#Did your recklessness have consequences? Maybe.

[petew21-blog]

I'm the dad now

"Come on Dad, this is gonna hurt both of us. Just stop fighting and let go. You're not gonna win."

The hairy man was alone in the bathroom fighting with himself, screaming in pain, grabbing his neck and trying to comfort himself. He spoke to himself, which may sound schizophrenic, but this wasn't the case. He was being possessed for the first time by his teenage son, Joe, who had big troubles at school for skiping classes. Joe wasn't usually the type to skip school, but there was this bully he wanted to get back at. He found way to possess someone, but it took a lot of practice to do. You couldn't just possess someone asleep, but them being awake was the thing that made it so hard. They fought and the more they fought the harder it became to stay in the body. But after many many hours of possessing multiple students of his for just a few seconds, he finally felt like he could be ready to possess his bully now. If it weren't for the letter from school that came in mail this morning. Joe opened it and saw that they asked his father to come by for a meeting with the principal. "Oh, no. My dad can't see this. I have to do something." An evil and slightly reckless idea followed.

And as you guessed correctly, Joe's idea was to just possess his father and go to the meeting himself. Did he think about the consequences? No. But that didn't matter now, because his father still faught for his body pretty hard. The only lucky thing for Joe was that his father won't remember the process of possession.

"I win dad. I am stronger. You have to sleep now and let it go!"

Few minutes of fight followed and then quiet.

Joe laughed with tears in his eyes. Sweat all ower his body from the fight. "You could have atleast made my possession a bit easier than this, dad."

Now was the perfect time to hurry up, dress dad's body and meet the principal. But Joe's teenage mind went to a different place. His dad can be late. It's about Joe's life. Not him. He only has to show up

Joe P.O.V.

"Damnnnnn dad! You have really been hitting the gym recently, haven't you? Maaan look at me" I didn't expect this to be so hot. I was a bit grossed out possessing my own dad, but now I might actually enjoy this.

"I never noticed, how really handsome you are, daddy." Hairy pecs, beautiful biceps. You're a real man, I'd like to be some day. Well... not someday. Now."

"It's actually not your biceps now, dad. It's all mine. Just look at it. So amazing. The boys at school would be so jealous. No they WILL be jealous. Just wait till I show them who I am now."

"Oh dad. Why the hell have you been hiding all this from me. I would have never thought about possessing that fucker Bill. Why should I even bother now about some dumb school shit. I can be an adult man for fuck's sake. I am the man now. I am my DAD."

"These muscles are so firm and tight. I wonder how many times a week you have been going. Might get used to it now." Wait, am I really thinking what I am thinking? Do I want to stay like this. No, this must be the after efect of possession, not just a desire to be the hairy dad of mine.

"Haha, I'm so heavy now that I'd most certainly beat all the boys in the football club. Well maybe not the quarterback, but everyone else I might. Maybe I should get Trevor to possess him. We could enjoy being two studs together. I would be a bit older, but I'm sure he won't mind. Especially not while we are exploring our new bodies."

"Which brings me to this awful towel." I dropped it on the floor where it belongs

"Wohohooo, much better. Damn dad, the razor stays clean all the time for a reason right? I won't change that don't worry. I'm pretty sure Trevor likes his men hairy. Not like he would know what a man's touch is like or even sex. But tonight he will. I will let him scratch my beard, kiss my biceps, massage my back."

"Oh boy, I have to go take care of this beast now. Don't want to cum in the principals office. Haha, I love being my dad."

[akirathedramaqueen]

Some thoughts on the Western Energy trainwreck

Soo, I've come across that post, and... it made me thinking.

Stolas spent there the whole time, not knowing Blitzø *did*, in fact, send help. He assumed he was all alone, although still had some resemblance of hope, a fragile straw he hang on to piss off Striker, allowing to tear up only when one didn't look at him.

And... hell, I used to see many comments about how Blitzø let him down there... But did he?

Oh course, some think he did, and he surely thinks he did, too. But, although the whole sequence with him and Loona trying to get that S.H.O.T. was a fucking circus and looked like a joke compared to suffers Stolas had to endure and barely survive...

To be honest, these scenes being put together on surface do, in fact, make it think that the whole Stolas being on the verge of death ordeal is a joke to Blitzø and he would rather spend time running around with big needles and stuff.

If to get back to the phone convo between them at the beginning of the episode, Blitzø mentions that it took him 5 years to book that appointment, and it means a lot for him to not miss it. Missing out on that shot meant to put Loona in potential danger, his daughter, and, although we don't know what kind of shots they were talking about, we know for sure what does missing out on a vaccine schedule could mean in the real world - we tend to forget how dangerous polio, for instance, is, as most of us have access to the vaccine and don't get to experience it not even themselves, but in close vicinity as well. For us, vaccines might seem to be some kind of stupid routine, something we got comfortable with in a privileged world, something which surely could be skipped for a day, right? But in Blitzø's one they are luxury.

Despite all of that, I also want to put your attention to the fact that he wasn't going to ignore it. He is speeding up, and I think (although it's not expressed explicitly, but not everything should be, right?), that he already made up his mind that Stolas is a priority.

You are not thinking it's about shots, right? He wasn't that reckless in driving before *that* call.

And! He wasn't even the initiator of Millie and Moxxie going instead of him. *M&M's* were.

And Blitzø trusts them, because why not? They are his employees, they are skilled and capable, and they are his friends as well, they know that shit is important to him (although he isn't willing to admit it himself).

We see also, how Stolas was admitted to the hospital immediately, which already gives a hint on how different their stance in the world is. I wonder sometimes how it would've turned out if Stolas proposed to Blitzø to use the royal influence to get another appointment shortly after Blitzø saves him, but we know he didn't get much time to even think about that. He wasn't even able to finish the sentence before Striker took his phone off him.

To be honest, I don't think the outcome itself would have been much different. I don't think Blitzø would've done a better job at saving Stolas, but, maybe, only maybe, he would've felt better because he was, at least, there for him.

Because you know that shit is going to haunt him till the day he dies. Because it only reassured him that he isn't capable of sticking around for his people.

Because, you know... happened once already.

No wonder he left Stolas's message on "read". Knowing all things before and after, it's not a surprise that he, tending to take all of responsibility for all the wrongs on himself more than he should to, couldn't face the consequence of what he thinks he failed in. He, speaking figuratively, left Fizz on "read" for 15 years, and he kinda sorted it out only because he couldn't run anymore and had to face the trauma as circumstances didn't give him a chance to chicken out.

I wonder what he was trying to tell Stolas. But I don't think we will ever get to learn that.

Aw, crap, I am done here, I am going to go and cry for a little bit. Thanks for coming to my ted talk, see ya in like 5 minutes to experience some Full Moon trauma again, because I can't get over these two. XD

[axiina]

PLSSS soft corio comforting reader after they get he saves her(or them idm) from the arena after she tried to say a proper goodbye to her tribute (kinda like sejanus) but maybe she gets hurt and super traumatized but hes there for her idk

If I Killed Someone for You

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x capitol!reader (gender neutral)

Summary: It wasn't supposed to end this way. You just wanted to say goodbye to your tribute, Lamina. Luckily, your boyfriend was there and made sure you didn't get hurt. Just why do you look at him differently now?

Words: 1.5k

Themes: hurt with comfort, a bit of fluff but also angst

Warnings: slight spoilers to movie and book, small changes to canon, Pup isn't Lamina's mentor, character's death, murder, a bit of trauma, blood, comforting, a bit of argument, death, overthinking, reader feels guilty about situation, referring reader as 'you'

Author's note: Lamina deserved better so you are her mentor, fuck this idiot Pup.

It was supposed to be fluff, but it came out a bit sad and traumatic. We got a soft Coriolanus, leaving aside the fact that he killed someone in the process. Enjoy!!

It was a pure act of desperation.

You just wanted to tell Lamina what you hadn't managed to do before. You had grown close to the young girl, who was horrified by what was happening. The very fact that she was in the arena, alone, without any support was driving you crazy.

She didn't deserve what happened to her. You hoped that maybe Lamina would be able to win and would be able to return home to the family she missed so much.

With each hour of the Hunger Games, her chances seemed to get smaller and smaller. For those few days, you sat like you were on pins and needles staring at the big screen at the Academy. After a while, the helplessness returned and you had to try not to cry in front of the cameras.

Lamina did not deserve it. None of the tributes deserved it. You did everything you could to make Lamina feel as comfortable as possible during the meetings and her stay at the Capitol. In the arena, you tried your best to make sure she wasn't hungry or thirsty. You didn't want her to get hurt. That, however, was not enough. Seeing a boy from her district, Treetch, joining another group made you feel anxious.

"What if they kill her? What if he betrays her…" This thought ran through your head repeatedly like a mantra.

She became weaker and weaker every day.

Your last meeting was too short. You didn't have time to say goodbye to her properly. You wanted her to know that even though you were physically somewhere else, your heart and thoughts were with her, at the arena. You had to say goodbye to her. You wouldn't forgive yourself if Lamina died without hearing a proper goodbye.

That's why you decided to see her one last time. Under cover of darkness, you crept into the arena in disguise and quietly snuck under the beam where Lamina was. Perhaps foolish and reckless, but you didn't think about the consequences. Ever since the girl got to the arena you couldn't find a place. You slept only short naps and didn't even want to meet Coriolanus, who was getting more and more worried about you.

While you were at the arena, every now and then you looked nervously around to the sides to see if anyone was coming. Lamina was surprised when you showed up. It was all surreal and you felt as if you were detached from reality. As soon as you saw Lamina you started crying. You both cried. Now the knowledge of how dangerous the arena was came to you like a powerful punch. She can't die. You don't remember what exactly you told her. You don't know if you said anything that made sense to her at all. The adrenaline made your mind kind of foggy. However, you know that it lifted her spirits. She knew you were with her and supporting her. You don't know exactly how much you were in the arena.

Everything happened so fast when Coriolanus grabbed your arm. Your brain didn't even register the fact that the boy appeared there practically out of nowhere. He looked terrified. He spoke quickly and incoherently. You only understood as he begged you to run away from there, because at any moment someone might come out of the tunnels and kill you. You were frozen with panic when it came to you. They hate the Capitol. They hate you too, and they certainly wouldn't think twice before killing you. Your fear was increased when Lamina's eyes widened in horror and only one word came out of her mouth.

Run.

Tributes began to leave the tunnels. As soon as they noticed that there were two mentors in the arena they started running towards you. Because of the adrenaline in your veins, you don't remember much of what happened next. You and Coriolanus ran as fast as you could when Coral, Mizzen, Tanner and Bobbin chased you while holding objects in their hands that could be the cause of your upcoming death.

The next scene that stuck in your mind was when your boyfriend hit one of the tributes on the head with a wooden plank. The boy fell down, and Coriolanus, without thinking much, hit him a second time. Then another and another. You looked at the body of Bobbin lying lifeless and Snow standing over him, unable to get a single word out. Your heart was raging and your head was spinning, feeling fear. You were terrified.

You couldn't tell what was the reason. The fact that you had just nearly died in the arena, or…. no, it couldn't have been that. He was merely trying to defend you. Yes, that was definitely the reason. Coriolanus is not a murderer, he was just…. he was terrified and acted emotionally. Bobbin would have killed him if Coryo hadn't done it first. Then you would have been next in line. Yes, that's what would have happened.

Both of you were injured, but at that moment it didn't even cross your mind to ask him how he was feeling. The Peace Keepers almost carried you out of there. Your parents were as terrified as you were. By the time you were sitting in your room wrapped in a blanket as your mother hugged you crying something finally hit you. You could have died. Your family would have been devastated. Your friends and…Coriolanus. Well, exactly, Coriolanus. He almost died because of your fault. Your stupidity and recklessness. Now he is injured and probably suffering, and you are not there with him. After what happened you didn't even say a stupid thank you to him.

"What were you even thinking! You could have died there! Did you even think about your loved ones? About me? What would have happened to me if you had died there? If I didn't get there in time!" Coriolanus repeated walking in circles around the empty classroom, the next morning. You had your head bent down, and tears were running down your cheeks. How could you do something like that?

Coriolanus sighed and sat down next to you, wrapping his arms around your body, pulling you closer.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't yell like that. You're probably still terrified. I was just…scared. I was scared that I would lose you."

It seemed to you that his voice cracked as the boy pressed his cheek against your head.

"Don't do that again. Don't scare me like that. If you had died I wouldn't have forgiven myself. I wouldn't be able to live normally." He whispered in your ear with a trembling voice.

"I'm here, love. I will always be until you have had enough of me. Although, most likely, even then I won't give you a break." A quiet, slightly trembling chuckle left his lips, at which you also smiled involuntarily.

"Enough of you? Never." you replied in an amused voice gently pulling away, but still remaining in his embrace. "I'm sorry, Coryo…I'm so terribly sorry for you. I just wanted to say goodbye to Lamina. I don't want anything bad to happen to her. I don't want her-"

"Shhh, it's okay." Coriolanus rested his forehead against yours and took your face in his hands gently stroking your cheeks. "It is past. The most important thing is that we came out of it alive. Lamina is also alive and relatively well, excluding the circumstances."

"Thank you, Coryo. Thank you for everything. For saving me that night and that you do not resent me for it." You whispered, trying not to cry. You nuzzled your cheek into his palm and placed a gentle kiss on it.

Coriolanus' face moved closer to yours and he gently brushed your lips with his own as if he was afraid he would frighten you.

"I am angry at you. Earlier even furious, but I love you too much to stay mad at you." Coryo gently rubbed his nose against yours and looked into your eyes.

His beautiful blue eyes. Cold, but at the same time it makes you feel at home. Eyes that yesterday were raging and at one point…full of hatred.

Your smile slowly disappeared as you remembered what happened to Bobbin.

"Do you want to talk about what happened yesterday-" you started uncertainly, but Coriolanus cut you off.

"No." His voice seemed cold and in a moment you were embarrassed and your heart beat faster. You were the reason he had to do it, and now you're reminding him of it. Maybe he thinks you are blaming it on him.

Your thoughts, however, were interrupted by your boyfriend's voice. Softer this time.

"I didn't mean to. I didn't want to do it, but it was stronger than me…Please don't hate me. I love you and I did it for you too."

His eyes were glassy and he seemed panicked. You shook your head in denial and took his hand in yours bringing it close to your lips and kissed his knuckles.

"No, you're a good person, Coryo. Nothing has changed. I continue to love you, and you only proved me during the night that I couldn't find a better one."

Coriolanus wrapped his arms around you and kissed your forehead.

"You know you don't have to…you don't have to be afraid of me. I wouldn't hurt you. Never."

You froze for a brief moment. It was as if he was reading your mind. How could you think that about him? He saved you. If not for him, you would be dead.

It was stronger than that. When he approached you this morning your heart was beating faster and a chill went through your body.

"It's because I love him. Typical reaction" You repeated to yourself in your mind.

Every time you felt his hands stroking your hair while you were hugging, you thought about how tightly he gripped that wooden plank with which he cracked the head of the boy in the arena. How the blood spurted onto his snow white shirt from his school uniform. And those eyes. The eyes that always made you feel butterflies in your stomach, and then they seemed so unfamiliar. You thought about how later after the situation at the arena, he tried to approach you, and you took a step back with your eyes wide open in horror.

Of course, he knew. You don't need to read minds to know that. And he was intelligent. He knew right away.

"I know, I know, Coryo. It's just…" you knew that if you continued your voice would break. Besides, you didn't know what to say. You snuggled into his neck hugging him more tightly at the waist. You don't want to hurt him with such thoughts, but they are so intrusive. You can't get them out of your head despite his reassurances, affectionate words and gentle touch. "I'm sorry, I should be there for you, and I'm making everything worse."

You whispered soaking the collar of his shirt with your tears.

His hand went to your hair gently stroking it.

"Stop, it's not your fault."

You stayed like that in each other's embrace, in silence. Words are not important now. What is important is that you are together and nothing will change that.

He will not hurt you. Yes, he won't hurt you.

[callumsturn]

Longing

Summary: Bucky is feeling down, and you're the only one who can bring him back to himself. Warnings: smut (18+, minors don't interact), fingering. Notes: Let me know if you'd like me to write any specific scenarios or stories :) reblogs and comments are appreciated!

Major John Bucky Egan was devastated. The news of Buck not returning from his last mission spread quickly at the base camp. You saw people try to talk to him and cheer him up in their own way, but Bucky was drenched in alcohol most of the time and with huge dark bags under his eyes. You decided it was your turn to try and bring his hopes up. Couldn't hurt.

You knocked on his door, calling out his name from the outside.

Bucky lifted his head from where he sat at the table, looking up at you with slightly bleary eyes. He cleared his throat as he pulled himself together, trying to sober up in mere seconds. "Yeah?" he asked, his voice gruff. You peered inside his room.

You knew he would brush you off if you asked if he was okay. Instead, you made him believe you needed him. "Do you mind if I come in and stay with you for a little? I can't sleep."

Bucky paused for a moment, seeming just tired enough to fall for your trick. He shifted slightly in his seat, nodding slowly as he sat up. "Yeah. Yeah, come here." he pointed to his bed. "Sit with me."

"Thanks." you spoke as you closed the door behind you and sat next to him.

Bucky watched wordlessly as you sat down next to him, leaning forward and resing his elbows on his knees. He was quiet for a moment before he spoke. "You said you couldn't sleep?" he questioned, tilting his head slightly so he could look at you.

You nodded. "Yeah... I had coffee, more than one cup."

He chuckled lightly, running a hand through his messy hair. "Yeah, that'll do it to ya. Caffeine's a cruel mistress like that."

"Well, I wanted some. So I had it."

"And now you have to suffer the consequences." he mused along, taking a few moments to look you over. "You look tired." he pointed out, as if it wasn't obvious.

"Thanks." you chuckled.

Bucky smirked ever so slightly, rolling his eyes. "You know what I mean. You look exhausted. When was the last time you got a full night of sleep?"

You looked at him for a second before answering. "It's been a while, actually. The infirmary's been a complete chaos lately."

His expression softened, a flicker of concern in his eyes. "When's the last time you clocked off?" he asked, a hint of protective tone in his voice.

You looked at him for a while. "It's been a couple of weeks, but it's alright, we're short on staff! And it's not like I haven't done it before!"

That answer didn't seem to appease Bucky at all. His lips pressed into a firm, unamused line and he fixe you with a stern look. "Bullshit. It's not alright. You're runnin' yourself into the ground. How many hours did you work this week?" he inquried.

"I'm not exactly counting."

Bucky sighed in frustration, shaking his head. "Of course you're not." He paused for a moment, studying you. You could almost see the gears turning as he thought about what to say next. "When's the last time you ate?" he finally questioned.

"C'mon John, I'm eating alright." you insisted.

The Major shot you a doubtful look, his expression serious. "I'm being serious. You look like you haven't had a proper meal in weeks. When's the last time you ate a full meal?"

"Maybe you can eat lunch with me tomorrow."

