#and this one has pulled through so much shit and always persevered

[prayerplanthoarder]

I mean this is really pretty and all, and funny how the last 2 leaves kinda have this perfectly inverted pattern of green and white, but...

... why does it try to self-destruct now 🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲

[sleepymccoy]

I have some general anxiety about going to supermarkets aimed at specific cultures because the intended clientele is not lil white me and the staff often don't speak english and I feel inappropriate. But not once has this been true, and I've always enjoyed my visit. Anyway, that's a preface so you can appreciate how brave I am

My colleague recently made me lahpet which is a Burmese salad including pickled tea leaves, dried beans mix, and tomatoes. I loved it and wanted more. I live in a densely Chinese area and thought one of the many supermarkets might have something Burmese, so I brought the empty jar to every store.

Many don't speak english, but that's fine. I had a jar! All interactions basically went like this;

None of them knew Burmese so couldn't even tell me if they had something similar

I gave up and bought it online. Also had a hard time with that cos they don't deliver to apartments (got the vibe that it's just the shop owners son doing deliveries and he couldn't be fucked going upstairs. Valid). But I persevered and got three jars! And the dried beans mix I needed. Way too many dried beans, I totally misjudged the size of the bag being sold

I used one to show my friends this salad. They didn't go as insane over it as I did. I gave another jar to my dad who did go appropriately insane. He said he liked it, then five min later interrupted to say he really liked it, then after dinner spent time with me going through the ingredients and trying to figure out if he can pickle tea leaves himself. Booyah.

Regardless, this left me with one jar which I swiftly finished. So I'm on the hunt again and the online store stresses me out now cos they don't like apartments

I found a Burmese supermarket a few suburbs away and a twenty min walk from the station. Fucking worth it, it's added two hours to my commute home but I want these jars so much. I enjoyed the stroll. It rained a bit, so I saw a couple rainbows

In the store I was, again, immediately stressed. I went down an aisle and back again and found nothing. I found other pickled things! But not my tea leaves! I did not want this trip to be in vain, it was long and I had a shit day at work. I was really only doing it today cos the days a write off as a bad day so I may as well run an annoying errand

Anyway I pulled up the website and showed the lady at the counter a photo of the jar and she pointed me to them immediately. I returned like fifteen seconds later with four jars and she was already on a phone call with someone. I love workers rights. You're awesome, lady.

So I say four and hold four fingers up and pass her one jar. She scans and sets the price right. She then interrupts whoever's talking on the phone to ask me, "How you know this?"

So I quickly explained that my colleague made me the salad and I loved it. She pointed back at the aisle and said, "the beans, you need beans." So I was like "I have so many beans, I bought too many, I just need the pickled leaves." And she was already waving her hand at me in disinterest so I stopped talking and paid lol.

It was a long haul home. I passed and remember to take a photo of my favourite art installation, the tower of coffee cups in a pole.

There's no starbucks in my suburb so one of these at least has taken a long trip to get here. So did I today, my feet are sore

Anyway, I have four jars of miraculous pickled tea leaves. If you can figure out how to buy these ingredients I recommend it to serve alongside very fatty meals like lasagne or sausage cos it cuts through nicely. I also take a serving to work every day because the tea leaves are caffeinated so I'm skipping the second coffee

I love lahpet

[no-droids]

Rumors, Freebies, and a Race for Last Place

Part Two of The Bet series

Pairing: Poe Dameron/Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 22.5K DONT say shit alright just don’t

Warnings: Okay. There is degradation in this, some name calling and heated interactions. There is a LOT of smut, dirty talk and rough sex. If these things offend you, please do not continue reading.

***

It’s recommended to read part one first.

***

Getting into the x-wings is always fun.

It actually might be your favorite part.  Granted, alarm bells ringing and thousands of jumpsuits scrambling in all directions is never typically a good thing, but there’s also an inherent rush about it, a thrill in launching up the metal paneling as quick as you can and suiting up to provide aid.  It’s a side-effect of camaraderie, of being surrounded by like-minded individuals willing to do everything they can to help.  You never feel like you’re going to your death, even though that’s often the grim reality for at least one of you on a good day.  There’s always a roaring in your ears while you do it, adrenaline sharpening your senses and preparing yourself for conflict, not thinking anything beyond gogogogogo—

But getting out of the x-wing is… not great.  At least for you.  It’s sluggish.  Your body is always completely drained and you never come out of it feeling the same way you went in.  Even in times of victory, there’s a somberness inside you after battle.  As much as you tell yourself you’re fighting for good, for prosperity against an evil machine hellbent on enslaving the galaxy, there’s only so many explosions lighting up in front of your eyes and screams cutting out through your comms you can take before winning just doesn’t really feel like winning anymore.  Most pilots are able to handle it better than you are, but since you joined the Resistance, you’ve never truly felt the desire to celebrate.  Not even when you serve a massive, glaring defeat to the other side.  There’ll always be at least one missing x-wing, one empty seat at the table, one person not here to celebrate with you.

You came back in one piece this time.  Barely.

The whole mission went sideways—literally.  You’d purposefully stationed the tandem just outside the coordinates you were meant to be surveilling so that you’d be hidden from sight and dead to the scanners should the fleet arrive, but something must’ve happened.  You must’ve powered down a few seconds too early after he turned the thrusters off, because apparently the ship drifted in dead space for close to eight hours without either of you noticing, having no working computers to actively read your location and correct it.  You were sitting ducks right in the hyperspace drop zone by the time the First Order showed up, and by that point you had no choice but to engage.

“Gold-Ten,” a voice murmurs from behind you, and you blink, suddenly seeing the base landing platform stretching out long in front of you, hundreds of docking ships and boisterous pilots scrambling out of them to hug their comrades and congratulate them even as medics rush past with white coats and gurneys.  They’re never for the pilots, but they dispatch healers anyways whenever a convoy returns in case a straggler gets picked up.  There’s an unspoken understanding in space battle—pilots never get injured.  They either come back unharmed, or they don’t come back at all.

Dameron.

You turn around and watch him slowly approach you with an unreadable expression, his jumpsuit still bunched halfway down his torso.  The once bright white sleeveless undershirt is now greasy and damp with sweat,  his dark curls sticking to his forehead.  He winces with every bow-legged step—you know the feeling—before he’s standing directly in front of you and something is carefully being pulled out of your hands.  You didn’t even realize you were holding onto anything.

Your helmet.  You forgot to leave it in the x-wing, and you’ve been carrying it around under your arm aimlessly while mentally checking off the squadrons as they return, counting the numbers you lost today while everybody else hugs and whoops and claps each other on the back.

