Okay but Fireball strikes me as having Carkol or Zarude for his pokemon.
Carkol purely for that one scene where he offers to make food. I think he'd bond with Carkol by using him to cook on missions.
And Zarude for the whole pack thing. The army is disbanded 🤝 this pokemon maybe lost his pack. Something something a pokemon with a pack mentality join a group of rogue clones. He'd also absolutely be able to befriend the aggressive monkey.
Thoughts?
hcing Fireball and Nemic being from the 41st sounds right to me. he still has Carkol, Zarude just belonged to Commander Gree so it's a little protective now
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✧ Summary: You escaped the comfort of your own bed and your boyfriend Fireball only to have him chasing you down not too long after, sleepy and clingy and pleading.
✧ Tags & Warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, established relationship, fun clone namedrops and cameo, fireball and reader being L together, W rex this time, clones being comedians
✧ Word Count: 1.7k
✧ A/N: HI EVERYONE LONG TIME NO SEE. I'm back with my “it's late you should sleep” bullshit and most importantly my Fireball bullshit because WE NEED MORE FICS ABOUT THIS MAN. Fun namedrops again, making mends to the last time where I couldn't place some more troopers 👀
Main Masterlist | Read on AO3 | divider by @dollywons
You sip on your tea. Herbal scent and steam swirls into the tip of your nose. The tips of your fingers holding the mug steady against your lips absorb the heat, the emanating warmth helpful in prying and keeping your eyelids open.
It's late. You woke up somewhere between 0200 and Gregor’s giggles down in the hall joking with another trooper, peeling yourself off of Fireball's arm around your waist. Getting dressed as quietly as possible and making your way to your station, sleep slipping away from your person with each step of the way.
You tapped Jesse in the shoulder and offered to replace him, and he headed out to his bunk gratefully. Not being a douche, but he was just back from another rescue mission and he was injured. Still injured. So, for now, manning the comms, monitoring the countdown to another check-in with another team who's sent out there, as is your job here helping their underground network—you’re on your own.
Or so you thought.
You hear the door zips open, and you hear firm, steady stomps of trooper boots. At first you probably think it's Rex, or perhaps Howzer. Or maybe Kix even, wanted to check in with his brother who's gone to rest at your behest.
“Mesh’la…”
Caught.
Fireball sighs loudly, a sound of disappointment and yearning just behind your person. “What are you doing?” The distance between you and him recedes with each step. His hand falls to your shoulder before it slides across your collar bone and entraps you in a sloppy hug. “You need to be in bed.”
You're almost, almost swayed by the drowsy drawl in his voice to actually hit the bed again with him in tow. But your damn brain still wants you to be awake. You set your tea mug down, and rest your hand on top of his on your shoulder, squeezing. “I can't sleep, Fireball.”
“Apparently,” he remarks softly, and you can smell more disappointment coming off of him in tiny, tiny waves of it. Your beloved plants little kisses to your temple, as if begging you wordlessly, his voice drawls adorably when he speaks. “Something bother you?”
“No, nothing bothers me.” You tilt your head, his cool skin brushing against your flushed cheek, and capture his lips with your soft ones. The notion tugs a soft, drowsy whimper out of him. “I don't know,” you whisper, honest. “I just can't.”
“Maybe just feeling a bit restless.” Fireball’s warm amber eyes meet yours for a second before he kisses you again, pouting and murmuring against your lips. “Missed you. We should be sleeping together right now. We don't get night shifts today.”
You give him a noncommittal smile, which makes him pull the chair next to yours and root himself on it. Fireball yawns. His eyes are determined when he sets his eyes on you again.
“Do you want me to fireman carry you?” Although he's smirking, there's a hint of patience in his voice. He drags the damn wheeled chair to your side and holds your hand. “Hm? Knock your lights out and drag your unconscious body to bed?”
“I will hit you,” you chuckle heartily.
“Nah.” He leans into your space again and kisses your cheek. “Not gonna hurt anyway.”
Your sweet, sweet Fireball can be very clingy when he lets his guard down. Not to the point of being insufferable as he's still got dignity to upkeep, though. And yet secretly you also crave this side of him at all times—touchy, clingy, a one-minute silence away from dropping everything and falling asleep. His hair isn't as styled as it looks during the day, looking like he only jabbed his fingers through and combed it roughly to keep it away from his face not five minutes ago. Nevertheless, he looks adorable.
“Why are you wearing armor?” you ask, scratching at a slight dent on his dark green chest plate with your nail.
“Because my armor is me, and I am nothing without my armor.” Fireball’s warm, gloved hand squeezes yours. “You know that.”
You hum, reclining back against the chair. Your mug of tea is abandoned. “It’s so quiet tonight.”
“Preferable Teth situation on a normal basis.” If not for his lingering drowsiness, it would sound like a deadpan. Fireball clears his throat, his tone quirking. The gleam in his eyes tells you already. “I have a few ideas, if you're bored. All of them include this interactive and persuasive human connection called ‘let’s head back to bed and sleep'.”
Your guilt sinks to your stomach. “Fireball…”
“Mesh'la, please.” He squeezes your hand again, using his hold as leverage to pull himself into you. The tip of his nose nudging your cheek, lips dragging lazily across your jaw to persuade you to the very best of his abilities while sleepy. His breath is warm against your skin, murmuring, almost inaudible. “Please?”
All you want to do now is to grab his face and place soft kisses on his lips. Wordless sorry’s in every touch. Fireball deserves that after you left him alone. Deep pools of glistening amber plead to you, and you can no longer resist the proximity. You kiss him, capturing his lips between yours, holding a couple of seconds longer while putting your apology at the forefront of your heart and willing to let sleep engulf you at last.
“Okay,” you concede, holding him upright by the shoulders when he seems to fall asleep for a second. Your heart sinks further. “Fire?”
He blinks sleepily. “Hm?”
“I'm sorry if I hurt you somehow.”
“You didn't.” Fireball's smile is slow and dopey with all the amount of power he's got in order to fight the sleep as he gets up and towards the door. “I'm gonna find someone. Stay here.”
And it isn't long when your private midnight solitude is breached with the sound of the door opening. Your knees prompt you to stand upon the anticipated declaration of freedom—from the impromptu comms supervision, that is—and you're just as much as taken aback as Rex is when he lays his eyes on you. Fireball is absent anywhere near him.
“Oh it's you,” the blond captain muses, eyebrows raised upon the discovery. His eyes scan over your station for a nanosecond before returning to you with a flash of concern. “Everything okay so far?”