"I'm not asking that." he said with a sigh, his voice just barely above a whisper. "I want to know when the last time you ate a full goddamn meal was. Tell me the truth."

You looked at the door. "Yesterday, I think."

Bucky raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical of your response. "Yesterday?" he repeated. "You think?"

"Bucky, I'm alright. I'm just really tired."

His irritation grew tenfold at this, his patience at an all-time low. "You ain't alright, you're being reckless." he retorted gruffly. "Look at you, you look like a damn zombie. 'I'm just tired' my ass."

You let the room fall silent for a few seconds. "And how are you?" you finally decided to ask.

Bucky almost froze at the question. He was a mess, even he could see that for himself. For a moment, he thought about brushing off your question. Giving the standard, generic answer. But he couldn't. He knew how he was, and you deserved the truth more than anything. "Like garbage." he finally admitted, quietly after a few moments.

"I'm worried about you Bucky." you began. "You barely come by the infirmary anymore."

He lokoed down, docusing his eyes on his hands as you spoke. "I've been busy." he mumbled half heartedly, knowing damn well it was a blatant lie.

"Too busy to visit me?" you simply asked.

Bucky internally winced at that, his heart aching. "No." he said, his voice cracking slightly from guilt. "I- I just... it's hard, y'know?"

You nodded. "I get it. I can go by just fine without your visits." you tried to win him over with humor.

It seemed to work, even just slightly. He lifted his head, looking at you with a tired hino of playful sarcasmo in his eyes. "Is that so?" he questioned, a soft smile on his face.

"Oh I'm sure of it. It's been real peaceful without you pestering me at work."

He huffed, a soft chuckled escaping his lips. "That's rich, coming from you. You're always bugging me." he pointed out, shifting in his seat to get a different angle of you.

"But that you love."

"You're making that up." Bucky denied, though his smirk didn't falter. He tried so hard to ignore the flutter in his heart he got as he looked at you - his gaze almost involuntarily flicking down for a moment to your lips.

"I don't think I am." you smiled at him.

He paused, his heart giving another flutter as he saw you smile. It'd been a while since he'd seen that smile. He chuckled softly, shaling his head and running his hand through his hair. "You drive me crazy, you know that?"

Your expression of surprise came quickly to your face. After a few seconds in silence you spoke again. "You're drunk." You chuckled at him.

Bucky let out another soft huff at that, but he didn't deny it. "Maybe a little." he admitted, that smirk on his face returning. "And what about it?"

"You're not making sense, that's what."

Bucky raised an eyebrow at that, looking at you with an amused expression. "And what about it doesn't make sense?" he asked, tilting his head slightly. "I said you drive me crase. You do."

"Bucky..." you started but he interrupted you as he got closer to you, before grabbing your hand gently.

His calloused hand wrapping around yours like it belonged there. He was quiet for a moment, looking at you with a mixture of affection and something else you couldn't quite put your finger on. He almost looked a little nervous.

"Are you okay?" you asked.

Another loaded question.

He opened his mouth to answer but stopped himself. His gaze falls from your face down to his hand holding yours. Bucky was quiet for a few more moments, his grip on your hand almost imperceptibly tighter. His tongue darted out to lick his lips, the words stuck in his throat. He took a shaky breath, lifting his gaze back up to your face. "No. " he finally said, shaking his head slightly as he did. "I'm not okay." His expression serious. "But you make it hurt a little less."

Bucky's eyes flicked back and forth, analising your features. He sighed softly, his guard completely down. "Look at me." he softly insisted, his voice barely above a whisper.

You did as he asked, first his eyes and then his lips. God, he was handsome, specially under the dim lights of his room.

"You have no idea," he said, his voice low, "how hard it was to stay away from you the past few weeks."

His hand kept around your own as he spoke. He could be so gentle if he wanted to. Bucky softly tun his thumb in small circles against the back of your hand, trying to focus on that instead of the growing urge within himself. "I missed you so damn much." he murmered, his voice just barely above a whisper.

You cut him off by closing the gap between your lips.

He let out a soft, almost involuntary sound as he returned the kiss, his free hand moving to cup your face. His hand fently tugged you closer, as if he was afraid you'd pull away.

In turn, you grabbed his uniform's shirt tight between your fingers, pulling him closer to you.

Any thoughts of restraint or resistance melted out of Bucky's brain the moment he felt you grab him. His hand moved to your waist, his grip firm as he pulled you into his lap. "God, I missed you." he mumbled against your lips.

You didn't respond, just climbed on his lap and grabbed the nape of his neck with both your hands, never breaking the kiss you two shared.

Bucky let out another soft sound as you did. His hands sliding to your hips, the feeling of your body against his nearly overwhelming. He kissed you passionately, his tongue gently running along your bottom lip as if he was pleading for more.

He broke your kiss only to kiss your neck, your head rolled back as he catched it with one of his hands.

Bucky's kisses gently yet firm, as he moved along your skin. He could hear the sound of your breath catching in yout throat, his brain nearly short-circuiting from yout little sounds of pleasure.

One of his hands found its way under your dhirt, his fingers tracing along the warm skin of your back.

His hands were rough on your back, but you didn't mind it.

Bucky's lips returned to yours, his kisses a bit more desperate now. He wanted to be closer to you, to have your body against his. One of his hands slid up your body, gently resting against your ribcage. His thumb lightly teased against the underside of your breast.

His touch sent shivers through your whole body.

He broke the kiss for a moment, his chest heaving with want. "You're so damn Beautiful." he murmured, his hand gently gripping your hip as he kept you against him.

You moaned quietly at his words, the way he was holding you down on his lap by your hips was making you dizzy.

He noticed your reaction, the soft sounds of your monas driving him wild. He used his grip on your hip to push you down to grind against him slightly, a soft smirk on his face. "You like that?" he asked, his voice gruff.

You nodded out of desperation.

Bucky let out a soft chuckle, rolling his hips against you to give you a but more friction. "You can't even speak, huh?" he taunted you lightly.

"I can speak." you managed to say quietly.

"Then try sayin' something." he mumbled against the skin of your neck, continuing to push his hips against you ever so slightly.

"Your hands." you pleaded him.

You heard his groan, his grip on your hips tightening as he took in your request. "What about my hands?" he mumbled, his lips moving down from your neck to your collarbone.

You let go of his neck to grab his right hand and position it near your core.

He could feel the heat practically radiating from you, the thought alone nearly sending him over the edge. His fingers gently traced along the edge of your pants, as if he was silently asking you for permission to continue. You gave it to him.

Bucky wasted no time. He was a man of action after all.

He pushed your pants to the Side, his fingertips ghosting along your soaked core. He let out another soft moan against your skin, the feeling of you driving him crazy. "You're so wet, darling." he mumbled as he started to rub small circles, moving slowly to work you up even more.

Your reactions, the little sounds you were making, the way you were grinding against his hand - it was almost too much for him to handle. His fingers teased at your entrance, occasionally slipping inside to drive you absolutely crazy. "I could listen to you all night." he mumbled, his voice low and rough with want.

"John" you trailed off.

Bucky lifted his head from your neck to look at you, his fingers still working at you. "Yeah?" he breathed out, doing his damned bect to keep some control of himself.

"I need you."

Bucky practically groaned at the sound of your voice, the want in your tone nearly making his head spin with a primal need to bury himself inside you. "Say it again." he told you breathlessly, adding a second finger inside you.

You only managed to moan louder.

"God you sound perfect." his lips just below your car. "I need you so bad it hurts."

"Please" you whined quietly.

"You don't ever have to ask me please." his voice sincere.

He lifted his head to look at you, his breathing ragged. His fingers curling slightly on their own, making you let out another delicious sound.

"Make me come." the words come out of your tired mouth.

He moved his fingers faster, adding a third, knowing exactly what to do based on the sounds you were making. "I'll take care of you. "he assured you. "I'll take care of you, I promise."

And he did. In a matter of seconds, you were coming undone on top of his lap.

Bucky watched intently as you came, his fingers working you through it. He then gently removed his hand, bringin it to his mouth and licking his fingers clean with a low moan.

His free hand moved to gently brush the hair from your face, his thumb tracing your cheek as he looked at you with affection and desire.

You looked down at him after that. "What is it?"

Bucky chuckled, gently lifting your chin for you to look at him. "You look so damn beautiful when you're all flushed like this." he told you, a hino of pride in his voice as he added, "I did that."

"Yes you did." you chuckled quietly.

His smiled returned, his hand moving to cup your cheek ever so gently. He was quiet for a moment, just studying you as he tried to find the right words. "I've been a real idiot, sweetheart." he finally said, his voice soft. "I shoud've come by sooner..."

"Don't worry about that."

"I do worry. You've gotta stop lettin' me be a dumbass, you know that?"

"Me?" you chuckled. "I have nothing to do with that!"

Bucky's grip on you tightened, his expression still serious. "Bullshit." he insisted, shaking his head. "You have everything to do with that. You could set me straight if you wanted to, I'd listen to you in a heartbeat."

You smiled at him. "The I'll be wiser with my choices from now on."

John returned your smile with a smirk, his hand moving to rest against the side of your neck. "Damn right you will be." he told you, tugging you closer to him. "Gotta make up for lost time, sweetheart."

[ladyelissarose]

‘Reckless’

Summary; Miguel finds out why you’ve been too careless and reckless on missions..

Warnings: an argument between the two- its not to heavy.. mostly hurt/comfort

“Ow-“

You had just flinched your arm away from Miguel when he had grabbed it. You cradled it close to you as he then scolded you firmly, keeping an eye on you as you refused to meet his,

“You lied. It’s not a scratch!! You broke your arm and he almost had your head!!”

You rolled your eyes at his loud words and even scoffed, even though you winced when you tried to put your arm down, trying to show it was ok- which you totally failed at doing. Nonetheless you sighed, annoyance evident in your tone,

“Ok maybe I did! But it’s not that bad-“

With one hand on his waist and the other pointing at you, he snapped,

“You disobeyed orders! You’re making close calls and I don’t like it! Yes we can get hurt on the job, but not like this when you’re making poor choices.”

Feet planted on the ground you tried to keep a steady position and look strong, taking his yelling about safety and all, but in reality you were in pain and felt lightheaded, and slowly you were growing frustrated because of it as Miguel ranted on.

“Come on niña!! (Girl) what’s the matter with you-“

Finally you’ve had enough of his mountain of a man speaking down to you as you were of course shorter… but in his eyes all he saw was you being very careless.

The pain was getting to you, making your emotions swirl out of place, hence why you screamed,

“AND WHAT’S YOUR POINT!?”

Miguel flinched a bit at your unusual behavior with him, but he couldn’t help but let his ego bark back at you with some honesty to wake your head up.

“That you could’ve been killed!! That’s the point! Do you know what kind of problems that would’ve caused? Pain or anything? Cómo puedes ser tan imprudente y no preocuparte por las consecuencias, niña terca?!” (How could you be so reckless and not care about the consequences you stubborn girl!?)

Tears of anger and pain grew in your once sun-shining eyes as you shouted back, trying to reason out your deal,

“Because I have nothing to lose ok!?? Maybe that’s why I don’t care as much!!”

Miguel was about to yell back, but your words caught him off guard. Like if someone sucker punched him.

He didn’t look so bulky or so scary anymore, when he lowered himself onto one knee to get on your level, as he reasoned with curiosity, one hand resting on your good shoulder,

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

His brown eyes showed his genuine concern for you, unlike anyone you’ve known. You wanted to keep tough and play as the fearless Spider-Woman you were, but it was made impossible when Miguel got a hold of your cheek, beckoning you silently to speak up.

So at last, you broke and confessed, like a little girl and no longer like Spider-Woman.

Letting the façades you wore tumble down through your tears, into his large hands that would catch and hold them all.

“Nothing.… that I have no one back at home.. no family to mourn me. Bury me. Cover my graves with flowers. Like if I had to put everything aside and boil it down for me- I’m… alone.”

His lips parted a bit, as his eyes searched yours, trying to find the right words to say.

It had been a while since he’s used good encouraging words while being kind, but suddenly it was like a switch that flipped in him, and almost immediately he found the words, and he patted your cheek gently as he cooed, his anger and disappointment long gone.

“You’re not alone. You have me.. and I’ll never leave you out like that. But even then I won’t ever do such.”

“Like what?”

He shrugged a bit and shyed out with his eyes everywhere but on you, mostly cause of the fear it caused him to think of you six feet under, and he knew it’d be seen on him.

“The burying thingy and all.”

‘Oh so he wouldn’t bury me then? Or what?…’

“Oh.. why?”

Disappointment was heard in your voice, and Miguel was quick to address with his eyes on you this time, wanting to show he meant it with every bone and vain in his body,

“Because Dulce, I wouldn’t ever let you die on me. You’re not allowed to die under my watch, te lo prometo.” (I promise you that.)

Shyness took over you as the realization of your craziness, thinking it was ok to give up everything of you, when you had so much to lose.. so you apologized immediately.

“I’m so sorry- I didn’t know what I was thinking-“

“Shh shh sh.”

He shushed you right away, letting you know that it was ok as he added,

“It’s ok now.. you’re safe, alive, and here… No más lágrimas mi amada.” (No more tears my beloved.)

With gentle hands he cradled your face and let his thumbs wipe your tears away, refusing to let them fall.

He now wanted to see you cheered up, so he offered with the best smile he could muster.. if not the only one he showed- but just to you.

“You want ice cream after we leave the med? It’ll help with the fever you got.”

Twinkles were shining in your eyes as you replied with a nod,

“please?”

He chuckled at the sight of joy beaming on you, and he then stood up to his full height and took your good hand in his, leading you out as he responded sweetly, squeezing your hand comfortingly,

“of course Dulce-“

Then with a smirk most likely painted on his face, he added,

“-ven mi shadow.” (Come my)

Miguel knew deep down he had thought the same thoughts once, but with you around and so much more? He’d rather deal with the the weight of the good and bad everyday, then leave empty.

[lavendermin]

the lovers, reversed | stellaron hunter sunday

pairing | sunday x fem!reader

wc | 1.6k

genre | angst, one sided love, unrealized feelings

warnings | mdni, alcohol mention, brief mention of sex, blood, wounds, unhealthy relationship, spoiler I guess if sunday really does end up being a stellaron hunter (have not yet played 2.3)

Fresh wounds, a few gashes. Nothing he couldn't treat. Because you wouldn't have anyone else though Firefly has always offered.

"Hold still," Sunday quietly instructs as steady hands work quickly to disinfect and dress unsightly marred skin.

You wince and clutch the sheets until your knuckles turn white. The pain was never easy, but a consequence of your recklessness nonetheless.

Under deft fingers you're all skin, no shame. Not when it's him.

Another whimper you can't suppress escapes your lips, and maybe it finally breaks something in him because you hear him sigh quietly. With his teeth he swiftly pulls off one of his gloves and holds it to your lips.

"Bite down on this," he instructs, voice calm and level. "There's still debris in one of the gashes. I have to take them out one by one."

You can only nod, not registering much else as the pain has your vision tunneling. It's another twenty minutes as he tries to work as quickly as possible. It takes everything to keep his composure despite your muffled cries of discomfort.

"This should have been done in the medical wing." Sunday's reprimand has little to no bite as he clears the medical supplies from the coffee table he had pulled up from across your room.

Your breath is weak and shaky, but still a gentle thing he's used to. "Too bright in there. Makes me feel like a lab rat within those white walls."

"Smells too clean?" he chuckles. Something he can't help around you more recently. There's an innocent and peculiar way you view things. Much like–

Sunday shuts the cabinet in your bathroom a bit harsher than he intended. He can't think of her... not right now. It would only bring emotions he didn't need to process—couldn't process at the moment.

There's red on his hands, on his clothes, staining his once pristine gloves. The awful metallic smell feels like it’s burned into his nostrils—a nauseating mix of crimson and the strong smell of sterilizers as he cleans the tools. His hands work on their own under the running water of your sink, almost out of body as his mind wanders. There’s a slight tremble he catches. Pathetic, he thinks, unable to keep it together in such a dire time.

The 'script' did not mention anything of a necessary death, but of course it would never detail wounds or misfortunes in detail. Some of those just come with the job. And sometimes he would feel a bubbling anger at the twisted fates that often befell you. But he knows it's a spiral that leaves him down a foggy road, one he shouldn't tread on.

Still, you're alive, and he's here. And for now, that's enough.

Your strained voice pulls him back to his body. Back to the present with a clearer head.

Right. The painkillers.

Sunday is quickly back by your side, pushing the small pill past your lips and lifting your face gently to give you water.

"You forgot," you tease despite your hoarse voice.

And those golden eyes you love dearly can't even bear to look at you as he sits next to you on the bed. There's no response other than a halfhearted hum he gives you. You know he didn't forget, and his lack of correction knowing how matter-of-fact he is only further sinks your heart.

But you don't get to tell your heart who to love.

The now-wrinkled glove he gave you is placed next to his leg. "Sorry I messed up. I'll buy you a new pair."

"Thank you..."

"You're wel-"

"You should say ‘thank you’. For the gesture. But don't apologize for the inevitable from missions. What's done is done," Sunday interrupts, voice firm. A little cold.

"I-" You're cut off as he grabs your wrist, his eyes unfocused as he looks at the ground.

"If you had done as I said– You could have gone missing. A lot of things could have gone wrong. Don't use yourself as bait. If anything happens to me, you escape by any means necessary. Understand?"

The grip is a little less than comfortable and you can only nod. Obedient only if it was his words that commanded. It brought a feeling he didn't want to describe rushing through his chest. The way your eyes looked at him—a mix of fear and blind adoration. It made him nauseous to consider himself worthy of such affection.

The morals of why he kept you by his side—of why he sought you during moments of his own damned weakness... He would dwell on that another time. If his morals were in a slow decline, perhaps he would even turn to burn the words stuck in his throat with the liquid he once detested and swore would never stain his lips. The liquid courage might bring him tumbling into your arms, an eagerness to be held and soothed for the sin he feels tainted with.

That maybe in his drunken stupor with his face buried in your neck and his throbbing frustration filling you up, he would realize even in nothingness, there is you. Always you.

A rebound. A close second. A replacement.

Sunday subconsciously has been latching onto you. It’s something he doesn’t remember starting, something he can’t stop nor explain. You, who are like an injured little dove to him, easily hurt and predictable in seeking comfort with his presence.

At first he firmly tried to keep his distance, remain cordial. But now… You provide him some psychological need to keep his same routine from before or have some semblance of familiarity amidst this new path he's been set on. This relationship was just something platonic, he swears by this. Just an innate need to protect and guide you since you were also a clumsy new recruit.

You couldn't help it—falling for him. Slowly being consumed by an infatuation that morphed into a hopeful yearning that filled your chest with a syrupy thickness of strong emotions you were inexperienced with.

And Sunday was at a loss. That wasn't part of the plan. Well…granted he didn't have much of a plan with you. The platonic acquaintance he had built with you was nothing more than for his own gratification. His desperate attempt at normalcy. Someone to fill the void of not being able to see his dear sister.

