you board the plane, Bob sends a cryptic text about how he'll see you soon, but when you ask him what he means, he replies with 'have a safe flight'.
Before you know it, you're back in Wabang, and nothing has changed.
Your parents tell you that Rhett has one more competition before the regional circuit in Montana.
Your stomach is in knots, but you still want to go. You want to be there for Rhett.
The out-of-town competition is in two days, and you don't think you'll see Rhett. How wrong you are. He ends up showing up at your workplace, a place he has never set foot in.
You're in the back when you hear your co-worker greet him. In a panic, you duck down and hide behind a shelf even though the back door is partially closed.
"Hey, Rhett!" Sadie calls out to him, and he gives her a polite nod. "What can I get for ya?"
"Uh, Amy wants some of those donuts."
"Sure thing!"
You're praying she won't say anything about you being back.
"Please, please, please," you whisper to yourself as you hear her talk Rhett's ear off as she wraps up the donuts.
You let out a sigh of relief as she rings him up.
And then she says your name, and you think your heart is going to beat out of your chest.
You hear Sadie say, "She's back, by the way. Thought you should know, but I'm sure you've seen her already." She giggles as Rhett eyes the back room door.
"No, I haven't," he casually replies, and she dramatically gasps.
And Sadie, being Sadie, turns around and yells your name. "Girl, get your butt out here!"
You'd rather walk into oncoming traffic, but you slowly make your way out to the front of the store.
Sadie pulls you closer once you're in touching range. "Go take your break now," she stage whispers, taking off your apron, and pushes you around the counter.
You feel like you're floating outside your body as you blindly walk out the door, not even waiting to see if Rhett is following you. He is.
You're horribly aware of how fast and loud your heart is beating; you're sure Rhett can hear it.
"Hi," you lamely say, crossing your arms. Rhett doesn't say anything for what feels like a long time.
"Had fun, did you?" He sounds pissed.
"Who told-"
"Word got around town that you left for California, and you know who I heard it from?"
"Uh..."
"Luke." You internally wince at his answer. Of course, it would be a Tillerson brother. How the hell did he hear about it before Rhett? "Drunk, of course," Rhett finishes.
"Look, I know you won't believe me, but I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't tell you that I was leaving for California."
His face remains void of any emotion, but you can see him clenching his jaw.
"I wanna know why the hell you didn't tell me you were leaving in the first place."
"I didn't even think I was going to go at first, but then M-I changed my mind."
Rhett narrows his eyes, and he steps closer to you. He caught your slight slip-up.
"Did Maria say something to you?"
"Rhett, of course not."
"Then what else were you going to say if not Maria's name?"
You sigh and try again. "I was going to say mom and I got in a fight-"
Rhett's loud, sarcastic laugh stops you. "You're such a terrible liar. I would ask you why you're still lying to me, but I know all I'm going to get is another lie."
"I just needed a change in scenery and that's the truth."
Rhett shakes his head. "But not the whole truth, am I right?"
Your silence is all he needs to know.
Every bone in your body wants to tell him the truth. But you're too scared to admit it to yourself, let alone him.
Rhett's gaze slightly softens. "Look, if Maria did say something to you, you know you can tell me, right?"
"Would it matter?"
He frowns. "Of course it would."
You look away from him, hand going back up to mess with your necklace. Your heart is still pounding away, and you sense him moving closer to you.
"It's not Maria. It's me," you finally admit.
"What does that mean?"
"I...just feel like we're spending too much time together," you carefully say. His hand brushes against yours.
"That's stupid," he bluntly replies, and you roll your eyes. "Why are you just now caring about that?"
"I dunno, maybe I've been feeling like this for a while now."
"Is it something I've done?"
"No, like I said, it's me." Your eyes meet, and you can tell how confused he is.
Deep down, you want to say, I can't be around you because I'm falling in love with you. Your hand tightens around the pendant on your necklace, the only thing keeping you grounded.
Instead, you say, "I just need some space, okay?"
"Haven't you gotten your space?" At your confused look, he continues. "I just mean you've been avoiding me for a month and then up and leave town for weeks."
I need more time to stop these feelings, you think. But how can you tell your heart to stop falling in love?
You shrug and look away from him.
"I don't want space," Rhett says, and you knew that was what he was going to say. "'Cause it's killin' me not having you around-"
"You have Maria," you try not to sound bitter, but there's still a slight edge in your tone.
"Yeah, but she's not you."
You may not understand what that means, but you don't want to get your hopes up.
"Anyways, I don't want space, but if that's what you want, I'll try to understand."
Summary: you've always had a crush on rhett, too bad he only has eyes for maria.
can be read as a standalone or can be read in the same timeline as this.
Pairings: rhett abbott x fem!reader/best friend!reader
Warnings: doesn't follow the show's plot, not so one-sided crush, mutual pining, emotional constipation with both rhett and reader, slight rhett x maria, fluff, language, slight angst, fem!reader with vague descriptions, little to no use of y/n, and proofreadish.
WC: 2.4K
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"You're gonna stare a damn hole straight into his head, ya know." Perry's low voice startles you; you didn't even realize he had joined you at the table.
"Jesus," you mutter, clutching the beer bottle tighter, "when the hell did you get here?"
He dryly laughs and says, "Long enough to see that you're still droolin' over him."
You would try denying it to him, but Perry knows. He always knew about your crush on his younger brother.
"I don't know what you're talking about," you fib, and he smirks.
You make a face at Perry before glancing back over to Rhett, who is still talking with Maria. More like Maria is talking to him, and he's staring at her like she hung up the moon and stars in the sky.
She and Trevor must be on the outs, you think, and scan the bar, but don't see any of the Tillerson brothers. That's strange, given it's a Friday night.
"We didn't see you tonight. He set a new record." Perry's voice forces you to look away from the pair.
"Who says I need to go to every rodeo?"
He tilts his head. "Ever since Rhett first got on a bull. You were there and you haven't missed watchin' him ride, until tonight."
"You're too observant for your own good. Has anyone told you that before?" Your tone is light, but Perry knows you're secretly telling him to back off.
"It's more of a fact than an observation. You're his best friend. You two are always together."
You don't know what to say to that. It's true, but sometimes you wish it were more than that. But you're too afraid of crossing that line. Rhett's been your best friend pretty much your whole life, and you're not risking throwing that away because of a simple crush.
Deep down, you know it's more than that, but you don't dare allow your thoughts to stray down that road.
Even over the loud crowd and music, you can hear Maria's laughter.
Don't look.
A part of you thinks that if Rhett and Maria do start dating. It's your chance to move on. As if Rhett is cutting the other end of the rope. Letting you go, telling you to move on.
Even though Rhett has never given you the slightest hint that your close friendship is something more. Over 10 years of friendship, and nothing has changed between you.
Just like how nothing changes in this small town. Maybe you need a fresh start somewhere else. You need to get out before you're stuck here forever.
Years ago, when you and Rhett were seniors, you asked him if he would ever leave Wabang. 17 and naive, you thought you could take on the world if he were by your side.
You remember his answer as clear as day. "I'll only leave if you're with me."
Seven years later, and you're both still here. But things have changed, and you have a feeling that Rhett doesn't plan on leaving anytime soon.
You don't blame him for staying. Besides the ranch, he couldn't leave Amy or his brother, not after what happened with Rebecca.
You silently decide you've had enough for tonight. You're not even sure if Rhett has seen you yet. He was on a high coming into the bar after setting a new best time.
You're sad you missed it, and you had planned on going over to congratulate him, but then Maria walked into the bar.
You say good night to Perry. As you're slipping through the crowd to get to the door. You glance over at the bar one last time and see Maria leaning into Rhett, pushing up his Stetson, and kissing him.
---
Fate has an odd way of working, and this time it's in your favor. You're staring at the postcard that was waiting for you when you got home last night.
Sierra, your only other friend besides Rhett, finally got out of Wabang the moment you all graduated and high-tailed it to California. She's come back once since moving away, and that was over a year ago.
You still keep in touch through phone calls several times a month, and every call ends the same way. Her inviting you to come visit her in California. She lives on the beach and says it's heaven on earth.
The postcard she sent was also an invitation to her sister's wedding next month, and she wants you to be her plus one. She also hinted at looking for a roommate; her current one is in the process of moving abroad for work.
The thought of leaving scares you more than it excites you.
Someone says your name, and you quickly tuck the postcard underneath the register and look up. It's Maria.
A small part of you envies how naturally pretty Maria is and how she's always been nice to you. The only hostility you hold towards her is how she plays with Rhett's feelings.
"Maria, hi," you say, and glance at the window over her shoulder. Why did you expect Rhett to be waiting for her?
"Just popping in to grab coffee for me and the girls," she says, pointing towards the bank across the street.
"That's nice," you politely say and start messing with the straws next to you.
You ring up Maria's order as she talks your ear off about some work gossip you don't care about.
You almost drop the cup in your hand when she mentions Rhett.
"I never realized how sweet he is. Is he always like that?" She asks, looking at you expectantly.
"Uh...why are you asking me?"
"You two are always attached at the hip. By the way, where were you last night?"
And this is why you hate living in a small town.
"Sick," you lie and continue making her drinks.
She pouts. "Oh, I'm sorry." You hate how sincere she sounds, even though you just lied to her.
"Yeah, did I miss anything?" You already know the answer, but at least this way, it will give Maria something to talk about.
She lets out an excited gasp and then goes into great detail about Rhett's bull ride. You can't help but smile about how she talks about it, and it makes you even sadder that you skipped out on it.
"...I hope it doesn't make things weird between us," she finally finishes.
"Sorry, what?"
"Rhett and I," she pauses, carefully gauging your expression, "we're kind of together, so I hope it doesn't bother you."
"Why would it bother me?"
She gives a disbelieving laugh. "C'mon, really? You guys are so close. There was this huge rumor that you and Rhett were dating senior year."
You choke on your own spit. "What?!"
"Well, yeah, I almost believed it. Until you showed up at prom with, what's his name? And then Rhett went solo with his friends."
You internally cringe at the mention of senior prom. You said yes to this guy in your English Lit class. It was a pity yes, and Rhett wouldn't stop giving you shit about it.