“Um, yeah, good.” You scramble out of the vicinity of your previous seat. You're still caught off guard by the sudden presence of Rex, suddenly feeling cornered. “Ahem. Next check-in is due in 8, though.”
Rex nods his head taking that in, though he seems like he still can't put what's missing, aside that you're not supposed to be on the hour yet. “Isn't Jesse supposed to be here?” he asks then, remembering.
You swallow. “I, uh, sent him away.”
Rex visibly relaxes. An audible sigh through his nostrils, sounding almost grateful for one less thing to worry about. “Yeah, he needed a lot of rest from the last one.” He runs a hand over his face, tired. “You? Can't sleep?”
“Yeah,” you let out an awkward chuckle, cheeks flushed from the embarrassing story starter bit that put you here in the first place. “Got busted, though.”
Rex takes the information kindly with a fond laugh of his own. “Yeah?” he asks, a clear-as-crystal teasing hint in his tone. “Where is he, then?”
As if everything's on goddamn cued that makes you regret even more than twenty seconds ago—you really should've never gone out of your and Fireball's shared quarters—your boyfriend saunters into the room with another trooper behind him, the confidence in his steps is put to an abrupt, almost alarmed stop when Rex pivots toward the door.
Fireball's eyes widened, as if the drowsiness melts away entirely from his body. “Rex.”
“Fireball.” Rex arches one eyebrow, craning his neck over to catch a glimpse of silver hair just behind your boyfriend. “Sinker. What, you got pulled out of duty?”
The 104th vet sighs, turns to a defeated Fireball with a gaze that says I told you so, and pats him firmly in the shoulder. “Sorry, dude. Busted.”
Fireball pats Sinker’s back with a lazy swing of the arm, in the process of slightly shoving the other trooper away to make space in the cramped doorway. “Yeah. Seemed to be the main theme of the episode,” Fireball mumbles, nowhere near grumbling but hilariously accepting. Once Sinker's fully gone out of the vicinity two seconds later, Fireball shrugs apologetically. “Sorry, Rex.”
Rex shakes his head, arms crossed, a tiny hint of a fond smile daring to stretch his lips. He tilts his head back at you, and then at the door. “Why don't you two get some rest since neither of you are supposed to be here anyway? I’ll watch the comms.”
Without wasting time to ponder over the generous permit and volunteer, you slip past Rex and join Fireball at the door with a quick shuffle of your feet, eager to escape the teasing glance the captain is throwing at the both of you as you go.
“Night, Rex,” you wave a little, the other hand already held by Fireball to drag you out of the damn comms room. The tips of his ears are also red. “Thanks. And uh, sorry.”
Rex makes a little shoo-ing gesture at you just before the door slams in your face when Fireball finally drags you away, and swift, in the direction of your shared quarters in another wing.
“Seriously.” Fireball squeezes your hand instead, wishing that he'd grab your face and smoosh your cheeks together out of aggression. “It needed to be Rex to get you out of there.”
You slap at his shoulder blade. “Whatever.” No matter how close and casual both of you are with Rex, it's still embarrassing to go through all that literally in the face of a leadership, for kriff’s sake. “Let's just go to bed.”
Arriving at your door, Fireball pokes your flushed cheek, grinning. “Oh so you wanna go back to bed now.”
You let out a whine against his deep chuckles, ducking underneath him to key the door open, cool sheets and thin pillows waiting for the both of you. “Would be nice if you shut your cake hole.”
“Been itching to say it, mesh'la,” Fireball grins, pulling you to his chest once both of you are inside and kissing your flushed cheeks and pouting lips with a sleepy yet intense brush of his affection.
A/N: You can request for x reader in my askbox! If you're interested in my clone x reader oneshots you can sign up as well to be tagged of future works. (Link provided ⬆️)
Requested by @neverrrrrrrmind
HELLO FROM THE MAIN BLOG. I’d like to request a fic where reader is in a poly relationship (well, actually it doesn’t have to be romantic as long as there’s three of them) with Nemec and Fireball. The rest is up to you 🫵🏾 THANK YOU!
Buy One Get Two
Clone Troopers Nemec & Fireball × GN!Reader
✧ Summary: You took a small walk to that nice caf shop in the Senate Building, returning only to be met with new clones with markings you've never seen before, who are apparently assigned as your new guards.
✧ Tags & Warnings: reader as senator, bodyguard clones, reader drinks caf, mentions of corrie commanders, platonic, friendly conversation, just being nice to clones :3
✧ Word Count: 1.9k
✧ A/N: I HAD FUN WRITING THISSSS (as always with platonic fics they're so addicting to write). Thanks for the great prompt vod @hellfiresky! I've been so so so obsessed with these two dummies lately. So according to my hc they are actually from different companies but I'm gonna put them in the same one for this one. Hope you enjoy 💛 (oh there is so gonna be a part 2 for this fyi)
Main Masterlist | Read on AO3 | dividers by me
The particular corridor that leads to your senatorial office isn't particularly crowded at this time of the hour. For you, it is also a good, quiet space to take a break at from the buzzing chaos of your thoughts inside the confinement you call office. It's where you work, yes, but working is separate from discovering the littlest bit of peace while you can. The silence of this corridor reminds you of that of your old alma mater’s—specifically the one that leads to its many auditoriums.
Attendants and clone patrols and other officers alike pass by as you do. You hold a flimsi cup holder containing three cups of caf by its fascinatingly sturdy handle. This day you took your chance to get caf all by yourself, dismissing your aide in the guise of taking a brief walk, bravely temporarily dismissing the urgent issues at your desk demanding your attention. Several of them have to be accomplished today, and you need something consumable to give you a little more push.
And by the time you turn around the corner to accept your fate where more work awaits behind the door, you stumble into an abrupt stop. On either side of the door where it's usually manned by a couple of Coruscant Guard troopers you've grown fond of, you find a couple with green visor and dark green markings, features that are foreign to you, almost as if for camouflage purposes. Their armors are way more scratched and dented than the Corries that you've seen.
They immediately straighten at your arrival, quite unnaturally. The sight puts you in immediate despair that you're doing this again, but you quickly set that aside. The air about them, you can tell already, is quite different.
“Afternoon, gentlemen,” you start with a welcome, encouraging smile. “Any chance you know where Blaze and Steel are—the usual Guardsmen assigned here?”
They share a glance, their stoic helmets preventing you from reading their expressions, but you might be able to guess already. One of them with a scorched helmet answers, “They're reassigned for a time being, Senator. In exchange, both of us are stationed here for 25 rotations.”
At the numbers, your brows immediately knit into a frown. “Now that's quite a long time, isn't it? Aren't you two supposed to be…” You eye their armor plates that definitely have seen some more brutal actions. “In the frontlines?”