Still... you're so willing to just give and give and give to him. Anything, for even the slightest possibility of returned affection. Even if you don't outright confess to him, he sees it. In your actions, your speech, your eyes.

Would it truly be so bad to take that which is offered in earnest?

A heart in his hands with nothing to show for it. Lies to himself that this closeness is his attempt to bring you salvation. To settle your heart.

He knows how your script ends, looming over his consciousness. Testing his heart as if he were a newborn god stumbling over his first creation meeting its written demise. Some part of him is too scared to ask if you know it, too. Maybe there's still some naïveté in him if he believes for a second that you don't. A hope that your heart remains innocent and lovely and–

For now Sunday lets you love. It would be a bitter thing to not take the heart you have handed to him.

The painkillers have started to work, your body finally able to sleep for a bit after he changed your soiled sheets from treating your wounds. Before he leaves, Sunday presses his lips to your knuckles and idles for a few moments to watch your steady breathing. Sweat glistens on your brow from the exertion the wound treatment put on your body. Your endurance was nothing to be laughed at.

Sunday doesn't need to turn to know who's outside your door when he leaves.

"Was there something you needed?" The question lacks any warmth.

Kafka chuckles where she leans against the wall, fiddling with a card in her hands. "Here to drop off your compensation for the mission and look after the little lamb," she replies simply, throwing the card to him. He catches it between two fingers. "She lost her phone this past mission so make sure to give her that card for the time being."

Sunday's eyes narrow. "I'm looking after her."

"Poor thing sent me a message asking that I check in on her so she won't bother you. Unless that's a problem?" Her unreadable smile is something Sunday is growing to detest.

"Not necessary. I'll be handling it." His voice is firm, a warning woven into his tone with careful consideration. A natural habit from his years as the head of the Oak Family.

"Really now? If you don't want me looking after her due to trust issues then Bladie can–"

"No." Sunday can feel his heart pounding in his ears, a frustration deep-set in his veins at the pure thought of someone that isn't him near you when you're at your most vulnerable. He wishes he could wipe that smile off Kafka's face. Victim of her teasing again. Remember your composure, a conditioned mind rings. With a clear of his throat, he continues, "No, that won't be necessary. I've already cleared my schedule to ensure her wounds are looked after so there isn't any scarring. I'll take care of it."

Kafka relents and pats his shoulder as she passes him. "Very well, birdie. Sounds like you have our little lamb's heart in your pocket. Or perhaps it's your own?"

Before Sunday can ask her what she means, she's already vanished from his sight. His hand reaches into his jacket pocket when he feels something rigid and pulls out a card he's sure she placed there.

A tarot card depicting a dove perched on a lamb. The lovers.

[gay-dorito-dust]

For the writing requests, can I request a hurt/comfort scenario where Bi-han has accidentally hurts or almost hurts the reader with his powers? Like maybe he loses control during an argument or an intimate moment, or maybe they're training or on a mission he accidentally hits them with ice in the heat of battle. He feels really guilty about what he did, but reader knows it was an accident and tries to help him through it. Feel free to edit the scenario as you please. Thank you!

Bi-Han was furious.

No, that word doesn’t even begin to come close to describing how he felt in that moment. Bi-Han was livid and it was all in due to the sheer recklessness that you had shown during your most recent mission. You almost died on serval occasions throughout the mission but had managed to escape with minimal injuries by the skin of your teeth. However Bi-Han didn’t care about that part of the story because despite being happy and relieved as he was that you had came back to him with treatable wounds; his main focus was on the fact that you were so careless with your life, so irresponsible and so seemingly uncaring of the consequences that your actions would’ve caused had it weren’t been for your quick thinking.

So as Bi-Han was practicing patience whilst waiting for you to finish up your medical examination, you finally exited the room and just before a single word could escape your mouth to question his reason for being here, fulling believing that he would’ve been deeply involved with some Grandmaster business. Bi-Han then grabbed you by the bicep, his ice cold hand drawing a sharp gasp from you as he wordlessly dragged you to your shared room, where upon arriving, he swiftly shut the door behind him before addressing you directly. ‘What were you thinking out there!’ The cryomancer hissed, taking a step towards you. ‘Your reckless could’ve jeopardised the mission.’ Bi-Han adds and everything leading up to now had finally started to make sense.

You knew that it would only be a matter of time before word reached Bi-Han and you knew it would only be a matter of when before he would hunt you down and demand answers. ‘The only thing that you should concern yourself with is the fact that we achieved what we were sent out to do. The mission was a proven success, the method as to how we obtain that success shouldn’t matter.’ You replied straightforwardly, wanting to be done with this argument as fast as you possibly could, having already finding it redundant; and while the fact that you had gotten ahead of yourself during the mission was something worth criticising.

You weren’t new to this. You knew exactly what you were doing and you knew that Bi-Han’s frustrations often came from a place of worry and deep concern, but since he doesn’t give himself the leeway to express his innermost emotions that when he does, it comes across as him being angry or frustrated. ‘You almost got yourself killed!’ Bi-Han practically exclaimed, his hand that was clutching onto your bicep tightened it’s grip, causing you to wince as you felt a numbing or a painful tingling sensation -which one it actually was you weren’t really sure- spread across your bicep. You tried to breath through the pain and act as though Bi-Han wasn’t currently giving you frost burn, but you knew that the longer you let this went on, the more severe the damage you would sustain.

And not even a second later, your willpower to push through the pain was quickly reduced to nothing, as you found yourself wanting nothing more then the numbing, tingling pain stop. ‘Bi-Han.’ You tired saying with a steady voice but the inflictions of hidden pain within the way you said his name had him on guard. ‘Please let me go, it’s hurts, you’re hurting me.’ Was all you said in a whisper, just as a tear escaped from your eye and streaked down your cheek, before gesturing with your eyes towards the hand he had kept glued to your bicep since the beginning of your argument; which at this point had felt as though there was a small impact of ice growing from within. Upon your desperate plea to be released, Bi-Han immediately removed his hand as though you had somehow burnt him.

He watched as you whimpered and it all hit him hard that despite the fact that he had already let go, you were still very much in pain and he was the reason that you were in pain. He had let himself become overwhelmed with emotions and as a result his powers, something that he has sworn to only use as a means of protecting you, had potentially caused you irreparable damage. Bi-Han was sickened by the thought and by extension he was sickened with himself for allowing you to get hurt in the one place he promised that you’d never be hurt. Ever. ‘I hurt you.’ He said after a moment of torturous silence. ‘I was hurting you, the one person I’d swore to protect with my last breath.’ His soul was screaming, completely torn between wanting to come to your aid and comfort you but also fearing the idea of harming you more than he already had.

‘How long was I hurting you before you spoke up?’ Bi-Han asked as he gauged your expressions closely in the instance you were still withholding the rest of your pain from him.

‘It doesn’t matter.’ You say, trying to reach for his hand to hold but Bi-Han withdraw from your attempts, hiding his hands behind his back in shame as he averted your forgiving gaze that he didn’t feel he deserved.

‘It matters to me, my love.’ Bi-Han stated, clenching his fists. ‘I hurt you. Whether it was intentional or unintentional doesn’t make much of a difference when the end result is all the same. I hurt you. I caused you pain. I made you shed a tear. I made promises that I see now that I can not keep.’ The cryomancer finished as he chose to stare at the floor before closing his eyes, where he would be greeted with flashes of your pained face and the tear that streamed down your cheek; Even from behind his eyelids he was being haunted. If Bi-Han could take your pain he would without hesitation, but he couldn’t and with that brought the dreaded sense of helplessness.

‘Bi-Han.’ You uttered softly, moving to stand in front of him, watching closely as his breath hitched in his throat and took notice of how his body tensed uncomfortably into itself, as you reached your hands out to cradle his perpetually conflicted face between them before Bi-Han melted into your touch, practically nuzzling his face further into your touch. You smile at this as you proceeded to stroke the apples of his cheeks with your thumbs. ‘You didn’t mean it and I know you’d never intentionally hurt me. Ever. You’ve proven that more then enough times for me to know that you’re a man of your word.’ You told him as you pressed a kiss to his forehead, then down to his nose, then finally pecking his plush lips. ‘Your hands are the only hands I could ever feel safest within.’ You admitted, kissing his lips once again.

[pepperyduck]

west end girls - hiromi higuruma

synopsis: after you filed for divorce, hiromi's been acting strange. he's got a problem that only you can fix.

word count: 2.3k

warnings: potentially triggering content, nsfw, angst, guns, reckless actions, unhealthy marriage, unhealthy relationships/attachment/obsession, hiromi is cray, unprotected sex, finishing inside, riding, on a couch, hiromi is a bad husband, very much bojack horseman behaivor, ooc hiromi. (18+ mdni!)

notes: this is me rambling and i'm sorry. i'm floating rn. love u guys. pls read the warnings. mwah. inspired by the song west end girls by petshop boys.

masterlist

although the wind was chilly outside, you buried your nose in your scarf and kept walking down the street towards the firm. it was early morning, birds chirped lightly in the trees, and you found yourself feeling off that day. you didn’t know why.

you didn’t know why, until you passed a certain coffee shop you used to visit often.

inside, pure chaos had erupted, it seemed.

a familiar man to you, and a stranger – or maniac – to the others inside, held a gun. it wasn’t pointed anywhere but to the temple of his head. tables had been knocked down, chairs had been kicked, people had been pushed into the corners of the shop, too scared to move or run away. everyone was frozen in fear, except for him.

“hiromi.”

your voice was cold as ice as you called his name from the front doors. hiromi’s back was facing you, allowing for a perfect silhouette of a man gone mad, with a barrel of a gun kissing his head. but at the sound of your voice – oh, he could go on about how much he loved your voice – the gun was dropped, and he slowly turned around.

stunts like that weren’t out of the ordinary for hiromi since the two of you had split. not divorced yet, just separated – at least, that’s what he told everyone. in reality, the date to finalize the split was creeping up. the closer it got, the more manic hiromi had turned, going from soaking in his bathtub with his suit on, to buying a gun, to now threatening to use that gun on himself in the place you first met. it seems like a wild pipeline, but really, there’s too many incidents to be listed here.

there were a lot of things that made hiromi higuruma go crazy, and unfortunately, you were one of them.

bystanders in the coffee shop looked at you as if you were the insane one, as you walked over to hiromi and snatched him out of the building, muttering a very bitter apology to everyone in there. as you touched your ex-husband’s arm, the gun consequently fell to the floor, causing the clip to fall out with a clatter.

there were no bullets inside.

yet the police had showed up minutes later, after you and hiromi were far down the sidewalk.

hiromi walked with a slump, hands hidden in the pockets of his blazer, unprepared for the winter weather that was only growing colder. you stepped alongside him, voice muffled by the thick scarf of your favorite color as you berated him. weirdly enough, you had kept your job at hiromi’s firm, even after the initiation for divorce. you had a good standing in it, and hiromi loved you too much to fire you, even if you did want to escape him. maybe one day, you’d be able to move cities, but then, you felt as if you didn’t have many places to go.

the thing is, you always were hiromi’s saving grace. it wasn’t healthy for either of you. he was too attached, using you as his lifeline, always needing your attention rather than the attention of anyone else. you told him countless times to move on, and he still continued to show out, and force you to be his superwoman and come save him.

you still loved him, but he drained you, so, so badly. that’s why you filed for divorce in the first place. however, it always felt like…you’d never be able to fully get away from him. hiromi acted as a lost puppy, briefly following it’s mother whenever it found her.

the city you and hiromi stayed in – separately, by the way; you had an apartment on the opposite side of town from him – was big. you had moved there with him after college when he proposed to you a few days after graduation. you found the city to be enjoyable, there was never a quiet moment in the streets of the most populated portions. boredom was never a problem.

hiromi, however, easily found the city overwhelming. especially when he was by himself. without you.

big lights, unfamiliar faces on billboards, whispering voices. car horns were blared, and breaks squealed every other second. sounds, so many sounds, and visuals. it was all too much for hiromi. all too much.

too much.

too. much.

maybe it was you, or the liquor. possibly it was the case he had lost earlier that day, or the phone call he received from an unhappy client, or the front office clerk that threw her badge at him and quit. either way, hiromi was in the middle of the street, drunkenly walking in front of and in between the traffic-jammed cars, flipping random people off who yelled at him. a true, rebellious, and vulgar, display of how much he had gotten away from himself.

he no longer cared about anything else in the world in that moment.

nothing. not himself, or you.

at least, until he saw your frame storming towards him. like a switch in his mind, the instant he saw you, he remembered what life was about. with your pretty heels and pretty dress, a few of your friends he had met before – and that were in your wedding – trailed out of the bar, watching as you forcefully dragged him back to the sidewalk.

“what the hell is your problem, hiromi? what the fuck? you always do this when—are you drunk?” you shot questions left and right at him, and all hiromi could do was look at you with his stupid huge eyes.

he loved you.

on the ride back to his place, and when you told him to calm the fuck down, all he was able to think about was how much he loved you. even if you hated his guts or found him to be nothing but a pest. you truthfully didn’t feel that way, though.

you often pondered about whether you should force hiromi to get help. taking into consideration everything that was on his plate every day, he needed something to make him snap out of it. hiromi was no longer the man you fell in love with. he wasn’t the same hiromi who got flowers, or took you out on dates, or wrote you notes about his love.

hiromi had turned into nothing more than an unrecognizable maniac.

unrecognizable. that would be the only adjective to describe your ex-husband when you opened your apartment door and let him inside. he had kept an indescribable expression constantly for the past months, one of which had immediately faded upon being let into your space. you noticed how he had gotten a haircut, swooped it back into its normally kempt style, and his face was freshly shaved. he had cleaned up nicely at your call.

only a few minutes into the painful conversation you planned, the both of you were crying your eyes out, spewing to one another about concerns and how hiromi felt, the complexity of his emotions and why he acted so strangely.

“i-i just…want you to get better, hiromi. you aren’t…you anymore,” you cried, honesty the only thing leaving your lips. you tightly held onto hiromi’s hand, nearly cutting off the circulation to his thin fingers.

and again, the switch in his brain flipped. a look in his eye appeared, or more like the pain and suffering he had held on to finally disappeared from his gaze, leaving nothing but the pure eyes of the hiromi higuruma you had fallen in love with. he raised his free hand to your cheek, cupping it ever-so-slightly and ran his thumb over the warm, tear-stained flesh.

“i’m okay, my love, i’m here.”

said through teary eyes, hiromi tried his best to comfort you. he wasn’t sure what was up with him, or if he would ever get better any time soon, but all that mattered to him in those moments was you. he pet your hair when you fell over to hug him, crying into his chest at the possibly false assurance. while you cried into him, hiromi looked around your apartment, relishing in the ability to see how you lived again.

against your better judgement, one thing ended up leading to another, as if both of you had been waiting for this opportunity ever since you filed for divorce.

hiromi had his hands on your waist, helping to bounce you up and down slowly and sensually, burying his length into you ‘til you hit the hilt. intimate, passionate, it all felt comparable to your wedding night. one of your hands rested atop his own, swiping over the gold wedding band he still sported.

you looked so beautiful, only wearing an old t-shirt, biting your bottom lip as he always made you do. the thought of a condom or even pulling out was long gone, he was going to stay inside of you until he felt fixed. who knew the solution to all his problems was sex?

moving you just a bit faster, hiromi quickened the pace, bucking his hips up into you to meet your walls sliding back down around his cock. he filled you up so nicely, soft tip of his hitting that sweet spot you couldn’t get anyone else to. your legs burned and shivered, overcome with the feeling of being stretched out so well, so familiar again.

“’hiro, mm-, please,” you absentmindedly begged, asking for something you didn’t know.

“please what, pretty?” hiromi’s voice was as monotone as ever, perfectly controlled although he felt himself getting closer and closer to the line of bursting inside of you.

you slumped your body over hiromi’s, crashing into his chest again, legs going halfway limp as you used all your strength to try to move on your ex-husband’s raging hard cock. hiromi took this opportunity – a familiar one of his past – and snaked his hands to under your thighs that were spread on either side of him. he held you up at a perfect height, and began hammering into you from below, planting his feet in the ground.

your little ouuu’s and whimpers swirled into his ears, making hiromi feel proud as ever, and beckoning him closer to the edge. you didn’t care what happened after that point, you just never wanted the feeling of your ex-husband pounding into you to end.

each grueling stretch felt heavenly, forcing you open in just the right way, faster, faster and faster. even as much of a romantic as the both of you were, hiromi enjoyed setting a brutal pace much more than being slow. every fast, deep stroke your ‘hiro gave you, was felt with intensity you hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever. even as your body went limp against him for good, he kept you help up with whatever strength he could find.

“feels so good, ‘hiro—gonna cum,” you whined, cutely pecking his neck after. he found your little weak kisses so endearing, it was a small detail he looked forward to every time the two of you made love. the pace never faltered, hiromi kept pounding up into you, forcing the bubbles in your lower abdomen to begin to pop.

“it’s okay, pretty, cum for me,” he muttered, always a little embarrassed about dirty talking with you. but nevertheless, his words made you topple over the edge, gushing all around hiromi’s length. he fucked straight through your orgasm, still never slowing down, making you grasp reality at the feeling of being overstimulated.

immediately, you began to whine again, “too much, ‘hiro, ah—uugh.” pitiful tears rolled over your lower eyelids, staining your cheeks for the second time that night. those tears were fully pleasure-written, though.

“gonna cum, my wife,” hiromi grumbled, the last two words leaving his mouth as little less than a whisper. little mind was paid to the fact he had no intention of pulling out, the realization coming to you when you felt ropes of your ex-husband’s cum shoot straight into you.

hiromi relaxed after a few more thrusts, dropping your motionless body back onto him fully. you stayed gripped to him for a few moments, contemplating about the moments before when lust had taken over – but really, you figured it wouldn’t be so bad if all this would become a little accident.

he was – was – your husband, after all.

after a few long minutes, hiromi picked you up, just as he always did, and carried you to your bed. he carefully laid down with you, soaking in the feeling of being warm under the blankets with his wife. he watched your frame as you fell asleep, cuddled into his toned frame, his arm securely around you.

he failed to fall asleep for a while.

and when you rolled over away from him in your sleep, getting comfy in a different position, away from him – he felt off again. hiromi hated that feeling. it was uncomfortable, and just…odd.

hiromi higuruma couldn’t help it that night when he snuck out of your bed, and out of your apartment, to go back home. he left you.

he figured he would wake up later and feel guilty about it, and frantically beg you to accept him again. but then, once more, nothing mattered to hiromi.

he did think about how you’d be when you woke up. will you try to talk to him? will you cut him off for leaving like that? will you act as if it never happened? he saw you as a strong woman, it’d be easy for you to let go of him in an instant, right?

hiromi was probably wrong, but he still ended up by himself at the end of the night. he shivered alone in his bed, dressed in all the clothes he had on earlier that night, thinking. he always thought too much.

