wedges feels

trick shot (m.)

;pairing — jimin/reader

;warnings — heavy drinking | cursing | oral sex | jimin being sleazy | hoseok being an asshole | lots of pool references | just adult things

;summary — jimin’s the bartender, you’re the billiard hotshot who frequents his bar and challenges him to a clean game of 9-ball after hours. “see if you can make this shot with my hand down your pants” au

;word count — 8k

part i | part i.v | part ii | drabbles

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drinkupthesunrise  asked:

I don't suppose you have any specific feelings about Wedge Antilles??

He doesn’t hate Skywalker from the second they meet. That particular nasty rumor is Solo’s fault, and Wedge put it down to territorial posing more than anything else. 

(For a man who adamantly insisted he wanted nothing to do with the Rebellion, Solo definitely spent a lot of time clinging to the Princess of Alderaan and the Hero of the Death Star. Since Wedge wasn’t interested in trying to break up a happy triad, he left well enough alone, hoping that Solo stop making Wedge’s relationship with Rogue Leader more complicated than it needed to be.)

No, Wedge has always extended to Skywalker the same professional respect he affords all the pilots. Maybe a touch of awe for the Death Star business. Wedge even thinks he’s sort of funny, the kid with a thousand impossible stories about his hellhole planet, a streak of bitter humor and a smile like a blaster shot. Skywalker’s reckless in the extreme, but he’s always first to take any risk. And he’s been much more careful since Wedge had that conversation with him, about how Rogue Leader using the Force to accomplish impossible, stupid maneuvers generally meant a fiery death for the rest of his squadron.

They have an understanding, and an easy camaraderie that Wedge appreciates.

Wedge is just…

It’s difficult, meeting someone and knowing—knowing—from the second you meet them, that they’re about to sideline you in your own life. That when people tell the story of the great and glorious things you did, you’re going to be a supporting actor. And Wedge doesn’t resent Skywalker for it; he made the shot, the impossible shot, and now there’s talk of him being a Jedi. If Wedge’s going to lose out to someone, it might as well be that guy. 

(Still.)

Still, it would be easier if Skywalker would stop showing up at Wedge’s quarters at all hours, looking like a lost quarren puppy. It interferes with their amicable professionalism, Skywalker flopping down on Wedge’s bunk and shoving the fringe of his hair out of his eyes, talking about—something. It’s always something. He’s that strange sort of funny, even complaining, or (badly) imitating Solo, the Princess, Mothma, Akbar, and…

The first time, Wedge baldly stared at him until Luke guiltily sat up. “Do you want me to go?” he’d asked, picking at the hole in Wedge’s quilt that Wedge hadn’t thought anyone but him could find. The quilt was one of the things he’d brought with him from the Imperial Academy, a relic of Corellia he’d been allowed to keep because it meant he hadn’t needed an extra blanket issue. (The Empire was like that; economy over everything.)

“No,” Wedge had choked out, which surprised even him. “No, tell me what Commander Rosilev said.”

(Luke lets himself in, now.)

Solo doesn’t bristle the way he used to, not when Luke is the one who drags Wedge to where they’re sitting. It’s like sitting on the edge of a sunspot; hyper-aware that if he  just edges forward, even a little, he’ll be enveloped in light he’s not entitled to. The urge to try it, to just dare a little, is heady. For a moment, it’s all Wedge can think about, moving closer to Luke so that their shoulders brush, or taking Luke’s hands as they move—he’s argung with the Princess, and all Wedge can think is taking his hands, trapping them, holding them.

A Jedi’s hands. The hands that grasped the yoke, and made the shot. The hands—

“You know them,” Solo mutters, an aside as Luke and the Princess argue about whatever it is they’re arguing about; impassioned and probably correct. “So I don’t have to apologize, right?”

“Oh, no,” Wedge says. He’s—warm. “No, I’m…good.”

Luke stands there, pacing as Wedge keys in the access code to his own rooms. Luke’s ranting about—something, above Wedge’s paygrade probably. (Not that they have paygrades in the Rebellion, and definitely not like they did in the Empire, but Wedge is an operations droid, a battleplan guy. So long as his squad comes home, as long as they didn’t kill to many civilians, it’s okay. He doesn’t question ethics and morality the way Skywalker does, especially not when a Yavinese beer or two or eight has made him relaxed, loose-limbed.)

“You know?” Skywalker says, his voice breaking with how godsdamned impassioned he is.

“Sure, Skywalker,” Wedge says, fumbling with his keys (he’s been fumbling, but they’re blunt instruments, they’re ineffectual, they don’t need them—)

Luke kisses first, of this Wedge is absolutely sure. Luke smiles at him, indulgent and amused, and then Luke is making a few long strides to cross the corridor, and then Luke is kissing him, and all this happens in less than 120 seconds. Wedge is tasting a Jedi’s mouth, and the Jedi is moaning like he’s never had anything  better than the aftertaste of caf and stim, and maybe whatever Wedge had for lunch.

“Don’t humor me,” Luke says. His mouth tastes of Yavinese beer and warmth.

Wedge would tell him to fuck himself and the pathetic veneer of armor he’s built, except then Luke Skywalker might leave, and Wedge doesn’t want that. “I’m not,” Wedge says/breathes/murmurs, a thousand times. “I’m not.”

(Yes, oh, please, more, is all he says, afterwards.)


The next morning, the Princess eyes Wedge over breakfast. He pretends as though he can’t feel the lovebite burning exactly where his collar ends, and she pretends as though she doesn’t have a matching one somewhere he can’t see, but makes her squirm all the same.