The other one with a unique lighter green marking in his helmet nods sharply. “CT-5775, Senator.” He nods at his partner's direction. “And this is CT-3258. We're both privates of the 41st Elite Corps under Jedi General Luminara Unduli.”
You hum. “Elite frontline troopers, yes? Then what are you doing here?”
He hesitates for a moment before once again answering your inquiry with the same firmness, “Punishment, Senator. Our entire platoon… made a mistake. We were sent home and reassigned to assist the Coruscant Guard. Starting today.”
It must be quite an embarrassment for admitting that out loud. You hold back your grimace, but internally you've quickly applauded their directness and honesty. Both you can find in most clones, but not all would admit that they are technically on probation.
“Haven't you been informed of the reassignment, Senator?” the other trooper, one with the scorched helmet, asks.
You huff quietly. “Didnt know about any trooper reassignment, to be honest. Must've missed it completely or the system’s fault. My aide would've told me.” You would need to ask them later. “What are your names?”
“I'm Fireball,” the previous trooper answers. He then gestures to his counterpart, the one who's been granting you detailed answers. “And this is Nemec.”
You muse, “Nemec and Fireball.” You've heard of how the clone troopers established their own culture. A little something for themselves that they weren't allowed per strict Kaminoan protocol. It reminds you just how entirely different they are from you—the only similarity shared between you and Nemec along with Fireball is that you are only human fighting for the same cause.
Human. As far as you know, you are merely one of the small group of senators that treat clone troopers as people given with choices, free will, and the mind. What pains you is that they are used to being treated as cannon fodders—expendable, replaceable. Property.
“Would you like some caf?” you offer the drink carrier to both troopers right away. You always find the crevice in time to give your assigned guards treats as a way to engage with them. It's a small yet fine start that you hope would inspire your peers as well. “The cafeteria downstairs got quite an offer I couldn't miss but I didn't know who to share these with.”
They look hesitant—understandably. Especially casting a quick glance on the brand emblazoned into the cups, they'd know it's one of the fancy ones they absolutely can't afford even with their monthly stipend. “We appreciate the offer, Senator,” Nemec refuses politely, “But with all due respect, we're on duty.”
You almost roll your eyes. “This is caf, Nemec, not Corellian whiskey,” you insist, bringing your tone lighter to indicate to them that you won't rat them out nor want them to pay back. You don't even have the heart. “It’s allowed. If you're caught by Commander Thorn—or even worse, Commander Fox—I'll even cover for you, you know that?”
Fireball’s slight upward head tilt marks his apparent enthusiasm, swayed by your persuasion. “Promise, Senator?”
You chuckle softly. “Cross my heart. It's fine, have one with me.” After a second, they crouch a little to read the labels on the cups before plucking one off the carrier for themselves each. You notice that Nemec actually took your usual hot double-shot mocha, but you don't even feel bad. Fireball took the iced shi-shok latte, and that left you the hot double-shot less-sugar koja nut latte—thank stars for the invention of double-shot caf.
You sip on your caf carefully, humming pleasantly at the feel of smooth blend of milk and caf seeping into your tongue. You feel rejuvenated instantly. Both troopers have their helmets off as they enjoy their own caf; they look so much alike. “Have you ever heard the Coruscant Guard's marshal commander is both exhausted and terrifying?” you ask them.
Fireball snorts, seemingly dropping all courteous manners and already grown easy with you. “All the time, Senator. Everything about him? They're all true.”
Your eyebrows raise. “Including the silly rumor that the real Fox was actually devoured by an eldritch creature from Level 2?”
“And that his armor is possessed by the spirit of an ancient Sith Lord that sought the Light?” Nemec’s eyes glint in humor, a stark contrast to his stricter upbringing. He shrugs. “Yeah. We might even believe it.”
“Say what you want but he's efficient,” Fireball asserts, clearly enjoying the dive into the topic—especially since it's his chance to talk about a commanding officer far above him in a safe bubble. “Extremely dedicated. Most clones, shinies especially, either aspire to be him or are afraid of him.”
“That’s true,” you reply, almost in awe. You wonder how they keep up to these smaller details. Perhaps a central comm channel for everyone… with a server that magically doesn't crash regularly. “So while you're here, do you report to him?”
Nemec finishes another sip of his mocha before answering, “We report to our lieutenant. And to Commander Stone, Senator.”
You frown. “Why him and not Fox?”
“It's… pure logistic and functional,” Fireball goes to explain, “Stone is the top Corrie liaison specifically assigned for other battalions. Any arrangements or requests coming from any troopers outside the Coruscant Guard go through him. But not rarely do most commanders go directly to Fox, cutting through the chain of command.”
“Pure logistic and functional,” you hum in awe. Maybe you should observe and study these chains of commands further as it apparently interests you.
“And uh, another thing, Senator,” Nemec's voice plunges through your beginning of a thought. He's taking another sip of his hot mocha, eyes already wide awake from the caffeine. “We're assigned to be your escorts as well. So if you want one of us to run an errand, give the order.”
“Yeah.” Fireball nods enthusiastically, shaking his iced caf in a circled motion that emits the cluttering noise inside the cup. “We’ll handle it. We're good.”
“Good?” You quirk an eyebrow at them, a little teasingly. “On the field, yes. But anyway, how are your data entry and administration skills?”
Hesitating to reveal a truthful answer, Fireball's mouth is gaping like a fish. A humorous sight to you that you have to stifle a giggle behind your hand. Nemec, seemingly with a clearer mind perhaps thanks to double shot, takes over but shares the hesitation. “I… we… clones learn quickly.”
“No worries, I was just joking. You're here as escort guards, not my aide.” You let the last of your laugh dissipate into the air, followed by the troopers’ nervous laugh as well, and simultaneous big gulps of caf to ease their nerves. Lacking more information and desperate for it, you keep shooting questions. “Does that entail you both will escort me to and from my apartment as well?”
Nemec nods. “Yes, Senator.”
“And be present at your home office too,” Fireball adds informatively. A slightly grimmer expression slides into his countenance. “Considering recent assassination attempts. Strict order from command to be by your side, wherever.”
“I see,” you hum thoughtfully, instinctively glancing behind your shoulder expecting someone watching your every move—you could be a target for something you've said in publicly aired senate sessions. Both clones can't help but notice your movement, and share a sympathetic glance. With a clear of the throat, you return to your easier side once again—easygoing, friendly smile, encouraging demeanor, sharp ears to listen. “So. You… two haven't been assigned to escort duty ever prior to this, have you?”
“True. This is our first.”