[yeahspider]

morning light 🫀

Ve’s note - comfort bang chan fic . alcohol and puke mention . reader is a mess and chan is there to clean her up . sparsely proofread bc im a lil drunk . enjoy !!

you knocked on what you could only hope was his apartment . but with all the liquor in your system you could barely tell if you were even in earth at the moment . your skull pounding and ear throbbing . it felt lien you were still back in the club . surrounded by people who could give a fuck rather you made it home safe or not . you leaned your head against (maybe) chris’ door . your limbs felt so heavy . you should’ve stopped after the second shot . you have work tomorrow morning for gods sake . but with the way life is going it was hard to car about the consequences of your recklessness .

you were dragged out of your spiraling thoughts by the door opening . causing you to go crashing to someone’s chest .

“it’s four in the morning . where have you been ?” you heard the disappointed voice of your roommate chris say . so you had knocked on the right door . nice . finally you did something right . you couldn’t find the words to explain to him what you had been up to all night . and even if you did you don’t have the heart to tell him . you felt him pick your body up . head falling back with the weight of your drunk .

“let’s get you cleaned up .” you could cry at the disappointment that leaked into his sigh . setting you down on what you realized was a toilet you waited until chris tapped your cheek to open your eyes . closing them back up with a groan as the white lights of his bathroom blinded you . you heard him leave as your head continued to spin . you felt the bile race up your esophagus as everyone ounce of liquor you had the past few hours came back up . sobs racked your body as you you headed hurried steps making their way to the bathroom . chris comes careening around the corner at a speed which would be comical if you weren’t thing up your guts right now . his hands found their way to your hair as he moved it out the way . hushing your cries as he rubbed your back . encouraging you to get everything out your system .

after what felt like an eternity . you lifted your head from the bowl to come face to face with a concerned chris . eyes big and watering as you apologized . humiliation filling your veins .

“you’re fine it’s okay don’t worry about it”

but it wasn’t fine . you weren’t fine and you hadn’t been for a long time . you take the cup of water he offers you . gulping down the water hoping it would quench the turmoil in your gut . the next few minutes consisted of chris brushing your teeth , removing your makeup . and helping you change into and old tshirt of his . every tough to your skin was gentle . as if you were glass on the verge of breaking . he tucked you into your bed as you continue to sniffle . as he presses a kiss your forehead and turns to leave you grab his arm . silently begging he’ll catch the hint and lay down with you .

crawling into bed behind you he tucks your body into his own . your head rests on his chest as more sobs leave your body . you feel so protected and cared for and it tears you up inside . he deserves so much more than you could ever give him . kisses are pressed into your hair as you feel the strings of unconsciousness tugging on you .

“it’s okay my love sleep i’ll be here when you wake .”

[grahminradarin]

Hi hey hello. I've been watching Miraculous since September, and I just finished.

WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH THIS FANDOM?

That finale was amazingly well-made. I definitely get why people were disappointed, but there's no way that's everything. The writers who made the rest of the season so good are not capable of writing something this confusing and unsatisfying, unless it's on purpose. This story isn't done.

There has been a lot of focus in the season on class dynamics, but in the last couple of episodes they really start bringing this theme of how people deal with power to the forefront

With Ladybug and Chat deciding not to do anything against Chloe because it's not their responsibility even though they have the power to do it, everything with Lila, the increasingly reckless and harmful ways Gabriel is manipulating people because he thinks he gets to decide what is good for others, Gimmi complaining that no one ever summons them to tell them anything good and only summon Gimmi to use Gimmi's power.

And the thing that brings it together: Marinette's speech right at the end, just before Gabriel makes the wish, when she says the power is only valid when it's used for the greater good of other people.

And then the statue of Gabriel. Right after all of this, a statue commemorating the man who refuses to use his power for the good of others. The dissonance is on purpose. This story is thematically incomplete, and I think the London special will finally wrap it all up.

What does the fandom come away from this talking about? How interesting this all is and wondering how it gets resolved? No. The fandom on the subreddit (and some of them on Tumblr) say "The villain won without consequences! This is bad writing!" and "Why is Marinette not telling Adrien he's a sentimonster?".

I just. How do you watch that and come away with your biggest concern being "Marinette didn't tell Adrien the truth"? How do you not see that it's so much bigger than that? That's not one dangling plot thread, we're looking at an unfinished garment and complaining that the edges are fraying.

And a good portion of the fandom cannot for the life of themselves see the loom and the people working it still going. I don't know how to stretch this metaphor any further, but I cannot believe that anyone would look at something so blatantly incomplete and still treat it like it's the entire picture. It's a microcosm of a bigger issue with the fandom, which is, as far as I can tell, that this fandom wants to watch a different show. Seasons 4 and 5 are so vastly different from seasons 1 and 2, and I think the people that came here to enjoy the first two or three seasons but hated the later ones are angry with the show for not following the traditional kinds of stories in the genre.

This show isn't trying to be an episodic or somewhat serialized story about love squares and middle school nonsense. It's a deep and varied exploration of what being a magical girl does to a 14 year old (in addition to many other things), and it's not pretty. The show is trying to say "this was terrible for everyone, and it shouldn't have happened, but it did, and here's how". And most people didn't want that, which is fair. But it doesn't mean the show is badly written, nor does it mean the writers hate certain characters. It pisses me off that a show this well made, with so much time and effort and care, is constantly dismissed as a badly-written, disorganized piece of crap that people only like ironically. Something this well made deserves a more neutral presentation to let people form their own opinions, and it deserve appreciation for the innumerable things it does well, especially in later seasons and the specials.

In summary, Miraculous isn't bad. A vocal part, maybe even the majority, of the fandom just wanted something else based on the first 3 seasons, and hasn't realized it because they're so devoted to hating on the show. And it deserves a much better reputation than it has.

[ideas-ideasideasideas]

JayTim omegaverse AU where Tim presents as an omega when he’s stalking Batman and Jason-as-Robin. Jason finds him collapsed on a rooftop and tries to help him but the proximity triggers his own presentation as an alpha. From there things go to hell in a hand basket and they ride out their first heat/rut together. In the immediate aftermath, once they have both recovered enough presence of mind, they agree that this is no one’s fault but it doesn’t stop Jason from feeling guilty about taking advantage of Tim so he escorts Tim home (in the process finding out they’re neighbours) and asks if there’s anything that he can do for him to make up for whatever the hell just happened.

There’s a lot of trauma to unpack here for the both of them but Tim is barely a teenager and Jason has emotionally repressed Batman for a parental figure so they just mutually decide not to mention it ever again because if you pretend it never happened then it can’t hurt you right? (Wrong.) Anyway, Tim tells Jason that if he really wants to do something for him then maybe he can just not tell Batman that Tim was on a rooftop at night, pretty please? At which point Jason, horrified that a boy Tim’s age is running around on rooftops unsupervised in the most crime-ridden parts of Gotham at the most crime-infested time of the day, makes it his personal duty to figure out why Tim does this and also how he can convince him to NOT do this. What he did to Tim was wrong on so many levels but oh god, what if someone so much worse found Tim instead? He agrees to Tim’s request on the condition that Tim carries a beacon at all times during his nighttime extracurricular activities.

Jason brings the beacon over as soon as possible, which turns out to be the next day after school (as Robin of course), and the sight of Tim alone in a giant house compels him to stay for a while, and a while turns into the rest of the day. Tim shows off the photos he’s taken of Batman and the Robins, and Jason is reluctantly but appropriately impressed by Tim’s stealth.

A friendship grows between them.

And then Jason dies.

And Batman grows too reckless.

And Dick refuses to be Robin again.

And Tim becomes Robin—

Except he doesn’t. Not really. He wears Jason’s Robin suit for a very short time before random bouts of nausea take him off the field. But Batman is still beating the shit out of petty criminals and Tim is desperate to help, so he allows Alfred (bless him) to call him a discreet doctor to ensure that his illness is not due to anything he was exposed to while Batman-wrangling before he’s allowed back on the field. Tim just wants it over and done with quickly so he can get back out there and—

He’s not allowed to back on the field.

He’s holding a little black-and-white picture of a literal human growing inside him and he is absolutely benched until there is no longer a literal human growing inside him.

Doctor Thompkins lays out his options, is brutally honest about how his body (too young, too small) will handle a pregnancy (not well), and asks if there is anything he wants to tell her (if there’s anyone Batman needs to put in jail for touching him). Tim doesn’t have long to consider his options—he’s nearly too far along for most clinics to be comfortable performing an abortion (although, given his age, they might be sympathetic enough to bend the rules if Doctor Thompkins can’t perform the procedure for him).

He decides to keep it, a parting gift from his friend Robin to be cherished beyond his death. There is a difficult conversation with Bruce about the child’s father (no, you can’t arrest them, they’re already dead, no, I’m not defending a heinous rapist, it’s your goddamn son, Bruce, this is your grandchild). An unforeseen but extremely welcome consequence of this is that Batman starts pulling his punches, now that he has something to live for again. He looks only half-broken now and he offers Tim a room at the Wayne manor when he finally learns about Tim’s extremely absent parents.

(Tim worries about how to break the news to his parents until he no longer has to worry about it because his mother is dead and his father is in a coma and god he wanted to avoid having that conversation with them but this wasn’t how he wanted it to happen.)

Properly benched now for the foreseeable future, Tim picks up remote vigilante-wrangling instead (from Babs?) and makes headway in some cold cases. He pulls out of school to be homeschooled instead, keeps out of the public eye, and generally avoids leaving Wayne manor because a thirteen-year-old pregnant omega living alone with an adult alpha (and his butler) is a Very Bad Look even for Brucie Wayne and Tim would rather not be known as Bruce Wayne’s child bride thank you very much.

Life proceeds in this manner, the child is delivered by Caesarian with very little fanfare. It is, unfortunately, very difficult to hide the presence of a whole infant. The public settles on the theory that the child is Bruce’s illegitimate son from one of his many dalliances and Tim allows the misconception to propagate simply because no good can come out of him, all of fourteen, publicly claiming his child. But it still stings, just a little. He made this child, held him safe in his womb for eight months. He puts him to bed and nurses him and loves him so much but nobody outside the manor will see it.

Tim bursts back into society when he’s officially adopted by Bruce. He refused to register his son as Bruce’s (it takes some extremely deft work by Oracle to file the appropriate documents for Tim’s claim on his child to be legally valid without alerting the press) but he also understands that Bruce wants a legal connection to his grandchild, so he becomes his son’s dead father’s legally adopted brother. It’s a mess, but at least people who should be are allowed into hospital rooms. It’s not like it will matter, right? Jason’s dead, right?

Wrong.

Jason is very much not dead and very much bewildered by the presence of a baby Wayne that isn’t Damian and it completely derails his plans to exact revenge on Bruce for not killing the Joker. It fucking hurts to see that he’s been replaced by not one but TWO new children but at least they aren’t Robin. At least no one is Robin. At least one of them is Tim, his lonely friend who deserves a family. He returns to Gotham, heads to Crime Alley, becomes Red Hood, and buries himself in shooting out enough kneecaps to push Bruce and Batman from his mind. That was another life. He’s fucking furious at Bruce and his replacements but god the baby has the same curly hair that Jason did and Jason can’t help but think that Bruce might actually have missed him, at least a little.

But probably not enough to love Jason as he is now, full of anger and rage and impulse to hurt hurt hurt the people who hurt others. He channels it all into cleaning up the Alley, perhaps more aggressively than Batman would (should) have, but Batman doesn’t give enough of a shit about the Alley to know that what he’s doing isn’t enough and it’s up to Jason to get his hands downright filthy if he wants to make any changes around here.

Tim notices Red Hood, because of course he does. And it takes him no time at all to realise, oh, that’s Jason. That’s Jason.

[hadesisqueer]

Honestly I have never fully agreed with the whole "Korra has the personality of a Firebender" because-- what exactly is the personality of a Firebender? She used Firebending a lot in the first books, I'll give you that, but it seemed more out of accessibility than anything; later she switches it for Air.

Fire is the element of power; Firebenders tend to be pretty determined people. Water is the element of change; Waterbenders tend to be very adaptable. Earth is the element of substance; Earthbenders usually are very resilient people. And Air is the element of freedom; Airbenders tend to be very free-spirited. There are stereotypes for benders (Firebenders are angry people and obsessed with honor, Earthbenders are usually pretty stubborn) that can be true with some people. But not always.

Now, here, look. These two are Airbenders.

Do they have the same personality?

Now, these two.

They're Earthbenders. Do they have the same personality?

What about these two Waterbenders?

Are they any similar?

Or maybe these two Firebender brothers?

What is the personality of a Firebender? Iroh's personality? Zuko's? Azula's, or Ozai's? Or Mako's?

Yes, Korra had affinity with firebending due to a couple of her personality traits that made her a very determined and fierce person. She also had an affinity with earthbending from a young age as well because she was a tough, stubborn and resilient person who stood her ground. However, she was also a very adaptable person who favored change, which is the main personality trait of what a Waterbender should be.

Personality traits aren't exclusive of one element. Kya is more spiritual and free-spirited than Tenzin and she's not an Airbender, but a Waterbender; stereotypically, Tenzin is kinda different than you'd expect an Airbender to be, actually, with him being more disciplined and serious. Bolin does not have the stereotypical Earthbender personality, either. And Mako doesn't have the stereotypical Firebender 'impulsive' personality either, he's more a 'cool under fire' person who usually stays level-headed in tough situations. Korra lacked spirituality and prefered to stand her ground or fight at first rather than avoiding conflict, which is why she had trouble with Airbending at first. But again, personality traits aren't exclusive of just one element nor does the element you bend really define and shape your personality; the way you are brought up, your environment and the people around you contribute more to that. Korra originally didn't have those traits due to the way she was raised, isolated from the world, groomed and pressured from a young age as the Avatar. Raise her differently, with a more normal, carefree childhood, and perhaps she wouldn't have struggled as much with airbending as she originally did.

In my opinion, the reason why people might think Korra has a full on 'Firebender personality' is because she has some common traits with a particular Firebender. The Firebender being Zuko. Both were originally hot headed, got angry easily at first, were fierce and impulsive. Korra also shared personality traits with Toph, too, being tough and stubborn —they were raised being isolated with no friends, too, which is a parallel between them. But like I said, personality traits can help with an element, but aren't exclusive of that element. Korra also had several things in common with Aang.

Personally, in my opinion, someone Korra has a lot in common with as well, maybe more than with Zuko or Toph-- is Katara, another Waterbender. They both are driven people with a lot of determination, righteous and passionate about what they believe in, and pretty adaptable as well. Korra seems to be more aggressive, and impulsive as well, but let's not act like Katara didn't have a temper, too, and like she wasn't impulsive and reckless as well sometimes (remember when she blew up a FN factory because Sokka said it without thinking of the consequences). They both could get very frustrated as well when they weren't immediately good at something they expected to be good at. There are many differences between them, yeah, due to the ways they were brought up —again, Korra was isolated from the world with no friends her age and pressured to be the Avatar and Katara was forced on a motherly role from a very young age after the loss of her actual mother. However, if they had been raised in more normal ways, I fully believe they'd be even more similar. Put Katara as the Avatar from a young age like Korra herself was and I think she could have been a very similar Avatar to Korra imo. But it also makes sense in some way they're similar considering Katara was Korra's waterbending master and likely one of her biggest role models growing up.

(Free my girls they both get so overhated for no reason too).

Anyway, to me there is really no such actual thing as having 'the personality of X bender', they're mostly stereotypes. There are personality traits that can be helpful to bend an element, but they're never exclusive to that element. Just because you're stubborn as hell doesn't mean you're an Earthbender, and Bolin himself doesn't really exhibit that trait. Just because you're a very fierce person, doesn't mean you're an Firebender. You can be a pretty spiritual person and not an Airbender. You can be a very adaptable guy, but a Firebender instead of a Waterbender. Aang was far from having the slightest stereotypical Firebender personality and he didn't struggle with firebending, but he had the determination needed to be a Firebender. He also had the same adaptability needed to be a Waterbender. Korra had some personality traits that made her have it easy with firebending. She also had personality traits that made it easy for her to waterbend and earthbend. Easy.

[inkdemonapologist]

My BatDR Take That Used To Be Hot But I Left It Out On The Windowsill To Cool So You Should Be Able to Eat It Now Without Burning Your Tongue

its not actually that hot, is what im saying

Anyway my BatDR hot take is that BatDR's story is not fundamentally worse than BatIM with one exception; an exception that, for BatIM, covers a multitude of sins:

BatIM has a theme.

I can't presume the intentions of the creators, but if I had to write an essay on the themes in BatIM, it wouldn't be hard to pick one out: the cost of obsession, or even just, the ruin Joey brought on the studio. In the very first chapter, Henry asks "Joey, what were you doing?" and every single thing in the rest of the game revolves around that central question: what WAS Joey doing? Each audiolog is a snippet of the studio's path to this messed up state; each character you meet is someone ruined by Joey. The major antagonists echo Joey's flaws -- obsession with Bendy as more than a cartoon, obsession with perfection, obsession with fame and greatness and legacy -- but even without that, they're also each a picture of how the lives of people caught in the path of Joey's dream were ruined by it. Bertrum, for example, doesn't match the concept of rubberhose cartoons, but as yet another person screwed over by Joey, he fits the central question of the story, so he feels like he belongs here. Ultimately, in a narrative sense, the Ink Demon isn't the story's monster -- Joey is; the Ink Demon is just the consequence of his reckless ambition.

But what's the theme or central question of BatDR?

You can... try to pick out a theme. There's some promising options, because it feels like the story WANTED a theme, stating its emotional intentions more overtly -- "there's always a choice" to leave the darkness and chose hope; family and the struggle of living in a heavy legacy's shadow; or even just good old mewtwo-brand The Circumstance's Of One's Birth Are Irrelevant, It Is What You Do With The Gift Of Life That Determines Who You Are.

I think, even WITH the clumsy execution of Joey's "arc" and Audrey's lack of real choices, any of those could work about as well as BatIM. But unlike BatIM, the majority of the game doesn't tie in. Joey's tour can be considered relevant -- a picture of the family legacy and the "darkness" that Audrey doesn't yet know she's inheriting -- but like, the audiologs and hints and environment of BatDR are mostly teasing the question of What Is Gent Up To, and the takeover of Gent is detached from Audrey's choices, her family, her legacy, and Gent never really becomes a relevant threat to those things in this game. The Cult of Amok and the Ghost Train have nothing to do with any of these ideas. It might've been neat if Audrey had ever considered, "Did my father really drive all these people insane?", a hint of actually having to wonder about the darkness in her past. Even Wilson only barely brushes against these concepts; he doesn't like Joey and he also is trying to escape his family's heavy legacy, but it doesn't really reflect on his actions and we don't find that last part out until he's about to be dead.