It’s not as bad as you were expecting it was going to be, not as bad as it seemed just an hour earlier when you were listening to Dameron bellow out evasive flight maneuvers a millisecond before he enacted them and you adjusted your firing at the TIEs accordingly.  You used to think you were quick with how rapidly you could suit up and fly out, drop in to assist and engage, but on the other side, it felt like your reinforcements lollygagged for ages before arriving.  You were left to defend against an entire fleet in one stupid ship, more lines of TIEs sinking like flies from launch decks every second.

“Gold-Ten,” you hear again, and you blink a few times, needing to focus your vision before you can find his gaze.

Dameron’s palm, previously hovering a few inches above your shoulder, suddenly drops to spread along the curve of it and you take a deep breath, almost wanting to shudder at the feeling of something touching you.  You channel all your focus into it, feel his fingers branch out strong along the tight muscles in your neck, giving you an anchor you automatically lean into.

You and him are no strangers to touching.  Before today it was mostly reserved to poking and prodding and flicking and light slapping in an effort to piss each other off, but now… you can’t even think about it right now, your body will just fucking glitch out on you.  After everything that just happened, you cannot think about where else that hand has been recently, not right now.

“You did… you did really fucking good today,” he tells you quietly, slowly trailing his hand down the length of your entire arm until he catches your wrist and a few of your fingers in his loose grip.  “Seriously.  That was… we were…”

His touch is so present, so reassuring.  Grounding, when all your mind wants is to just float away.  You glance down at where his fingers are gently tangled with yours and you feel your hand tighten just slightly, the smallest squeeze while he blinks down at you.

“We almost died, like… every single second,” you barely manage to croak, not really having the words to express it right now.  You always need at least an hour or two after missions like this to just sit in one place and regroup.  Usually you find yourself wandering back to your room to lay on the bed and stare up at the ceiling while you consider your own mortality, but Dameron interrupted you this time before you could process it by yourself.  “We…”  Your voice sounds absolutely shredded.  “W-We shouldn’t even be alive right now.”

“I know,” he nods in soft agreement, taking a small step closer to you.  “But we are alive.  Hey.”  He dips his head as soon as your gaze starts to drift, catching your eyes once more and drawing your attention back to the present with a squeeze of your hand.  “We’re alive, right?  Be alive with me.”

You take a big breath in and close your eyes, feeling the oxygen fill your lungs once more, but this time, it’s… restorative.  A wonderful, beautiful reminder of your existence.  You’re alive.  Usually the word just feels like a synonym for persevering.  Pushing onwards despite trials and tribulations, not looking back.  But the way he says it, especially with his hand in yours and a quiet invitation to tag along, it sounds… breathtaking.  Full of light, and hope.  It suddenly leaves the dim shadows and slides into a completely different category of feelings, feelings you’d never imagine being able to conjure so quickly after such a close brush with death.  Alive—it slots right in next to words like colorful, radiant, sunshine, and butterflies.  Enchanting words, ones you’d like to hear again and again.

Your eyes slowly open and there he is, the man you were sure was going to accompany you to the afterlife.  You were stuck with Poe Dameron in one of the closest calls you can remember, and strangely, his presence was nothing if not… a comfort.  For the first time in your life, you were grateful he was there.

You open your mouth, suddenly feeling the needy, unfounded urge to tell him that.  “I’m gla—”

“Dameron!”  You hear a series of voices call from somewhere to your left, and he immediately drops your hand to whip his body around and place himself directly between you and the approaching onlookers, using his large frame to hide you from their sight.

“What’s up, Briggs?”  Dameron projects to one pilot in particular that seems to be leading the group, his back oddly close to you in this position.  Your fingers still feel tingly from where he was holding onto them.

A chorus of congratulatory, “Nice flying, Captain!” and the like can be heard floating through the air from beyond his shoulders, before the leader speaks loudly over them.  “Hey—me, Seven, Six, and Twelve were gonna grab some drinks in the mess hall with a few of the Blue girls,” he tells Dameron, slowing to a stop as soon as he sees you standing awkwardly behind him.  “Oh hey, Goldie.”

You lift a hand and clear the remainder of the dissociation from your throat, not knowing him well enough beyond the squadron he and his group fly with.  “Greenies.”

“Anyways, I guess they wanted to know if you’d come too.  These idiots are convinced they’re never gonna give us the time of day unless you—”

“Uh—fine, whatever, just give me a few minutes alright?”  Dameron quickly assures him with a dismissive wave of his hand.  “I’ll meet up with you guys later.”

A few of them take turns giving him heavy claps on the shoulder and acclamatory words before the group eventually disperses, and he waits a few more seconds for their attention to fully scatter in another direction before turning back to you.

Shit, he’s standing really close.  Why is he so close to you?  You take a step back and blink up at him, the noises of the landing deck gradually amplifying back up to normal volume as you retreat back into your own space.  Since when did he have that effect on you?  You suddenly feel wide awake, and the chorus of happy chaos surrounding you is something you’re finally able to take in.  You knew it was happening before, but it was like it just existed outside of the creeping numbness.  Now, the knot of internal turmoil has untied itself a bit and you feel your surroundings start to fight for your direct attention.

Dameron continues to look at you the same exact way, though.  Like you’re still the only one here.

You look down at his half-suited figure and blink at the helmet loosely held in one of his hands.  Hey.  Hey, that’s yours—

“Give me that,” you hiss, suddenly snatching it from his fingertips.  “You have people waiting.”

The cutting words serve to snap him out of whatever spell he’s under.  Dameron quickly lifts his head and looks around a few times with sharp eyes, before hooking your elbow and twisting you into a complete 180 until your back faces most of the excitement.  You resist, immediately trying to push him off you and worried he’s going to confront you about… things, but he’s determined.

He doesn’t say anything to you at all, though.  His fingers quickly grasp the baggy fabric of your jumpsuit even as you sputter and start to ask what the fuck he thinks he’s doing, and you glance down just in time to see him yanking the gaping velcro closed at your crotch.

Your cheeks instantly start burning as he tugs and smooths the fabric down until it’s seamless once more, especially when his eyes flick up to yours without moving his head.  Fuck, you’re instantly hot with some wicked emotion, a mixture of embarrassment and outrage and… something else.  Maker, you almost wish you were numb and disoriented again, if only so you could avoid feeling whatever the fuck this is.

You quite suddenly shove your helmet back into his stomach with an infuriated sound even as he doubles over with a shocked whoosh of air, changing your mind about returning it to the ship yourself before storming off without another word.

*** 

Okay, so you’ve done some thinking, and.  Well.  Fuck him, that’s what you’ve decided.

No—not… fuck him.  But like, fuck him.  You know.  In the negative sense of the word.  The bad fuck.