“Good for you, Fireball.” Your smile breaks into a small grin—an encouragement, before it's to be hindered when you're sipping from your hot caf again. “First time for everything. Learning by doing, yes?”
“Agreed,” Nemec says calmly, a foreign touch of political tone etched into his caf-induced mannerism. It's somehow both a weird and not weird sight to you. “Speaking of something else, don't you have work to do, Senator?”
You had to make sure that it's him, Nemec, who had the audacity to pull a diabolical move like that on you, and not Fireball. Your gaze flits between the two of them and, yes indeed it was Nemec. “Who are you, my mother?” you playfully retort, even giving him a stink eye. You break into another grin and laugh before any of them could show concern for being written up. Both troopers visibly exhale in relief. You grin. “Thanks for the reminder though, Nemec. I should better finish whatever's on my desk before clocking out.”
As you bypass them to step inside your office, behind you Fireball cackles victoriously from glee he's felt on the first day of the job. “Thanks for the welcoming caf, Senator!”
Their smiles are joyously contagious. “Pleasure, gentlemen,” you reply with grace, as you raise your caf toward them in a toast. “Hope you have a great time on Coruscant!”
Credits: Blaze and Steel (the Corries mentioned earlier) are from @hellfiresky's brilliant, cracky shiny clones fic RED TIDES! Go check it out 🏃
A/N: You can request for x reader in my askbox! If you're interested in my clone x reader oneshots you can sign up as well to be tagged of future works. (Link provided ⬆️)
I love the nsfw commander thots 😭😭😭 may I please something similar but with Gregor, Fireball, and Nemec if you don't mind 🥺🥺 I've been obsessed with them lately ueueu thank you so much 💛💛
my clone headcanons: general nsfw
bad batch | 501st | misc clones
afab reader
warnings: ⚠️ explicit sexual content ⚠️
a/n: hehe ofc!! hope u enjoy <33
gregor:
୨୧ switches from being dominant and submissive super easily ~~ it honestly just depends on his mood ~~ sometimes he just wants you to boss him around
୨୧ his dominant side is really cheeky, lots of raspy teasing ~~ "you like when i touch you there, huh?"
୨୧ struggles to form words when he's close. mainly whines and sucks his teeth
୨୧ loves hearing you say his name during sex ~~ "who's fucking you, hm?"
୨୧ obsessed with your chest area ~~ gives you hickeys there all the time and loves any opportunity to fuck your tits
fireball:
୨୧ he's pretty laidback during sex, usually uses it to just relax and be with you
୨୧ likes any position with as much skin-to-skin contact as possible. he loves being able to feel your body curved against his
୨୧ the type of bf to wake u up in the middle of the night and whisper "turn on your side" when he's in the mood ~~ he also wants you to do the same to him and he gets offended if he finds out you wanted it but didn't ask
୨୧ certified munch. sometimes he'll just eat it and go on with his day without wanting anything in return
nemec:
୨୧ likes covering your mouth and fucking you harder, especially when he knows there are people who can walk by and hear
୨୧ can be a little demanding. he grabs your hips when you're on top and moves you himself to the pace he wants ~~ "you're doing it wrong"
୨୧ prefers getting handjobs from you over doing it himself but he tells you exactly how he wants it ~~ "squeeze harder, baby, you won't hurt me."
୨୧ feels a little embarrassed about moaning and shit so he always kisses you when he's about to make a noise
✧ Summary: Another day with the Clone Underground Network, lacking a few guys of the gang. Another day of Fireball having a messy crisis with his developed crush on you where (most of) his vode aren't helping.
✧ Tags & Warnings: serious-ish crackfic that turns soft, in-universe swearing, fun side character appearances (sister, howzer, greer, samson), several other surprise clone namedrops, sister the scary ori’vod and supreme wingwoman, CLONES BEING COMEDIANS, has much less sick elements than the other fics
✧ Word Count: 3.6k
✧ A/N: Sorry for the big delay there was this big family event that lasted an entire day and I was spent 🧍🏽♀️ I wrote Sister's musing and the middle part of this piece while still high on caf effects that I drank at 4 pm again guys send help (you'll know what I mean when you get to Sister's part, the difference is staggering). ANYWAY ENJOY! 💛
Main Masterlist | Read on AO3 | dividers by me
Fireball never had much luck to do anything with his crush on girls. Most of the times it was merely infatuations—sitting at a bar while a few of them in periphery dancing their nights away while he nursed on his second pint of the night, testosterones swirling in the air, did it to him. Sometimes it was the sudden deployment—a message in their vambrace from the official 41st Elite Corps comm channel. Sometimes it was the nerves.
He was confident with his approach. Still is, alright. But something was always holding him back. Maybe it was the liberating experience of staying bachelor and half-drunk on most leave nights, the only responsibility awaited for him was the one in the next morning—PT, company assembly, and munition briefings—and cleaning his own blaster.
But after everything went flarked—after the end of the Republic…
He changed. He required constant company. He couldn't stare at a set of empty chairs and empty tables without reminiscing the nights he had at some random underworld bars that he and his brothers once hit. Nemec, a brother from the same battalion but different company—another rebel from the Order—found him and rarely left his side. Sister from 7th Sky Corps under the infamous Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi helped him course through the emotional stream of memories… or what's left of them.
And then there's you. You're new. They found you last week with a group of Saw Gerrera’s partisans imprisoned in a desolate Imperial mining facility. You left them and came with the clone rebellion, deciding to help however you can with whatever current intel you have from your time with the partisans. You're shy at first, but you're brave—your rebel passion shone through, and even Mayday claimed you as one of their own on the spot.
Fireball calls you Newbie, but never condescending. Only because he wants to apply what he's got from Nemec and Sister, and from everyone else around him who supported and helped him adapt. It's just because you're so fragile, you've told them you've never participated in a direct confrontation—you exist and linger in the background, processing intel and manning the comms most of the time. Happens to be what he does, too. The urge to be protective of you grows stronger every day… and as does his feelings toward you.
This time it's different from the past. This time he's certain.
But for now, he's enjoying downtime. Still monitoring the comms though, in case Echo and Fives got their blasters in a jam with the Remora. Which is a nightmare for both comms and command. Nightmare for everyone, seriously. Anyway, Sister is off her guard shift, and she'd dragged a spare wheelie chair toward you and Fireball’s station.
“What about Hexx?” Sister asks, determined to make you barrel through her myriad questions about who's the cutest among the clones.
“Hexx,” you hum, sipping on your smoothie. “Isn't he the goofy one with Commander Mayday?”
Both clones throw their heads back in muffled laughs.