There's also the question Wilson poses of "real" people versus ink creations, and what counts as valid "life." It would be an interesting theme with a lot to build off of in this setting, it ties into Wilson more as Wilson seems to represent the opinion that Inky Things Aren't Really Alive, which could've tied to Audrey (as an ink-person who has yet to accept that part of herself) and maybe given Wilson a reason to think it's fine to sacrifice her, it could've even tied to Gent (who don't even seem to value human life) -- but after Wilson asks the question, it doesn't tie into the direction things go. He smooshes a little Bendy, we see hints of his disregard for Betty, and then everyone continues with their plan to destroy the Ink Demon without any further moral quandaries about inky life.

The thing is, when you compare an element like, say, audiologs, there's a lot of differences you can point to -- but I don't actually think Lacie Benton's audiolog is notably better, taken on its own, than Grace Conway's or Kitty Thompson's, and yet tons of people were intrigued enough to flesh out Lacie. None of them are big plot points or compelling characters on their own; Lacie and Grace both give us a little note on what it's like working in the Studio, and Kitty shares a little bit on how Gent's expansion is affecting people. But when Lacie talks about Bertrum trying to make a creepy animatronic, that ties back into Joey's ill-fated schemes that are the point of the whole story. The question we're asking through the whole game is "what happened here?" so the fandom is interested in who Lacie is and what her life was like and extrapolates a whole person out of a couple sentences. But that's not the question in BatDR -- what has Wilson done to the Cycle and the Demon? Why? Who is Audrey really, and why is she here? Telling us new things about the Studio's fate seems strangely irrelevant to those questions, just an attempt to create a Mystery To Speculate On like the previous game did... but what question you're asking and how it fits into your story's main theme, like, matters. I absolutely believe that one clock animator guy would've been in EVERYONE'S crew if he'd been introduced in BatIM, but the context makes a difference; fleshing him out feels less relevant here.

The explanations of how and why Wilson did everything he did are baffling and handwavey, but in and of itself that's not a worse problem than anything else in the franchise -- I STILL don't understand why the Ink Machine needs pipes in the walls or even how it works, there's no good reason for Sammy to believe the Ink Demon will "set him free," most of Alice's motives don't make sense, etc etc etc. But the thing is that in BatDR, the wibbly bit is the closest thing to a central question we have! Wilson, what were you doing? The theme doesn't really explore or connect to that question, so the explanations that are finally tossed our way feel lacking in a way that BatIM's handwaved elements don't. There's a lot about Joey's motivation in BatIM that we can't know, but the heart of it resonates -- Joey wanted something, he was willing to exploit people to get it, and he became obsessed and prioritised that dream at any cost. We'll weather a thousand logistical inconsistencies if it's got heart.

But all of that said.... to be honest, I don't think Lacie overtly fits that theme anyway. Even, like, Sammy is iffy -- we don't really know what happened to him, only that he didn't used to be made of ink and worship Bendy, and now he does. We assume Joey's nonsense had something to do with what happened to him (though the books later assert his influence was indirect at best), because when there's a pattern, we can fill in the blank. So many fan creators found a place for Lacie, Grant, and Shawn in the cycle as butcher clones or lost ones, so many people imagined that Wally must be the Boris we meet, because that would've fit the pattern, the idea that the point of what we're seeing is the downfall of the studio. It's not actually that BatIM did a great job tying everything together -- it's that BatIM gave us a compelling idea and that was all it took to make everything else SEEM like it could find a place to fit. This is what I mean when I say BatIM's theme covers a multitude of sins. There's a LOT of characters in BatIM that don't make sense. There's a lot of inconsistencies and things that just sort of happen without any real reason. Characters don't really have "arcs" so much as different states they happen to be in at different times. But because there's a central question and the story doesn't wander away from it, our pattern-loving human brains will slot in all the pieces and do all the work to make the story feel at least somewhat coherent.

The things that happened in BatDR aren't a whole lot less coherent than BatIM imo, they just don't tie into a bigger theme or any of the questions the story's asking, making "how do they fit into all this" feel irrelevant, making it easier to forget entire sections and harder to get invested in audiolog characters. I think a lot of the other criticisms people have for BatDR's story are very valid, but I also suspect that if BatDR had a more successful theme/central question, then a lot of its flaws would be easier to overlook -- just like BatIM.

[pnsteblnme]

wrong impressions ✿ k.m.

pairing: katie mccabe x reader

summary: a misunderstanding leads to conflicts and tension between katie mccabe and arsenal’s newest signing.

warning: cursing, katie and reader being idiots, bad writing 

word count: 5.1k (i don't even know how this happened)

a/n: here’s a little something in honour of ireland's second game today ;) also, this was my first time writing something like this and english isn’t my first language, so bear with me please <3 anyway, i hope you enjoy this and i’m always happy to hear your thoughts :)

“Oh, McCabe isn’t good. She’s borderline reckless and very petulant, plays way too aggressively and all she does is collect cards for her team.”

“The fuck,” muttered Katie with a quiet scoff after hearing Arsenal’s newest signing’s words as she walked into the training facility. Not wanting to hear more comments, she quickly made her way to the locker room and sat down at her designated spot, an annoyed frown still etched onto her face.

As the brunette was tying her shoes, a shoulder nudged hers, “You excited for our new additions?” Katie looked to her left to be met with the buzzing smile of her blonde friend.

“Mhm.”

The corners of Leah’s mouth dropped, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Finishing the tie on her shoe Katie leaned back up, let out a small sigh and opened her mouth. Before she could utter a word though, the door opened.

“So, as you all know, we have two incredible players joining us this season. I’m sure you’re all acquainted with Alessia,” Jonas pointed to the taller of the two women, who sent everyone a friendly grin, “and this is Y/N Y/L/N. Before coming to us she played for Barcelona but because of an injury, our paths haven’t crossed yet,” after he finished his sentence, you raised your hand for a timid wave and looked at all the girls with a nervous smile, a blush coating your cheeks, resulting in a few excited greetings being thrown your way. “I trust that you’ll make them feel at home and yeah, that’s all. I’ll see you on the pitch in 5,” were his last words before disappearing behind the door.

Turning around to face your new team, you were welcomed with open arms - literally. In front of you, you found almost all the girls waiting to greet you, each pulling you into a hug and introducing themselves.

After you were done introducing yourself, you quickly changed. The warm welcome they gave you resulted in your heartbeat finally slowing down (maybe not to a normal pace, but considerably slower than when you arrived). Later, you would also realise that your hands had stopped shaking halfway through the training, filling your body with warmth, that felt like the sun thawing the frost off of colourful flowers on a warm spring morning.

Right now though, your shoulders slumped as you noticed that the forward you were most very thrilled to play alongside of, didn’t greet you (and if you weren’t imagining things, even sent a glare in your direction).

Shaking off those thoughts, you made your way to the pitch, walking next to Leah. “How are you feeling?” she questioned, looping her arm through yours.

“I’m literally shitting my pants,” you chuckled, “but I’m also excited to play in this amazing team like, I don’t know, I feel like I can learn so much from you.”

Leah waved you off, “Don’t worry, you’re gonna be just fine and I have a feeling it’s gonna be the other way around.” When you felt the blonde’s hand ruffling your hair, you jokingly pushed her away, muttering about how you were going to get back at her.

And that you did. The end of the training came with a scrimmage, in which Leah and you were on opposite teams. Getting the ball from Lotte, you quickly made your way towards their goal and consequently came face to face with the blonde defender. Before she could do much, you nutmegged her and sent the ball straight to the far post, Alessia scoring a goal with a beautiful header.

Fidgeting with your sleeves, you turned to your friend with a sheepish laugh, “Sorry, I just don’t like people messing up my hair.” Chuckles coming from the girl instantly relaxed you as she patted your shoulder, “That was a nice play.”

Heat crawled into your cheeks as you muttered a quiet ‘thanks’ and made your way back to your side.

Sadly, not everyone took the scrimmage as light-hearted as Leah. With the frustration growing after each goal your team scored, the game quickly became physical. You would feel the wrath of that a few moments later.

Running along the sideline, you were just about to send another ball into the penalty box when you felt cleats connecting with your ankle and your legs being swept from under you.

You let out a groan as you held your foot, trying to stand up. Rotating your ankle a bit, you attempted to take a few wobbly steps, the new blonde forward approaching you, “Are you all right? That looked like it hurt.”

“No, it’s fine, I just have to walk it off.”

Limping a few metres, you felt the pain slowly subside and glanced at the girl that had tackled you. Not seeing her making any moves to apologise nor a glimpse of remorse on her face, a crease formed between your eyebrows, wondering why Katie was acting this cold towards you.

When the game continued with you, in particular, being the one the Irish woman directed her fury at, the uncomfortable feeling in your chest grew. That was why, when Leah and you were collecting the balls that had been shot to god knows where, you inquired, “Does Katie not like me?”

“No, what makes you think that?”

Putting the last ball into the bag you shrugged your shoulders, “I don’t know, I just feel like she has it out for me, you know?”

“Hm, it looked like she was already in a lousy mood before you came in, so she probably just had a bad day. I’m sure yous will hit it off tomorrow,” consoled the blonde with a comforting touch to your arm.

Alas, it didn’t seem to get better the next day.

Being on the receiving end of her tackles once again, this time even from the beginning of the training session, your patience was wearing thin. Your dislike for conflict made you keep quiet though, not wanting to cause drama on your second day and because no one else said anything, you just presumed that it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.

After a particularly gruesome duel, where Katie had stepped onto your feet multiple times, you couldn’t push your agitation down anymore, the anger bubbling inside of you like an active volcano, fiery red lava spewing out of your mouth, “Okay, what the fuck did I do to you? Why do you hate me?”

Surprised at hearing your angry voice directed at her, the Irish woman turned around with a scoff, “Don’t pretend like you don’t know what you did.”

“I don’t, I wouldn’t be asking if I did, Sherlock.”

You watched as her eyes rolled into the back of her head before she turned around and marched to her position. Feeling a presence behind you, you tried to get your whirring thoughts under control, “Everything alright?”

Pulling your shoulders to your ears and letting them drop again, you returned, “Yeah, I’m not so sure about her not hating me, though,” eliciting a frown on the blonde’s face.

Unfortunately, for you two and for everyone who had to hear your petty arguments, you were paired up with Katie on one of the gym days.

For the most part, everything was fine. Even though the Irish woman couldn’t help but follow a few drops of sweat that rolled down your abs with her grey eyes, which sparked her irritation, wondering how she could be thinking about a person like you like that, you two didn’t exchange any words.

That is until you were supposed to spot Katie. Padding over to her waiting by the bench press, you thought about how you could finally relax for a moment after all the tiring exercises you had to go through.

Boy, how wrong you were.

Standing at the head of the bench you had a perfect view of Katie doing her tasks. It felt like a magnet being pulled to the strongest metal, the way your eyes were glued to the forward’s arms. Not knowing what hit you, you couldn’t pull your gaze away from the heavenly sight.

Katie noticing your dazed expression, rolled her eyes with a smirk, before an idea formed in her head. Pretending to lose her grip on the weight, she laid it down on her chest and let out struggling breaths.

After she tried to get your attention with faux breathless words, you suddenly jumped out of your stupor and quickly lifted the weight off of her.

“Do you want to kill me?!”

“Oh god, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention,” you mumbled, regret filling your voice as you looked down sheepishly.

Shaking her head the brunette enjoyed teasing you further, “You can’t do anything, can you?”

“I said I was sorry, relax.”

Across the room, Leah and Alessia were watching the scene unfold with confusion written over their faces, “Where did this weird tension even come from? It looks like they want to kill and fuck each other at the same time.”

“I don’t know,” Leah responded, “but I think we need to separate them or one of those two things will happen any minute now.”

These little quarrels eventually developed into a common component of Arsenal’s training sessions, even being present outside of them, like on team bonding nights.

All the girls were gathered at Leah’s house to watch a few movies and just enjoy each other’s company. Everything was fine until Katie got up from the couch to get another drink for herself. During that time you arrived at the blonde’s flat, having had an appointment before, and unknowingly sat down at the spot that was previously occupied by none other than the fiery winger.

When she strolled back into the living room and saw exactly who had stolen her spot, the brunette let out an annoyed sigh. Making her way towards you, she stopped in front of your frame, “Did you make it your personal life goal to annoy me whenever you can, or what?”

Only being met by you looking at her with those stupid eyes and your stupid button nose and a stupid mischievous grin on your face, she scoffed, “Move out of my seat, you knob.”

About to stand up, you felt a few drops of something land in your lap, which made you look up only to see the brunette raising her eyebrow, “Oh no, I’m so sorry, I guess my glass was too full.”

“Tell me, Katie, is it hard being such a relentless asshole, or does it come naturally to you?” you sent her a fake smile, before moving to the other side of the room, not before jamming your shoulder into hers though.

Before Katie could retaliate, Beth let out a tired sigh, “Girls, can we just enjoy the movie now?”, gaining agreeing mumbles from everyone else.

It all came to a head when Katie tackled Alessia, who you had grown very close to in the last two months and now considered one of your best friends.

You were running along the sideline, waiting for Alessia to pass the ball, when you heard her outcry and immediately stopped. Hastily making your way to the blonde, you kneeled down and softly put your hand on her left leg, trying to calm her down, “Oh my god, Less, are you alright?”

“It hurts,” she groaned, still holding her foot.

“Don’t worry, everything’s gonna be fine, the medics are gonna be here in a second.”

Looking up when they arrived, you also saw the woman that had caused Alessia to fall to the ground.

Only seeing red, you stood up so fast you were surprised you didn’t get whiplash, shoving the brunette with both of your arms, “What the hell is your problem?! You don’t get to just treat people like that, jackass!”

“What did you just say to me?” barked Katie as she invaded your personal space, your faces only a breath apart, meaning you could see the vein on her forehead popping out and almost smoke coming from her ears.

“You heard me, McCabe,” taking one last step towards her, your foreheads touching, you poked your index finger into her chest, “stop playing like a fucking hazardous idiot and go apologise to her right now! I know you hate me and you can come at me all you want, be my guest, but if you ever hurt her again, I’ll break your goddamn kneecaps!” Your chest heaved up and down with the rage inside of you, “Stay. The fuck. Away. From her,” punctuating each word with a jab of your finger, you gave her one last push before turning back to Alessia still laying on the ground.

With it being the last training before the first match, it wasn’t a surprise when the atmosphere was a bit tense.

So, when you accidentally bumped into the one and only Katie McCabe, because the exercise had you all running backwards, and somehow landed on top of her, her snappy remark came almost instantly, “Watch where you’re going and get the fuck off of me.”  

Putting your hands on either side of her head, you started to pull yourself up, scoffing at her overdramatic reaction, “Go take a walk and calm down, babes.”

As she quickly stood up and pushed up against your body with her glowering eyes, that reminded you of the sea after a terrible storm, the gray rolling clouds reflecting onto the almost-blue surface of the water, her intoxicating scent invading your nostrils only infuriating you further, “Why don’t you take a walk back to Barcelona?”

Having had enough of this constant back and forth, you raised both of your arms and let them fall back to your sides, “What’s your goddamn problem?!”

“You! And don’t try your stupid innocent act on me, you know exactly what you did.”

Seeing the frown on your face, Katie continued, “Unless you’re gonna admit it, you can take your shit-talking self elsewhere.”

“God, you’re so full of yourself, I’m not gonna kiss your ass and apologise for something I didn’t even do!”

“Are yo- ”

She was interrupted by Leah separating you two, “Let’s take a deep breath, ladies.” Still glaring at one another you two slowly parted ways.

The locker room was buzzing with everyone’s excitement for Arsenal’s first game of the season, excited chatter coming from every corner. As you were all about to enter the pitch for warm ups, Jonas appeared, “McCabe, Y/L/N, a minute, please.”

He waited for the other girls to leave before addressing you, “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but you need to get it together,” his tone emphasising his disappointment. “When I made you the offer, Y/N, I thought you two would come together as a fantastic offense, because I know Katie has wanted to be winger again for a long time now and your styles and techniques just compliment each other perfectly,” the words causing you to look at your shoes shamefully.

“Now I know that you can destroy Liverpool’s defense out there but in order to do that, I need you two to work together, okay?” he looked to the two women in front of him expectantly, causing both of them to nod, his last words only making them repeat the motion, “And if you pull anything like the the shit that went down yesterday, you’re instantly being subbed off, understood?”

Jonas’ words apparently made something inside the both of you switch. Throughout the whole game, Katie and you seemed to link up every chance you could and waltzed through Liverpool’s defense like a hazard. Even when you were behind the Irish woman, she could somehow feel your presence and get the ball to your feet. You had to admit that playing with Katie when you were both working together felt amazing, giving the impression of flying over the pitch.

Even though the game went as well as it did, you went back to being at each other’s throats afterwards.

The snarky comments exchanged in the locker room extinguishing any hope your teammates had that you would at least be civil now.

One day at lunch in the team cafeteria, Katie couldn’t help but let her gaze float towards her self-appointed enemy.

Watching as you laughed with Alessia, made her thoughts run wild. Why would you say that about her? And why was she so bugged by it, when she normally just let the nasty comments brush past her without giving them a second glance?

A fork dropping to the floor startled her, making her eyes flick towards the direction the sound came from. She could see Alessia leaning down to pick it up and noticed you putting your hand between the blonde’s head and the edge of the table, efficiently sparing the forward an uncomfortable collision with the table.

This wasn’t the first time, the brunette picked up on your kindness. All the other times, for example, you staying behind and helping the staff clean up or you giving the girl you’d walked onto the pitch with your jacket, making her wonder why you were treating her so differently.

The heavy feeling in her gut made a crease form between Katie’s eyebrows. Turning to her right she questioned the captain of England’s national team, “Why is she literally the nicest human being to everyone but me?”

“Hmm, let me think, maybe because you’ve been nothing but mean to her since day one?” spoke the blonde after tapping her chin with a faux thoughtful face that turned into an ‘are you kidding me’ look.

Grumbling and stabbing her food with her fork she retorted, “She started it.”

“What do you mean? There’s not a bad bone, not even a bad cell, in that girl’s body.”

“Well, when I came in on her first day, I heard her talking to someone and she was saying pretty nasty things about me,” Katie claimed with a defeated tone.

A confused look crossed Leah’s face, “Are you sure it was her? What did she say?”

Thinking back to said day, she tried to get the words together, “Yes, I’m a hundred percent sure, and she was saying something like ‘McCabe is way too aggressive, all she does is get cards and she just isn’t good’ and I don’t know, normally I don’t really care about what people say about me, but I was just so excited to play with her and-”

“Are you serious?!”, exclaimed the blonde incredulously.

“What?”

“Did you listen to her until the end?”

Grimacing, Katie replied, “No, why would I? So that I could hear more of her borderline offensive comments?”

Fishing for her phone in her pocket, Leah grunted, “I can’t believe you sometimes, you useless lesbian.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” the Irish woman starting to feel lost now, as her friend put her phone down in front of her, a video playing.