He asks her to pass the dehydrated cream. She obliges. They drink their caf in silence.

Re: Palpatine’s “overconfidence”

OKAY BUT I HAD A THOUGHT

I keep seeing these posts and theories and analyses about how Palpatine had planned then entire downfall of the Republic down to a T, manipulating anyone and everyone that was anything important. Obvious maniupulation of Anakin aside, it could be argued that everything from the Jedi finding out about the clones to Padme and Anakin having their little vacation on Varykino was Sheev’s doing, indirectly. The more you look into it, the more it feels like Palpatine thought of everything.

BUT. I was just thinking. He didn’t think of everything. A trend I keep seeing here is this:

Palpatine tends to focus all of his manipulating efforts on people who are quickly acknowledged by everyone to have great potential for power. Anakin (who admittedly starts out as a “nobody”, but then there’s also the theory that Sheev knew about him from the very beginning, so) is an obvious one, but look at everyone else - the people in the senate, the Jedi - individuals, like Dooku and Ventress and Obi-Wan, and even Padme and Bail … look. These are all people who, even if good, or at least, trying their hardest to do good, are overtly powerful. Their power comes from their Force sensitivity, from their speeches, from their political influence. Their money, their armies … politicians or Jedi or clone manufacturers or even bounty hunters, everyone Palpatine is using as his pawns are acknowledged to have tangible power

But then, that’s where his downfall is (as Luke says - “your overconfidence is your weakness” - Sheev doesn’t realize that he’s missing something, even after he’s made that mistake once). In treating the powerful, or potentially powerful, as the only ones that really matter, and everyone else as expendable or not worth focusing intently on, Palpatine’s screwing up.

Let’s start with Padme, because this one is more complex than the others. In TPM, I’m of the firm belief that Sheev had initially written Padme off as a naive and easily-duped or influenced girl, not someone to really worry about much. GRANTED, as the movie progresses, it’s obvious that he’s realizing his mistake (in that she’s hardly naive and reliant on others’ advice, but very very capable and very very determined) and backpedaling, leading to his ultimate convincing of her to push for a vote of not confidence, etc. And then, as the movies progress, he concentrates more and more efforts on and around her, not only because he’s using her as a tool against Anakin, but also because she’s too proactive in a senate full of corrupt politics and bureaucracy to leave unchecked. He needs to control her, as well, because she’s now proven herself to be overtly powerful.

But then, Sheev still doesn’t learn from his mistake - to never underestimate someone who’s apparently a “nobody” (and obviously, Padme is hardly a nobody - which makes the real nobodies here even more effective). So now we progress to the end of ROTS and into the OT.

You know who Sheev underestimates? The Larses. Palpatine, who focuses so much of his efforts on Luke Skywalker (again, powerful) forgets that any child must be first raised in a kind and loving home, must be taught a set of values ingrained fundamentally and deeply into their psyche. Luke is very different from Anakin because he grew up in a stable, loving, and healthy home environment - hardly the same as a slave who was taken from his mother at age nine and handed to a boy who was barely an adult and who didn’t know the first thing about dealing with abused children, etc etc. Owen and Beru not only raised and protected Luke from the Empire for all of his formative life, they also taught him who to be. Obviously, there are qualities in him that are latent and inherent and his to be nurtured and developed, inherited from his parents - but who taught him to develop those? Who taught him about the importance of love and compassion and kindness? Who taught him to believe? Not that part of that wasn’t already latent in Luke, but any flower needs a loving and caring gardener to attent to it, for it to blossom beautifully. Palpatine forgets this. Palpatine doesn’t even bother checking back on Anakin’s family. They’re nobodies, living on a little backwater dustball and farming water. What could they possibly do for him?

You know who else Palpatine underestimates? Wedge Antilles and the entirety of the Rogue Squadron. Biggs Darklighter. Lando Calrissian. 

Han and Chewie. Like, God, where would the twins, those two who decided the fate of the entire kriffing galaxy, even be without all of these people? And who were these folks before the Rebellion, before the Alliance took them in and they grew up themselves and shaped history?

Nobodies.

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open.spotify.com
wedgeluke, a playlist by wedgeskywalker on Spotify
they're gay

here it is!! art by the incredible @jedihighcouncil

track list:

  • i won’t give up || jason mraz
  • collide || howie day
  • iris || the goo goo dolls
  • never say never || the fray
  • clocks || coldplay
  • circles || passenger
  • cold || the east pointers
  • speed of sound || coldplay
  • 1, 2, 3, 4 || plain white t’s
  • home || phillip phillips
  • i’ll be || edwin mccain
  • no ash will burn || the paul mckenna band
  • you better believe || train

lokisgame  asked:

Donna Karan, bonus points for backstory for Mulder's remark in unnatural

FBI Ball, The Unnatural, a  red dress. It’s all here. Tagging @hallwayperson and @today-in-fic


The Dress

She lingers in front of the window and looks the dress up and down. It is stunning. The sort of dress that would take people’s breath away. Dark red, hinting at danger, confidence, sensuality. It clings where it needs to, it drapes and flows and swirls. It is simple and elegant. It is also two pay packets worth of dress and she lets out a reluctant sigh as she turns away and walks to where Mulder is waiting with their coffees.

           The FBI ball is coming and it has been years since she’s attended. She remembers waltzing around the floor with Jack and getting tipsy on the sparkling white. He’d said something blunt about her behaviour and she’d ended up going home alone. The midnight blue dress she’d worn back then had never seen the light of day since. Maybe she could recycle it, if she decided to go this year.