He kept telling you how you could go solo like him and the rest of the guys and hang out with them at prom. That sounded like social suicide to a 17-year-old you.
You were hoping he would ask you to the prom as friends, but he was leaning into the whole lone wolf thing back then.
You're still in a daze even after Maria left. Why hadn't you heard that rumor about you and Rhett before? It's a small town, and word gets around about everything, especially in a small high school.
---
Rhett catches you as you're leaving the cafe.
"Hey, where the hell have ya been?" His voice is directly behind you.
You avoid looking at him and continue walking down the sidewalk. He easily catches up to you.
"Work," you flippantly reply and quicken your stride.
He sighs. "I meant last night, and you know it."
"Oh, right. I had to cover for someone, sorry."
Rhett is getting frustrated; he reaches his arm out to stop you from walking. You finally look at him, standing tall in front of you, hands on his hips, and that damn Stetson on his head.
"Did I do something to piss ya off?" Rhett asks.
"No."
"Then why are you lying to me?"
You cross your arms. "Why do you think I'm lying to you? If I said I was working, then I was working." You try walking off, but Rhett stops you again.
You're both standing in the middle of the sidewalk, and thankfully, no one else is around.
"Yeah, and work ends at 5 and you know damn well when the rodeo starts."
You scoff at him. "Who are you? Sheriff Hawk? You know my world doesn't revolve around you and your damn bull rides."
He takes a slight step back like you slapped him.
You groan. "Sorry, I didn't mean that. Forget I said anything." You turn away and start walking again, and he lets you go.
Later that night, you're lying in bed, unable to go to sleep. Replaying Rhett's slightly hurt face.
You can't remember the last time you two fought, if you could call that a fight.
The one thing you and he are good at is being stubborn. The moment you got home, you debated whether you should call him or not. It's not like he would answer.
You're reaching for your phone when you hear a faint tapping on your window.
"There's no way," you mutter as you climb out of bed and head towards the window. You pull back the curtain and see Rhett standing there.
A sense of deja vu washes over you when you see him there. The last time you snuck out of your bedroom window was in high school. You push up the windowsill.
Rhett doesn't say anything, but he looks a little nervous.
"The last time I snuck out with you, I was grounded for a month."
He slightly smirks. "And you were 16 and didn't know how to hold your liquor."
"Whatever. What do you want?"
He kicks at the dirt, adjusts his cap, and says, "Wanna go for a drive?" His way of saying sorry.
"You have an early morning."
"Who are you? My dad?" He throws back at you, and that makes you smile.
The drive is quiet. Not that you mind. Even with you, Rhett isn't one for small talk unless there's something on his mind. He keeps sighing, so you know something is bothering him.
He pulls off to the side of the road and parks.
"We can walk from here," he says as he gets out.
"What?" You watch as he rounds the front of the truck and comes to your side, opening the door. "Walk?" You ask, as he's trying to get you out of the truck.
"Yeah, walk," he lightly taunts, "Remember what that is, don't you? Or do you need to be carried?"
"Yeah, carry me," you sarcastically say, but Rhett takes it literally. The next thing you know, he's hauling you out of the passenger seat and throwing you over his shoulder.
"Whoa, what the fuck? Rhett!" You yell as he starts walking.
He doesn't answer, so you try again. "You're going to drop me."
"I'm not."
You're vaguely aware he's heading towards the woods.
"Is this the part where you kill me?"
"If you don't drop the attitude, I will."
Okay, he's got you there.
You give a long, drawn-out sigh as Rhett continues to walk, and you try to ignore the feeling of his hand on the back of your thighs.
He finally stops walking and puts you down. You're standing near a creek that's running through the woods. Even though it's dark outside, a full moon shines through the trees.
"Where are we?" You're not sure why he brought you here.
"Found this place a couple of weeks ago," Rhett quietly says.
"It's nice. Very peaceful."
"When I first found this place, I thought of you," he shyly admits.
"Oh." Is the only thing you can think of to say. You and Rhett have another thing in common, being bad at words.
Rhett takes it the wrong way and backtracks. "It's stupid, isn't it?"
You move closer to him. "No, it's not."
He gives you a small smile before moving over to a large rock and sitting down.
You stare at him, and the familiar feeling is creeping back up. That slight aching feeling in your chest. You bring a hand up to the base of your throat and start messing with your necklace.
You're not sure if you should tell him about the postcard. You still don't know if you want to go, even if it's just for the wedding.
"The next circuit is coming up," Rhett finally says, staring down at his hands.
"Anxious?"
"No more than usual."
So that's why he brought you out here. To talk about the next regional rodeo circuit.
"Well, you did amazing last night. So-"
"How would you know?" Rhett asks, shooting you a slightly surprised look.
"Perry told me," you say without thinking.
Rhett frowns. "When the hell did you talk to my brother?"
No sense in lying now because you know Rhett will ask Perry later.
"He told me last night...at the bar," you slowly say, watching Rhett's face change.
He doesn't say anything for a while, and you're worried he's mad again.
You hear him quietly laugh to himself and say, "You skip out on the rodeo and then hide from me at the bar?"
Yeah, it sounds bad. What kind of best friend are you? One that's trying to put distance between you and your growing feelings for said best friend.
"I wasn't necessarily hiding from you. You just seemed preoccupied. I didn't want to bother you."
Rhett scoffs and stands up. "Since when are you worried about that?"
You don't answer because you can't. Not without pouring your heart out to him.
Rhett throws his hands up. "What's up with you? I've hardly seen you all week, and last night..." He trails off.
"I'm sorry," you quietly say. That's all you can offer him right now.
"I don't want an apology. I wanna know what's goin' on with my best friend."
Best friend
It's remarkable how those two words can evoke both comfort and pain simultaneously.
You're standing a few feet apart, but it feels like you're miles apart and only growing further away from each other.
"It's nothing," you lie, and he looks disappointed. Like he's waiting for an answer you're not willing to give.
"Find me when you're ready to tell me the truth."
He drives you back home in dead silence. As you're leaving his truck, you say sorry one last time. He clenches his jaw and gives a slight nod in acknowledgment.
The next day, you call Sierra, and she picks up immediately.
"So?" She asks excitedly.
You stare out your bedroom window. "Yeah, I'm coming to California."
Summary: Weeks apart on separate missions leave you and Bucky Barnes aching, desperate, and one heartbeat away from unraveling. The reunion? Eighteen hours of pure, breathless release.
Disclaimer: 18+ (mdni!), explicit smut content, p in v, multiple rounds, overstimulation, edging, mutual desperation, shower sex, window sex, kitchen counter sex, use of restraints (soft), masturbation mention, lingerie tease, squirting (f), super soldier stamina, mild teasing from tb* members
It started like any other assignment.
A sharp morning. Polished boots. Steel chairs arranged around the Watchtower’s mission table. The kind of day where even the light felt clinical—too white, too bright, too final.
Valentina entered with a clipboard in hand and that usual glint in her eye, the one that said she already knew something you didn’t want to hear.
“Barnes, Yelena, Alexei, Bob—Bucharest first. Bogotá by week three. Rotating safehouses. No crossovers.”
You stiffened.
“Walker, Ava, and…”
She looked straight at you.
“You—Algeria. Then east through Istanbul. Targets on the move. You’re expected to stay mobile and out of range.”
The silence afterward said everything.
That pause before your name wasn’t a slip.
It was surgical.
Across the table, Bucky’s jaw tensed. He didn’t look at you, but his shoulders rolled tight. His metal hand flexed once, resting flat on the table like he was physically grounding himself.
This wasn’t routine.
This was designed.
The room shifted. Teams gathered their gear. Orders confirmed.
But neither of you moved.
Bucky brushed your fingers beneath the table—the kind of small, hidden touch that wasn’t meant to say goodbye. It was a promise.
We’ll find each other.
However we can.
—
Packing was mechanical.
Weapons, suits, coordinates, clearances.
Everyone was buzzing around the hangar level, focused on countdowns and jet fuel. But Bucky caught your wrist with a glance that made your breath hitch—then gently steered you down a side corridor.
He didn’t stop until you ducked into a quiet auxiliary room—once used for archive storage, now mostly forgotten. The lights were dim. A narrow bench ran along the wall. A few old mission files sat boxed in the corner.
He shut the door behind you.
“Just for a minute,” he said, voice low. “Just wanna be where you are.”
You barely nodded before he pulled you into his chest. He held you like he needed it—not tight or desperate, but complete. His warmth poured into you as you buried your face into the space between his neck and shoulder.
You ended up straddling his lap on the bench, both of you half-armored, half-undressed—hands roaming like you were trying to memorize every line, every scar, every breath.
“I hate this,” you muttered into his neck.
“I know.” His voice was steady. Anchoring. “But we’ll be okay.”
His mouth found the slope of your shoulder. Then your collarbone. Then lower—teeth grazing before lips closed around your skin and sucked.
You gasped—part surprise, part pure heat.
“Bucky—”
“Gonna leave a few. Let ‘em wonder how many more are where they can’t see.”
He left another. And another. The bruises bloomed warm beneath your skin—high enough that your tactical suit wouldn’t cover all of them.
When he pulled back to look at you, his pupils were blown wide, lips kiss-bitten and breath ragged.
“You’re mine,” he murmured. “Even if they split us across the damn planet.”
You ran your hands up under his shirt, nails scratching lightly across his ribs—grounding yourself in the solidity of him.
“You’ll text me when you can?”
“Every chance I get.”
“Even if it’s just one word?”
“Even if it’s just a photo.”
You smirked. “Of what?”
He grinned, leaning back like he had all the time in the world—even though you both knew better.
“I’m waiting for boob pics, love. Minimum one per timezone.”
You laughed into his neck and kissed his jaw, soft and smiling.
“You’re such a menace.”
“You love it.”
“Unfortunately.”
When the comm finally buzzed for final departure prep, you lingered another moment, forehead pressed to his.
“We’re good?”
“Always.”
And then you slipped out—his warmth still clinging to your skin, and his hickeys hidden beneath your collar like the loudest secret in the world.
—
The first few days weren’t unbearable.
Busy hours blurred the worst of it—briefings, drone recon, field scans. The kind of missions that demanded your hands stay full and your focus sharp. You told yourself it helped. That staying in motion kept the ache at bay.