Scanning the screen she could see the title of said video ‘Y/N Y/L/N’s first Arsenal interview’ and the fog in her brain only thickened. Then she heard a voice behind the camera, “So, what are you most excited about?”

You smiled nervously, fiddling with the rings on your finger,  “Uhm, I’m really excited to play with this team cause their style is so different and I just think, uh, I can learn a lot from these amazing girls.”

“And who are you most excited to play with?”

“Oh, that’s easy, Katie McCabe,” you told the interviewer animatedly, “many people might say like ‘Oh, McCabe isn’t good. She’s borderline reckless and very petulant, plays way too aggressively and all she does is collect cards for her team’,” you imitated while doing air quotations.

“But I’m like, have you seen this girl play? It’s amazing to watch and maybe she’s a bit more physical but it’s working, isn’t it? I don’t know, I just think it’s very admirable and just so unique cause you don’t see a lot of people playing like that, you know? Sorry, I’m rambling,” you chuckled with rosy cheeks.

The blonde taking her phone back, brought Katie back to the real world. The realisation of what she had done came crashing down on her like a ton of bricks.

She hid her face behind her hands before she muttered ashamedly, “I’ve just really been an arsehole to her this whole time for no reason, haven’t I?”

“Yup, you have,” Leah patted her on the shoulder consolingly, “but I’m sure she’ll forgive you if you apologise.”

“Well, here goes nothing.”

When you heard footsteps approaching your table, you looked up from your plate to come face to face with the most infuriating person you knew, “Hey Y/N, could we maybe talk for a minute?”

Expecting her to start another fight, you couldn’t hide your surprise. “Uhm, sure I guess,” you told her as you got up to follow her out of the crowded room, shooting Alessia a confused look and only getting a shrug in response.

You arrived outside and when she stopped, you let your gaze study the woman in front of you. With her head down and her hands fidgeting, your eyes caught a sight you never would’ve thought to see. Used to her confident and feisty persona, you were astounded when you heard her speaking in a voice softer than you’d ever heard it before.

Trying to calm herself down, Katie took one last deep breath, before rising her eyes to meet your questioning ones, “I know you hate me and that this will not make up for the horrible way I’ve treated you and the awful things I’ve said, but I still want to apologise and explain why I acted the way I did.”

Your eyes widened as you took in her words and noticed that she looked to be on the verge of crying, so you sent her an encouraging smile, which she gratefully reciprocated.

“God, this is gonna sound so dumb,” she put one hand on her forehead and the other on her hip and continued, “Uhm, you remember your first day?” You nodded your head. “Well, I came in when you had your interview and I may have overheard a bit of what you were saying, only it was just a snippet of what you actually said, so I got the impression that you hated me, which I hope I didn’t make true, because I walked away before I could hear the rest of your answer.”

“I was just so excited to be able to play with you that I felt devastated after hearing your words, and I don’t really know why I did what I did but I just want you to know that I’m very very sorry, I truly am. When Leah showed me the whole video, I felt like the biggest fool ever. I know that this doesn’t excuse my behaviour but I hope you can forgive me and if not, I totally understand! Just tell me and I won’t get in your way until the end of time,” spoke Katie with her voice wavering on a few words.

The melodious sound of your laugh is what breaks her eye contact with the floor. Perplexed, she looked at you, trying to make out what your reaction meant.

“Sorry,” you let out another chuckle, “this is just the most rom-com movie type of shit I’ve ever experienced.”

You could see the girl in front of you visibly relax at your words, her shoulders finally dropping and letting out a quiet sigh of relief.

“And I should also apologise, it was wrong of me to treat you the way I did, especially because I just joined and don’t really know what everyone’s like and I also shouldn’t’ve provoked you like that and said the things I did, so yeah, I’m sorry too. I hope we can move past this,” seeing the hopeful glint in your shimmering eyes, Katie herself felt something inside of her spark.

With a thrilled smile, the Irish woman held her hand out as she proposed, “Friends?”

A beaming grin broke out on your face, feeling a tingling sensation in your tummy, you nodded giddily and pulled the woman into a tight hug. Your arms wrapped around her back as she leaned up to snake hers around your neck, squeezing tightly.

The warmth that encompassed you couldn’t even compare to drinking a hot chocolate under your fluffy blankets with your favourite movie playing on a snowy winter night.

The following weeks were filled with Katie and you spending more and more time together. One particular day, Katie couldn’t keep her eyes nor her thoughts off of you.

It all started with her struggling to get a glass that had been placed on one of the higher shelves in the cafeteria.

She had been trying to reach the goddamn thing for at least two minutes now and was just about to give up, when she felt the heat of a body behind her. Before she could turn around, the person took one last step towards her, their front touching Katie’s back, and reached out to hand her the item she had been failing to grasp.

If the familiar smell of your vanilla scent wasn’t enough of an indication of who exactly was pressing their body (a very fit one at that, if Katie’s sinful thoughts were anything to go by) against hers, your teasing voice definitely was, “You know, I’ve always wondered, has anyone ever mistaken you for being in middle school before?”

Ripping the glass out of your hand with a glare on her face the brunette retorted, “Fuck you.”

“Don’t mind if you do.”

Seeing her dumbfounded expression only caused your smirk to spread across your whole face, enjoying the sight of the usually confident woman trying to hide the heat rising up her cheeks and squirming in her place.

You found her flushed face extremely adorable, so there was nothing else to do but squish her cheeks between your hands - and that’s exactly what you did.

With you still squishing her warm face you exclaimed, “Aww, aren’t you the cutest?”

Slapping your hands away, she grumbled something unintelligible and turned on her spot, strutting back to her table. The laughter coming from you (which still put a slight grin on her face) didn’t help her face cool down, making the teasing from Leah inevitable.

“If you two don’t get together soon, I’ll lock you in my basement until you do, I just can’t watch this anymore.”

Katie already knew the comment would irk her, so she didn’t try to resist herself, “You don’t have a basement.”

“I don’t care, I’ll find something else to lock you in!”

A few hours later, her lack of concentration led to another incident involving you. She wasn’t paying attention for a minimum of two minutes (her thoughts being on anything but the exercise) when she collided with someone.

Tumbling to the ground, she grunted at the impact of the floor and the person landing on top of her. As soon as she saw who was almost laying on top of her, every last complaint flew right out of her head.

She looked up at your eyes to find them slightly creased at the edges, “I thought we would stop meeting like this, since we’re friends now,” you laughed.

“Maybe I just like having you on top of me,” retorted the girl laying on the ground, sending you a wink, which allowed Katie to see your eyes roll into the back of your head, as you jokingly swatted her arm and walked away.

It was her last straw though, when you two were the last ones in the locker room and you pulled a box out of your bag, “Oh, I almost forgot! I made these blueberry muffins cause you said you haven’t had any in a long time and they were always your favourite.”

You handed her the box and she sent you a grateful smile, the butterflies in her stomach awakening, “That’s really nice, thank you, Y/N!”

You waved her off with a ‘No problem’ and trudged back to your bag to continue changing.

Remembering what you had wanted to add, you snapped your finger, “Also they’re glutenfree so your niece can have some if she wants! She’s coming to yours tomorrow, right?”

The butterflies reappearing with what felt like twice the power, Katie’s whole body was overflowed with a warm tingly feeling as she realised that you had remembered every little detail.

Lost for words, the Irish woman just stared at you from across the room. Unaware of the watching eyes trained on you, you took of your shirt.

On the other side, Katie stood, still in a daze from your kind gesture, and now unable to look away from your almost uncovered upper body. The way the sweat glistened on your toned abs enchanting her with a seemingly unbreakable spell. When she broke out of her stupor, she strode over to you with quick steps.

Hearing the hurried footsteps approaching, you turned around alarmed, “Wha-”

Before you could get out another word, the smaller woman had pushed you against the wall behind you, and like the oceans being pulled towards the moon, your lips found one another.

If before Katie had butterflies, she could now feel a whole zoo dancing in her tummy, a kind of warmth overtaking her that she’d never felt before. When the woman’s soft lips caressed yours, your heart stopped for a moment before picking up at double its pace.

Warm hands landed on your bare waist, pushing you further against the wall and impossibly closer together, you felt the thud of your combined heartbeats getting quicker with every second your lips were connected.  

Your hands quickly found themselves tangled in her brunette hair and when you slightly pulled on it, Katie let out a raspy groan against your lips, sending tingles shooting from your fingers to your toes, the smell of her perfume dizzying you further.

Pulling away and getting a short breath of air into her lungs, you fisted her jersey in your palms and yanked her back, her lips landing on the silky pillow that was your mouth.

Just feeling the careful swipe of her tongue on your bottom lip, you breathed out a blissful sigh before being forced apart by the need for oxygen.

Your eyes were still closed as you felt Katie’s breath wavering across your face, “Why didn’t we do that earlier?”

Finally looking at her, you were enthralled by the sight before you. Katie McCabe with messy hair, rosy cheeks, a dazed look in her dazzling eyes and her swollen red lips slightly parted would be the death of you.

“I don’t know but we need to make up for lost time,” declared the brunette with a dreamy smile and pulled you back in by your waist.

[sinisterexaggerator]

Got it Bad

Poe Dameron x Fem! Reader

Summary: You are a medic aboard the Anodyne, a Resistance frigate frequented by one Poe Dameron. He often comes to see you when he is injured; you assume this time to be no different, as he is reckless in the line of duty and could do with your healing touch. But you have underestimated him; he has to show you something. Will you entertain his request?

Warnings: Explicit / NSFW 18+ for: Heavy petting, cunnilingus, PiV sex, kissing, blood and injury, premature ejaculation, dirty talk, medical scenarios, and mention of death in wartime. Contains: fluff, a liiittle bit of angst, smut, humor, and “love” confessions.  

Notes: This is my first time writing for Poe Dameron! Dedicated to @allsystemsblue, because she was the one who told me to! Poe is all over the place in this, but always about consent!

Word Count: 8.1K

Divider and banner by me.

“How many times has it been, then?”

Doe brown eyes blinked once, twice, spidery lashes that may as well have been made of gossamer, or silk, gracing tawny skin with a kiss. Poe Dameron stared blankly at you as you dressed his wound, this being one of the numerous occasions that you were tasked to do so.

You were one of the many medics aboard this particular Resistance vessel that patrolled the Outer Rim. Stationed not too far from D’Qar and the principal base of General Organa herself, this reckless, daredevil pilot had a tendency to bless you with his presence after what you would call less than routine missions.

Not desiring to arrive to his superior a bloodied mess more than necessary, Poe frequently docked his T-70 star fighter in your frigate’s docking bay for safekeeping, allowing his droid companion free rein of the halls.  Moments earlier, BB-8 had been offered a recharging station, Dameron left in your expert care as his ball droid rolled off and out of sight, following closely behind a member of the maintenance crew. The conversation between the two had been amusing to witness.

“Don’t worry, buddy! I’ll be right here waiting for you. Maybe. Possibly.”

BB had issued a series of complaints and reprimands in Droidspeak, causing the pilot to wince as if being scolded by his mother, or the general herself.

“All right, fine! I’ll come and find you then. No sweat.”

Satisfied, the orange and white orb had swirled on its axis, wheeling fluidly across a duralloy floor, leaving its master alone to suffer the consequences of his actions. Though Dameron did not seem to care, remaining somewhat unbothered by the gash across his forehead from where a piece of shrapnel had sent Black One into a spin. Before he could regain control, Poe’s head had crashed into the yolk of his X-wing, leaving a two-inch rent in his flesh.

No, he had not been wearing his helmet.

Despite his foolhardy nature, you thought it curious. With such a varied assortment of medical personnel living and working on the Anodyne - a modified Nebulon-C escort employed by the Resistance for the express purpose of being a mobile hospital - it was a wonder of yours why Poe always chose to search you out.

Not considering yourself to be anything in the way of special, at least the skills you possessed were adequate to put him on the mend. But, somehow, this visit seemed different, even if sticky crimson coated his handsome features.

You had come to notice that Poe was spending less time talking and more time staring, a thing you were not accustomed to as his gaze was unrelenting, the commander scrutinizing every facet of your appearance. He had seemed to limit himself to the surface area of your face, wandering, probing, exploring the curve of your nose, the outline of your lips, and finally the warmth in your eyes.

“Y-you didn’t answer me,” you commented, applying bacta to the injured man with a dabble of your fingers, your voice having lost its normal confidence as Dameron uttered a single, muted question.

“Huh?” he asked, as if only now realizing he was indeed a person, and that he could be perceived by others. He sat up marginally in his chair, those unyielding, heavy-lidded eyes almost vacantly looking through you, or so you thought.

You were beginning to wonder if this had anything to do with the fact that he might be mildly concussed. You were also becoming self-conscious, trying to keep the conversation on track despite Poe being so close to you with his blood staining your hands. “How many times has it been that you have come to see me these last few months? Don’t you know how to stay out of trouble?”

“No,” he answered without thought, leaning forward once more in the chair serving him for his examination. That sole syllable had been expressed in a dilatory fashion, soft and airy, only inches from your mouth.

You let out a breathy exhalation, surprised by this turn of events, yet nothing had happened.  The cocky pilot dared to bite down on a rather pouty bottom lip; he watched you intently, gauging your reaction as he dallied there, finally adding more in the way of a response. “That’s why I’m here. Again.”

“Yes, right, obviously,” you managed, trying to restore some semblance of equanimity over yourself after having been caught off guard.

“Obviously,” he echoed, the word a whisper in the all too quiet room. However, this would not last as more wounded boarded the ship at intervals, soon the medical bay filled with a bustle of activity.

Unwanted activity.

Poe glanced around, assessing the situation. You had just finished bandaging him up when his hand reached out for yours, gently clasping your wrist.

“Doc, I’ve gotta show you something. I’ve got it-- bad.”

“It?” you inquired incredulously, your own glance taking an appraisal of the room. His voice had lowered again, as if this topic of conversation was not meant to be overheard. His expression appeared serious, deep-set brows knitting together in a visual show of his concern. You mimicked him, a rather human way to show empathy in this case, though not entirely sure what for.

“It,” he confirmed, gently pulling you forward toward himself, as if you weren’t already close enough. Your breathing picked up as you posed a follow-up question, a simple one, and straight to the point.

“What?”

He did that thing again, the staring, as if you were a sheet of transparisteel and he was looking beyond it to the other side. You scanned his face, those ruggedly attractive bits of him that you had tended to time and time again.

“Um—” he paused, as if not knowing what to say, like his words had failed him, which was not out of the realm of possibility as you could confirm this uncommon pilot flew by the seat of his pants. You canted your head, expecting some sort of answer, your gaze trailing to Dameron’s fingers latched gingerly around your forearm.

You took note of their thickness, their length, his nails surprisingly trim and immaculate for being a fighter pilot, though you doubted he spent that much time on solid earth when he craved the sky; realspace; to soar among the stars. Catching yourself quickly, it had not gone unnoticed, Poe matching your tilt of the head with one of his own as he peered up at you with those unwavering, expressive eyes.

“Rash … Inya Prime … Think it might be serious,” he informed you, causing you to retract and sit up straight. You tugged yourself loose from his grasp and frowned, turning to wipe your hands off the best you could on an otherwise clean towel, wishing he would have told you this before you had gone and touched him.

“Well, let’s see it then,” you offered, swiveling back around to face him. The pilot pursed his lips before biting down again, his foot beginning to tap against the floor; the motion was almost sultry, like this whole charade was planned.

For some reason, you doubted that assumption.

“It’s … I can’t show you here,” he confessed, lowering his head as he turned it to the left and right, giving the medical bay another sweep with his eyes; it was as if he was suddenly your conspirator, Poe carrying and guarding an important secret.

“Where then?” You compelled an eyebrow to stay level, it wanting to raise of its own volition. It was your turn to stare, Poe taking up each of your hands again, regardless of the fact you had just tried to halfheartedly clean them. He placed them gently atop his knees; he held you there, and you dare not move. Then, the man bore directly into you with his hardened gaze, nudging his head toward the exit door.

“Exam room, down the hall. It’s, um – it’s private.”

You gave him a reproving look. “Why were you on Inya Prime in the first place?” you asked, your fingers twitching beneath his. You were caught between wanting to relax and to allow this to happen, or to jerk yourself away for fear of someone getting the wrong idea.

“Reconnaissance,” he replied without missing a beat.  You supposed that seemed logical enough, though Inya Prime was a small, boring, terrestrial planet of little to no interest to most.

That explained the civilian clothing, whereas most of the time Poe arrived to you in his bright orange flight suit, standing out like a ray of sunshine among the dark, depressing backdrop of space.

“And how did you get this rash?” you inquired curiously, wondering why it was he could not show you here instead, or just how bad it might be.

“You don’t wanna know,” he stated with a sense of finality, eyes searching yours, as if he was trying to penetrate your thoughts with a Jedi mind trick. You held his gaze a moment longer than expected before quickly standing to your feet; you felt the need to break physical contact, Dameron’s hands warm, rough, and—

“Fine, let’s hurry. There are others who need tending to.” It was the truth, yet you could feel your heartbeat betraying you by thumping loudly in your chest; you were sure that Poe could hear it.

“Right, let’s,” he said, standing. He walked a pace ahead of you then turned back around. He lingered, making sure you were going to follow him before he started out the door.

The man seemed nervous, slicking back a ringlet of dark hair that refused to stay in place. He ambulated somewhat awkwardly around the corner, then waited for you to unlock the examination room with a clearing of his throat. It then occurred to him he was standing in your way; he opened his mouth to say something but thought better of it, moving to one side as you gave him an inquisitive side-eye, using your badge to unlock the facilities.

He nodded, just a small movement of his head, eyes darting forward as if thinking hard on something before he entered the small space. It was fitted with a table for patients to lie on - equipped with a step stool and stirrups - a cabinet filled with various medical supplies, a curtain for dressing and undressing, a scale for taking a patient’s weight, and blood pressure detection equipment, among other things. It had all those items necessary and then some, though depending on your diagnosis, you imagined you might need to prescribe him an antifungal ointment of some kind.

“All right, we’re here,” you offered with a gesture. “Now, show me this rash.”

Poe gave a jittery laugh, answering you with a nervy “heh” as he ran his forefinger along the clean sheets of the table laid out before him as if he was checking it for dust.

“Yeah, about that,” he finally spoke up, walking full circle around the bed-like object before he arrived behind you.

“You see, doc—” he began; you craned your neck, looking over your shoulder at him, wanting to know why you now felt trapped, barred to the only way out as he had sandwiched himself between you and the door. “It’s right here,” he said, placing his open palm against his chest and giving it a tap.

This time you were the one to clear your throat, tossing back your hair as you straightened up to appear more professional, or perhaps dignified, forcing yourself to not think about how you were about to come into contact with, or at least see, Poe Dameron’s bare breast.

All things considered, he was an attractive man. You had thought that the moment you laid eyes on him; the time he had come to you battered and beaten with a black eye and a sprained ankle – he had taken a tumble down the side of a rather steep hill on some backwater, jungle-planet and only made it back to his X-wing thanks to members of Black Squadron. His foot was so badly swollen by the time he reached you, it was a miracle he could walk  - or hobble – at all.