           “Window shopping, Scully?” Mulder smiles as he gave her the cup.

           “Dreaming, Mulder.” She sips and lets the caffeine do its work.

           “Fantasies can actually be quite helpful to the human psyche, Scully,” he says, opening the door to the car for her. “They let your subconscious work through the difficulties of your day or your life, providing alternative courses of action for problem-solving, or just helping you to relax. It’s okay to dream.”

           She smiles at him. “Oh, believe me, Mulder. I do dream. I dream a lot.”

           His waggling eyebrows is so Mulder. “Tell me, Scully. I’d love to know.”

           “I bet you would, Mulder. But there are some secrets a woman has to keep.”

           He pouts. “I’m your partner. Secrets could endanger me.”

           She drinks her coffee and shakes her head. “Drive, Mulder.”

She hasn’t seen him watching her and it isn’t the first time she’s stopped at that particular window. He’d taken a walk one lunch time to see what it was that had caught her eye. It was stunning. The sort of dress that would take people’s breath away. Dark red, hinting at danger, confidence, sensuality. It clinged where it needed to, it draped and flowed and swirled. It was simple and elegant. It was also two pay packets worth of dress and he let out a low whistle as he imagined it on Scully.

           The FBI ball is coming and it has been years since he’d attended. He remembers waltzing around the floor with Diana and getting tipsy on the flat beer. She’d said something blunt about his behaviour and he’d ended up going home alone. The tuxedo he’d worn back then had been ruined in the fire during that case with Phoebe. It must time for a new one.

He puts the invitation in the envelope and leaves it on her dining table under a long-stemmed rose, its deep yellow petals edged with a red tip, like something was changing inside the flower. He lets himself out and waits for the phone call.

           He doesn’t wait long.

           “Mulder, was that you?”

           “Was that me what, Scully?” He stirs his soup and wonders when he lost the skill of cooking that his mother had spent many hours drilling into him.

           “The invitation. Please tell me it was you. Otherwise, I’ve got a stalker and after Padgett…”

           “It was me,” he says. He hadn’t even thought about Padgett. What a fool. Insensitive and careless. “I’m sorry, Scully. I should have just asked.”

           She laughs. “It’s okay. And thank you. The rose is beautiful.”

           He waits. And waits. She chats about their latest case and then says goodbye.

           “Hang on, Scully. You haven’t given me an answer.”

           “Oh, you’re right! Of course I’ll go to the ball with you, Mulder. It would be my pleasure.”

           Oh no, no, Miss Scully, he thinks, the pleasure is all mine.

The Josh Exley case had been a ride. And he’s feeling mischievous. He leaves the message on her answer phone and heads out. She looks beautiful in the dark, relaxed and open. There’s a side to Scully that he’s discovered how to tap into these days and she’s playful as she asks him what gives.

           “You’ve never hit a baseball, have you, Scully?”

When she’s fitted against him he wiggles and pushes as much as he dares. She’s laughing at his jokes and letting him guide her hands on the bat to strike that ball. She’s a natural. This is natural and he banters on.

           “How you couldn’t afford that new suede coat on a G-Woman’s salary,” and then they’re laughing together and hitting the ball to the skies and he’s lost track of time and he doesn’t care about his triple X bill. All he cares about this moment and he feels something inside changing.

           “Come back to mine for a coffee, Scully?”

           Her smile fades a little and his stomach tingles.

           “It’s late.”

           “I know. But it’s also the weekend and as far as I know you’re not Cinderella.”

           She looks to her feet and shrugs. “No glass slippers.”

He’s always slightly worried when she comes to his. He’s no housekeeper and his apartment is nothing special. But it’s home and he hopes she finds it comfortable. She walks to his fish tank, checking on the mollies. The green light makes her look ethereal and when she turns around and smiles at him his knees tremble. He’s holding the gift bag and she opens her mouth to speak but nothing comes out.

The Josh Exley case had kept Mulder busy and she’d loved hearing about it. And clearly he’s feeling mischievous. His message on her answer phone is playful and cheeky but irresistible. She heads out.

           “You’ve never hit a baseball, have you, Scully?”

           “I guess I’ve found more necessary things to do with my time that slap a piece of horsehide with a stick.”

           It’s just the sort of thing he would say to her about her interests. He’s taught her well.

When she’s fitted against him she wiggles and pushes as much as she dares. She’s laughing at his jokes and she’s listening to his hips before hands flirting. This is natural and she lets him banter on.

           “How you couldn’t afford that new suede coat on a G-Woman’s salary,” and then they’re laughing together and hitting the ball to the skies and he’s lost track of time and he doesn’t care about his triple X bill. All he cares about this moment and he feels something inside changing.

           “Come back to mine for a coffee, Scully?”

           She feels a sudden pang of nerves and his hopeful smile fades.

           “It’s late.”

           “I know. But it’s also the weekend and as far as I know you’re not Cinderella.”

           She looks to her feet and shrugs. “No glass slippers.”

She’s always loved his apartment. He’s no housekeeper and there’s something special his poky quarters that thrills her every time. His prints on the wall, the clutter on his desk that displays the brilliance of his mind, the books he has on the shelf in his bedroom. She walks to his fish tank, checking on the mollies. When she looks round at him, he’s back lit by the soft glow of his wall lamp. He looks so handsome, but vulnerable. He does smile then and her knees tremble. He’s holding the gift bag and she opens her mouth to speak but nothing comes out.