But the nights were something else entirely.
By the third night, sleep wouldn’t come. The cot beneath you was too narrow, too cold. You rolled over instinctively and reached for the other side—empty. Your palm flattened against the mattress like it could summon him there.
It didn’t.
You’d already stripped out of your tactical suit, skin flushed from a lukewarm shower and a restlessness that refused to settle. The mirror over the sink caught your reflection just as the last of the sun dipped beneath the window—warm dusk light casting gold across your damp collarbone, your bare shoulder.
You grabbed your comm. Lifted your phone.
Pulled down your undershirt just enough to let the neckline dip low—sweat clinging to the curve of your breasts, a faint bruise from his mouth peeking out beneath the edge of the fabric.
The angle was deliberate.
Head tilted back. Lips parted. Not a full reveal. But it said everything.
Still thinking about the way your hands fit around my waist.
Bet you’d wreck me if you were here.
You hit send before you could talk yourself out of it.
—
His reply came six hours later. No text. Just an image.
The lighting was shit—whatever rooftop he was on barely lit by the glow of city spill—but it didn’t matter.
He was shirtless.
Dog tags heavy and low over his chest.
Hair a little messier than usual, as if he’d just run a hand through it before taking the shot.
But the part that made your thighs press together?
His sweatpants.
Slung low. Way too low. Obscene, really—the waistband clinging just above the vee of his hips, and beneath it? A thick, unmistakable bulge pressing upward. Not subtle. Not suggestive.
Hard. Veined. Heavy. Angry.
Like he’d taken the photo mid-thought, right before palming himself. Like maybe he had.
Your name was probably still on his tongue when he snapped it.
You sucked in a breath, cheeks hot, and held the screen to your chest like it could warm the parts of you he was supposed to be touching.
This was manageable, you told yourself.
Just teasing. Just playing.
It would pass.
—
It got worse.
What started as playful—just a little edge, a little fun—turned into something raw. Unbearable. Every picture, every breathy message only twisted the knife deeper.
Bucky cracked first.
The signal finally held long enough for him to send a voice note.
You were mid-gear check when it came through, tucked into a corner of the safehouse with your earbuds in.
“Woke up with my hand around my cock,” he rasped, voice low, wrecked. “Thought it was you at first. Swear to God, I could feel you there. Your breath on my neck, your legs wrapped around me. Then I realized I was alone again.”
A pause. A harsh exhale.
“And fuck, baby… I nearly lost it.”
You played it three times.
Nearly dropped your comm on the third.
—
You didn’t just tease back. You retaliated.
The next photo was a mirror shot—deliberately filthy. You stood in the dim light of your bunk, chest bare, your breasts fully visible this time, no shame. One hand was sunk into your panties, fingers clearly pressing against the soaked fabric. The other held your phone steady, angled to catch the full view: your messy hair, parted lips, heavy-lidded eyes, and the slick glint of sweat on your chest. No caption. Just raw hunger in pixels.
This help you sleep tonight? Or should I take more?
He didn’t respond immediately. But when he did, it was short.
You’re not playing fair.
My cock’s been hard since sunrise. Haven’t touched it. Saving every second of this for you.
You sent a quick clip later—just a few seconds long. You didn’t even speak in it.
Just six seconds. The camera angled low—your hand slipping beneath the blanket between your thighs. No real view, just the movement. The blanket shifted slightly with every circle you traced over your clit. Soft moans escaped—broken, breathy, like you were trying to stay quiet. Then a whimper—his name, trembling from your lips. No skin shown. No climax caught. Just the sound and the hint and the promise of you falling apart.
Bucky watched it on repeat like it was the only thing keeping him alive.
—
Then came Ava.
You’d crashed hard that night—exhausted, sweaty, and stripped down to just your lingerie. The maroon lace set he liked. The same one he’d picked out. It had become a habit—wearing it when you missed him. A reminder. A tether.
Ava had been reviewing footage by the window for perimeter movement when she caught it.
The camera was focused outward. But the mic had picked up your sleep sounds in the background.
She wasn’t trying to be cruel when she played it back.
She just raised an eyebrow and pressed play—a grin tugging at her lips as the soft moans filled the air. You were murmuring his name. Restless. Breathless. Like you were dreaming of him—no, feeling him.
Your voice cracked on the last word, a sharp gasp like you were right on the edge.
You could’ve died.
“Jesus,” Ava had laughed, not unkind. “Want me to send it to him? Y’know, for motivation?”
You didn’t answer fast enough. She already hit send.
—
He didn’t laugh.
He didn’t even text back. Just disappeared for a few hours.
Locked himself in the bathroom of the Bogotá safehouse, palms braced on the sink, sweat dripping from his temple to his jaw. The floor was cold. His cock throbbed painfully in the tight grip of his tactical jeans, already slick with precum from the sound of your voice in his ear—played over and over again like a goddamn drug.
He groaned low, forehead resting against the mirror as he finally undid his fly—reached in and freed himself with a hissed curse.
Hard. Angry. Red at the tip and twitching. His hand flexed uselessly beside him, trembling from restraint.
He closed his eyes and whispered, “Fuck, baby… what are you doing to me…”
But he didn’t stroke.
Didn’t move.
Didn’t dare.
Not without your hands.
Not without your thighs tight around his hips.
Not without your voice whispering that he could let go.
So he tucked himself away again—biting down hard on the side of his fist until it bruised, his pulse roaring like a storm.
Later, when the signal held again, he finally texted:
This was supposed to help.
All these videos. These fucking pictures.
It’s making everything worse, doll.
I need you so bad, I swear I’m gonna lose my mind.
—
He stopped sleeping properly.
The circles under his eyes were darker now, sharp enough to draw questions if anyone had the nerve. His mouth was constantly pressed into a tight, agitated line. The usual post-mission calm he carried—that calculated, steady presence of command—was cracking.
Every time he sat down to write up route plans, his hands twitched. His left hand—the metal one—wouldn’t stop flexing. Clenching. Releasing. Like he was trying to ground himself in anything that wasn’t your voice moaning his name.
The last time he tried to issue orders midbriefing, he nearly snapped a comm tablet in half.
“Safehouse Delta’s too close to the highway,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’ll reroute south. Four klicks. We’ll—”
He trailed off.
Everyone stared at the map table, then at Bucky—who was clearly no longer looking at anything but the wall. Or rather, through it.
His jaw clenched again. He tried to redirect.
“We’ll send Bob first to—”
But Bob was already looking sideways at him.
“You gonna pass out?”
“No.”
“You look like your brain’s buffering.”
“I said I’m fine.”
But his voice had cracked. Just slightly.
Yelena leaned back in her seat with a dramatic sigh, chewing on the end of a protein bar like this was better than Netflix.
“Alright,” she announced loudly, “I’m just gonna say what everyone else is thinking.”
Bucky didn’t even turn his head.
She kept going.
“You’re clearly about three days from spontaneously combusting from blue balls. You’ve been staring at walls, misreading maps, and grinding your teeth like it’s a fetish. Which—respectfully—gross.”
Alexei smothered a laugh. Bob coughed loudly into his fist.
“You need to jerk off or jump off a building,” Yelena finished, deadpan. “Pick one.”
Bucky finally looked up.
His eyes were bloodshot. His voice was tight when he replied.
“I’m not jerking off.”
That shut them up.
Yelena blinked. “…Okay. That’s not where I thought that was going.”
“I’m saving it. All of it.” His hand twitched again. “She deserves every goddamn second of it.”
A pause. The silence stretched—not awkward, just charged.
Even Alexei nodded solemnly, as if that was the only acceptable answer.
Yelena rolled her eyes but muttered, “Romantic. Disgusting. Continue suffering, I guess.”
—
Later that night, Bucky paced the rooftop alone. Fingers twitching. Breath uneven.
He pulled up your last photo again.
Your hand between your thighs. Lips parted. That little text below it:
I’d spread for you right here on this cot if you were with me.
He groaned into his palm.
Pressed the heel of his hand against the painful bulge in his pants.
Didn’t move. Didn’t stroke. Just gritted his teeth and endured.
“You better be ready for what I’m gonna do to you,” he muttered into the dark.
—
It was just after 7:00PM when the jet touched down.
The sky above the Watchtower was bruised in golds and fading gray, clouds curling low like dusk had rolled in too early. Your shoulders ached. Muscles stiff from too many hours strapped in gear, too many days sleeping with one eye open.
Your boots hit the floor with more weight than usual—the kind that didn’t come from exhaustion alone. It was something else. Something thick in your chest, pressing behind your ribs.
Inside the compound, it was unusually quiet.
Operatives passed by in pairs. Brief nods. No chatter.
Ava veered off toward medical, threw a wink over her shoulder, and mouthed, “Go get your man.”
You didn’t smile. Not yet.
Not until your fingers brushed the key panel of your shared room, and the door clicked open beneath your touch.
Something shifted the moment you stepped inside.
The air smelled like candle wax, clean linens, and something warmer underneath—musk and sandalwood, with a trace of vanilla. The room glowed gold in low light. Flickering candles burned on the desk, by the bed, and one small one beside the bathroom mirror.
It was quiet. But not empty.
He was there.
And the second he saw you, his face lit up.
“Hey,” Bucky breathed, already halfway to his feet. His voice was low but clear, as if speaking pulled breath right back into his lungs. “You’re home.”
That ache—the one locked in your chest—snapped clean open.
You dropped your duffel just as he reached you, arms wrapping tight around your waist, your cheek pressed against his collarbone. He smelled like soap and steel and something distinctly him—warm skin, freshly showered, a hint of cologne that clung to his shirt.
He didn’t devour you. Didn’t grope, didn’t rush.
He just held you.
One arm around your back, the other cradling the back of your head. His lips brushed the top of your hair.
You clung back like it might hold you together.
His hand ran slowly down your spine. You could feel the control in it—the way his chest rose hard against yours, like he was barely keeping the rest of him contained.
“I changed the sheets,” he murmured softly. “Lit a few candles. Put your shampoo out. Thought maybe you’d want a hot shower first.”
Your heart cracked, melted, rebuilt itself.
You nodded against him, cheek brushing the curve of his neck.