A thought occurred to you. “I should wash my hands before we begin,” you declared, moving toward the small sink stationed with a cleaning solution that was meant for disinfection as much as it was for washing away dirt and grim.

Poe looked taken aback momentarily, words caught in his throat as he gave another nod, this one more exaggerated. “Yeah, right, OK,” he shot back, as if for some reason this had been a surprise to him.

You began your task, one hand over the other as you lathered yourself, peeking back at him. “Why don’t you take off your shirt?” you suggested, not able to help the way saying that made you feel, like this was anything more than a clinical procedure.

You could hear the rustle of fabric as Poe began to undo the buttons on his dress shirt, getting the feeling that he was watching you, studying you, bent slightly over the basin in which you were cleansing yourself of his blood. It swirled around the drainage, leading to a reserve tank that purified and recycled what little water was aboard this frigate; you knew that every drop was precious.

Finishing quickly, you refaced him, Dameron’s broad, naked chest staring you straight in the face, though he had not bothered to remove his button up all the way; its two panels were parted and pushed off to opposing sides.

Firm pectorals were spattered with a thin sheen of dark curls, matching the scruff of a beard that had just recently begun to form on his perfectly sculpted cheeks, running its course down to a chiseled jawline. Beneath wisps of black was smooth, golden skin - as if kissed by a main sequence star that orbited some planetary paradise - the happiest of trails leading down and beyond the waistline of his trousers.

You watched, entranced, the rise and fall of his stomach with every breath he took, in and out, slow, and almost deliberately so. You swallowed to remedy the dry sensation in your mouth with what saliva you had available, wondering if your face appeared as red as you felt it must be.

“Right, OK. Rash,” you announced out loud, purposely making an effort to look up and back into his eyes.

Again, he put his hand up, over his heart. “Here,” he repeated, “Right here. You see—”

Poe stepped forward, and you stepped back, each move he made a calculated risk, but one worth taking. “— my … heart,” he said, voice lowering an octave, then promptly continuing, “it… burns, itches, when I can’t … see you,” he emphasized. “And. You. You’re the cure, you’re the—”

He walked another pace forward, looming above you as you found yourself pressing back against the wall of the exam room. “—the only one who can make it better,” he breathily muttered, so close now you could smell the scent of the shampoo he used; it was reminiscent of citrus, but not overpowering.

“W-what—?” You felt you couldn’t believe your ears, your neck lifting back and up as you analyzed his intense facial expression. “Poe, I—”

“Shhh,” he sibilated with a press of his index to your lips. Then, he changed the subject, however momentary. “I lied to you, by the way. There is no rash, I—”

“—Yes, I’ve figured that out,” you interrupted, though your words came out weak, quavering.

“Sometimes, I pretend to be sick or hurt just to come see you. That headache last week?” He gave a short, sharp laugh. “More like … heartache,” he finished, encapsulating your chin between two fingers as his lips met yours.

Your body froze; you were immobile, unable to breathe, unable to speak, and unable to comprehend exactly what was going on. Granted, you may have imagined this moment once or twice – every guy, or girl aboard this vessel you assumed had done so at one point or another. There was more than one reason Dameron was referred to so aptly as “Flyboy,” though you tried not to let that tarnish the present moment.

The only thing you could articulate was a soft moan of acceptance, melting despite yourself against the durasteel partition behind you. Ruddy fingers traveled upward, this time tangling themselves in your hair, palm cupping the back of your head as he gently drew you into a deeper kiss.

“Poe,” you gasped against him, your own hand rising to lightly push against his rock-hard pecs; it was a mistake on your part, this simple act of touching his unclothed chest the catalyst from which your loins stirred. “What—”

“—It,” he murmured, bringing the conversation back around from when he had coaxed you to this place. “—the thing I’ve got it bad for. It’s you,” he conceded, Dameron’s tongue slithering past full lips to gently prod at yours that stood partially agape, ready to accept another kiss.

You easily allowed him entry, that warm, wet muscle dancing in a figure eight, the pattern slow and rhythmic as he lapped at your suddenly hungry mouth. But you would not let lust overtake you, you were a woman of scruples, principles, and a practitioner of medicine; there was a time and place for this sort of thing and now was not it.

“Dameron,” you began again, this time managing to put just enough space between you so that you might think straight, Poe’s eyes immediately overtaking yours with a primal, excitable energy that penetrated you to the depths of your soul. He was so eager, you thought, so attentive, the man hanging, waiting, willing, to hear anything you might have to say.

“I believe you’re concussed, I think it’s best that—”

“I’m fine. Better than fine. Everything’s perfect,” he interjected, pressing his mouth against yours once more.

“—Why?” you blurted out, the question having clawed its way out of your chest. It was common knowledge that the man before you got around, not able to imagine that this meant anything more than an attempt at a quick hook-up.

“Because. I can’t. Stop. Thinking. About you. You.” He spoke your name, a tickle in your ear that sent a tingle of excitement prickling down your spine, leaving goose pimples that were undeniable to the naked eye.

“I can’t explain it. Maybe it doesn’t make any sense; you, me…” he trailed off, the butt of his thumb running over the curvilinear shape of your ear. “I watch you. Sometimes. Not to… sound creepy,” he added quickly, giving a somewhat apologetic look. “… You’re incredible. Calm in the face of danger, in the face of uncertainty. And. You’re not afraid,” he emphasized.

“Besides—” Poe bent down low, brushing his lips across yours, featherlight, causing a feeble mewl to escape before you had the time or the wherewithal to rein it in. “— what if we die. What if this is the only chance I ever get to tell you?”

He was right. What was the use of pondering the future, what could or could not be, based on the assumption that you were going to live another day, or two, or three. With the First Order threatening to undo all the hard work of the New Republic, your lot was on the run, your fierce and beloved leader the only thing keeping this small resistance group together, albeit haphazardly organized.

You feared for the general every waking moment, taking your orders come what may, keeping your head down, the only thing breaking the monotony of your day besides the constant fear of attack or death being this charming, handsome man who now held your attention, and had done so on more than one occasion.

“Kiss me again, then,” you begged, any objection you may have dared to make fleeing irrevocably to leave you open and vulnerable to the onslaught of his affection sans your better judgement.

“Mn, yeah?” he coyly asked, the fingers of his hand, dormant for your short discussion, reactivating to knead the base of your skull as he gently pulled you forward, Dameron once more inserting his crafty tongue into your waiting mouth.

His movements were thoughtful, tongue writhing and contracting in a measured orchestration that seemed rehearsed, yet special to this instant. Each loop was intricate, never so much as to be distracting, Poe’s delicious kiss spurring you to action.

You lifted your hand, allowing your fingers to clutch tufts of his hair. You moaned against him, his arms instinctively tightening around you before he pulled away, gasping for breath.

“Can I touch you?” he bashfully asked, hands smoothing over your back to descend in a downward sweep across your waist and hips. “Please, baby, please say yes. Please, please,” he whined, ardent pecks of his velvet lips only a bonus; you had not planned to turn him away regardless.

“Yes,” you sighed out lasciviously, thinking this entire situation was too good to be true. But why not embrace it for what it was? You deserved admiration, affection, love.

“Thank you,” he expressed with gratitude, as if you had given him his greatest wish, Poe adjusting himself accordingly as he gifted you with another lush, sensual kiss; it was tender and languid, feeling the movement of Dameron’s hand shift from the edge of your hip to the drawstring of your pants.

You were adorned in scrubs, a stark reminder of your station and position, yet you could not help that you were human with needs and urges to be fulfilled. Hell, you hadn’t even known you wanted this until it was happening, though life was anything but predictable - it was sporadic. And if Poe was anything, it was that.

You admired that about him. He had an almost childlike whimsy, taking all things in stride, even his injuries when he acquired them. He cared about others so often and so much he frequently forgot about this own ails. It was a good quality to have in a leader, and although he was often rebuked by his superiors, Dameron was an honorable commander and an even better pilot.

“Keep going,” you implored as you felt your desire building upon itself, pooling in the seat of your belly. Desperately, you wanted him to touch you, Poe inclining his head to one side as he broke apart from your pleading lips.

He made heady eye contact, the way he looked at you both dizzying and intoxicating, the man licking his teeth as he quipped a hushed “Yeah?” alongside the act of his fingers trailing to just below the hem of your waistband. They slipped down, down, two braver than the others as Poe’s index and middle finger disappeared beneath the front of your pants and past the soft, cotton layer of your panties.

Dameron groaned a sound, as if performing a task that was somewhat arduous, yet it was meant to evince appreciation for the soft bed of fluff that greeted him, all prim and trim. His breathing picked up, his probing appendages creeping further inside your undergarments; he whimpered against your throat, feeling welcomed by the warm slick that saturated his thick digits as he parted those soft, pillowy lips that lived between your hips, aligning the underside of his forefinger against the protuberance of your clit.

“Mn, you want this just as much as I do,” he teased, his words husky and sensuous, yet not at all meant to be disrespectful. He was the playful sort; you were glad it translated into other areas of his life, namely intimate moments like these, as it eased the tension you were feeling; the thought you were doing something you should not be doing; something wrong.

“Mhm,” you muttered, the interjection a dulcet susurration upon your partway puckered lips. It quickly devolved into an immodest moan as his thumb joined in, aiding in spreading your folds to allow him ease of access to your shrouded pearl.

“That’s it, baby,” he encouraged you, his tone coated in sugar sweetness as Poe continued to cheer you on, “you’re so soft, and warm, and— ohhh,” he cut himself short, feeling embarrassed for not only the sizeable boner he was jabbing into your leg, but the fact that if he did not control himself he might very well cum in his pants.

“I—mmn. Admiral Ackbar naked. Admiral Ackbar naked," he intoned at low volume; you proceeded to laugh, though Poe did not, a look of stern determination on his face. Still, that did not stop him from pleasuring you as he gingerly thumbed that little nub betwixt your thighs, concentric circles close-knit and diligently applied as you trembled enticingly in his arms.

“Is this OK?” he rumbled in your ear, his voice a throaty purr that made you pitch ever so slightly forward with the goal of kissing him again.

“Y-yes,” you managed, your body mildly spasming as you sought after his tongue, Dameron ever so subtly picking up speed in the way he massaged your swollen clit. It thrummed beneath his finger; he tested uncharted territory, gradually inserting his index inside you to the top of his second knuckle. You were already so wet there was barely any friction to speak of, Poe once more moaning aloud to impart his satisfaction to whoever was there to listen – you.

“Oh, you feel- you feel, so, so good,” he rattled off, priming that digit to curl just inside and against the anterior wall of your sex; you gasped, though you had known what was coming, you just didn’t know how amazing the sensation would feel until he was already pushing you toward an orgasm.

“Don’t stop,” you entreated anxiously, the pliant underside of his thumb continuing its mission as it stimulated your glandular bundle of nerves; they twitched faintly, pulsating under his proficient hands.

“OK, yes. Yes. Tell me. Tell me what you want, baby,” he affirmed. You were quick to answer.

“Another kiss,” you adjured, Poe indulging you before the words could die on your lips. The passion he brought to your embrace, the delicate way in which he held you, the rhythmic pattern of his tongue inside your mouth – it drove you to a quick release, Dameron sucking the heavy breaths from your lungs as he attempted to engulf you, so zealous was his appetite for your quiet, though rapturous praise.

You briefly closed your eyes to regain your composure, breathing ragged, then gazed upon his face as you struggled to recover. He pulled away to stare at you, the feeling of his forefinger sliding out of your soaked cunt something not to be ignored.

You gasped again, a tiny sound. Poe admired you with a twinkle in his eye. Then, he gravitated forward, bending so close to your ear. “I can do better.”

“What?” you questioned, confused, trying to curtail your panting breaths. The twinkle in his eye was infectious, spreading to his mouth, Poe’s pretty lips outstretching into a broad, mischievous grin.

“Wait,” he stated.

You observed as he bent forward into a crouch, sneaking along the wall toward the automated entry. Staying to its right, he was careful not to trigger its motion sensor, using the nearby keypad to lock it from the inside. This time, you did quirk a brow, Poe lowering the lights manually to off, but not before making sure the shades were closed to the rectangular window that gave you a mundane view into the hall. However, you may as well be seven feet tall in order to see out of it, and there were species that tall aboard this ship.

Overall, you felt stupid for not having done this before, yet everything had occurred so quickly. What if you had been caught by a co-worker, or your boss? You had no idea how to explain being fingered by Poe Dameron in a room that could otherwise be utilized to someone else’s benefit.

Then, the man came forward, standing to his full stature as he joined you where he had left you, haggard and still somewhat discombobulated from what just happened – that’s when he picked you up, bending at the knees to wrap both arms around your waist as he carried you aloft, your entire body remaining upright and vertical.

“Poe! What are you—”

“Shh, shh,” he endeavored to keep you silent, walking around the corner of the examination table to place you gently upon it in a somewhat forced, seated position. He immediately got to work, as he had started with your footwear, taking it upon himself to remove one shoe at a time.

“Are you a screamer, or are you a whiner?” he asked with another cheesy smile etched across his face, “because I don’t mind either, but the screaming may draw attention, and I assume that’s something you don’t want.”

“I-I don’t—”

“-know?” He shook his head as if in disbelief, though somehow not surprised. “Ooh, we’ve gotta set you straight, doc!”

You meant to argue, but with your shoes gone, Poe began to roll down your socks; it was one of the most intimate things you had experienced, watching with rapt attention as he pushed the fabric down bit by bit, replacing it with moist kisses along the top of your foot and up toward your now bare ankle.

“You don’t mind, right?” he asked offhand, Poe repeating the process on the other side; this time he enveloped your big toe, intaking it into his mouth as he teasingly sucked, mimicking a poi fish who wanted to dine on what it perhaps thought was a worm.

You involuntarily squirmed, pushing against the tops of his shoulders. “That tickles!” you declared, Poe gazing up into your eyes as a “pop” resounded upon release.

Then, with that same unapologetically severe, impassioned stare, Dameron rose to half-stand on his knees as his hands found your hips, fingers digging into the loose band at your waist. He pulled, softly but with enthusiasm, hypnotizing, chestnut-colored eyes once more drilling a hole straight down into your core as he tugged one pant leg off, then the other, followed by a move that would rid you of your underwear.

Partially naked, and on top of your own examination table no less, you instead tried to forget what repercussions might follow suit of your actions and leaned down to kiss the man again. He rose higher, forcing you to straighten your neck and back, Poe’s broad hands encasing the breadth of your face within them to hold you so, so carefully as he returned your gesture as naturally as if he was drinking water.

Come to find this was a tactic, the man releasing you after stealing your breath away a second or third time, hands sliding to lightly shove you back by the shoulders as he lay you down. At once he disappeared from your line of sight, leaving you faced with a view of the ceiling directly above your head; you idly wondered if you were both getting too far ahead of yourselves.

“Poe, I don’t think we should be—” You exhaled noisily, words caught as you choked on a breath, your overactive imagination unable to be controlled as you envisioned the intense kiss you had experienced earlier being reenacted between your legs. The man had pinned you by your hips,  kissing once, twice,  - feverishly -  the inguinal groove that connected your abdominal wall to your thigh, not wasting a moment’s time in making your briefly held fantasy come true.

“Hm? Mmmn,” Dameron hummed, his response muffled by your flesh. Your body stiffened before relaxing as he licked your already soaked slit with the flat of his tongue; it effortlessly slipped between the folds of your labia, Poe toying with your clit, running circles until the whole thing delved inside your opening.

The man pulled you forward by your thighs, closer to the edge of the table; you could feel the paper bedsheet sliding beneath you as he lapped at your cunt like it was a second mouth. He moaned into you, his breath hot on your skin, the scruff of his chin chaffing your legs, but you did not once complain.

“What’s that, sweetheart?” he whispered, the tip of that furled muscle retracting to glide upward along your delightfully slick vulva before it once more found the nub that was begging to be touched; it was already so sensitive.

Your chest heaved as a ripple of pleasure quaked through you, Poe beginning to suck the hard bit that was the recurrent object of his focus. At that moment, you felt blessed, belting out a sound that was a cross between elation and ecstasy, the final product being nothing more than a subdued pule from downy lips.

“Oh, fuck,” you crooned, your thighs progressively closing around either side of Poe’s head as you instinctively tried to brace yourself against your coming climax.

“That’s what I thought—ooh, hey,” the pilot protested, not liking one bit the sudden fettering of his movements. He dislodged himself, then pushed down with both his hands, parting your legs again to make sure he had unrestricted access to your cunt.

Then, he had an idea. “That’s not happening again,” he informed you with an impish smirk, Dameron lifting you up by the underside of your ass as he dragged you even closer, this time making use of the equipment made available to him, though this wasn’t exactly a gynecological exam. The scoundrel picked up both your feet, one after the other, making sure each one was secured in turn, having positioned you spread eagle with your shamelessly wet pussy put on full display.

“Ohh, this is beautiful. Perfect. You’re perfect.” The man had stopped to stare at the exquisite view before him, a hungry look overtaking his winsome visage; you had barely lifted your neck, perhaps meaning to address him, before you were forced to expel a mousy squeak following a show of near desperation on his part.

Poe had darted forward. Now hands-free and having situated you in stirrups, Dameron plunged his tongue back inside of you while clasping his fingers behind his back as he liked to imagine himself in binders. He tongue fucked you as your chest expanded and contracted with each euphoric breath, deep and slow, before he redirected all his energy back to your eager bud.

Then, his head joined in, bobbing back and forth as he enthusiastically ate you out like a man starved, consuming his first meal in weeks, months.

Wet sounds invaded your ears, Poe miming a hound lapping water; it only caused your clit to pulse, your right arm lowering for impatient fingers to latch onto his raven locks; you were careful not to disturb the dressings on his forehead even so, not wanting to let your hard work go to waste.

You held him steady; you pulled him closer, thighs trembling, though your legs still remained forced apart with knees jutting out to either side. It was the dirtiest, nastiest you had ever felt, yet at the same time Poe had made you feel alive. Alive, and not just waiting around to die.

You moaned lewdly as you gently bucked your hips, your body convulsing in rapture as his focus was laser sharp, the full expanse of his thick, skillful tongue caressing you softly from the cusp of your vagina to the vertex of your throbbing clit – over, and over, and over again.

The pattern he applied was slow and methodical, Poe’s cock beyond hard as he gently humped thin air. The man himself was groaning, speaking breathlessly against the soft flesh of your mound, even as he continued to dine.

“Baby, you taste so, so sweet. So, so, good. Mm, be a good girl, yeah? Nice and easy for me. Nice and easy…” The pilot’s words trailed off, that gentle lapping turning toward a precise, calculated stroke with just the tip, this being the very thing that drove to you the point of no return; you came again, one hand still buried in Poe’s hair as the other clasped at your breast.