He moves towards her and presses the bag into her hand. She breathes out roughly and opens it. He watches her breasts move with her deeper inhalations and her skin flush from her chest and up neck as she pulls out the dress, wrapped in tissue paper, but obviously the one she had looked at so many times.

           “Mulder,” she says, her voice just a reedy whisper. There are tears in her eyes and her cheeks bloom. “I can’t accept this. It’s too much.”

           He shakes his head. “It’s what you wanted, Scully.” He’s so close to her now, that he can hear the hitch in her breathing. “It’s what you deserve.”

She takes the bag and opens it, her pulse pounding in her ears, blood rushing to every surface so that she’s feverish. She takes the gift out and sees the colour of the fabric and knows instantly what he’s done.

           “Mulder,” she says, her voice just a reedy whisper. She feels hot tears spring and the heat rises in her face. “I can’t accept this. It’s too much.”

           He shakes his head. “It’s what you wanted, Scully.” He’s so close to her now, that she can smell his cologne. “It’s what you deserve.”

And then he bends to kiss her because it’s the only rational response in the situation. The tissue paper rustles between them and he can feel the wedge of the dress against his stomach. He tamps down an image of her wearing it because it would be overstepping the mark for her to feel his desire so quickly after kissing her for the first time. Their lips are touching and he’s testing the waters, waiting for the moment to deepen it. When she shifts slightly closer, he knows it’s time and he opens his mouth, tasting her. She lets out a tiny sigh and he swallows it, loving that he has something of Scully inside him. He doesn’t want the moment to end. He wants her to breathe life into him forever. But she pulls away and drops her head and he sees the tear drop splash against her shoe.

And then he bends to kiss her because it’s the only rational response in the situation. The tissue paper rustles between them and she can feel the wedge of the dress against her chest. She tamps down an image of him waltzing her around this room wearing nothing but the dress and she feels her nipples harden at the thought. She’s glad of the cover of the dress because it would be overstepping the mark for him to feel her desire so quickly after kissing him for the first time. Their lips are touching and she’s testing the waters, waiting for the moment to deepen it. When she shifts slightly closer, he opens his mouth, and she tastes him. She lets out a tiny sigh and he laps at it. She loves that she has given him something of her own, something as precious as a breath. She doesn’t want the moment to end. She wants to breathe life into him forever. But she pulls away and drops her head and a tear betrays her emotions.

His arms are still around her shoulders.

           “Scully?”

           “I’m fine, Mulder. It’s just all too much.”

           He lifts her chin and smiles. “I’d say it’s not enough.” He kisses her again, chaste but full of promise. “Try it on for me?”

           She lifts it up and twists it back and forth. “It’s beautiful.”

           “You have good taste.”

           Looking up at him, she smiles at his words. “Yes, I do.”

When he asks her to try on the dress she feels a power jolt through her. She realises this isn’t just about her. This is for them. They are partners. They are undoubtedly attracted to each other. There is love so profound between them that it’s too difficult to quantify. But the simple act of him buying her this dress has undone her resolve and she feels the edges ripping away like the tissue paper.

           She does have good taste, she thinks, slipping past him into his bedroom.

When she appears at his doorway a thunderbolt strikes him and he feels like he’s having a heart attack. The way she is wrapped in the crimson fabric, the startling blue of her eyes, the upsweep of her hair that she’s somehow magically pinned on her head, the narrow waist, the swell of her breasts. She’s a vision. And he can’t move.

           “Mulder?”

She’s never seen him pale so quickly, yet sweat beads are forming on his forehead. He sways on his feet. A small cough erupts from his throat and she ducks her head to give him time to compose himself. But when she looks up again, he’s still staring.

           “Mulder?”

           He walks towards her and takes her hand. “You look amazing.”

           “It’s this dress, Mulder. It’s stunning.”

           “No, Scully. It’s you.”

           She reaches up and kisses his cheek and he takes her face and pulls it around, capturing her lips. He clasps her hand between them. A conduit for their beating hearts.

He dances her around in the hallway. Silent music leading them. He’s sure he didn’t deliberately push them back towards his bedroom but she yelps when her legs hit the bed and they stop to laugh.

           “Sorry,” he says, pulling her away.

           “I should take this off, before it gets ruined.”

           He’s feeling bold. “Can I help?”

           “Mulder,” she chuffs. But she doesn’t push him away. She just turns and he unzips it and lets it fall to floor in rivers of crimson. She steps out of it and turns back to him, arms extended and when she kisses him and her breasts push against his chest he wonders, for the first time that night, if this whole thing is real.

re-reading the X-Wing books, my main takeaway from Solo Command is that someone really needs to make Wedge/Han like… a thing.

After all, you get such gems as the following:

“Well, you’re not the only member of the crew who could benefit from some blissful irresponsibility right now. So I’m going to stage an insurrection and seize control of Mon Remonda.”

Solo gave a curt laugh. “Wedge Antilles, mutineer. That I have to see.”

which follows a long, emotionally charged conversation of Han admitting his insecurities about his and Leia’s relationship,

Rogue One was among the pilots returning. Solo breathed a sigh of relief. He had few enough friends. Win or lose, he didn’t want to lose any more in this engagement.

… Han I can’t believe you care this much? and then there’s this whole scene:

Han Solo and Wedge Antilles sat in the cockpit of the Millennium Falsehood, their feet up on the control boards.

“Stand by, Communications.” Solo shut off the cockpit microphone and gave Wedge an accusing look. “You said, when you overflew her X-wing, that you saw no sign she ejected.”