There’s a full tray of food sitting in front of you but you’ve so far been unable to touch it.  Mostly you’re just wondering why the fuck you’re even here.  Well, you know why you’re here—you should eat, it’s dinnertime and this is the mess hall.  You’ve been known to skip out on meals after heavy missions, secluding yourself away and just wallowing for a bit, but you… strangely didn’t feel like doing that today.  You don’t want to self-isolate when you feel okay enough to avoid it, not again.  So you’re here, because the clock says your tummy should want food, but you can’t bring yourself to even look at it.

No, you’re looking at him.  Glaring, actually.

Across the mess hall and beyond the transparisteel divider that separates the cafeteria from the bar area, Dameron is all eyebrows and smiles and side nudges and winks right now.  You can’t hear him—the sound won’t travel this far, but you can see him situated in the middle of a rowdy group of pilots.  He laughs in that disgustingly charming way of his, where his stupidly cute nose scrunches up all cute and stupid and you want to just ask the Maker why he’s doing this shit to you.  What have you done to deserve this torture?  Sure, you may have willingly agreed to it, even… conceived and propositioned the idea, and sure, absolutely nothing is stopping you from forfeiting and walking away at this exact second, but does that make it okay?  No, you’ve decided.  It’s not okay.  He’s not allowed to… to make you feel like this, so fuck him.  In the bad way.

“Just fuck him already,” a voice suddenly grumbles as someone plops down into the seat to your right, plastic trays of food clattering loudly on the table and snapping you out of your reverie.  Gold-Sixteen blocks your view as he silently drops into the seat in front of you and wraps his green lekku around his neck a few times before immediately beginning to shovel food into his mouth, while Gold-Three opens her box of blue milk next to you and continues.  “The Blues never fucking shut up about it, it’s getting annoying.”

“Don’t listen to her, Dime,” Gold-Eleven tells you, quickly occupying the seat on your left and biting into a crunchy piece of fruit, talking loudly over the chatter even as he chomps.  “Rossi just knows her pool is up tomorrow, she doesn’t want to lose any of her precious credits.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Gold-Three immediately snaps, leaning forward and around you to point the prongs of her fork at Eleven threateningly.  “Zhang’s pool starts on Sunday.”

“Oh fuck off, you guys are betting on this now?”  You groan, shoving your plate away with a flick of your fingers now that you’re certain you’ve completely lost your appetite.  Sixteen immediately snatches up one of your bread rolls while Zhang swipes your juice and Rossi goes for a packet of glockaw sauce.

“You’re the one who announced it in front of everybody, we’re just being active spectators,” Rossi returns, ripping the packet and pouring the sauce on her vegetables with a shrug.  “How the fuck do you bet against fucking each other though, that’s my question?  It’s a paradox, wouldn’t you both just lose at the same time?”

“Dameron and I aren’t going to fuck,” you tell her very slowly and clearly, starting to get a headache.  Why is it impossible to avoid this conversation topic, even with an entire Resistance base to roam around in?  “Ever.  The bet never had anything to do with fucking each other, it’s about not fucking other people.”

“Literally what is the difference?”  You hear Rossi ask with her mouth full, but Zhang speaks over her.

“Somebody should probably tell Nine that, she’s the bookie,” he tosses out carelessly, dropping the core of his piece of fruit to his tray before wiping his hands on his jumpsuit.  You bury your face in your hands and let out a loud, exhausted sound into your palms, not knowing which response serves to aggravate your already emotionally overloaded ass even more.  Nine is the bookie, of fucking course she is.  “But hey, if it makes you feel any better, I don’t think any of it actually goes outside of Gold, so.”

“I’ve heard the Blues talking about it, but that’s it,” Rossi chimes in while chewing some of her veggies.  “Maybe some Reds.  Point is everybody else thinks it’s already happening, honestly.”

“What the fuck,” you whisper, using your knuckles to rub at the backs of your eyes until bright spots appear.  Where are stress headaches localized?  Are those the ones right under your brow bone?  Because stars, you feel it.  “Fucking… why?  Why do people think that me and Dameron are…?”

Nobody at the table immediately responds, and you drop your hands after a moment to look at each of their astounded faces in turn.

“You fucking serious, bitch?”  Rossi blurts first, her voice completely deadpan, and you growl in vexation.

“Have I not been vocal enough about my severe dislik—”

“And yet you kicked Nine out of your room to let him bunk with you,” Zhang immediately suggests.

“You request mission assignments together,” Rossi adds.

“Spend your off-days together,” Zhang continues.

“You’re both really weird about how long it takes the other person to shower,” Rossi tacks onto the list Zhang is now making on his fingers and you shake your head frantically.

“No—no, that’s so that we know neither one of us is cheating,” you try to explain, and you already know it sounds unconvincing without needing the two quick, lofty and sarcastic nods on either side of you.  “Showers and off-days are prime masturb—no, you know what?  No.  I’m tired of the assumptions, I don’t owe anyone shit.  This is super fucking uncool of you guys, you know that?  It’s insane that this is what counts as gossip in the Resistance nowada—”

“There’s only so much bad news people can take, Ten,” Gold-Sixteen grunts down at his almost finished plate, and all three of you snap your gazes across the table at him.  The forest-tinted twi’lek doesn’t speak much, it’s uncommon to hear his voice without distortion over the comms, but you blink as his sharp teeth continue to form words without looking at you.  “Quit being so sensitive.  Rather bet on this shit than which system is getting demolished next.”

And with that, Sixteen excuses himself with a silent nod, having gobbled down his full plate while you, Three, and Eleven were bickering.  You feel your cheeks flare with anger and shame—you didn’t deserve that, you immediately reassure yourself, but the hidden self-doubt the comment sows just further contributes to your upset.  You want to call out to his back that just because the First Order exists doesn’t mean you have to put up with your own fucking squadron turning you and your mortal enemy into glorified race fathiers, but he’s already leaving the mess hall while Rossi and Zhang have moved on to other topics, both of them continuing to grab more food from your tray as they talk.

You have a tough shell.  But today was… a lot.  You bite your lip down at the table against the sudden wave of emotion, blinking quickly to clear the weakness watering your vision.

See, this—this right here is why you use last names.  These people aren’t your friends.  Betting on who you fuck for laughs, using you as a source of entertainment without your consent just because they’re in the middle of a war, and then guilting you into feeling like you’re the one acting like a stuck up bitch about it?  You’re fighting in the same fucking war—you’re on the front lines just like everybody else and nobody gets to lecture you on the devastation of battle.  You almost died today.  You fought tooth and fucking nail to stay alive and by all accounts, you shouldn’t even be sitting here right now, much less dealing with this childish shit.  This is your squadron.  These people are supposed to be the ones closest to you out of everyone, the ones you’ve been flying into chaos in formation with for years, and yet not a single damn person has even mentioned your performance to you today, all anyone can ever seem to talk about is—ugh.