“You remembered.”
“Of course I did.” His smile touched his voice, even as his hand lingered low on your back. “You always say you wanna feel clean before we get dirty.”
That earned a small laugh from you—quiet, but real.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, cupping your cheek in one hand. His thumb brushed gently beneath your eye, like he was checking you for damage.
“I missed you,” he said. “Like breathing stopped.”
You kissed him, soft and slow—lips barely parting, just enough to feel the warmth of him beneath the quiet.
“Missed you more.”
He didn’t rush you when you stepped out of your gear. Just watched with quiet reverence, helping peel the layers off your shoulders and arms. He kissed your shoulder once—right over the old bruise he left weeks ago—and whispered:
“I’ve been thinking about this moment for 36 days. But I’m not rushing it. Not until you’re ready.”
Then he took your hand, kissed the inside of your wrist, and nodded toward the bathroom.
“Go on. I’ll be right here.”
—
You hadn’t even closed the door behind you.
The steam was already thick, curling from the shower where hot water slammed against tile. You peeled your clothes off slowly, shaking the last of the travel dust from your skin, limbs heavy from the mission—but your chest felt lighter. He was here. You were home.
You stepped into the spray and let it hit you.
Heat flooded your shoulders. Rolled down your spine.
The ache you’d ignored for weeks cracked wide open across your bones.
You arched slightly under the pressure of the water, fingers dragging slowly down your stomach. Your thighs pressed together at the memory of his voice—his lips on your neck, his hands gripping your hips like they belonged there.
You knelt briefly to grab a bottle you knocked over. Bent forward. Stretched.
And then—
“Mmh…”
Just a sound. A breath.
But it came from somewhere deep—unconscious, raw, and aching. It slipped from your throat like his name was caught beneath it.
The floor creaked.
You turned, startled—and everything inside you tightened.
He was there.
Bucky Barnes. Standing in the doorway of the bathroom like something ancient and carved from firelight. His chest rose fast, hard, like he’d sprinted across the room. Hair damp with sweat, not water. Shoulders tight. Fists clenched at his sides.
And he was naked.
Completely.
You hadn’t even heard him undress. But there he stood—broad, solid, his cock achingly hard and already slick with precum, flushed dark and twitching with every strained breath he took.
His eyes drank you in.
Steam wrapped around his body, clinging to every line of him. You watched his jaw twitch, chest heave. His cock twitched again—another thick drop of precum beading at the tip.
“Baby…”
His voice cracked. A breath. A prayer. Hoarse and wrecked.
“Please…”
“Please stop torturing me.”
But he didn’t move. Not yet.
Like he was waiting for your permission—even now, even while unraveling at the seams.
You reached for him.
One hand. Simple. Open. You pressed your palm to the center of his chest—felt the hammering heartbeat beneath it, the way his breath hitched.
He whimpered.
The sound broke from his lips like it had been fighting its way out for days. He stepped forward, cupped your waist, then your jaw, thumb trembling against your cheek.
“You’re real,” he whispered. “Fuck—you’re here.”
You smiled softly. Nodded.
He stepped into the shower with you—no hesitation this time.
The water soaked him instantly, but he didn’t care. He was already soaked in you. The scent. The need.
His hands were everywhere. One warm, the other metal, both reverent. They dragged up your spine, gripped your hips, held your face like it was holy.
“Missed you,” he rasped between frantic kisses.
“Missed your mouth. Your voice. Your thighs. The way you sound when I’m inside you—fuck, baby, I’ve been dying.”
Your back hit the tile with a dull thud. His body pressed into yours, all solid heat and desperation.
His cock bumped against your stomach—hot, heavy, leaking.
He gasped. “Touch me… please, just—let me feel you.”
You did more than touch.
Your hand curled around the base of him, felt him throb in your palm. He swore low against your neck, forehead pressing to yours as his hands skimmed lower, between your thighs.
“Jesus, sweetheart—”
His fingers slid through the slick between your legs.
“You’re soaked…”
He groaned. Slid two fingers inside you.
You gasped, walls clenching hard around the intrusion.
“Fuck,” he hissed. “Tight… tighter than I remember. You really waited for me?”
You bit his jaw. “I didn’t even let myself finish, Bucky. You ruined me.”
That was all it took.
He gripped your thighs, lifted you off the ground like you weighed nothing, and pinned you to the shower wall. You wrapped your legs around his waist, arms around his neck.
“Hold on to me,” he breathed. “That’s it… Good girl.”
He lined himself up. Slick head pressed against your entrance. And then—
He sank in.
One thrust. Deep. Full.
You both cried out—voices echoing in the tile and steam.
The stretch. The heat. The sudden, perfect fullness.
He fucked into you with short, desperate thrusts—buried all the way, hips snapping with precision. You met him every time, nails clawing his back, gasping against his mouth.
Your orgasm ripped through you without warning—sharp, wet, loud.
“James, I—I’m coming!”
“I’ve got you. Let go. Soak me, baby.”
You did. You clenched so hard around him he almost collapsed.
He followed seconds after—buried deep, groaning your name as he came hard inside you, hips jerking, forehead pressed to your shoulder. His body trembled with the force of it. He held you there, still wrapped around him, his cock twitching inside your pulsing heat.
“You’re mine,” he whispered. “Not letting you out of this room for days.”
You kissed him through the fog, smiling against his lips.
“Good. I’m not going anywhere.”
—
Your legs were still shaking when he carried you out of the bathroom.
No towel. No words. Just the heat of his arms around you, the steady thump of his heart against your ribs, and the way the air between you still crackled like static. You smelled like him. He smelled like you. It wasn’t over. It had only begun.
He laid you on the bed like something sacred.
Candles glowed around the room, casting golden halos over damp sheets and flushed skin. The maroon lace slip sat untouched where he’d left it—delicate, sheer, wicked.
You reached for it with trembling fingers.
But Bucky caught your wrist gently. “Let me,” he said.
His voice was lower now. Hoarse. Reverent.
He lifted the slip over your head slowly, letting the lace fall like a whisper down your body. It hugged your hips, clung to your breasts just enough to tease—translucent and sinful. His lips brushed your spine as he adjusted the straps, hands shaking.
“I thought about this every night,” he murmured, lips brushing your shoulder.
“Fantasized about it. About you, straddling me in this. Had to lie there with my fists clenched, cock aching, just—breathing through it. Didn’t touch myself. Not once.”
His voice cracked. “Didn’t want to waste a single drop that wasn’t for you.”
You whimpered.
He hovered above you now—fully naked, flushed, his cock already hard again. Veined and glistening, twitching with the pulse of how badly he needed to be inside you.
But he didn’t rush.
Didn’t even move until you cupped his jaw and pulled him down into a kiss.
Mouths met softly, then harder.
Tongues sliding slow.
His body sinking into yours, heat to heat, heartbeat to heartbeat.
You grabbed the back of his neck and whispered against his lips, “Come here. Let me ruin you.”
He groaned, deep in his throat, and you flipped him onto his back, straddling his hips with shaking thighs. The lace slip rode up your thighs, leaving nothing in the way when his cock pressed hot and heavy against your dripping heat.
“Fuck, baby,” he gasped. “You’re soaked through.”
You leaned down, your breasts brushing his chest, and ground your hips against his length. “You did this,” you whispered. “With every text. Every picture. Every breath.”
He was gone. Let you take full control.
You gathered the hem of the lace slip, just enough to bare yourself to him, and guided him in—sinking down slowly, inch by agonizing inch, until he was buried to the hilt.
Both of you moaned, raw and open, mouths slack with need.
“Jesus Christ,” he groaned, head thrown back, fists clenched in the sheets.
“Still so tight, baby. Still fucking perfect.”
You started to move—slow at first, grinding your hips in deep, lazy circles that dragged the tip of his cock right against your most sensitive spot. His hands clamped hard on your thighs, trying to keep his control, but you didn’t make it easy.
“You gonna come again just from riding me?” he asked, breathless.
You nodded. “Already close.”
He groaned, slipping one hand between your bodies to rub firm, precise circles over your clit.
“There you go… let me feel you. Let go for me.”
And you did.
Your second orgasm hit like a goddamn wave—crashing through your spine, stealing your breath, squeezing around his cock so tight he choked on a moan.
He didn’t last much longer.
You kept grinding, whispering filth into his ear—how full he made you feel, how wrecked you were for him, how you still weren’t done.
That tipped him.
He came hard with a strangled moan, cock pulsing deep inside you, hips jerking as he flooded you for the second time. His arms locked around your waist as he gasped into the crook of your neck, trembling from the force of it.
You stayed like that, slumped against his chest, bodies stuck together with sweat and slick and heat.
“You alright?” he asked, voice scratchy.
“I’m feral,” you whispered back. “And I’m not finished.”
He chuckled, still panting. “Good. ‘Cause I’m not tapping out anytime soon.”
—
Later.
The wine sat untouched on the desk.
The lace slip lay discarded in a crumpled pile on the floor.
The candles had burned halfway down, wax pooling thick at the base.
And you?
You were flushed. Sweaty. Trembling.
Knees sinking into the mattress as you straddled his thighs once more, this time with your back to him—hips hovering, your whole body tingling.
He leaned against the headboard, sweat shining on his chest, watching you like a man possessed.
“You sure?” he rasped, voice ragged and frayed.
You didn’t answer.
You just reached back, gripped his cock at the base, and lowered yourself onto him slowly—inch by inch until he was buried to the hilt inside you.
Both of you moaned. Loud.
Deep.
Almost pained.
Your hands braced against his shins behind you for leverage, thighs spread wide as you rode him hard—your ass slapping against his hips, slick and flushed with every bounce.
“Oh, fuck—”
His hands gripped your waist like he was anchoring himself.
“Jesus, sweetheart—you’re still so fuckin’ tight…”
You started to move—slow, heavy grinds, rolling your hips like you needed every inch of him rooted inside you. Bucky gasped behind you, his hands traveling from your hips to your thighs to your breasts, groping, squeezing, completely feral.
“You ride me like it’s the only thing keeping you alive,” he growled.
“Look at that ass—fuck, I can see it bounce every time you fucking slam down.”