“Mmmn, oh shit, oh fuck, Poe,” you cursed again, your entire being writhing in unbridled bliss as you rode out one of the most intense orgasms in recent history, this only encouraging the pilot to keep at it until you physically had to push his head away, albeit with caution.

Poe looked up at you with those emotive, gorgeous brown eyes, lips glossy with your excess; you panted heavily, looking down on what could only be described as a shit-eating grin. You took a few more moments to recuperate, then made a demand of him that even surprised yourself. “Fuck me, right now, please.”

That cocky smile faded, Dameron staring fixedly at your face. He searched each part of it, as if measuring the seriousness of your words, then sat up fully on his legs before standing completely to gaze down at you, chin glistening and damp, not noticing the red welts spattering the inside of your thighs from where his stubble had left its mark.

“Since you said please, and so, so nicely might I add,” he joked, undoing the holster at his waist with lightning speed as he let his Glie-44 blaster pistol fall to the floor at his feet.  You sat up on your elbows, enjoying the show, Poe unzipping and unbuckling his pants and belt with such wild, feral vigor, it was as if they were presently on fire.

“Mn, sweetheart, would you hate me if I said I’ve been dreaming of this?” Poe questioned, though you were unable to get a read on if he was being sincere or just full of hot air. You did not answer him, instead reveling in the desperate way the pilot kicked his boots off, witnessing his undressing between your parted legs.

They felt like jelly, still held up by the stirrups. You smiled salaciously, feeling oddly playful as you began to sway your knees back and forth to emulate the fluttering of butterfly wings; you amused yourself by fondling your overstimulated clit for his pleasure and your own, waiting ever so patiently for him to finish.

It only slowed him down; you almost laughed again, this man proving to be predictable as far as men go, spellbound by the fact you were touching yourself, and in front of him, no less.

Poe let out a laborious, rasping breath, as if his throat might be closing in on itself, pearly whites once more finding rose-colored lips as he chewed timidly on a plump bottom rung. At that same moment his pants fell down to his knees, leaving Dameron in his tight white underwear, his package so hard and compact it looked ready to burst free of its cotton prison.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” he professed mostly to himself, yet loud enough for you to hear him. He stumbled forward, releasing himself of the pants that still clung to him with every step, wide, warm hands placing themselves upon your knees, one for one.

“Mn, baby, for me?” he asked in a diffident tone, Poe’s cheeks burning hot as he was drawn in by the sexy spectacle before him. After a moment or two of getting lost in his own thoughts, he scrambled for his aching prick; it felt like it was going to erupt any moment now. Already it had leaked droplets of precum, the tip wet and sticky as it sprang loose.

The pilot began to pump himself as he was glued to the rhythmic stroking of your fingers; you teased him by inserting one within yourself, Poe moaning almost instantly as he came up to you all the way by the edge of the bed, gently batting your hand away. He aligned his dick against your slit, eyes laser focused, then he abruptly stopped what he was doing to lift his head and stare at you.

“You sure? What if-”  he hesitated, wanting reassurance.

“I’m protected,” you whispered, at once your feet lifting so that you could wind your legs around Poe’s waist like a serpent coiling about its prey. You squeezed lightly, drawing him in, Poe helping on his end by gently nudging the head of his cock against the lubricious entrance to your vagina.

Dameron shook this time, his body tremulous against you as he sank deeper and deeper into your warm center, guiding it slowly, his girth spreading you open as you gasped, arms overtaking him in addition to your legs; you wanted his chest pressed against yours, beckoning the man to lower himself to the proper height so that you might kiss him, fingers once more gathering in his shaggy mane.

“You f-feel, ohhhh… Like, like. Like clouds,” Dameron stammered, commenting on your plush, tepid walls as he finally bottomed out. He was slow to retract his hips, then slow to press them forward again, “It’s like breaking atmo; that euphoric feeling you get when—”

Poe cut himself off, lips compressing against one another to form a concentrated line. He closed his eyes, his pace deathly drawn-out, tortuously so, each stroke of him inside you sending pinpricks of pleasure throughout your nerve-endings, both from without and within.

It was endearing. Not knowing of all the nuances comprising this pilot’s personality, this one surprised you. Poe had always seemed so high-strung, so exuberant; it was a change of pace to see him take his time on something -  you.

With a tilt of your neck, your mouth found his, your tongue slithering between his teeth to taste yourself on him. You sighed fervently, pulling him closer by the meat of your thighs, in turn interring him deeper within yourself.

“I won’t break,” you informed him softly, having pulled away to encourage Dameron to rise above his stupor and fuck you like he meant it. Poe gave a slow, deliberate nod of his head in return, as if trying to find his center and a place of calm before he would be able to continue.

“Right,” he finally said, intaking a sharp inhalation of oxygen as he rocked forward, pitching his hips so that they were flush against yours. He dipped back again, repeating these motions in a syncopated rhythm, and you finding it impossible to keep your mouth from hanging open as he hit his stride.

“Just like that,” you cooed silkily, your breath warm and wispy against his ear. This alone sent Poe to a higher plane, somewhere you were sure you could not reach him, causing Dameron to make a helpless, needy sound.

You felt a warm gush; a spurt of something that was unexpected this early in the game. Poe’s face contorted pleasantly into a look of ecstasy. You watched, fascinated, the pilot coming inside you after only a few pumps. Hell, you didn’t even mind; he had given you yours twice over. You felt a kind of privilege bestowed upon you; the knowledge that your pussy must be made of solid gold. That, or he really did like you.

“Oh fuck, ohh no, shit, I-I’m sorry,” Poe stuttered, his tone indicative of embarrassment. You tried to lighten the mood with a joke, dotting tiny kisses along the corner of his mouth in an attempt to quell his mounting anxiety.

“What was that about setting me straight?” you teased, Poe forced to laugh despite himself as he tried to catch his breath. He shook his head, brawny biceps propping him up just above you, jet-black strands dangling down to brush against your nose as he sighed a dejected sigh.

“You’re just so pretty, and I was excited, you know? I- It’s- It’s been a while,” he clumsily explained, “haven’t had the time to actually masturbate, being in the middle of a war and all—”

You cut him off with a kiss, a forceful press of your lips to his. It was your way of shutting him up, aiming to put a stopper in all of his excuses; it did not matter to you.

“Poe, it’s fine,” you affirmed, cradling the antsy man’s refined jaw in the crook of your palm, “these things happen. I’m not upset. You already got me off twice; that’s more than most men for the entirety of a relationship.”

You had exaggerated that last part for a bit of dramatic flair, this particular white lie having no purpose other than to bolster Poe’s self-esteem and to make him feel better. He smiled at you, a genuine, honest-to-God smile, as if coming to terms with the fact he had no need to worry, and that he might just get a second chance one day, contrary to what he had at first believed.

“So, uh—” he started, lifting gently up and off of you; his cock incrementally eased its way out of you, the remnants of his seed thick and sticky as it flowed freely out and onto the exam table.

He scrunched an eye, as if still ashamed, Poe sucking on his bottom lip to alleviate the mental anguish he was suffering before he sheepishly asked you a question, “Now that we’ve gotten to third base, would you care to visit first?”

You propped yourself up on your forearms, quirking a brow as you rose to sit. He assumed correctly, thinking that you did not take his meaning, Poe following up to explain more succinctly. “Dinner, maybe? Or—”

Sirens began to blare, a red alert sounding all throughout the Anodyne. A voice rang out over the internal comm; Dameron and you were quickly put on edge.

“Attention, all personnel: report to stations. This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill.”

Your face fell, as did Poe’s. He gazed at you a moment, ignoring the awful clamor in the background as people began to race throughout the halls just beyond the door. It was as if time stood still, and you were unable to break away from Dameron’s dark gaze. The man, who was so amiable and easygoing, now looked browbeaten and worn, knowing that any minute now he would have to find BB-8 and return to his X-wing when he had wanted nothing more than to relax in your company. Wishful thinking, he mused.

You were the first to move, rushing to get up. You found a towel and cleaned yourself up, collecting your clothes from off the floor; somehow, your tunic had remained intact, though you would hold out for a future time when Poe might touch those parts of you, too. It was hard not to want to imagine him with his soft lips puckered about your nipple as his stocky fingers massaged and revered your breasts.

“Attention: all pilots, return to hangar. Repeat: all capable pilots return to your ships.”

“It was just as well, huh?” he asked solemnly, referring to the abrupt end of your impromptu rendezvous.

“Go,” you commanded, Poe’s stare lingering, amber eyes piercing you with a look that was ironically impenetrable; resolute, yet somehow somber, wistful.

He broke away, finally, and with difficulty, scrambling to adjust his briefs before throwing back on his pants and buttoning his shirt. He hitched his holster around his hips, the boots made to go on last. You observed as he hopped around on one foot, once more finding him to be endearing as you turned to rush toward the refresher, steadfast in your desire to use the sonic, if only for a moment; you needed to rinse off before returning to the med bay, as was your duty.

Poe called out to you by name; you whirled to face him. The man’s fluffy eyebrows were stitched together as he could only stare at you again. Then, he seemed to finally come-to, stepping the few paces forward that separated you.

“I’ll comm you later?” he asked more than stated, the backs of his knuckles running the length of your cheek. You could only nod, leaning up to kiss him one last time.

“Come back in one piece, OK? I don’t want to have to stitch you up again; be careful,” you urged him. He smiled that charming, boyish smile that made your heart race, as radiant as ever; his mood could change so suddenly.

“No promises,” he replied, meaning it in jest, yet you knew there was some truth to it.

You parted ways with the best damn pilot in the galaxy, hope being the only thing left to you both now. Hope that he would never have to step foot back aboard this frigate, but that if he did, it would be for some better reason, and not because he had failed to heed your warning.

---

Reblogs / comments appreciated!

Masterlist

Ao3

[spadesolace]

drag me down: adore you

synopsis: pham hanni hates park y/n. that's the story, that's where your relationship is based off. she doesn't hate you - she never did and coming to terms with those feelings have been challenging as she tries to catch up to you.

words: 2.1k

previous | next

When Hanni first met you, it felt as if her life was being sucked out by your presence. A face that makes anyone swoon over, along with the brains that Hanni envies – who wouldn’t be if the new student is academically gifted. It didn’t help that your teacher seems to know everything about your background as a student let alone how little information you had given.

She never thought of you as a threat before, but with such name and title, the possibility of taking her spot that she has worked so hard for. She despised you from there on out.

Not a single day came where she had to do better, work harder, as she watches you do your own thing. Everything you did made her feel a slow burning sensation in her body. It became hard once you showed interest that was deemed playful, rather than the typical shouting at each other and getting the other mad. You were playfully flirting with her.

Hanni doesn’t remember when it started or how it started but the burning sensation was slowly turning into butterflies in her stomach. She wanted to hate you, the need to hate you and not the idea that whatever she was feeling to take control. That was why she agreed to Jungwon courting her, maybe she just likes the attention you’re giving her and not the possibility of actually taking a liking to you.

She never truly hated you – it was all an act to make sure to not fall for you.

With parents like Hanni’s, everything she is given must be taken with precaution. One that showcases fake smiles, laughter that has been practised to perfection, and the ability to blend in at any given scenario. She simply can’t be reckless, do the things she loves without thinking of the possible consequences, and run straight on to any given scenario.

She can’t risk it.

Then you came.

Everything that was little Ms. Perfect, that was Pham Hanni, was thrown out of the window. She became reckless with starting petty fights with you, annoying you by singing her favourite songs just so she could see your reaction, and just being herself whenever she’s with you. There was something about the little rivalry between the pair that made her believe that she could let loose – she saw perfection in your entire being only to realise there are flaws that she chose to ignore. Still, she always corrects you.

The most reckless thing she has done always involved you. Accusing you of cheating as Sunoo made sure that either one of your reputations would be ruined for his own personal reasons or how she’s become more and more unsure of whether she should act as if she hates you or admit her feelings.

Hanni avoids the kitchen at home as much as possible or a specific area by the parking lot. The scene keeps playing in her head whenever she goes to the kitchen and she stands by the sink. How she’ll stand by that same spot as she watches you walk away from her every time for the past two weeks.

Remembering the way you wrapped your arm around her waist, how soft and smooth your face is, and how your perfume makes her feel intoxicated. It’s just a memory now, one she replays on repeat as if it's a broken track. What if she had kissed you? What if she wasn’t afraid to admit that you occupy her mind so much that it became the reason why she hates you? What if she never said yes to Jungwon courting her?

Would you be dating by now?

Would things change for the better?

Pham Hanni never hated you – she likes you.

That was where Hanni landed as you continue to avoid her, she’s just glad to have you back in your old spot as Chaewon fought you to make sure that her crush would sit next to her rather than hearing you wallow about missing Hanni. It started slow, something about her changed as she became more like the Hanni you grew to adore in private.

Hanni made sure that you would feel loved or that she doesn’t hate you. From the little gifts of sweets on your desk as you always arrive late, or the little notes in your notebook after lunch, or how Hanni has slowly sat closer to you. It has become harder to avoid the girl.

“Does anyone want candies?” Chaewon looked at you as if you’re crazy, handing her a piece of candy that Hanni had given you in front of her. Watching as you gave your friends the sweets you had gotten that day as if you were truly insane.

To them it was Hanni’s attempt to make things better, avoid any bad blood before college but things have become difficult on your end. Chaewon admitted that you weren’t even talking to Hanni in your clubs together, debate club became boring without rebuttals coming from the pair, or how the student council doesn’t have their honorary member that would mess with Hanni to keep things light.

Even her little attempts of talking to you or trying to be more open such as trying to intertwine your pinkies as you fidget with your ring. Slowly showing signs in your interests and even cheering you on during practice as you question why she’s not in the student council office finalising the paperwork needed for the ball.

“Didn’t know Hanni is your girlfriend?” In the bleachers was Hanni waving at you with the biggest smile on her face as you looked confused at her and questioned why she suddenly acts like she doesn’t hate your guts and wanted to kick you on multiple occasions.

“Yunjin, what the actual fuck?”

“What? You can’t keep avoiding her.”

That was the problem, at any given opportunity you’re running away from Hanni. Even after she left an energy drink in your locker with a note that makes you cringe and run away because this is not the same Pham Hanni from years ago that accused you of cheating and annoys you whenever and however. She hates how you’re slowly fixing your uniform so as to not let her fix it or be near her in any way despite being seatmates and partners in your project. Even when she visits the cafe, you act like you’re taking a break as you hide in the storage room where you’re freezing to death and hope that she leaves once you come out. She doesn’t.

Hanni is now frustrated at you as if everything that had happened was thrown out the window and she doesn’t understand why you’re like that. She just watches you from afar and even if you’re close it still feels so far from reach that you keep on running away and avoiding the issue that

Hanni likes you. You like her.

It didn’t help that Jungwon took this opportunity to talk to her more. Hanni could only observe the way your hands would close tightly, scoffing at every single pick up line Jungwon would say and how he’s too close to your liking. She doesn’t understand why you’re giving such reactions like that when you’ve been avoiding her all this time.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something, Hanni.” Hanni was zoning out as she watches you clearly within earshot slowly tensing by Jungwon that was too close to comfort and there was nothing you could do.

“Will you go to the grad ball with me?” Everything moved fast, Hanni rejecting Jungwon’s offer as Y/N merely sat there processing what she had heard. Silence, you could only hear your heart racing as you turn around to face the two, hoping it isn’t a dream.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I said no. This whole courting thing? I'm done. I’m sorry but I just don’t see a future with you.” Hanni was free, Jungwon is no longer in the picture of their so-called relationship. Your heart could only beat faster as you watched Hanni walk away.

Everything moved fast as Hanni packed her stuff and left Jungwon standing like an idiot and Y/N running after her as everyone watched it unfold. Chaewon could only smile at her friend who finally is doing something with her feelings and not avoiding the girl who has been occupying her heart since they had first met.

Running away seemed like the only option you had once in front of Hanni – funny how you ran to talk to her only to keep running and avoiding her.

You hate how your heart beats faster when she’s near.

She hates that you’re making her insane by deflecting the issue.

She chases you. Slowly reaching for your hoodie as you run away and towards somewhere that she couldn’t find you. The perks of being a soccer player was that you’re fast but you learned never to underestimate Hanni, not when you’ve reached a dead end and she’s in front of you.

Standing close to you, holding your hoodie and pulling on it harshly just so you won’t run away from her. When was the last time you were this close to her? When was the last time you smelled her perfume and looked at her eyes without looking away and thinking you don’t deserve to be in the same proximity as her? When did Pham Hanni start to look at you the same way you’ve been looking at her for years?

“I’m tired of your games, Park.” Frustrated. She’s frustrated at you and who wouldn’t when her efforts are being thrown out of the window. Looking at her eyes that are on the brink of letting the tears fall as her hold on your hoodie slowly loosens. Weeks of avoiding each other and there you simply stand.

Hanni caresses your cheek, you don’t know when the tears start to flow as her hands slowly turn into fist and hit you as she lets her frustration out. You simply let her as she progressively hits you harder only to stop and cry onto your hoodie. Holding her at an abandoned hallway where she cries in your arms whispering profanities your way and letting everything out.

“I miss your stupid little banters. I miss your messed up uniform. I miss how you would correct me in the debate club. I miss how you would subtly let me borrow your hoodie without me asking. I miss your scent or how soft your hand is and how you hold onto me like what you’re doing right now. I hate that I miss you.”

“I missed you too, Pham.” The thing with Hanni, she’s perfect – ask anyone and they’ll agree. It’s different if they ask you, knowing her flaws and accepting her as she is despite the fact that she has been acting all these years as the Ms. Perfect student.

Pham Hanni is just like you – in a world where everyone’s eyes are on you, there is no choice but to act like someone you aren’t.

“I hate you, Y/N.”

“I hate you too, Hanni.”

At the end of the hallway where you two stood, Hanni doesn’t remember how it came to this. She’s holding onto you as you caress her back to calm her down and whispering sweet nothings as things settle between you two.

“I hate that I’m starting to fall for you, Park.” Hanni hears you laughing and how she missed being the reason for that. She snuggles deeper onto you as hold onto her tightly letting your actions do the talking.

“I’m here to catch you, Pham.”

You made sure that Hanni heard you clearly as you stood there in silence. Even teasing you as she tucked your hair behind your ear to see how red they were.

“Your ears are so red.”

“Shut up.”

Even when the bell rang all you could do was walk back together and act as if Hanni didn’t pour her heart out to you. She finally sits closer to you as the rebuttals start coming back with a smile on your face as you compare scores and discuss lessons as if you didn’t avoid her for an entire month.

“Hm.. any music recommendation?” You looked at Hanni while she finalised the paperwork at the student council office. 

“You’re gonna hate me for recommending Harry Styles.”

“I won’t. I never did.”

As you two work together in your own things, with the comfort of the student council office with Adore You playing softly in the background. Hanni looks at you as she sings the chorus without you knowing it’s directed at you.

“Just let me adore you.”