Unfortunately, your unobstructed view also allows you to look at the source of your bad mood once more, immediately noticing the way more people have crowded around him now, and the headache continues to throb painfully behind your eyeballs.  You were in the same ship, does nobody realize that?  You were gunning, he was flying—you were offense, he was defense—that’s the only fucking difference, and yet, it’s like that side of the mess hall is just completely lit up with hearty laughter and music playing from someone’s holopad and congratulatory drinks being passed around, while yours is… well.

You continue to fume inwardly, struggling somewhere between bitter and hurt, and you can see your reflection through the transparisteel giving him a death glare, wondering how many of the people surrounding him have made bets with Nine.  How many of his little entourage have their money wagered on Dameron getting in your pants by a specific dat—

You stop short while staring at his handsome face, an infuriating, horrifying thought suddenly striking you.  No… no, he wouldn’t…

“Does he know?”  You immediately interrupt the chitchat between Three and Eleven to ask with a deadly edge in your voice, tipping your forehead at pretty boy.  Ooh, you can already feel it burning.  It would be so fucking typical.  Oooooh, Maker, if he’s heard even a fucking whisper about this outside wagering going on amongst the pilots, you will fucking smother his ass in his sleep tonight.  How could he not know?  With as many friends as he has?  If you’re just being made aware of it, then it’s a given that somebody has to have told him by now, which just means that it’s all the more possible—shit, even more likely—that he’s… participating, too.  You do your best to keep your voice even, but you can hear the quiet fury shaking in it.  “The bet about when me and him are gonna fuck, does he know about it?”

“Who—Dameron?”  Zhang turns his head.  “No, I don’t think s—”

“Yeah,” Rossi says at the exact same time, and your blood instantly turns ice cold as Zhang leans around you to blink at her stupidly.

“No.  Yeah?  What?”  He says, sounding genuinely confused.

“Yeah, remember?”  Rossi confirms with a shrug.  “Nine was mad as all shit, came at me in the rec room a few weeks ag—fucking Maker, Eleven, you were there.”

“Oh,” Zhang suddenly exhales, “yeah, that’s right.  Oh, yeah, Dime, he knows.”

You’re—fuck, you’re about to rampage.  You’re burning a fucking hole through Dameron while he converses animatedly with his numerous buddies, waving an open hand and shaking his head at someone with a smile and then gesturing broadly to this side of the transparisteel.  His pool is probably up soon, you figure.  That’s why he came onto you so strong earlier today.  He was going to get two weeks of your pay, plus whatever he must’ve offered up to Nine that says he’d get it to happen within a certain amount of time.  Perfect, your old roomie and the arch nemesis you stupidly agreed to trade her for, two asshole peas in an asshole pod.

“—she thought I was the one who told him—”  You know Rossi is still talking but you’re not actually hearing any of it.  Nobody has any fucking idea.  Nobody has any idea what he did to you today, how unbelievably close you were to… to actually…  “—was all just for fun, but then he had a few choice words for her and told his squad that if any of them had made a—”  You don’t know why you’re so surprised honestly, you should’ve expected…

Wait.

“Wait,” you suddenly blurt, and while she shuts up immediately, your mind starts whirling even faster.  Dameron had some… what?  “Wait.  Explain.  You’re saying he didn’t…”  You slowly shake your head, furrowing your eyebrows and trying to piece it together.  “He didn’t… place a bet with her, or anything?”

“What?  No,” Rossi shakes her head a lot more forcefully than you, getting frustrated.  “No, fucking—didn’t you hear anything I just said, Ten?  He got all high and mighty for some stupid reason, totally reamed her ass out for it.”

“But…”  You blink, stunned.  “But… why?  Why would he…?”

Rossi shrugs.  “Fuck if I know.  All she said was that he ordered Black not to throw in, made her lose a fuckton of money from it.  Had no idea Dameron would be so touchy about his sex life, honestly.”

He… he isn’t.  He isn’t touchy about his sex life—you feel like he never shuts up about it.

Rossi continues talking, but you’re not listening again.  You stare stupidly at yourself in the clear transparisteel as Dameron’s voice comes back to you, repeating something you specifically remember him saying earlier today.  Something you thought was just a careless jab at the time, aimed blindly at one of your comrades with nothing more than the intent to piss you off.

…I swapped housing assignments with your shitty roommate and slept in the bunk below yours for a month and a half… 

You blink beyond your own reflection to focus on him once more, still lost in his own little world, not paying a single lick of attention to you while you’re essentially having a fucking crisis over here.  You didn’t think the insult had any real substance to it at all.  You just naturally assumed that was the result of him wanting to lash out at anything or anyone remotely close to you, if only to get a reaction, so you never gave him one or paid it any mind.  

This is why he said that about Nine?  Because he knew she had organized this fucked up betting pool behind your back?

Stars, you need to get out of here, all these rumors are fucking with your head.  Your assumptions and the hairpin turnarounds are giving you worse whiplash than Dameron’s… well, admittedly spectacular flying today.  You were wrong about wanting to avoid isolating—in fact, that suddenly sounds like a phenomenal idea.

So, you just get up and leave right in the middle of Rossi’s sentence, needing some time alone.  Neither of them call out to you as you quickly walk around the table and through the barrier towards the exit, thank the Maker, and you’re just about to retreat with no interruptions until suddenly two Greenies step in front of you and block your path.

You halt immediately, looking up at them with a furrowed brow.  “What now?”  You grunt, not having the patience to even wait for a response before attempting to squeeze around them.

“Hey, so you really saved our asses out there today, Goldie,” the one on the left quickly sidesteps in front of you and rushes to say, and you settle your weight back on your heels with a huff.

“What are you talking about?”  You glance back and forth between them, not recalling a time you’ve ever spoken to either one, before jerking your head to gesture over your shoulder.  “Go congratulate trophy boy over there, he was the one flying.”

“We did,” the one on the right tips sideways to look at Dameron behind your shoulder, likely still laughing and joking with someone about something, something super fucking dumb probably.  “Well, uh.  We tried.”

“What?”  You let out a heavy sigh and rub your temples.  “The fuck is that supposed to mean?  I don’t have the time.”

“He won’t take any credit, just keeps saying that all he did was steer you around,” the other one shrugs as his companion straightens and looks down at you once more.  “Wouldn’t accept any drinks we offer him, nothing.  So we thought we’d buy you one instead.  Unless you’re… leaving?”

It takes you a few seconds to process that, even as he allows the open invitation to hang in the air.  You can’t stop the way your torso automatically twists around to study your copilot from across the mess hall in baffled silence, suddenly realizing that they’re… they’re right.  Dameron has no congratulatory drinks sitting in front of him even though more and more people have made their way into the bar.  He’s just sitting there grinning and nodding along to something someone else is saying, completely and blissfully unaware of the extent to which he’s fucked with you in the past twenty minutes.  The past… whole day.  Month and a half.  Or… fuck, how long have you known him?  Two years?