“That’s right.” Wedge stretched lazily. “There was no automated comm signal indicating an ejection.”

“Commander Square Corners himself, showing a streak of duplicity. Lying by omission. I can’t believe it.”

As they walked down the Falsehood’s loading ramp, Solo threw an arm over Wedge’s shoulders. “Corellian to Corellian, you know what the great thing about being a general is?”

“No, what?”

“In lots of circumstances, you can pretty much do whatever you want.” With his free hand, Solo reached over and gave Wedge’s hair a thorough mussing.

Wedge batted his hand away. “Hey, stop it.”

and who can forget the scene in Wedge’s Gamble, in which Wedge attempts to counsel Leia about her relationship with Han:

“That’s his nature, though–he’s chaos incarnate.” Wedge smiled. “Han Solo, you have to love him…”

“… or freeze him in carbonite, I know.” Leia stared wistfully off into the distance. “He’s a good man. Even with his quirks and rough edges, I don’t think I can find better in this galaxy. And I’m not really interesting in looking, either, but there are times when I wonder ‘Why him?’”

“If you ever have doubts, serious doubts, come see me. I can give you a dozen reasons to answer that question.”

in which I know what Wedge means, where he could give Leia a dozen reasons why Han is the right guy for her, but honestly it kind of sounds like Wedge has a dozen reasons why one would be in love with Han Solo, at least six of which apply to him personally.

Impossible is what Rogue Squadron does.
— 

Rogue Squadron novel, Michael A. Stackpole

yes i know its Legends and not canon but jesus effing kriszt I just remembered that line and I’m ready to cry another pint of tears because Rogue One started it all, they were the original crew who did the impossible and the squadron that bore their name in their honor continued to do the same.

The Dress

Reposting because the original was posted as an ask and I’m thick and can’t work out how to get a hyperlink to it. And for the photo of the dress, provided by @lokisgame - thank you!

And also because the sequel is well underway and I might be able to post it later, provided you all like it a bit rough.

She lingers in front of the window and looks the dress up and down. It is stunning. The sort of dress that would take people’s breath away. Dark red, hinting at danger, confidence, sensuality. It clings where it needs to, it drapes and flows and swirls. It is simple and elegant. It is also two pay packets worth of dress and she lets out a reluctant sigh as she turns away and walks to where Mulder is waiting with their coffees.

          The FBI ball is coming and it has been years since she’s attended. She remembers waltzing around the floor with Jack and getting tipsy on the sparkling white. He’d said something blunt about her behaviour and she’d ended up going home alone. The midnight blue dress she’d worn back then had never seen the light of day since. Maybe she could recycle it, if she decided to go this year.

          “Window shopping, Scully?” Mulder smiles as he gave her the cup.

          “Dreaming, Mulder.” She sips and lets the caffeine do its work.

          “Fantasies can actually be quite helpful to the human psyche, Scully,” he says, opening the door to the car for her. “They let your subconscious work through the difficulties of your day or your life, providing alternative courses of action for problem-solving, or just helping you to relax. It’s okay to dream.”

          She smiles at him. “Oh, believe me, Mulder. I do dream. I dream a lot.”

          His waggling eyebrows is so Mulder. “Tell me, Scully. I’d love to know.”

          “I bet you would, Mulder. But there are some secrets a woman has to keep.”

          He pouts. “I’m your partner. Secrets could endanger me.”

          She drinks her coffee and shakes her head. “Drive, Mulder.”

She hasn’t seen him watching her and it isn’t the first time she’s stopped at that particular window. He’d taken a walk one lunch time to see what it was that had caught her eye. It was stunning. The sort of dress that would take people’s breath away. Dark red, hinting at danger, confidence, sensuality. It clinged where it needed to, it draped and flowed and swirled. It was simple and elegant. It was also two pay packets worth of dress and he let out a low whistle as he imagined it on Scully.

          The FBI ball is coming and it has been years since he’d attended. He remembers waltzing around the floor with Diana and getting tipsy on the flat beer. She’d said something blunt about his behaviour and he’d ended up going home alone. The tuxedo he’d worn back then had been ruined in the fire during that case with Phoebe. It must time for a new one.

He puts the invitation in the envelope and leaves it on her dining table under a long-stemmed rose, its deep yellow petals edged with a red tip, like something was changing inside the flower. He lets himself out and waits for the phone call.

          He doesn’t wait long.

          “Mulder, was that you?”

          “Was that me what, Scully?” He stirs his soup and wonders when he lost the skill of cooking that his mother had spent many hours drilling into him.

          “The invitation. Please tell me it was you. Otherwise, I’ve got a stalker and after Padgett…”

          “It was me,” he says. He hadn’t even thought about Padgett. What a fool. Insensitive and careless. “I’m sorry, Scully. I should have just asked.”

          She laughs. “It’s okay. And thank you. The rose is beautiful.”

          He waits. And waits. She chats about their latest case and then says goodbye.

          “Hang on, Scully. You haven’t given me an answer.”

          “Oh, you’re right! Of course I’ll go to the ball with you, Mulder. It would be my pleasure.”

          Oh no, no, Miss Scully, he thinks, the pleasure is all mine.

The Josh Exley case had been a ride. And he’s feeling mischievous. He leaves the message on her answer phone and heads out. She looks beautiful in the dark, relaxed and open. There’s a side to Scully that he’s discovered how to tap into these days and she’s playful as she asks him what gives.

          “You’ve never hit a baseball, have you, Scully?”

When she’s fitted against him he wiggles and pushes as much as he dares. She’s laughing at his jokes and letting him guide her hands on the bat to strike that ball. She’s a natural. This is natural and he banters on.