You moaned—head tilted back, chest rising and falling—sweat glistening between your breasts.
And then—his fingers slid between your thighs from behind. Two of them, circling your clit with ruthless precision.
“I wanna feel you come again, baby. Let me feel you fucking gush on my cock.”
Your thighs trembled. Muscles locked. Your core started to spasm.
“Bucky, I—I think I—fuck, I’m gonna—”
“Do it. Come on, baby. You’re dripping, you’re so fucking close—let it happen.”
You broke with a cry.
Legs shaking. Hands digging into his thighs.
Your pussy clamped down hard, and then it hit—
You squirted.
Hard.
Hot wetness sprayed between your thighs, down over his cock, soaking the sheets. Bucky let out a strangled moan, clutching your waist like he was going to lose his mind.
“Goddamn—fuck, look at you. You’re gonna make a fucking mess, aren’t you, baby?”
He didn’t stop.
He snapped his hips up into you, relentless now—grinding deep as your soaked cunt fluttered around him, so overstimulated your vision blurred.
“Still want more?” he panted, thrusting up again, angling perfectly.
“I can feel how much you need it. So greedy for me—so fucking full of my cum, and still not satisfied.”
You couldn’t answer. You just moaned, nodding wildly, nails dragging down his thighs, thighs shaking uncontrollably.
“That’s it,” he whispered, his breath hot on your shoulder as he leaned forward, one hand now wrapped tight around your throat.
“You gonna come for me again? Gonna make a mess on my cock one more time?”
“Yes—James, please—”
And you did.
A second wave slammed into you.
You screamed, back arching, body locking as you squirted again—wetter this time, gushing down over his balls, onto the sheets, soaking everything beneath you.
Bucky lost it.
“Shitshitshit— I’m coming—fuck, baby—I’m—”
He grunted, jerking up into you with three final brutal thrusts as his cock pulsed deep inside you, filling you again, so hot you felt it flood your walls.
You collapsed forward onto the mattress, his arms catching you just before you slumped completely. He held you tight from behind, your body still twitching, both of you covered in sweat, slick, and release.
“Holy fuck,” he breathed, voice dazed, completely gone.
“You just… soaked me, baby.”
You half-laughed, half-whimpered. “I couldn’t help it. You broke me.”
“Good,” he growled, kissing your neck. “You can break me next.”
—
You should’ve been done.
You should’ve been shaking, satisfied, breathless from three rounds and nothing left to give.
But you weren’t.
The ache still lived in your bones.
The emptiness still throbbed between your legs.
And when Bucky’s lips brushed your temple—slow, tender, trembling—you felt it in him too.
He needed more.
You both did.
The sheets beneath you were damp. Your thighs were slick. Your chest rose with every sharp breath, nipples flushed and sensitive, body still twitching from your last orgasm. And still… the hunger hadn’t dulled.
“You okay?” he whispered against your throat.
“No,” you rasped, voice cracking.
“I need you again. Right fucking now.”
Bucky exhaled a shaky breath. His cock twitched against your thigh—already stiffening again.
“Jesus, doll… you’re insatiable.”
He kissed your jaw. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
Then he shifted—slow but deliberate—and suddenly, your wrists were gathered above your head. You gasped at the motion, but his grip was careful, tender. He reached for the discarded shirt at the foot of the bed and looped it around your wrists—soft, warm, not tight.
“Just wanna keep you here,” he murmured, kissing your palms one at a time.
“Let me take care of you.”
Your stomach fluttered. Your thighs clenched.
And when he dropped between your legs, your breath hitched so hard your back arched off the bed.
“James—”
“Shhh,” he purred, brushing his stubble along the inside of your thigh.
“Gonna keep you right here, sweetheart. Gonna make you come until your body forgets what rest feels like.”
His tongue dragged through your folds—slow, warm, filthy.
The first flick over your clit sent your hips off the bed—but he was already holding you down, fingers firm, spreading you open like he was fucking home.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he growled into your cunt, voice rough with disbelief.
“Jesus, baby, you taste like both of us… fuck. You’re perfect.”
He devoured you.
Long, slow licks that lapped up his own cum still leaking from you. Wet, obscene noises filled the room—every slurp, every moan against your pussy like it was the only thing that ever mattered.
You whined. Cried out. Legs trembling.
His mouth worked faster, tongue flicking your clit with maddening precision—soft then hard, gentle then firm, always changing, always knowing exactly how to ruin you.
“Bucky—fuck—baby I—”
Your voice broke.
Your hips bucked.
You were so close again, already, already—
He pulled back.
“Not yet,” he rasped, lips wet and eyes dark.
“Not until you beg for it.”
You sobbed—from the overstimulation, from the ache, from how badly you needed to fall apart.
“Please—please, baby, I can’t—just let me—let me come, please—!”
That broke him.
He groaned, deep and guttural, and latched onto your clit with his mouth wide and relentless—tongue flat, dragging fast and rough, his fingers digging bruises into your thighs.
You exploded.
A scream ripped from your throat as your orgasm hit like a strike of lightning—your whole body shook, fists clenched, toes curled, thighs trembling. You gasped so hard your ribs ached. The headboard thudded behind you.
“Good girl,” he murmured, voice soaked in reverence.
“One more, baby. Just one more for me.”
You didn’t even get to respond.
Didn’t even breathe.
Because his tongue never stopped.
He kept sucking—soft at first, then harder—until another wave curled sharp behind your ribs. You sobbed his name, pulled at the binds, tried to run but couldn’t move.
You came again.
Harder.
Legs seizing, slick gushing between your thighs, soaking his face, your body curling from the sheer force of it.
He kissed your trembling thighs through the aftershocks.
Pressed his forehead to your belly.
“You okay?” he whispered.
“I don’t even know where I am,” you panted.
“And I think I like it.”
—
Later—
Maybe thirty minutes.
Maybe five.
Time had stopped meaning anything.
It warped, curled, bled together beneath the hum of overstimulation and breathless ache.
You lay curled on your side, one leg bent, sheets tangled around your calves. Sweat cooled on your skin in sticky rivulets. Your breathing had started to even out, but your body still pulsed from the inside—too full, too stretched, too tender to be still.
And then—
The mattress dipped behind you.
You felt his warmth before you felt his hands.
He slid in close—chest to your back, thighs pressed to yours, breath curling against your neck.
His lips brushed your shoulder.
“Still want me?” he asked, voice soft as fog.
You answered with a sigh. Reached back without looking, your palm wrapping around the hard length of him, thick and hot and already twitching against your fingers.
“Always.”
You rocked your hips back, slotting yourself perfectly into him.
He kissed your spine.
Tucked his face into the crook of your neck, and whispered like a man undone.
“I’ll never stop wanting you.”
One hand lifted your top leg, just slightly—fingers gliding over your thigh. His other arm wrapped low around your waist. You felt the weight of him, the warm press of his tip teasing at your entrance—slow, so fucking slow—until he finally pushed inside.
“Jesus Christ,” he gasped, as if the heat of you had burned him.
“You’re still tight. Still fluttering around me.”
You whimpered.
He thrust deep.
Steady. Gentle.
Every movement an unspoken prayer.
No rhythm. No pace. Just a rolling, molten motion—his cock dragging deep and slow, slick with everything you’d already shared, stroking right against the spot that still trembled.
“I could live here,” he breathed. “I want to live here.”
Your hand gripped his forearm where it wrapped across your middle. He pulled you back against him with every gentle thrust, grounding you in the heat of his body, his breath stuttering where it ghosted along your neck.
“You’re so good to me,” he murmured. “So fucking good.”
“Still feels like a dream,” you whispered.
“Then don’t wake up. Just… stay right here. Let me have you like this.”
Your eyes fluttered shut. Tears stung, soft and sudden. It wasn’t pain—it was too much pleasure. Too much love. The way he moved inside you like your body was a temple. Like every inch of you was his.
“Tell me you’re mine again,” he whispered, voice breaking.
You choked on a moan.
“I’m yours, James. Always.”
You came first—slow and quiet. A gentle quake that rippled from your core outward, your body trembling against him as your inner walls clamped down tight. You gasped softly, a sob in your throat, your hands fisting in the sheets.
“That’s it,” he murmured, kissing your shoulder.
“Let go, doll. Let me feel you.”
He wasn’t far behind.
He buried himself deep, groaning low into your hair, his whole body taut as his release surged inside you again—slow and warm, his cock pulsing deep as he held still, hips locked to yours.
You lay there, body slack and soft, his cock still inside you.
He didn’t move. Didn’t pull away.
His fingers traced lazy shapes on your belly, his lips pressing soft, almost absent kisses to your damp shoulder, your neck, your cheekbone.
“You okay?” he asked eventually, voice quiet.
You nodded.
“I think I’m in love with you again.”
He smiled against your skin. “Good. I never stopped.”
—
Your body was trembling again.
Not with the sharp, writhing spasms of climax—but the deeper, low-grade tremor of exhaustion.
The kind that came after too many orgasms and too little rest.
Muscles fluttering, breath short, limbs weak. You felt boneless and heavy, like your body had melted halfway into the mattress.
And yet—
Your core still throbbed.
Your nipples still ached.
Your cunt still ached for him.
He noticed. Of course he did.
Bucky sat back on his heels beside you, eyes trailing over your form with something like worship—something like worry.
His hand reached out slowly. Brushed your sweat-slicked hair off your forehead. Pressed a soft kiss there.
“Hey,” he murmured, voice gentling. “You with me, sweetheart?”
You nodded once, eyes glassy. Your throat was too dry to speak right away.
“Breathe for me. C’mon.”
His thumb stroked your cheek.
“You look wrecked.”
“I am…”
Your voice came out hoarse.
“I’m so tired.”
That broke his heart a little—you could see it in the way his brows creased. His jaw clenched like he was trying to talk himself down from his own feral hunger.
“Then let’s stop, okay?” he offered softly. “Let me clean you up, hold you for a bit. You need rest.”
But your hand was already moving.
Shaky, slow—but determined.
You reached between his legs and wrapped your fingers around the base of his cock.
Still hard.
Still thick and flushed and leaking at the tip like he’d never finished.
His breath caught.
“Baby—”
“Don’t stop,” you whispered, tears suddenly springing to your lashes.