But then Dameron’s gaze gradually drifts this way, before suddenly locking with yours.  His eyes flick behind you to look at the two Greenies blocking your exit, and then back to the way you’re staring at him, wide-eyed and startled.

He suddenly stands up and starts to take a few steps towards you, and the sheer abruptness of the movement causes you to react immediately.  You stumble your way backwards through the two pilots, feeling a few hands reach out to steady you through the awkward fumbling, but you slap them away and announce loud enough for Dameron to hear beyond them that you’re taking a shower, and you don’t give a fuck how long it’s gonna be this time.

***

The knob squeaks as you turn the water on.  Usually you’d step back and wait the grueling five minutes or longer it takes for it to heat up with your arms crossed over your naked chest, but this time you move directly under the freezing spray, hoping to use the ice cold to shock your system.

You're finally alone.

Technically solitude doesn’t really exist within this base.  You’ve heard of others that are a little nicer, having a little more room for the ranks, but not here.  Housing assignments, showers and restrooms, mess and recreation halls—they’re all communal.  Everyone is given rotating shifts, so while that means there’s never any true quiet to be found, it also means that showers are spread out well throughout the day and night.

But, at least for this moment, there’s nobody else around.  At least in here, in the tiled chamber with multiple shower heads stationed around you—you’re sure there are a few girls lingering in the locker room and the entry area beyond it, but for right now, you’re blissfully by yourself.

And yet, you can’t seem to enjoy it.

You know you should be basking in the isolation.  You should be thrilled at the rarity of only hearing your own flipflops slap against the floor as you turn around and drench your hair with the icy spray, but the lack of an immediate distraction for your focus allows it to wander to things you don’t want it to.

Explosions, mostly.  Lighting up like fireworks in front of your eyes even as they flutter closed and let water drip down them.  Constant, never-ending.  Some of them small—TIEs you shot down, allies drawing fire away from you and then subsequently getting overwhelmed, zipping through dense debris from deadly collisions so quick that you had trouble distinguishing friend from foe.  Some of them were massive—star destroyers splitting apart, warp drives overloading, enormous casualty counts.  You don’t know how many lives you took today, not directly.

The beginning was the worst—when you were still slightly disoriented, when you were panicked and screaming into the comms for assistance.  Then the closest stationed tandem showed up first—Red-Two and Eight, you think it was.  Doesn’t matter now.  They took some heat off you before the cavalry arrived, but you remember Dameron barking out your name the second their left thruster got nicked and they started spiraling, a ferociously deep, “With me!” cutting through the white noise.  It was enough to snap you back, forcing you to instantly flick your eyes away and focus dead ahead without witnessing their demise.

It wouldn’t have normally been necessary.  You’ve been flying with the Resistance for years, you’ve seen way too much bloodshed by now.  But you’ve never been the catalyst of it—you’ve always been able to confront threats accompanied by your squadron, right between Nine and Eleven, the flight controls rumbling steady under your palms.  You’ve never faced down an entire fleet in one single ship.  You’ve never had to rely so directly on the skills of another pilot in order to stay alive.

The water slowly heats to a lukewarm while you reach for the shampoo.

Surprisingly, for as much as the two of you clash in normal interactions, it was like everything eventually became… synchronized.  Spectacularly so.  Dameron started off the enemy confrontation by calling out his flight patterns to give you a chance to adjust your firing in real time, but then at some point, it just stopped being necessary.  There was a moment where you both were able to suddenly… get it.  Get each other.  He didn’t have to say anything after that—you could predict each other without second guessing, react instantaneously, and work your way through the littered battlefield accordingly.  You never thought it would be possible to collaborate so well with someone you’ve spent ages despising.  Sure, you’d both die if you didn’t—shit, you’d probably still both die regardless—but this kind of teamwork extended beyond the need to survive.  It doesn’t matter how much you want to stay alive when reading someone else’s mind is physically impossible, but for some reason…  You have no idea why, but it apparently came naturally between you.  It fell to pure instinct, pure reaction, and remarkably, his would somehow match yours perfectly, every single time.

You lather the shampoo in your hair, remembering how his voice changed over the course of the mission.  How it gradually shifted from panicked roars and barked orders into ecstatic cheers and genuine praise after landing a difficult shot, how he just couldn’t seem to stop whooping.  

You smile softly as the tepid water rinses away the dirt and sweat from your body, until the temperature is brought up to a gentle, comfortable warmth raining down you and echoing in the empty shower room.

And, your first name.  Dameron kept calling you that, the whole time.  The one you’re now absolutely certain you’ve never personally given to him.  The one he would’ve had to have listened for specifically.  Remembered, or at least asked the right person about.  But why?  It’s not… it makes no sense, he doesn’t give a shit.  He’s notorious for not giving a shit.  He can’t even be bothered to remember the names of the girls he’s actually with—so why did he go to the trouble to figure out yours?  You’ve been nothing but a thorn in his side the same way he is to you, right?

Right?

Your mind starts recollecting more recent events, trying to work through and process it by yourself.  He was… singing your praises today.  He was openly giving you credit for the win while you pouted in the corner and assumed the absolute worst of him.  As much as you’re frustrated that nobody else seemed to give voice to your contributions, you’re even more surprised that he was the one who did.

And then even earlier.  Gold-Nine, holding wagers with members of your squad (and others, apparently) about when you’re going to fuck him.  Dameron, tearing her a new one for it, forbidding Black Squadron from throwing in and not attempting to hide his disdain for her from you.  He… he defended you.  Stood up for you when your own squad was being a bunch of dicks behind your back.  And nobody ever fucking mentioned it to you.  What did Rossi say—a few weeks ago?  He’s known all this time and only today, only after you… openly showed more interest in him than you ever have, after you worked up enough nerve to try in your own little way to flirt back this time instead of responding to his casual comments with contempt and disgust, only today is when he decided to make a real move on you.

…Your mind is completely blank and yet you still feel yourself start to heat up just a bit at even alluding to the events that took place earlier.  The way his fingers felt—

Steam begins to fill the open concept chamber while you shake your head against the train of thought and reach for the soap, beginning to circle the bar along your arms and shoulders with a sigh.  This is already the longest shower you’ve taken in almost two months, and your body slowly relaxes under the mist and heat as you take forever cleaning yourself, slowly and hypnotically rubbing the soap along your skin.

The second you let your eyelids dip shut at the feeling, you immediately shiver at a flash of Dameron dragging his finger out of his mouth and blinking dark eyes at you through the transparisteel.

Fuck.  The soap slips from your hand and you quickly catch it against your body before it falls to the ground completely, suddenly feeling the need to breathe in the misty air a bit harder.  Shower, you’re in the shower.  Come on.