You cover your snort. “Guys!”
“You just called Hexx goofy!” Fireball points out.
“Because I think he is! You asked me to be honest, so Tobb’s your uncle,” you laugh. “Okay, um. He's okay. He's really nice, but had a hard time mingling with the others, though.”
“Yeah. Barton IV did that to them,” Fireball shrugs, skin prickling at the idea of being stuck on an icy planet.
You hum emphatically. “I like his beard, though. Reminds me of, uh, the actor whatshisname—”
“Ronn Frasinski?” Sister suggests to you.
“Yeah!”
Fireball rolls his eyes. “Everyone's still talking about that guy?”
“Man's a legend, Fire,” Sister looks at him in disbelief.
“You three playing that biased osik’la Truth or Truth thingy again?” Nemec’s voice resounds through one of the main tunnels, datapad in hand after a sightsee in the surveillance room.
You blush. You really do regret telling Nemec about what you three have been up to, even though he's included in your tight circle—he’s already there from the start—because Force forbids that man regularly teasing the kriff out of you.
“He'll pass,” Fireball answers for the other man before he could. He spins his chair toward you. “He's not even inside this cool-slash-cute chart we're building with care, Newbie. Don't mind him.”
If Nemec wasn't wearing his bucket, you'd know he's blinking to process Fireball's words at the moment. He awkwardly stands there, faceless with the blank green-tinted visor, boots meekly turning to you. “Am I not cute?”
“NO!” Fireball and Sister shout in tandem, bursting into laughter afterwards.
Nemec slumps even more, walking away. “I'm out of this job.”
“Nemec!” you call out, giggling. You smack both of your closest friends in the arms. “Look what you both have done! Now he's upset,” you pout.
“Nah. He's just gonna stress-eat when he's upset,” Fireball smirks as he watches his vod not-so-discreetly head down to the mess area in his periphery. It just happens to be Spicy Tiingilar Day, and Nemec usually wouldn't leave the table until he devours his second bowl.
Fireball was just about to prompt you the next clone—which is Fives, the newest addition before you, who historically according to his big ass brags had girls and others alike agreeing that he's difficult to resist—a new voice shouts warmly from the corridor that leads to the bunk area.
“Fireball!” Howzer calls out, an energetic spring in his steps, seemingly just waking up from sleep—every one here has an abnormal schedule depending on guard shifts. “You cookin’ today?”
Fireball swivels in his chair, grinning. “Yes, sir!” It's lunch. The teal-marked captain had his own shift that starts before midnight. “Tiingilar on the stove! Heat it up as you will.”
Howzer rubs his hands together excitedly, that are still absent from gloves. “Got it.” His strides grow wider as he crosses the premises toward the dining area. “M’starving as kark, vod.”
“That’s why I'm here!” Fireball chuckles, waiting until the captain turns the corner before turning to you with a swivel of his chair, a charming, teasing grin splitting his lips. “So. What about Howzer?”
You feel your cheeks heating up ten times worse. “He’s a 10, and I rest my case,” you cackle, “Not even gonna be shy about it.”
He realizes too late that it's a kriffing mistake for asking you, because of course it's Howzer. Every girl gawked after him and he varping knew it. The captain himself probably knows you're eyeing him, and he probably enjoys it.
He doesn't realize Sister is watching him closely. Sister, the dearest kindest vod who picks up emotional struggle like it's the back of her hand, even so under a bucket. Visors don't stop her, let alone plain face out for her to observe. The moment Fireball’s smile gets downturned within a span of seconds as the joy that only exists in your presence in his eyes fades, she clocks it. And of course she knows about Fireball's silly little crush-at-first-sight on you. He told Nemec. He told her. Out of all vode in their humble rebel base on Teth, she's undeniably the best secret keeper, the best therapist and listener, and perhaps the best shock therapist as well as she wouldn't hesitate to literally smack someone out of their misery.
Him included, if only she could pull him to a corner and shake him aggressively.
Prime, boys could be so blind sometimes. Her vode included. Naïve rebellious hopeful bunch of manchild. Too dedicated to one single cause. Too good for this world, and too good to go early. And she loved them all so damn much. And she thinks of this as if she isn't one of them, that's what's funny too. Funny thoughts in a funny world. You, Fireball. You, clueless. Fireball, hopeless romantic trainee and he's doing great so far. Probably his real first heartbreak. Because of what? A zine centerfold worthy captain who damn knows he's got a pretty shebs. Who isn't actually interested in finding someone to woo. Too busy with the rebellion and flarking his circadian rhythm by waking up at 1300, thanks.
Fireball, Fireball.
And it's been a long awkward silence where neither of you said anything; Fireball is too damn upset for embarrassing himself, you're doing actual rebel work, and she's rolling her eyes to the back of her head to the point that she develops a kriffing headache.
You're oblivious, but she doesn't blame you. You're a dedicated person, especially their cause, having fought your own way on the partisans’ side before. Locked in, one enemy—the newborn Empire. Anyhoo, Sister is only interested in how you'd react, and how long it'd take until Fireball throws a fit for unrequited crush and she has to dip her hands into this mess. Which, at this rate—looking at him still skulking pathetically while flicking dust off this thigh plate—would happen soon. Real soon.
“Sister!” Greer suddenly appears at the main doorway, thumb jabbing over his shoulder. “Need you at inventory for a bit, you mind?”
“Yeah, I got you, Greer.” Sister groans rising from her chair, popping her back and smacks both you and Fireball's shoulders—but more gently on you. “Laters, kiddies.” Her thumb and forefinger grip the armor gap on Fireball's shoulder in a coiled grasp, telling him that she's aware of what the varp is going on. “Don't claw each other to death without me.”
You wave at her. “Not to worry. I like Fireball more than anyone on this base.”
Sister smacks the man's back a couple of times sympathetically, mentally screaming ‘SEE?!’ followed by ‘There’s hope still, you shebs’ in his ear. Fireball, understandably, short-circuits.
“Don't let Fives hear you,” she cackles. You still haven't looked at how Fireball is gawking at you in disbelief. “He's gonna take that personally.”
You scrunch your nose. Fireball feels his chest is going to explode out of restrained cuteness aggression. “Thank the stars he's out there and not here, then,” you giggle softly—and seriously, that only adds to the damage.
Sister follows Greer to the inventory room with wide strides and a whistled tune of something by Panic! At The Cantina, leaving both you and Fireball to yourselves.
Fireball rolls his chair closer to you, suddenly feeling stupid and yearning at the same time. And stupid. He has no idea what to do and you're still monitoring comms—he feels like he shouldn't even be here. Shouldn't even be on the base embarrassing himself. Should've been with Echo and Fives out there, kriffing sithspit.