          “How you couldn’t afford that new suede coat on a G-Woman’s salary,” and then they’re laughing together and hitting the ball to the skies and he’s lost track of time and he doesn’t care about his triple X bill. All he cares about this moment and he feels something inside changing.

          “Come back to mine for a coffee, Scully?”

          Her smile fades a little and his stomach tingles.

          “It’s late.”

          “I know. But it’s also the weekend and as far as I know you’re not Cinderella.”

          She looks to her feet and shrugs. “No glass slippers.”

He’s always slightly worried when she comes to his. He’s no housekeeper and his apartment is nothing special. But it’s home and he hopes she finds it comfortable. She walks to his fish tank, checking on the mollies. The green light makes her look ethereal and when she turns around and smiles at him his knees tremble. He’s holding the gift bag and she opens her mouth to speak but nothing comes out.

The Josh Exley case had kept Mulder busy and she’d loved hearing about it. And clearly he’s feeling mischievous. His message on her answer phone is playful and cheeky but irresistible. She heads out.

          “You’ve never hit a baseball, have you, Scully?”

          “I guess I’ve found more necessary things to do with my time that slap a piece of horsehide with a stick.”

          It’s just the sort of thing he would say to her about her interests. He’s taught her well.

When she’s fitted against him she wiggles and pushes as much as she dares. She’s laughing at his jokes and she’s listening to his hips before hands flirting. This is natural and she lets him banter on.

          “How you couldn’t afford that new suede coat on a G-Woman’s salary,” and then they’re laughing together and hitting the ball to the skies and he’s lost track of time and he doesn’t care about his triple X bill. All he cares about this moment and he feels something inside changing.

          “Come back to mine for a coffee, Scully?”

          She feels a sudden pang of nerves and his hopeful smile fades.

          “It’s late.”

          “I know. But it’s also the weekend and as far as I know you’re not Cinderella.”

          She looks to her feet and shrugs. “No glass slippers.”

She’s always loved his apartment. He’s no housekeeper and there’s something special his poky quarters that thrills her every time. His prints on the wall, the clutter on his desk that displays the brilliance of his mind, the books he has on the shelf in his bedroom. She walks to his fish tank, checking on the mollies. When she looks round at him, he’s back lit by the soft glow of his wall lamp. He looks so handsome, but vulnerable. He does smile then and her knees tremble. He’s holding the gift bag and she opens her mouth to speak but nothing comes out.

He moves towards her and presses the bag into her hand. She breathes out roughly and opens it. He watches her breasts move with her deeper inhalations and her skin flush from her chest and up neck as she pulls out the dress, wrapped in tissue paper, but obviously the one she had looked at so many times.

          “Mulder,” she says, her voice just a reedy whisper. There are tears in her eyes and her cheeks bloom. “I can’t accept this. It’s too much.”

          He shakes his head. “It’s what you wanted, Scully.” He’s so close to her now, that he can hear the hitch in her breathing. “It’s what you deserve.”

She takes the bag and opens it, her pulse pounding in her ears, blood rushing to every surface so that she’s feverish. She takes the gift out and sees the colour of the fabric and knows instantly what he’s done.

          “Mulder,” she says, her voice just a reedy whisper. She feels hot tears spring and the heat rises in her face. “I can’t accept this. It’s too much.”

          He shakes his head. “It’s what you wanted, Scully.” He’s so close to her now, that she can smell his cologne. “It’s what you deserve.”

And then he bends to kiss her because it’s the only rational response in the situation. The tissue paper rustles between them and he can feel the wedge of the dress against his stomach. He tamps down an image of her wearing it because it would be overstepping the mark for her to feel his desire so quickly after kissing her for the first time. Their lips are touching and he’s testing the waters, waiting for the moment to deepen it. When she shifts slightly closer, he knows it’s time and he opens his mouth, tasting her. She lets out a tiny sigh and he swallows it, loving that he has something of Scully inside him. He doesn’t want the moment to end. He wants her to breathe life into him forever. But she pulls away and drops her head and he sees the tear drop splash against her shoe.

And then he bends to kiss her because it’s the only rational response in the situation. The tissue paper rustles between them and she can feel the wedge of the dress against her chest. She tamps down an image of him waltzing her around this room wearing nothing but the dress and she feels her nipples harden at the thought. She’s glad of the cover of the dress because it would be overstepping the mark for him to feel her desire so quickly after kissing him for the first time. Their lips are touching and she’s testing the waters, waiting for the moment to deepen it. When she shifts slightly closer, he opens his mouth, and she tastes him. She lets out a tiny sigh and he laps at it. She loves that she has given him something of her own, something as precious as a breath. She doesn’t want the moment to end. She wants to breathe life into him forever. But she pulls away and drops her head and a tear betrays her emotions.

His arms are still around her shoulders.

          “Scully?”

          “I’m fine, Mulder. It’s just all too much.”

          He lifts her chin and smiles. “I’d say it’s not enough.” He kisses her again, chaste but full of promise. “Try it on for me?”

          She lifts it up and twists it back and forth. “It’s beautiful.”

          “You have good taste.”

          Looking up at him, she smiles at his words. “Yes, I do.”

When he asks her to try on the dress she feels a power jolt through her. She realises this isn’t just about her. This is for them. They are partners. They are undoubtedly attracted to each other. There is love so profound between them that it’s too difficult to quantify. But the simple act of him buying her this dress has undone her resolve and she feels the edges ripping away like the tissue paper.