“Please, don’t stop. I need you.”
He looked stricken.
“I don’t wanna hurt you,” he murmured. “I don’t wanna take too much.”
“Then be gentle,” you gasped, stroking him slowly.
“But don’t pull away. I need more. I want you again. I want you.”
His restraint cracked like glass.
With a low, ragged sound, Bucky leaned down to kiss you—soft, shaky, like a prayer being answered. He whispered against your lips.
“Tell me when to stop, baby. Or I won’t.”
You nodded.
Wrapped your arms around his neck.
Pulled him into you.
He guided your legs open with reverent hands—watching your face the entire time, watching for any flinch or hesitation. You were sensitive. Sore. Spent.
But not done.
“I love you,” he said quietly, kissing the inside of your thigh.
“So much it hurts.”
You barely had breath left to answer.
“Then have me,” you whispered. “Take what’s already yours.”
His cock slid into you slow—so slow—inch by inch, the stretch deep and aching, but your body welcomed him like he’d never left.
He moaned into your throat.
“Fuck, baby… still so tight. I can feel your pulse around me.”
He moved gently. Just the slow grind of his hips, the full drag of his cock over soaked, sensitive walls. His hand slid under your back, pulling you flush to his chest.
“You tell me when to stop. You hear me?”
“Don’t stop,” you whimpered. “Just keep giving me all of you.”
And so he did.
With every thrust, he kissed you. With every shift of his hips, he whispered your name. His fingers stroked your side, your hip, your waist—every inch of skin he could reach. You shook beneath him, moaning soft and high each time he bottomed out.
“You’re incredible,” he rasped. “You’re still taking me like it’s the first time. My perfect girl.”
Your orgasm crept in like fog, soft and wet and overwhelming.
You came with a shuddered cry, barely able to hold him, but your body squeezed around him tight—fluttering, spasming, claiming him all over again.
“That's my girl,” he whispered, voice shaking. “So fucking good for me.”
And then he followed—hips stuttering, forehead pressed to yours as he groaned your name like a benediction. His cock throbbed deep inside, spilling more warmth into the mess already flooding between your legs.
He collapsed next to you, immediately pulling you into his arms. Your body was trembling. His thumb stroked your cheek.
“No more unless you ask,” he murmured against your hair.
“I’ll only give you what you want.”
—
The sky was beginning to lighten.
A dusky indigo bled into grey, softening the skyline behind the Watchtower’s windows. But inside the room, time was a blur of candlelight, heat, and the thick, dizzying scent of sweat and sex.
You couldn’t remember the last time you’d fully caught your breath.
Your whole body felt glass-thin. Shivering. Sensitive. The sheets clung to your skin with sweat, and your legs barely worked. But the ache was still there. Nestled low. Pulsing. It didn’t fade.
Bucky’s palm slid over your thigh—soft, slow, as if testing your response.
His voice came a moment later, raspy and hesitant. “Sweetheart… we can stop. You need rest. I can wait.”
But you turned to him, eyes half-lidded, lips parted. Your fingers found his, laced through them.
“I want more,” you whispered. “Please… take me there.”
He exhaled like you’d just saved his life.
Guiding you gently toward the windows—your legs shaky, but moving—he kissed your shoulder and whispered, “I’ll be gentle. Just let me see you.”
The whole room swam around you, golden in candlelight and glimmering sweat.
The skyline stretched before you. Towering buildings, distant lights. No eyes. Just your reflection—flushed, ruined, hair damp and tangled across your shoulders.
“Fuck,” Bucky exhaled when he saw you.
“Look at yourself, baby. Look what I’ve done to you.”
You braced your palms against the cool glass, breasts pressing to it as your body arched. The contrast of heat and chill made you gasp. Bucky moved in behind you, spreading your thighs with his knee. One hand on your hip. The other wrapped around his cock, dragging the head through your soaked folds.
“Still dripping,” he muttered. “Even now. Jesus, you never stop, do you?”
“I need it,” you whispered. “Still need you.”
He didn’t make you wait.
Not this time.
He slid into you with one deep, brutal thrust—your bodies colliding with a smack so loud it echoed off the glass. Your moan fogged the window instantly, your hands flattening harder against it.
“Bucky—fuck—”
He set a hard rhythm, pulling your hips back to meet every thrust, the wet sound of your bodies filling the room. You could barely stand, legs shaking, forehead pressed to the glass.
“That’s it. Just like that,” he groaned. “So fucking perfect like this. My girl. My pussy.”
His hand slid around your throat—not squeezing, just holding, grounding. His mouth hovered by your ear.
“You were made for me,” he said. “Fucking built for this.”
“Harder,” you begged. “Please—please don’t stop.”
“Look at your reflection,” he rasped. “Look how good you look. Look how you’re taking me.”
You opened your eyes—and the sight of yourself, cock-stuffed, sweat-slick, wild-eyed, flushed and wrecked against the window, nearly sent you over the edge.
He thrust harder. Faster. Your thighs trembled violently.
“Gonna come,” you sobbed. “Can’t—Bucky—I can’t hold it—”
“Then don’t,” he growled. “Come for me, baby. Come with the whole fucking city watching.”
You shattered.
Legs giving out.
A scream ripped from your throat as your orgasm slammed through you like lightning. Your vision blurred. Your body buckled. Bucky caught you before you hit the ground—arm locking around your waist as he kept moving, groaning into your neck.
“Fuck—fuck—gonna fill you again—”
His hips snapped hard, once, twice—and then he came with a guttural sound, spilling inside you with a heat that pushed out around the edges. His head dropped to your shoulder, body shuddering as he emptied himself again.
You stood there for a long time—pressed to the glass, panting, twitching. Your hands limp against the windowpane. Bucky held you like you were breakable.
“You okay?” he whispered.
You nodded faintly.
“Good. ‘Cause we’re not done.”
—
The sun was climbing now.
Pale gold spilled across the Watchtower skyline, casting long streaks of light onto the floor like it was forgiving the sins you were still committing.
Your whole body ached—but not in the way that begged for rest.
It was a deep, needy pulse. Faint, but still there. A hunger that wouldn’t let go.
You stumbled barefoot into the kitchenette, still bare, still slick between your thighs, wearing nothing but Bucky’s hickeys. Your hair was tangled. Your lips were swollen. Your legs trembled with every step.
Your hand landed on a protein bar. You peeled it open with shaking fingers and leaned on the counter for support.
“You better be looking for food,” you said over your shoulder, breathless and hoarse.
You heard the footsteps.
But they didn’t head for the fridge.
Bucky’s body pressed into you from behind—solid, burning hot, and still hard. He slid one arm around your waist, the other reaching up to gently move your hair aside so he could press a kiss to your neck.
“I am hungry,” he rasped, his voice low and feral.
“Just not for that.”
“Bucky,” you groaned, half-laughing, half-destroyed. “I can’t even feel my legs—”
“Good,” he whispered. “You don’t need ‘em.”
Before you could blink, he bent you over the kitchen island.
Your palms slapped down on the cold countertop, and you gasped as your bare nipples brushed the smooth marble.
You didn’t even get the chance to speak.
He lined himself up and pushed in fast—no prep, no warning, just the slick glide of his cock stretching you open again, sliding back into your wrecked body like it was home.
“Fuck, Bucky—!”
“Still so wet,” he growled behind you.
“Still squeezing me like you want more.”
His hands slid to your hips, gripping tight, pulling you back against him with every hard thrust.
This wasn’t slow.
This wasn’t tender.
It was filthy, frantic, barely-in-control fucking. Not because he didn’t care—but because he still needed you that badly.
The sound of skin slapping echoed in the tiny space. The sticky squelch of your soaked cunt taking him again and again filled the air. Your moans bounced off stainless steel and tiled walls.
You dropped your head onto your forearm.
“We… already did this—eight times,” you whimpered.
“I know,” he growled, fucking into you deeper.
“And you’re still fuckin’ perfect. Still taking it all.”
“You’re gonna kill me—”
“Then what a fucking way to go, sweetheart.”
He slid a hand around your front, fingers seeking out your clit, stroking with maddening precision. The way he touched you was still worshipful—even in this chaos.
Your whole body clenched.
“You want one more?” he asked, voice thick, rough, hungry.
“You got one more in you for me, doll?”
“Yes—yes—please—just one more—!”
You came hard. Your scream was ragged, echoing through the kitchen, and your knees nearly gave out from the force of it. The overstimulation blurred your vision with white-hot static, but your body still took every inch of him.
Bucky groaned deep and low, hips jerking as he spilled inside you one last time—his cock pulsing, his chest pressed to your back as he moaned your name like a blessing.
He didn’t sag against you. Didn’t drop.
He stayed upright, body still buzzing, cock still twitching inside you. You could feel him—full, ready again. You were the one shaking. Not him.
“Jesus Christ,” you whispered. “You’re still hard.”
“Told you,” he murmured, breath warm against your ear.
“I could do this for days.”
“James…”
He slid his arms around your waist from behind and pulled you upright, holding you there with his cock still buried deep.
“I’ll stop if you need me to,” he whispered.
“Just say the word.”
You leaned your head back against his shoulder, heart thudding weakly.
“…I think my soul already came twice.”
Bucky laughed softly. Kissed the crown of your head.
“Rest, baby. I’ll still be here when you wake up. Hard as a fucking rock.”
—
You didn’t know what time it was when you finally woke.
Only that the light outside was warmer. Honey-gold, slipping through the windows in slow streaks. The world felt distant. Blurry. But the weight behind you wasn’t.
Bucky’s arm was still around your waist, his chest pressed along your back. Warm. Steady. His breath ghosted over the back of your neck in a soft, familiar rhythm.
Your body ached in the best ways—sore thighs, puffy lips, bruised hips—but it was the ache in your chest that hummed the loudest.
You blinked. Shifted slowly.
He stirred.
“Hey,” he murmured, voice still sleep-rough.
“You okay?”
You turned to face him—carefully, slowly—and found his eyes already open, watching you.
“Mhm. Everything hurts,” you whispered. “In a good way.”
Bucky smiled. Just a little. One of those soft, private smiles he saved for no one but you.
“Told you I’d wreck you.”