So he raises his hand and softly pats the crown of your head. To be honest he doesn't have any damn idea what he's doing either. But he can see your cheeks flush red and your shoulders rising to your ear, blinking fast struggling to comprehend his sudden touch of affection.
“Fire…” Your voice is so, so soft—kark, what he wouldn't trade to have you say it by his ear. You glance at him from your periphery curiously, meekly. “What are you doing?”
“I'm…” His words catch in his throat, mesmerized by blooming redness in your cheeks. Fireball huffs a chuckle, gloved thumb brushing along your hairline. He rises from his chair. “I'm gonna grab us lunch.”
“Okay,” you smile, lifting his hand by clutching his forefinger in your fist. “What's for today?”
His grin is the last one you see before he uses your grip on him to spin you in your chair. “It's Spicy Tiingilar Day, cya’rika,” he chuckles when you squeak in surprise, bringing you for the second spin before nudging your chair with his knee so it stops. “The stew. But spicy.”
“Spicy?” You scrunch up your nose again. “I can't eat spicy, Fireball.”
“Shoot. Really?” Thank the blasted Force that you told him. He can't even handle the idea of you camping in the fresher the entire night. On a wider angle, wasting their limited medicine supplies when the kriffing thing could be avoided at the beginning is the last thing anyone would've done. He sighs. “Nemec's hogging your portion then. You know he's got a tough stomach lining?”
“I know he eats a lot,” you laugh, a heartwarming voice to his ear. “So what am I eating? Boiled rations?”
Fireball mock-gags. “I'm not giving you prison food. Gregor would tear a new one outta me.” Maybe something out of varied crates after crates of C-rations they plundered from an abandoned supply ship on Corellia. Fireball has already mastered the art of stew and stir-fries. “I can whip up something quick. Rex can't eat spice too, you know. Sensitive stomach.”
You snort. “Really?”
“Yeah. Probably the downside of being the only blond guy around.” Your belly laughter is already in the background as he makes a run for the dining area. “I'll be quick!”
The kitchen is the smallest thing they've ever seen—at least now they're calling it kitchen. It was supposed to be a power room but they reckoned they could reroute what's left to power up their portable cookers and stoves. Like everywhere else in the base the kitchen isn't that well-lit so when one walks in they really shouldn't expect a whole cooking show studio lighting. What matters is you don't have difficulties in telling what's salt and what's sugar.
“Hey.” Fireball walks into what seems to be a new popular hit in town—Sister is crouching over the boiling pot on the stove, Howzer standing over it with hands on hips. Believe it or not, it's rare to see two people over a stove. “What's with all the standing around?”
Sister shrugs, spoon that she uses for stirring pointing upwards. “Helped Greer out with the inventory and I found out that Rex got his own secret stash of creamed Rishi corn soup.”
“Canned stuff,” adds Nemec from the small table in the corner fit for three, causing Fireball to turn at him. “Figured it's for every Spicy Tiingilar Day.”
Fireball’s jaw has dropped since Sister ever said a thing earlier. “I should have you lot arrested for stealing Rex's stash. Including you too, Howzer, since you're in on this.” The captain shrugs, squats, and offers a kriffing spoon when Sister silently ladles him a taste. Fireball watches him. “Is it spicy?”
“No,” Howzer’s eyebrows raise, apparently finding the kriffing corn soup good. He jabs a thumb toward the once-spare power generator chamber. “Samson’s making crispy toasts real quick.”
Nemec’s chair skids across the durasteel flooring as he heads down to Sister’s other side, the noise inviting Fireball’s anticipating mood again.
“Nemec, vod, you're not having this.”
He looks like he's been stripped of his basic human rights. “What? I wanna try too, man!”
“No, because you're allowed third bowl, and I know you like your spice more than tame kiddie stuff like a kriffing corn soup.”
Nemec squints at him. “Why are you so defensive about the kriffing corn soup?”
Fireball sighs. “Newbie's not having the spicy stew. Can't eat spice.”
“Oh so that's why you asked,” Howzer eyes him teasingly.
“With all due respect, sir; shut up.” Fireball nearly stomps his foot. Sister turns off the stove and conjures a bowl out of nowhere. Kitchen is where all the magic happens, anyway. “Can she have some?” he asks.
Sister ladles in the yellowish thick creamy substance. “Yeah, this is for her anyway.” Oh. She already knows—which kinda isn't fair. She then hands the bowl to him, allowing him to observe and count the miserable protein chunks and what's supposed to be extra grains for the carbs.
“Just how many did you take?” he asks her about the suspicious amount of more than a single can of creamed corn soup.
“Uh.” She cranes her neck to see over the trash bin they keep in the corner. “Three?”
“Three?!” No. No no no. He's so not ready to face a grumpy Rex. That, and feeling terribly disappointed at the evident lack of rationing skills and—clearly—patience once setting an eye on new variety of food. “Guys we're so cooked.”
Howzer clears his throat and rises to his feet. “I'll handle Rex, you kids enjoy the corn soup.” He heads for the exit and pats Fireball in the back—it only reminds him of how Sister did the same just moments ago to tease the kark out of him. “Save some for me. With the toast, too.”
“I'll check on Sam,” Nemec says, heading the opposite way, thankfully reconsidering the corn soup and instead already has another bowl of the spicy stew. “I want toast for my tiingilar too.”
Sister goes to retrieve more bowls and spoons from the crate that functions as a dish rack. “So it seems like I found out first that she's not into spice,” she smirks at Fireball victoriously. “Raced you again, vod.”
There's no way he's jealous of her. So he just smiles back, playing it cool. “Easy for you to connect with her, huh?”
Making her way back, Sister laughs heartily, the sound bouncing off the walls. “Relax, Fireball. You have no competition.”
“Yeah, I don't believe you.” Fireball rolls his eyes.
“Vod.” Sister hands him a spoon for the bowl of creamed corn soup in his hand. “It's just you.”
His eyes snap up. The neverending teasing seems to have dissipated from her overall countenance, and honestly, he'd take that slight bit of pity in her eyes. “Really?”
“Yeah, don't you always trust me?” Sister offers him an uplifting smile this time. “And you're not subtle enough, trust me. I swear to kark, maybe everyone knows already—everyone except you and her.”
That is enough to send him on his way back to you after grabbing a bowl of today's spicy tiingilar for himself so he could eat together with you. As soon as he turns around the corner though, he can feel his heart dropping to the bottomless pit of his stomach again seeing Howzer standing over your station, maintaining a close distance as if you're sharing your secrets with each other. He's frozen there until you two have done talking, Howzer catching a sight of him on his way out, and has the bloody nerve to wink at him.