The dirt and grime is scrubbed from your face and you tilt your head to move the bar of soap across your neck.  As it lathers, you can’t help but remember the way his lips felt against the skin right there, the scratch of his beard.  You keep working the soap against that same spot for a while, not knowing if you’re trying to wash away the sensation or simulate it, until you gradually slow and make it lighter, softer—yes, that’s closer to how it felt, that’s—

Soon the water is boiling hot and you’re trying not to boil along with it, remembering everything he said against this spot, the filth he whispered to you here.  Your pussy starts to throb between your legs as the memories play out in your mind, how close he got you to shattering bliss without even really working for it.  If you put it all together collectively, you don’t think he actually touched you for more than a minute or two total today.  Mostly he just talked to you, but stars, he hit buttons you didn’t even think you had, had you a split second away from cumming harder than Maker knows while his finger rested just above your clit and provided no stimulation whatsoever.

Fuck, you enjoyed it.  You did, you’ll admit it when there’s no one else here but you.  You enjoyed the fuck out of it.  You wish he’d do it again.  Force you to lose, force you to cum so you can at least blame him for it, remove your responsibility from the equation and allow you to put just one more thing on his shoulders, to taste ecstacy instead of expecting you to bear the weight of pretending you don’t need it any longer.  He was doing you a favor, you realize that now.  Your body is staging a fucking coup and you wish you could’ve called mercy before it got to this agonizing point.  He turns you on, you fucking admit it.  He inspires violent emotions in you—jealousy, arousal, anger, temptation—thoughts you don’t want to have and consolidating it all into various forms of hatred makes the finer details easier to ignore.  Your perception of him has always been skewed by your iron will, but he all but took a fucking sledgehammer to it today, dented it beyond all recognition.  You want him, you want to him to take it all away, you want him to fuck you—in the… fuck, in the good way.

You don’t have a thought beyond that.  Your hand quickly falls down the length of your body to wash your private parts, biting your lip as your hips slowly start to rock into it.  You’re getting clean, you’re getting clean, this is how you clean yourself, this is… yes, as long as you keep the bar of soap pressed between your palm and the top of your curls like this, you’re cleaning yourself and you can just… ease your finger down just a little bit and—

Flipflops suddenly echo from the twisting hallway leading to the tiled freshers, and you immediately snatch your hand back up again, not needing to turn around to know another girl is walking into the room.  A knob somewhere to your right eventually makes a dull squeak as you quickly finish washing up and turn your showerhead off, grabbing your towel and wrapping it around yourself.

Maker, you feel like your pussy is plotting your demise.  Fuck, you can’t believe you almost cheated in the fucking showers just now where literally anyone could walk in, you thought you would’ve had more self-control than that.  You make your way into the changing rooms and grab your pajamas, starting to tug them on without fully drying your body and having only one thought in mind.  

Dameron will probably be celebrating late tonight.  You can tuck in early, scurry back to your room and cheat there.

Well, no, not cheating, because you clearly remember making a very compelling argument about wet dreams earlier today.  Maker, a freebie, the word has never sounded so enticing.  What you’d say amounts to a… bye-week orgasm basically, since you know he’s already lost at least one match against his own body and you’re meant to be competing on the same level.  It’s only fair to let you persevere through the toughest part of the challenge if he was allowed to throw a game early on and still stay in the competition.  Maybe he threw multiple games, you never got a straight answer concerning that, so it’s still under review.  He could’ve thrown… three games, even.  Or four.

You dress as quickly as possible and then nearly bolt through the entrance area to the restrooms with all the sinks and stalls.  The balled up dirty clothes and wet towel in your arms allow you to hide the way your nipples are stiff and tender against your thin pajamas, and you can’t wait to climb into your bunk and take everything off under the covers.  You’ll be able to cum, at least once.  It’ll relieve so much stress, get rid of this nightmare headache, rip through your body like lightning and paralyze it until you can start over from square one and think like yourself again.

And, you’re just about to power walk your ass back to your quarters when a body nearly slams into yours as soon as you step foot outside the door, your shoulder jerking back just in time to avoid a collision.

A mechanic, you think.  You’re not exactly sure, you don’t hang out with too many of them—he’s Chiss and his glowing red eyes don’t even land on you as you gasp and sidestep him at the last second, but it’s not him that catches the majority of your attention.  He just exited the men’s room at the same time you left the women’s, and the door takes a moment to swing shut behind him.

You freeze.  It can’t be more than a few seconds—but it feels like everything slows down and it lasts a fucking eternity.

Dameron is standing at a sink in the far corner of the room, naked except for a towel identical to the one in your arms wrapped loosely around his waist.  He cradles the base of his own throat with one hand and gently drags a razor down the smooth contour of it with the other, his chin tilted up high and regal while his eyelids dip low to concentrate on his movements.  He glances down and holds the foamy blade under the running faucet, tapping it twice against porcelain before the door slides him out of frame.

I can shave, a low, silky murmur slowly fills your ears, heat swelling low and hot in your tummy.  Tonight, I’ll shave it off.  Make it nice and smooth for you.

You feel like your body is just a collection of rigid knots all tied together, and the one between your legs is the tightest it’s ever been.  Stars, on another day you’d say it feels like a bad cramp, even though you know your injection makes your period rare and like clockwork.  Regardless, the split second image makes you shudder and clamp up painfully, and you just stand there and stare at the closed door for a second, trying not to shake.

Fuck, this is so fucking… presumptuous of him.

Realistically, you know it could have absolutely nothing to do with you.  It’s his face—you’re not self-centered enough to have completely lost your concept of autonomy.  He can do whatever he wants to his body, and that includes facial hair, full stop.  You also know that he’s not being… obvious about it, no matter how much it feels that way to you.  He’s using the sink and mirror at the very end of the room, not any of the ones nearest to the door—but even if he was, it’s not like he could’ve planned for you to walk out at the exact moment the metal hinge was angled wide open.  He couldn’t possibly have intended for this, for you to see him doing this.  He wasn’t making a show, didn’t even notice you standing there.  You blame literally everything on him, or at least you always try your absolute best to—but this one…

It sends a hard shudder down your spine and you clutch the fabric in your arms tighter, trying not to drop it.  Fuck.  This is torture.  Fuck him.  Good and bad—both ways, all the ways he can be fucked, fuck him.  Your head is spinning, you’re sweating fresh out of the shower, you need to cum.  Maybe if you hurry, you can get that precious orgasm before he’s finished, because if Dameron is able to intercept you before you can tend to this, you’re… you’re not sure how you’re going to say no to him.

You don’t even think you want to anymore.  

You feel like you’re just… holding onto it on principle now.  Too stubborn and hardheaded to want change.  Too stuck in your own ways to recognize how much everything already has changed.