“You did. Multiple times.”
He chuckled, then leaned forward to kiss you.
No tongue. No hunger. Just warmth. Lips brushing yours with slow reverence, like he was re-learning your taste now that the storm had passed.
You melted into it.
Pressed your forehead to his.
His fingers traced lazy lines across your spine, slow and aimless.
“Missed this,” he whispered. “Missed you.”
You whispered it back. Quiet. Honest.
Then let the silence settle over you both for a while—safe, sacred, slow.
Eventually, after a second nap and a shower where no one tried to fuck anyone against the tiles (God bless you), you both managed to drag yourselves into clothes and make your way toward the common area.
Bucky wore a black tee and gray sweatpants that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. You were in a loose hoodie and biker shorts—though judging by the soreness between your thighs, sitting might be a challenge.
His arm was around your waist the whole walk.
Your legs still wobbled slightly, and he adjusted his pace to match yours. Not a word about it. Just his warm palm pressing steady against your hipbone like a grounding wire.
—
The squad was already gathered around the Watchtower’s long dining table.
It was pasta night.
Yelena sat at the end, spooning pesto onto her plate with war-like intensity. Ava nursed a glass of wine. Bob looked half-asleep. Alexei was double-fisting garlic bread.
John Walker looked up the moment you stepped into view.
“Oh look,” he said dryly. “It lives.”
You flipped him off without stopping.
“Someone got their back blown out,” Ava added sweetly, raising her glass.
i know rhett abbott would be so good at rescuing you from scary bugs. i just got terrorized by a centipede and i would have really benefited from a big brave cowboy to swoop in and catch the creature to save me from the trauma
I absolutely will not deal with centipedes. I can handle spiders if I gotta, dont really care for them but if must I’ll deal with them. Centipedes??? 😮💨 absolutely not. them house centipedes get me everytime. I 100% would love a brave strong cowboy to…uh, help relocate (cough kill) those little suckers. And yes, I can see Rhett absolutely saving the day with this one.
Summary: Tech accidentally triggers your body dysmorphia. The Bad Batch team up to prove to you that they all love you dearly. Angsty comfort fic.
TW: This actively talks about body dysmorphia. Tried not to be too specific so it would be more generic and just comforting, but it does start with a kinda mean comment from Tech, he means well tho. No smut or nothing, but since it is potentially triggering for those with body dysmorphia, I am gonna label this as 18+.
A/N: Just felt like this needed to be written. Based on my own personal struggles, but also inspired by a conversation with someone on here who might also struggle with this. Hope this helps at least one person out there.
hyperspace dividers my own, tbb dividers by @/djarrex
Sitting in the cockpit, working on a project, Tech continues what is, to him, a normal conversation with the woman sitting next to him.
“I have noticed you are shaped differently than most women.”
He turns towards the copilot seat where she was sitting to find the seat spinning and vacant. He turns towards the door, only to see her exiting the ship.
Echo appears in the doorway, a flash of anger on his face. “What did you do? Why was she so unhappy?”
“I did not do anything,” Tech blinks at him in confusion.
Hunter appears next to Echo. “He told her she’s ‘shaped differently than other women’.” Of course he heard the whole thing from the other end of the ship, but Tech notices his tone implies that he, Tech, should not have said that.
“To us, ‘different’ is a positive character trait. Why did she leave the ship?” Tech asks, perplexed.
Echo sighs searching for words, but it’s Crosshair who answers, “to nat borns, being too different is bad,” is all he says.
Echo scratches the back of his neck and explains, “Most of them don’t like that ‘different’ is negative, but it takes a lot more work than you think to get rid of an idea that is so deeply ingrained in a culture.” He looks at Hunter and glances towards the open ship door.
Hunter returns the look and nods towards the door, “Go talk to her, we got him,” He gestures at Tech.
Tech blinks at them confused as Echo jogs out of the ship after her. Tech looks at Hunter then Wrecker, awaiting the usual explanation that followed his lack of emotional intellect. But they both seemed hesitant to start.
Over the comms they could hear Crosshair’s voice telling Echo where to find her. Cross was in his favorite quiet place, sitting atop the ship watching their comings and goings like a vulture.
Echo finds her hugging one knee and staring off into the distance atop a rock, overlooking the ocean.
“He didn’t mean—“
“—I know” she cuts him off. “But that doesn't mean I can always control how I react to it. I don’t want to feel this way, but my experience has taught my subconscious to react like this. I wish I could make it stop too, but that takes a lot of practice and a ridiculous amount of time. I’ll get there eventually,” she sighs.
He scoots next to her on the rock and just watches her. She glances at him, wishing he wouldn’t, starting to feel nervous about the way he’s looking at her, turning away to hide her face. That is, until he starts to talk again.
“Has anyone ever told you how beautiful your eyes look when you’re lost in thought?”
She huffs out a small laugh. “Even when they’re starting to get puffy and red?”
“Yes,” the confidence in his voice is unmistakable. “Has anyone ever told you that?”
“Not that meant it,” she mumbles into her knee.
He pulls her into a tight hug, and they sit there in silence for a while.
Echo’s not sure what to say exactly, all he knows is that there’s a lot more that has to be said before either of them are willing to return to the ship.
Echo pauses briefly as he passes her sleeping form curled in a chair.
Tech watches as Echo’s expression softens, and he just looks at her for a moment. Tech tilts his head to one side, like a tooka trying to see if the world makes more sense from a different angle (Tech finds it amusing to take these things literally and figuratively). As he watches, Echo leans down and presses a gentle kiss to the top of her head, and whispers something in her ear. She stirs slightly but doesn't wake. Echo stays put, brushing a hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear and petting her head until he’s sure she’s back out.
Tech feels a pang as he watches. Then his vitals monitor beeps at him. He looks down at his datapad, eyes scanning quickly, looking for the results from the algorithm he wrote to help him connect the way his body reacts to the emotions he struggles with. Sure enough, at the bottom of the screen, his “most likely emotion” algorithm flashes a single word at him: Jealousy.
When she’s settled back down, Echo continues walking to the cockpit doorway where Tech stands.
Echo, “I think we got lucky she was willing to come back onto the ship.”
“She’s not really back,” Crosshair’s voice snakes it ways into their minds, voicing the one thing they’re all worried about and prompting them all to look at her, curled into a tight ball, her head slipping onto her knees.
“She is sad,” Tech analyses. “I did not realize what I said would affect her this much, nor this negatively.”
“I think it brought up old stuff for her. She’s kinda like you, Tech. She needs evidence in order to believe something is true,” Echo notes.
“You are suggesting that I have to prove to her that being different is a good thing?” Tech asks. “I have ample evidence that she already knows that, but I do not understand why she did not take my statement in that way.”
Again, Echo sighs, “When I went after her, she told me… she’s spent most of her life just wanting to be as normal, as pretty, as the other girls, and all she ever got was a lifetime of evidence proving that she wasn’t.” Echo’s voice was quiet. He didn’t like saying it any more than they liked hearing it.
There’s silence as they all take this in. Crosshair had joined them, leaning in the doorway, still watching her sleeping form as they talked.
“But,” Tech is confused, he has a datapad full of evidence to the contrary, “we all react to her in ways that show how we feel about her. Do you mean to say she is incapable of seeing that?”
Echo chuckles darkly, gaze drifting to the floor as he scratches the back of his neck. He wouldn’t have put it quite so bluntly. He searches for a nicer way to explain it to Tech’s analytical mind.
“Yes,” Crosshair got tired of waiting for someone else to answer, “Nat born women are conditioned to doubt.”
Tech opens his mouth to protest, he wants to know what she is doubting, specifically.
But Echo starts talking first, “Nat borns don’t get a choice in the cultural conditioning that plagues them any more than we get a say in how the Kaminoans’ conditioned us. It’s up to us to prove to her that she just isn’t seeing the full picture.”
Tech blinks at the two of them, hoping someone will explain exactly how to do so and what exactly she is conditioned to think, but they don’t. To their surprise, Wrecker, who had been napping in the cockpit, is the one who answers.
“Don’t hide anythin’.” His voice is surprisingly quiet, his expression soft. They don’t often get a chance to see Wrecker this gentle.
They all look to Echo, he has more experience with women than any of them (except maybe Cross, but it’s not like he’s going to explain it to them unless he is forced to), not to mention more experience with the emotions of their brothers and the trauma of his own. Echo nods in agreement, “every glance, every time you want to brush her hair out of her face, or pull her into a hug just to feel her close to you. Don’t hold back. She needs to see it. But for now let’s let her sleep. Hopefully that will help a little.”
Tech finally gets a chance to talk to her the next morning. He had been hoping a fresh day would wash it all away, but it looks like today might be harder than he anticipated. She’s just laying in her bunk, curled into a tight ball on her side, hugging a pillow to her chest, staring off into the distance, a lost expression on her face. As he sits down on the bed by her feet she hides her face behind the pillow.
“I only meant……….” He sighs “To us, being different is good. I didn’t know nat borns don’t see it that way. I apologize.”
It’s quiet for a few minutes.
“I have never experienced sexual attraction to a being until I met you.”
She is still quiet.
He’s racking his brain for some way to comfort her. He’s no good at this part, usually emotional reactions were Wrecker’s department. So what would Wrecker do? His mind travels back to when they were cadets and he had yet to get his emotions under control. There were more than a few nights when he cried himself to sleep on Wrecker’s shoulder. Wrecker used to rub his back and tell him he’d never let the Kaminoan’s hurt Tech. Unfortunately, the damage had already been done, so telling her he wouldn’t let anyone hurt her wasn’t an option. He felt like he already had.
Touch! That was it! She usually responded well to the everyday touches from Wrecker, Hunter, and Echo. So he reaches out and gently places a hand on her knee. She’s wearing sleep shorts, and had tossed the covers off, so Tech’s hand sits directly on her skin. He didn’t usually go for touches like this, because he didn’t understand them, but this one felt like the right thing to do, so he went with it, starting to rub, slowly, up and down on her calf. She didn’t react, but she also didn’t push his hand away.
“Is this okay?” He asks, tentatively.
“Yeah,” she mumbles into the pillow.
He sighs and slumps a bit as he relaxes a little.