Once again, it's enough fuel for him to cut everything out. Make everything clear, starting now. He's done with all the teasing, all the half-ass attempts to get closer to you, and much more closer. His boots resound across the durasteel flooring of the dimly lit, vast circular chamber, straight and sharp toward where you're seated. You turn at the sound of quick footsteps, smiling in somewhat of a relief at the sight of him.
“Hey, that took you long eno—”
He sets both bowls that he carried on his desk before dropping onto his knees; his eyes, deep chocolate brown, easily level with yours. Fireball tugs you forward by the chin, the fabric of his gloves pressing into your skin, and seals his lips over yours. It isn't long and longing nor quite private as he'd hoped of finally kissing you, but thankfully he realizes quickly that it might've shocked you. He might still be getting a wrong impression from you since the start.
Fireball pulls away, registering thousands of emotions flitting across your eyes. The world around him stops in anticipation, and for a moment, only you and him are breathing and moving, and curious.
“Okay.” You swallow, and he swears he can hear the sound of your pounding heartbeat. “Wh—what’s going on?”
“I…” You sounded hopeful. That gives him hope. “I like you a lot, actually.”
Your jaw drops a couple millimeters further. “Oh…” What surprises him next is the airy, relieved chuckle that escapes your lips. “You—you do, too?”
Fireball’s eyes widen. “‘Too’?”
You rub at your neck, looking at anywhere but him. “Yeah, you know…”
Stupid vode were right. Sister in particular. The Force has to be strong in her or something. “But what were you and Howzer talking about?” he can't help but ask.
“Oh that?” Your cheeks flush again in embarrassment—Fireball has to restrain taking them in his hands and squish your face in. “I—I was just asking what cyar'ika means because you called me that earlier.”
“I did?” That kriffing wink was so bloody unnecessary. He feels like throwing hands with the captain, maybe it'd be worth it. “It slipped, heh.”
“Yeah?” you grin cheekily, cheeks still rose-red and flushed. “But I bet you've wanted to say that.”
He's not even gonna be mad that you teased him like that because Prime, you're so right.
Your voice cuts through his daydream again. “Let’s eat, Fire. I'm starving. You took too long,” you pout.
“Sorry, cyar'ika.” Fireball rushes to his feet and pulls his chair toward you, his knee guards touching yours as he takes his seat. He then presents your bowl of creamed Rishi corn soup, still hot with steam swirling above it. “Sister stole Rex’s corn soup stash and cooked it for you. She was in the middle of it when I got there.”
“That's so sweet,” you coo, smiling, taking a sniff of the creamy goodness. “I'll tell her thanks. And Rex sorry.”
Fireball snorts. Rex? Out for a supply run. Tomorrow's problem. “It'll be fine. Anything for your convenience, cyar'ika.” Smiling, he pats the crown of your head again, as softly as before, a great deal of relief and adoration blooming inside his chest. “Don’t worry. We got your back.”
Thanks for reading! Taglist is moved to event masterlist.
A/N: You can request for x reader in my askbox! If you're interested in my clone x reader oneshots you can sign up as well to be tagged of future works. (Link provided ⬆️)
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rewatching clone wars everyone picks a new background clone to drool over for approximately 4.5 minutes before they die in a horrible explosion, i’ll go first mine is fireball
✧ Tags & Warnings: sickfic, eepyfic, established relationship, domestic fluff (again and so soon?!) (I wrote this after the Boss sickfic), periodfic (more like luteal phase fic), period symptoms, boob pain, boob talk, NSFW but no smut (you're too resigned for that—thank you hormones), dirty jokes, easy banters between lovers
✧ Word Count: 1.8k
✧ A/N: This goes to all the ladies and AFAB out there (who's still got uterus that bleeds every month)! Also because the breast tenderness is going so hard on me these past few days 😭😭😭 (lol sorry if this fact is disturbing). I can't lie down sideways so I need something to cope with 🤞🏼 Enjoy this one vode! 💛
Masterlist | Read on AO3 | divider by elleisdesigning
You've been trying to sleep.
It's just unfortunate that you're hitting your period again at this time of the month. The luteal phase, to be exact. Everything just turns sour and boring, you feel like a walking tired shell of a human, and your hair just refuses to cooperate with your brush. But you're too tired to be frustrated either, so you just. Give in.
You roll around in your bed, refusing to open your eyes. Not realizing that the spot beside you now has the weight of a certain someone on it, you whimper again as the pain shoots up in your chest. “Ow.”
“Mesh’la?” a voice sounds, concerned as if the sky would suddenly burst hot inferno air. “You okay?”
Your eyes shoot open, your lungs suddenly craving air and once you inhale deeply, it's a brief moment of satisfaction as you come fully awake, though the remnants of sleep still eludes you. An arm suddenly snags around your waist and pulls you back into a warm, bare chest. The heat radiates even through your shirt, and the change in temperature, even though you're buried in your blankets, makes you purr and tempted by slumber again.
It's Fireball; your lovely and perhaps a little goofy trooper who's made himself your boyfriend for the last couple of months. To be wrapped in his strong arms always makes it to your list of luteal phase cravings, and it seems like he's home after deployment. You don't wanna guess the time—your energy has already been spent—since you know he always makes it home to you late in the early hours of the morning.
“Baby,” he pleads again. You can feel his warm breath against the shell of your ear. “I know you're awake.”
“Mmh.”
“You said ‘ow’.” For a moment, his arm around you loosens, and then Fireball tenderly brushes your hair away from your face. “Are you in pain?”
You can feel his shadow crouching over you, and you're picturing his warm brown eyes trying to get a look of your face and make an analysis out of it.
You sigh into your pillow, your voice turns into a barely-there murmur. “Just hug me again.”
“Yes, ma'am,” he obliges, and you can hear the smile in his voice. There's a clatter of datapad against the surface of the bedside table before he slips behind you and resumes his position. You melt again in his arms, against his chest. “So?” Fireball prompts hopefully, “You gonna tell me?”
“M’tired, Fire.”
“I know. Which is why I'm asking. I wasn't here for the past couple of weeks, so I think you owe me some explanation. And a little confirmation,” he says, pressing kisses into your hair and inhaling your sweet shampoo off of it. “Please?”
He's about eight seconds away to point out his findings. Not because he works in a science division in the Grand Army (he really doesn't) but Fireball really is an observant man, and you love him for such trait. He’s probably already clocked your insomnia and the irritating pain of your luteal phase.
“Yeah,” you mutter.