          She does have good taste, she thinks, slipping past him into his bedroom.

When she appears at his doorway a thunderbolt strikes him and he feels like he’s having a heart attack. The way she is wrapped in the crimson fabric, the startling blue of her eyes, the upsweep of her hair that she’s somehow magically pinned on her head, the narrow waist, the swell of her breasts. She’s a vision. And he can’t move.

          “Mulder?”

She’s never seen him pale so quickly, yet sweat beads are forming on his forehead. He sways on his feet. A small cough erupts from his throat and she ducks her head to give him time to compose himself. But when she looks up again, he’s still staring.

          “Mulder?”

          He walks towards her and takes her hand. “You look amazing.”

          “It’s this dress, Mulder. It’s stunning.”

          “No, Scully. It’s you.”

          She reaches up and kisses his cheek and he takes her face and pulls it around, capturing her lips. He clasps her hand between them. A conduit for their beating hearts.

He dances her around in the hallway. Silent music leading them. He’s sure he didn’t deliberately push them back towards his bedroom but she yelps when her legs hit the bed and they stop to laugh.

          “Sorry,” he says, pulling her away.

          “I should take this off, before it gets ruined.”

          He’s feeling bold. “Can I help?”

          “Mulder,” she chuffs. But she doesn’t push him away. She just turns and he unzips it and lets it fall to floor in rivers of crimson. She steps out of it and turns back to him, arms extended and when she kisses him and her breasts push against his chest he wonders, for the first time that night, if this whole thing is real.

Yuri on Ice Polyship Week

Please note the dates have been changed to June 19th-25th.

Hey, everyone! Like many of you out there in Tumblrland, I’ve developed a small Yuri on Ice obsession as of late. I’ve really been enjoying the various character/ship weeks that are happening, and I wanted to try my hand at one. After looking at the schedule on @yoievents, I didn’t see anything shining a light on polyships, so that’s what I decided to do.

I must admit that I’ve never run an event like this before, so I’m following the lead of everyone else. Feel free to send in tips/advice if you like. :) (Also I have approximately -10 graphics skills, so if someone felt the urge to step forward and slap something together for a better banner or maybe a prompts graphic once we have them, that would be the actual best.)

As for the week itself, all types of fanworks will be accepted as long as they relate to polyshipping in some way. Ratings, ships, etc, are all up to the creators.

Here’s a tentative schedule; let me know if something on it doesn’t work for you guys.

Through May 14th – accepting prompts

May 15th – 28th – prompt voting (I’m shooting for two prompts/day to give people a variety)

May 29th – final prompts reveled

June 19th – 25th – YOI Polyship Week

So, yeah, you can start sending in prompts now! Anything goes – particular AUS, genres, quotes, general prompts, etc, etc, whatever inspires you or might inspire someone else. And please share this post so other people can find out about the week. <3

I’m looking forward to this adventure. :) ~your mod @wedge-antilles-feelings

RebelCaptain Fan Fiction Recs!

I know everyone and their father’s brother’s nephew’s cousin’s former roommate has done a Fan Fiction rec, but I wanted to get some of my favorites out there! This is going to be a long post, so bear with me. (I tried to find as many of the author’s Tumblrs if I can, but sometimes I couldn’t! Let me know if I missed them!)

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lajulie24  asked:

Okay, Luke/Wedge, Leia or Han gives Wedge some romantic advice. (They can give Luke advice too, or not, or one can advise each one, or whatever you want to do with it.)

In which advice is given, Wedge has insecurities (what’s new) and Luke gets into mischief, and Han and Leia try their hardest to get these two idiots together.

Also on ao3, because let me get my prompts organised early on this time :D

“Hobbie’s down on injury,” Wedge tells Leia, barely able to keep a groan of again out of his statement, “so we’ll be here for a couple of days before medical clears him. It’ll give High Command a chance to work out where they send us next.”

Leia refrains from pointing out that High Command have a list of destinations for the Rogues a mile long, planets in which their particular skills would be highly valued. That, and the fact that since yesterday’s meeting of High Command, Leia herself no longer has a say in military decisions – Mon is attempting to untangle the confused web of the Alliance’s upper echelons, separating out the soldiers from the politicians, as she moves it to a democratic republic.

“A couple of days rest time will do you good,” is what Leia does say. It would do them all good, frankly, but Leia at least has managed to claw a little time away with Han, a honeymoon of sorts, since Endor, and she’s almost certain Wedge hasn’t. They’d managed to get him to stop for a few hours on Endor, to join the celebrations, but even the next morning he’d been up working, sorting through duty rosters and taking on the duties of the squadron leaders who had died in the attack.

“It’ll do me bored,” Wedge replies. “Especially if you get your way and lock me out my office.”

“Now Wedge, why ever would you think I’d do that!” Leia bats her eyelashes at him, the picture of innocence, as if she has not, in fact, done exactly that in the past. “I’d lock you out the hangar too, if I had my way, but you and your pilots will be needed for patrol.”

“You’re no fun.”

“And you work too hard.” Leia stabs him in the chest with her finger before he can retort back that she does too. “I have Han – at least, when he isn’t off flying missions – and I’ve actually used some of the leave that we’re all due. Which is more than I can say for you.”

Wedge murmurs something Leia doesn’t quite catch, and runs a hand through the back of his hair, almost abashed.

“The war’s over, Wedge. We can all finally move on with our lives. Have things we couldn’t have before.”