They sit there in silence for a few moments, just his hand running up and down her leg.
Tech sits up a little straighter, a look of eureka on his face.
“I can prove it,” he offers.
Finally, she begins to peek out from behind the pillow, and he knows this crease on her brow is curiosity.
“I can prove that I find you sexually attractive.” He clarifies. She just looks at him, curiosity piqued, though not like he’s used to seeing when she’s found something she’s excited to learn more about. Those are his favorite moments with her. When she’s excited to learn something new, and they can talk about the possibilities and implications that has on their day to day life, rapid fire. Learning more about the universe together. He vows to find a way to bring those moments back as soon as possible. They both need it.
He pulls his datapad out and brings up some data. “This data shows my vitals from the moment we met, overlaid on the footage I was recording so you can see the implications of visual stimulation on my vitals.” He sends it to her.
Her datapad lights up, it sits next to her head beneath the pillow that still hides him from view. Tech can see the light from under the pillow and watches as the pillow shifts a bit as she picks it up and looks at it.
After a while the pillow shifts again and the light goes away as she puts the datapad back down. She peers at him over the top of the pillow. She doesn’t have words to say anything. He takes that as a sign that he’s the only one who needs to keep talking right now.
“It took me a while to figure out what I was feeling. You know that I do feel emotions, but I struggle to understand them. But I compared it to the data I have of how my brother’s reacted to you and asked them about what they were feeling and how they could tell. I discovered that we have all become rather smitten with you, myself included.”
“That’s bound to happen considering I’m the only woman you’ve been around for months, and probably the only one you’ve been around for an extended period as grown men,” she mumbles.
“But that would take several months to begin to show an effect, yes?”
“Yeah…?”
“I can prove that our feelings began during our first mission with you. I can pinpoint the exact moment for most of us. I am always monitoring our vitals, so any spike in heart rate, or hormone levels I have recorded.”
He sends her his documentation, where he was attempting to understand what they were feeling. Complete with notes about ‘Echo explained that this is common during human attraction’ and ‘Hunter tells me this is a normal reaction to seeing a beautiful woman’ and even ‘Crosshair has indicated that I should talk to her about this’.
“You now have access to the file so whenever it is updated, you will be notified. I tend to update that one quite often. I hope this is a sufficient way to apologize. I am not sure how else to do so.”
“I’m sorry, Tech,” her voice is timid and quiet.
“Why are you apologizing?” Tech asks, nose scrunched, he does not understand.
“I’m sorry I walked out on you without saying anything.”
“I have come to the realization that when topics may be triggering, it is often easier to simply leave the room. I surmise that is why you left?”
“Yes.”
He didn’t want to force her to tell him more, so he just stayed quiet, hoping she might volunteer more information if she felt comfortable doing so.
“I never wanted to be this different,” is all she says.
“I like your ‘different’,” Tech volunteers.
“Is that you talking, or your brothers? What did they tell you to say to me? How much pity did they recommend you bring to the table?” Her tone of voice suggests she is getting mad again.
Tech’s eyes widen and he shakes his head rapidly. “No! Echo said to never pity someone. He said pity only hurts people. He made us all swear never to pity you for anything. I did not mean to imply that. I like your different, I mean that.”
“Sorry,” she whispers, sinking into the pillows again.
Again his mind reaches for something to help comfort her. He doesn’t like how she seems to be conditioned to apologize so often for things that are his mistake and not hers. Again, touch finds its way to the forefront of his mind. So he reaches out physically this time, for the hand resting on top of the pillow she still clutches.
His hand gently slides underneath her own, threading his fingers through hers. He’s struck with the urge to kiss her hand. He’s not sure why. He’s never felt this before. He tries to hold back.
Until Echo and Wrecker’s words surface amidst the confusion in his mind again, ‘don’t hold back’… ‘don’t hold back’… ‘don’t hold back’…
So he stops trying to hold back and lets go, and leaning forward, lifting her hand slightly, to press a soft kiss to the back of her hand. He doesn’t mean to let it linger, but he’s never felt this way before and he wants to remember it forever.
She looks at him with surprise. And then smiles a little. His heart skips a beat. Again, his vitals chart blinks at him, drawing his attention from her eyes. He laughs softly when he sees the new “most likely emotion” blinking at the bottom of the screen, so he shows it to her.
‘Adoration’, the blinking word reads. This time the smile doesn’t leave her face. It still hasn’t quite reached her eyes, but it’s starting to get there. As she stares in disbelief at the word on his screen, a new message from Echo pops up at the top of the screen.
Tech feels it buzz, but doesn’t take the datapad back, knowing now how important that one word is to her.
Her brow scrunches when her gaze drifts to the message from Echo.
She raises a finger to tap on it, but stops, realizing it’s not her datapad.
“You may open it, if you wish,” Tech offers. “I wish to show you I trust you.”
She smiles, the turbulence inside her beginning to settle again as she taps on the message from Echo.
As the message opens, she begins to shift. Moving the pillow around so she can sit up. As she settles, her hip presses into his own. He does not protest. He likes this touch. He moves to hold the datapad between them so they can both see it. It’s a photo of a beautiful waterfall sent to the group chat with the caption, “you guys would love this place”. He and Hunter were out scouting the camp site while they await their next set of orders.
From the increase in noise just outside the ship it seems that Wrecker is excited to go exploring.
“Would you like to go on a walk?” Tech asks.
She nods, squeezing his arm to her side briefly, whispering a quick “thank you” into his ear. He looks up at her happily as she stands up, letting his gaze linger on her as she bounces to find some civilian clothes to change into. She spots his look and pauses for a moment, confusion on her face.
“I like your happy, too,” he tells her. “You know we pride ourselves on being different. It was meant to be a compliment. I did not understand how sentient beings could be considered attractive until you joined us.”
She smiles at the floor, tucking her hair behind her ear.
“I like your shy, as well,” he adds.
She giggles.
…‘Don’t hold back’… he’s learning what that means. And this time he wants to hug her. So he stands up and opens his arms to her, a question on his brow.
She beams and throws herself into his arms. He wasn’t quite prepared for her enthusiasm. It sends them both back a few steps, until his legs hit the bunk and his hand reaches for the one above to stabilize them.
Today might be okay after all.
When the two of them arrive outside they find the commotion was Wrecker putting together a picnic. Crosshair pretends he didn’t help. They all know he did, but they let him think they believe him. Donning the packs Wrecker holds out, the four of them hike their way out to the coordinates Hunter sent them.
After they’ve eaten, as they are enjoying the sunlight and time off, Crosshair stops her for a moment, tilting her chin up to look deep into her eyes. Where confusion paints hers, his show only confidence and lustful smirk. In a split second the moment is over, he places a kiss on her forehead and walks away like nothing happened. His brothers pretend they didn’t see. Moments later, her datapad lights up with an update from a document of Tech’s. It’s the document he sent her earlier, the one filled with all his evidence that they all adore her. The newest entry is a snippet of a video of her and Crosshair from just a moment ago. She glances at Tech and nods a shy ‘thank you’.
That evening, Tech exits the cockpit to find her laying with her head in Echo’s lap as he pets her hair and they both study their datapads. Again, Tech feels a pang of jealousy, and it is once again confirmed by the flashing word at the bottom of his screen.
He sits down by her feet, pretending to be enraptured by something on his datapad too. She looks over at him and smiles, he returns his signature half smile, with half lidded eyes.
Hesitantly, she stretches out a foot and places it in his lap, biting her lip as she looks at him to ask if this is okay.
Tech holds her gaze and places his hand on her leg, stroking it just like he did before in answer to her question, and letting the hand holding his datapad rest on her ankle. Tech has never been so intimately close to a woman’s ankle before. He’s seen her’s plenty of times, she likes wearing shorter things that let her ankles breathe from time to time, but he’s never had a chance to really memorize every curve of them before, no matter how archaic a fascination with ankles may seem, it’s new to him, and he enjoys it.
Echo glances over, to exchange ‘told you so’ looks with Tech, but Tech is still looking at her, fascinated by the studious look on her face as she goes back to reading something on her datapad, still biting her lip as her mind returns to her work.
Instead Echo exchanges one with Hunter, who has just entered the ship, brushing rain from his ruggishly handsome locks.
Hunter stands in the doorway for a moment, before stepping forward and placing a kiss to her shoulder, then heading to the fresher to find a towel for his hair.
In Echo’s lap, he can feel her cheeks warming as she tries to suppress a small smile. This is new to her too, but who would say no to 5 sweet, handsome men doting on them?
Please don’t steal my work! I pour my heart into these so if you like it please reblog to share instead of reposting it!
Haha, thanks friend! There is not, it’s just a one off. But I do have a host of other fics on my blog that you are welcome to peruse! I hope some of those are to your liking as well!!! May I ask what direction you wanted to see this go in? I probably won’t continue this exact fic, but I may have a WIP I can put a priority on! I have way too many WIPs, so let me know what you liked best and I’ll see what I have!
Hello! Sorry for some reason I wasn’t notified that you’d actually responded to me 😂
As to answer your question, I think the idea I really loved about that fic was the thought of everyone pulling together and not holding back when it came to homegirl (which btw I absolutely loved how you wrote her, didn’t really specify much in terms of looks and it gave a lot of freedom for us the readers to envision what we want. I’m not a person who has a lot of curves, but I am what a lot of people would consider to be pretty underweight and sometimes that just drains a lot of my good vibes for the day (hard to explain) it was nice reading this, it gave a more open perspective for us and that made this all the more enjoyable to read ❤️)
Anyways, I think the best way I can describe this is if I take a quote from your fic. “every glance, every time you want to brush her hair out of her face, or pull her into a hug just to feel her close to you. Don’t hold back. She needs to see it.” I can see the boys showing their forms of love/affection in different ways, and I just love that idea so much. We got an in-depth pov of tech, so I guess I’m thinking about how the other guys stories would go. How they would turn out (idc ima weirdo XD I need to see this)
I am now invested and would love to see what all WIPs you have, interest is peaked! 😂❤️
…I don’t suppose it would be wrong of me to say that amongst the boys I have a very high fondness for Hunter and cross, tech and echo and wrecker coming in close. Do with that information what you will 🤣 Ty!
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