Somehow, you end up making your way back to your room, but the whole thing is a blur.  Your flipflops plap against your heels as you navigate through hallways as quick as you can, emptier than you’ve seen them in months.  You know most of the pilots are probably out celebrating in either the mess hall or rec room, but the thought doesn’t really presently register.  Almost nothing registers besides your continuous forward motion and the way you feel yourself throb with every step, aching for something you are going to get tonight.  Fuck, you are so attached to this orgasm now, it’s not going anywhere and neither are you.  You deserve this, you deserve some relief.  Come hell or highwater, it’s happening tonight.

As soon as you step into your room and slap your hand blindly against the wall panel to close the door behind you, you’re carelessly dropping the bundle of fabric to the floor and then shrugging out of your pajamas in the cool pitch darkness, having exactly one mission in mind.  You don’t bother with lights, with brushing your hair, with literally anything besides clamoring up the ladder to your top bunk and wiggling under the thin bedsheet, making sure to pull it up to your chin before your legs butterfly open.  The tip of your finger wets itself on your tongue and then you’re dropping it down and sliding it against your poor clit, the pleasure arcing and flaring so sharp and sensitive even from your touch that you have to give it just a second.

…No, no you don’t.  You don’t have to give it fucking anything.  You keep moving your finger hard and quick even as your hips naturally want to jerk away from it, shoving yourself through the sensitivity with gritted teeth and a ferocious will.

Fuck, how long do you think you have?  Was Dameron shaving pre or post-shower?  You can’t remember, all you know is he had a towel around his waist.  And that thin gold chain hanging down his neck.  Was his hair wet?  Fuck, why can’t you remember?  His chin and jaw were smooth as silk, you know that much.  Post-shower, then.  Probably.  Probably?

His chin and jaw were smooth as silk.  You keep getting stuck on that no matter how chaotically your thoughts whirl; they fling out in different directions at different velocities but all somehow manage to go in a perfect circle and end up at the same place you started.  His chin, his jaw, his mouth, his neck, his chin, his mouth, his jaw, his mouth, his mouth, his mouth—

You feel yourself start to clamp down and you speed up, chasing it.  The pleasure starts burning deep inside you, the fire slowly licking down your thighs and rising up into your abdomen, and then—

And then a series of quiet beeps from the hallway practically blare like alarm bells to your frantic mind.

You immediately stop moving your finger, snapping your legs tight together and flat to the mattress as soon as the door to your room shifts open and fluorescent light spills inside, and you feel like you could actually fucking cry right now.

All this edging is just a form of self-flagellation at this point.  You lay there and try not to make a sound, try not to tremble hard enough to shake the whole bunk with it, but even your breathing feels like it’s going to give you away.  Dameron, shirtless with his towel draped over his shoulder, slowly steps into the room and then pauses almost immediately, making your heart stutter for a second at what so blatantly caught his attention.

One quick glance down towards his feet confirms the simultaneous hope and fear—you left everything on the floor.  The towel, the dirty clothes, and your pajamas are strewn about haphazardly right where he needs to walk.

You know what it must look like to him.  A trail of clothes leading directly to an occupied bed isn’t exactly subtle, even though you didn’t necessarily intend it that way.  Still, what can you say?  Your hand is shoved in between your legs right now and you’re in your birthday suit under this thin sheet, what the fuck can you say to him?  Sorry Dameron, got too caught up with how stupid wet you get me that I left those there on accident on my way to cheat, but totally not because I lowkey want your help doing it.  Convincing, that’ll go over great.

Dameron slowly lifts his head to look at you.  Or, at least you think he does—the light from the open door behind him casts his body in a dark silhouette, but you know your face is perfectly illuminated for him right now.  Blinking down at him from the top bunk with your brows pulled up in the middle, wide-eyed and desperate and caught red-handed.  Fuck, you don’t know if he can see the way your knees are clamped tight together and your hand rests perfectly still against your pussy like this from the angle he’s at, but you know it has to be super fucking obvious either way.  You’re breaking the rules, you’re touching yourself, and you both know it.  You can’t lie, you can’t even sit up without confirming his very valid suspicion.  He can call the game at any point, but…

You watch his head fall back down to study the mess you left for him once more.  Fuck, are you positive that was an accident?  Normally you wouldn’t second guess anything about your own understanding of the interactions that occur between you and him, but—you’ve never done that before.  You’ve lived with roommates on this base for years, you don’t just… get naked before getting into bed, that’s bad form.  How are you going to get up in the morning without having your pajamas shoved near your feet while you sleep?  Wrap this thin bedsheet around yourself and scamper down the ladder until you can snatch them up from the floor, and then what?  Climb all the way back up just to wiggle the clothes on underneath the blanket before going back down again?  Maker, you fucked up, your pussy is plotting your fucking demise.

But then everything inside you pulls taut as Dameron suddenly decides to move.  Slowly, he leans down to catch your orange jumpsuit closest to his feet with a few fingers, before he stands upright and carefully begins folding the fabric without saying a single word to you.  Electricity buzzes through you as he very obviously takes his time with it, using nearly his whole armspan to lengthen and fold the sleeves while his chest and chin meet for support.  When he’s eventually satisfied with it, he takes a few steps toward the empty desk on your side of the room and then sets the neat rectangle of fabric atop it where you usually keep it.

You bite your lip and you can’t help it—you start to move your finger as he goes back to sort the pajamas you wore for barely two seconds from your dirty clothes, folding and putting away whatever is clean and then tossing the rest into the shared laundry basket that gets collected every week.  Somehow it makes you feel even more naked, seeing all your clothes be returned to their proper places, realizing that this is your base state now, this is what you’re going to wear tonight.  Nothing.  You left everything on the floor and trapped yourself up here, he’s simply shifting a pawn forward two spaces in kind now that you’ve made your first move.

You can feel yourself pulse threateningly against your own fingertip while he collects your wet towel and drapes it over your closet door to dry, and your breath comes louder through your nose while you bite back the noises you want to make, the way your movements so desperately want to speed up.  Your hand working the way you want it to under the white sheets would be too much, too revealing, but you don’t know how much longer you’ll be able to care.

But then of course, the asshole has to go and put away his towel and clothes, and you endure through the whole thing while pressing back and forth against your clit so hard and slow that your toes curl and pull the sheet tucked under your chin taut.  After that’s done, he makes his way over to the portshade above his desk and slowly slides it open a few inches, the light of three moons outside gradually filling the room.  However, when Dameron goes back to press a button on the wall panel and close the door to the hallway, you immediately see how much softer it is in here, how the artificial fluorescents have thankfully disappeared and the room illuminates more than it blinds, glows more than it beams.  He presses one more button as the lock inside the paneling slides into place.

You bite your bottom lip and try your best to hide the pleasure you’re building for yourself while he makes his way back to his desk, quietly swiping the radio off it and lowering the volume knob completely before he flips it on.  The noise slowly amplifies until you’re able to catch two distinct voices conversing in Huttese—it’s the only lingua franca that still broadcasts on this old technology in this part of the galaxy, but he’s already flipping through the stations in search of something specific.