It’s not like Leia doesn’t know that Wedge does want things. She saw the way his eyes tracked Luke at the celebration on Endor, gaze steady with desire. And she’s overheard a few of the Rogue’s drunken odes to Commander Skywalker, and well… Wedge isn’t being nearly as subtle as he thinks he is.

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anonymous asked:

Can I request a scenario where Saitama and the reader were together before he started his training. But Saitama decided it would be best if they broke up cause he was worried for her safety. Then 3 years later they see each other again and he finds out that they too became a hero just to see him again? Sorry of this made no sense!

Don’t worry! You made perfect sense! :>> I hope you enjoy this scenario! (IT’S SUPER LONG!!!)

Word count: 5517

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SPIDERLING 200 Imagine #3!

Requested by @purelyparker 
Part of my 200 followers celebration!

A/N: HEY CASSANDRA! I really hope you like this :)) I know it’s been a long and tedious wait, but the imagine is finally heRE! It’s a monster, too.. longest imagine yet woo (3096 words ??) The prompt you sent in was ABSOLUTELY adorable and I hope I give it justice (seriously, I was getting hardcore feels writing and brainstorming about this one wow)!! You da bomb <33


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Can you imagine being Wedge after the Death Star battle?

You got hit. Luke told you to bail, and you listened, because he was right, there was nothing good you could do other than be an obstacle for the Imperials to blow up.

Which was exactly what Biggs ended up being.

It should’ve been you, not Biggs. You should’ve stayed. You should’ve died rather than bail on your wingman. 

You’re ashamed. You survived–one of a handful of pilots to survive–and you’re ashamed.

They give you a patch and paint a Death Star on your X-Wing, symbolizing that you were there, that you helped defeat the Empire, but you don’t feel like you helped.

You feel like you failed.

Luke comes into barracks, a smile on his face, until he sees you. “Hey Wedge, you okay?”

You look away, you can’t meet his gaze. But somehow Luke knows. He always knows. He sits on your cot, your shoulders bumping, and he says, “I just wanted to thank you.”

“What?”

Luke says,  "WIthout you, I would’ve been dead back there. That TIE had me in his sights and I as a gonner. I couldn’t shake him. But you took care of him for me. And if you hadn’t done that, I would’ve died, and…“

And you both know what that would mean. The Death  Star would’ve succeeded and Yavin 4 would be gone. Leia and so many others would be dead.

"So thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

You sit like that for a few minutes, just on the cot, shoulders lightly brushing, and then Luke stands abruptly. “Hey, wanna grab something to eat? Han made some cake, says it’s a Corellian tradition of celebration or something?”

“HAN MADE RYSHCATE?”

“Yeah?”

“YES YES YES. WE HAVE TO GET SOME RIGHT NOW BEFORE EVERYONE ELSE EATS YOU. YOU HAVE TO TRY THIS, LUKE. IT’S GOING TO CHANGE YOUR LIFE.”

And then before you know it, you’re celebrating with Luke, Han, and Leia, eating Ryshcate and drinking Corellian whiskey, and it feels perfect, it feels like home, and you wonder if maybe it’s okay if you survived.

But you know you won’t let Biggs and the other’s sacrifices be in vain. You’re going to keep fighting, until you die or the Empire is gone for good.

More thoughts when I'm a little awake

Sans would 100% feel you up before you head off to work and just leave you hot and bothered for most of the day. Half way through the day though, you’d feel something wedge itself inside of you. The texture is firmilar and you immediately gasp and lean forward. Your phone lights up alerting you of a new text message. You have a feeling you already know who it is.

New text from Sans: Hey babe, you seemed a bit tense this morning. So I’m helping you relieve some stress ;)

Normally you wouldn’t mind this, had you not been at work of course. You feel as it slides out of you, and slams back in. You look down at your pants to make sure his dick isn’t suddenly there and forcing your jeans down. You excuse youself to the bathroom. When you get your jeans down you can see that Sans dick is disappearing after it exits you but reappears as it enters. You whine as your phone goes off again. Sans is calling you.

“Heh, I wanted to hear what I was doin’ to ya kitten. Havin’ fun, no?” You can hear Sans voice rasp roughly.

You whine and plead for him to go harder faster anything. You hear him growl on the other end before the air shifts around you. Suddenly bam the skeleman is there.

“You can’t do that shit to me. You’re lucky I was on break.”

Now you fuck the snasman in your works bathroom. Enjoy having glowing cum inside of you all day. Better hope the power doesn’t cut out. At the same time you could help guide people around the building with your glow in the dark crotch

Leoji Week April 12-19 Masterpost

Hello, fellow Leoji kids~!!

You all made the week before last a wonderful one, with so many fics and art posts and I am just really really super duper grateful to you all. THANK YOU! <3

I would have linked each individual post, but they’re too many for me to handle, and I somehow messed up with the name tags, so I’m mentioning everyone who participated. XD 

Post Tags on the Blog: 

ALL POSTS | FIC POSTS | ART POSTS | A CUTE TEDDY BEAR POST

Prompts:

Social Media 💖 Leoji to others 💖 Firsts 💖 Sleepovers 💖 Music 💖 Flowers 💖 Pining 💖 Love 💖 Soulmates AU 💖 College AU 💖 “How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard” 💖 “It’s okay, I’ve got you” 💖 Guang Hong learns Spanish 💖 Teddy bears

Content Creators:

Your posts have all been tagged with your names, so you can find them all in one place!!

I know this is a really pathetic excuse of a masterpost, but this is the best I could do. S O R R Y. If you have the time, check out everyone’s work. It’s all so beautiful!!!!! :D