“Hurt?” Fireball inquires softly, his fingers already rubbing and softly massaging your stomach.
You nod.
“Oh poor baby,” he coos, and you burrow deeper into him. Trying to live inside his skin, even, if possible. Seeing you like this makes something inside him that loves you ache, but it's the course of nature. He can't do anything to intercept, only providing you comfort and company that you need.
“My boobs.”
“What?”
“My breasts,” you say again firmly. This time you open your eyes, greeted by the low-powered amber light from the bedside lamp behind you at Fireball's side. “They're sensitive. Tender. Hurts. Sore. Can't sleep on my side.”
Fireball tenses for a second. “Oh then why are you?” he chides you softly, turning you over with a nudge of his strong arm. Your eyes are still watery from lack of sleep, your hair a mess, but he gasps a little seeing you looking at him. A grin splits his lips and makes his handsome face light up, his eyes full of adoration and sparkling in the dim lights. “Hi, pretty girl.”
You smile despite your fatigue. “Hi.”
“Now you stay here and don't go anywhere.” Fireball presses a kiss to your forehead. “I'll get you some warm water, okay? Then I'll try to get you to sleep.”
“Mmkay.”
Your heart warms at the sight of him hopping off the bed and out the door in a matter of seconds, his datapad gone with him. Within five minutes, Fireball returns with a relieved smile on his face with not only a glass of warm water and his datapad in each hand, and your smaller heat packs under each arm.
“There we go,” he muses, letting the door sliding close behind him and carefully sits back down on the bed with a slight groan. You watch him closely as he fishes out your painkillers from his sweatpants pocket before turning to you with a soft smile. “Think you can get up for a bit?”
“Mhm.” You banish the last of your sleep and scoot your body near him at the edge of the bed, already making grabby hands at one of the packs. Fireball chuckles at your quiet antics, handing you one and helping you lift your shirt to place it right under your breast. Your sigh of relief is a music to his ears. “I don't know what I'd do without you.”
“That's why I'm here,” your boyfriend indulges, pressing a wet kiss to your cheek that has you squealing. His laugh deepens. “Right right, okay. You're sensitive right now. Do you still even want me to be near you?”
“Don't be ridiculous,” you chuckle, drinking the warm water and painkiller pill he's handed to you. Immediately, you feel your body feeling a lot better already. Eventually your water runs out, and you resist to pout.
“More?” Of course Fireball notices your needs. He always does.
You nod quietly, and he's already out the door with the empty glass. You don't realize you've been so parched, but the moment Fireball returns with another glass full of warm water, you don't get to bottom up. He is now massaging your shoulders. You peer at the chrono to find out it's about 0400. You resist asking about his latest mission, and instead enjoy his company and his massage.
“I looked up in the holonet, y'know,” he cheekily says, after a moment.
You chuckle again, his thumbs putting marvelous pressure on your shoulders. “My heroic problem-solver.”
“A bit surprised it's common. They didn't actually teach us this in Kamino. Just the wham bam process in a super methodical textbook that sounds almost robotic,” he chuckles. He might want to read you that textbook for the laugh, but that'll be later. Pressing a kiss to your shoulder, Fireball smiles against your skin, hopeful. “You feeling better?”
You nod, sleepily, the heat packs under your breasts doing their jobs. “Much.”
There's an idea swimming inside his head. The very thing that interrupted his pace when getting you the things you needed earlier while reading the holonet article about breast soreness.
“I, um.” Fireball's voice is low to offer his proposal, his arms snaking around your waist and drifting slightly upwards. “I think a massage there would do you a little better.”
And then he can feel you tense for a nanosecond before relaxing entirely, but he can hear the teasing in your voice. “Fireball, baby, are you implying something?”
“No!” He sounds offended, so you look over your shoulder only to find him blushing deeply while defending himself. “No, I mean, I wouldn't be able to stop my boner once I get to touch them, but I read—really read—that a little boob massage might lessen the pain.”
You let out a giggle. “Well, I won't mind trying.”
“Uh, okay.”
“You're so cute, y'know that? Reminds me of our first meeting where you were really really shy—”
“Yeah yeah okay, shut.” He pinches your lips with his forefinger and thumb, yet still unable to contain your full giggle from erupting. How could you not? His cheeks are so flushed as if he's never touched your breasts or slept with you before. The man who loves taking care of you rolls his eyes and gets behind you with a couple of purpose, one of them is hiding his darkening cheeks.
You quietly rest your body back against him, a silent invitation for him to begin if he wants to. A small gasp escapes you as Fireball carefully slips his hands under your shirt, his trimmed fingernails skimming your skin and his palms warm, removing the heat packs and slowly but surely cupping your underboobs.
“You need to wear your bra, too. A supportive one.”
“But you are my support.”
“Hush. Where?” He asks for your guidance—it’s really adorable of him that he tries to focus so hard, and you poorly stifle your laughter for the joke dismissal. He shifts around with his fingers, touching your firm flesh lightly. “Right here?”
“Mmm, maybe.” And once he starts to press gently while moving around experimentally little by little, you melt back into his arms, and by process pressing against his crotch. “Yep. Yeah, start there.”
Fireball tries to concentrate. For the sake of you. For the sake of his beloved girlfriend, swear to gods or Manda or whatever rules the cosmos. He's trying so hard to think about anything else but that while his hands are sliding and softly pressing against the mounds of flesh that he loves to tend to during every lovemaking between the two of you.
His hard-on is pressing against your lower back.
“You're so cute,” you giggle, barely managing to refrain yourself from pressing back against him.
“Shut up,” Fireball grumbles. Playfully. For all you know it’s full of adoration. “This is natural, mesh'la.”
“Just don't do anything with my nipples or I'll do something about your boner.”
“I mean I won't mind,” he teases back flawlessly. You thrust an elbow into him. “Ow! Baby, that hurts!”
“No it doesn't,” you laugh, fully knowing that his strong build would withstand anything like your weakly-delivered elbow nudge. “It's about me tonight.”
“And you're right.” He grins. “You can surprise me in the morning if you want. As a reward, y'know? You love me, right?”
Your laugh rings louder. “Shut up, you're insufferable.”
Now that's an I love you too in his ears. A wide grin smears across his face as he buries himself into your hair, trying to contain all the heat with all his patience inside him. The last of your laughter has taken another spot in his brain for a permanent memory.
“We'll see,” you end up saying, and his grin widens accompanied with the deep impish chuckles that you love.
A/N: You can request for x reader in my askbox! If you're interested in my clone x reader oneshots you can sign up as well to be tagged of future works. (Link provided ⬆️)