If you were thinking straight, you may have actually recognized this for what it is, but you’re having trouble even processing the details of your general surroundings right now, your mind is lagging and too slow at reading between the lines.  Dameron’s doing exactly what he said he would do.  He laid it all out earlier for you in the x-wing, telling you exactly what he wanted plain as day, and now he’s checking the whole list off one by one.  The shade is open and the room is lit just enough to make him out, the door is locked, and he’s finding something to listen to.  Something quiet, and easy.

If you were thinking straight, you’d realize that there’s a much more obvious reason why he shaved his beard—you never told him the truth about how much you liked it.  You never tell him the truth.  You allow—even encourage him to think the sharp things you say to him are exactly how you feel.  He did it because he believed you.

Oh, but you’re not thinking straight.  Your thoughts are scattered and the only thing they can agree upon is how good this feels, even as your breathing starts to grow heavier, grow louder underneath the sound of the radio.  The thought stays right beneath your consciousness, tugging at your preoccupied mind.  You work your finger with just a little more verve now that he’s flipping through the stations, knowing he’s distracted by spinning the dial through intermittent white noise while different voices and songs fill the room for just a second at a time.

Your bed, his voice suddenly echoes through your thoughts, originating from your subconscious but almost sounding like it’s coming from the radio in your delirious mind.  I want you comfortable.

Fuck, the understanding finally clicks the second he flips to a slower song and you start to burn at the thought of what’s next.  The silent promise that his actions allude to.  You have the realization way too late but at least it still comes at all with the state you’re in.  Your hand slows down immediately, not even needing to consciously consider the choice between achieving orgasm through your finger or his mouth.  Still, it’s hard to stop touching yourself completely when it feels so fucking good to your deprived body.

Fuck, it’s barely been a few seconds since your realization and yet you immediately bristle in distress at how fucking long he’s taking.

So you open your mouth.  You’re desperate and needy and on the verge of something, and it comes out without thought.  You don’t think it’s loud enough for him to hear, but his head immediately lifts and looks unseeingly at the wall in front of him for a second, as if he’s questioning if he imagined it.  A soft melody plays on a bluesy guitar while you hiccup and wait, but he doesn’t move.

And then you say it again, higher and tighter in your throat, pitched up to an impatient, girlish whine.  “Poe…”

The radio is tossed onto the bottom bunk as soon as he spins around and walks towards the ladder, but it’s like your finger has a mind of its own the moment he disappears underneath your line of sight.  Your legs spasm against the mattress and you bite your lip, not caring about the frantic way your hand begins moving under the sheet as his muted footsteps climb up the rungs.

Your eyes snap to his as soon as you can see him beyond the railing at your feet, heaving himself up until everything above his waist is above you, too.  His pauses there and his lashes quickly dip to the shameless movements between your legs as you work yourself towards that approaching bliss, and then flick back to the way you’re biting your lip and looking at him so torn, wanting so badly to wait for it but not being able to right now.

Slowly, he begins to move forward, crawling his way up the mattress and over your body, noticeably careful with where he places his limbs.  You’re not hard to dodge, though—you’re like a rigid stick of desperation under him, knees and ankles still clamped tight together and your arms streamlined as close to your body as possible with tension as you keep rubbing your clit.  Not to mention the sheet is thin and shows your figure almost perfectly with how tight you’ve hooked it under your chin, only leaving the finest details to the imagination.

But then there starts to be a little strain against the fabric, an unspoken question he’s still bothering to ask even though you could’ve told him to fuck off ages ago.  Poe could yank the sheet down and flip your shit over and destroy you right now if he wanted—fuck, like you want him to do—but his face slowly appears in front of yours instead and his dark eyes search your features for answers.  The length of his chain dangles from his muscular neck and glows against his golden skin, his whole upper body stretched long and bare over you.

From the gradually increasing tightness pulling on the fabric, you expect the sheet to rip down your body as soon as you lift your chin and let that resistance go, but instead… stars, it’s slow.  Why is he going so fucking slow??  The bedsheet barely flutters down to your collarbone before he’s able to stop tugging on it so hard, and then he just gently inches the hem down from that point on.

Fuck—your eyes drop to his lips as he eventually reveals your shoulders and sternum to the room, and then lower to your cleavage while you let out a hushed whimper, praying he understands the extent of how vulnerable you’re allowing yourself to be.  You don’t do this often—and you definitely don’t do it with someone like him.  He’s the one who said you needed this, isn't he?  So why the fuck is he dragging out the anticipation?  Pretending like he doesn’t see the way you’re begging for help in the middle of another warzone that’s breaking out for the second time today?

Poe’s head drops down to give the contour of your neck a long drag of his tongue, slow and hot and wet, the sheet eventually dropping beneath your nipples and exposing them to the cool air.  You bite your lip and keep working yourself under the fabric even as it’s led down the length of your tummy, and you just get wetter and wetter feeling him mouth at your skin as the radio continues to play soft from the bottom bunk.  He follows the skin as it’s revealed, licking down from your collarbone and working with the increasing rate of your breathing.  His lips never feel like they vary in pressure, even as your chest heaves up and down and your lungs work hard for air.

His open mouth slowly drags down the curve of your breast and it makes your blood burn fire through your veins.  You nearly choke when your nipple is enveloped in soft heat, his tongue quickly fluttering up under the stiff peak and giving it to you so gently, contrasting so light and vernal with how brilliant and neon bright the need between your legs is.  Your hand starts to work quicker, and fuck—you can hear it now, your desperate movements audible over the shallow breaths and the sound of one song gradually fading into another below you.  You’re just too fucking wet and your pussy is smushed with how tight your legs are pressed together—the noise is unavoidable, and Poe’s knees are planted too close to either side of your thighs to spread them really at all.

Fuck, you knock against the resistance regardless to let him know what you want, but he doesn’t budge and it makes you just about lose your damn mind.  Does he have to make everything so fucking difficult?  You couldn’t close your legs earlier and now you can’t open them, and it’s like he’s able to take perfect advantage of each opposing position to prolong your torture.

But then his tongue leaves you even as his jaw opens just slightly, and that’s the only warning you get before his teeth graze your nipple with a sudden arc of sensation and you flare up all at once.

It’s a miracle and a curse that you’re able to stop at the very last second, your hand jerking away from your pussy and flexing into a fucking death claw on your thigh at how close you were, and you don’t know why.  Why did the fuck did you stop?  There’s nothing standing in your way right now, you’ve consciously given yourself express permission to cum, but still.  It must just be learned instinct at this point—hammered into your muscle memory for weeks on end to not allow the pleasure no matter what, especially when you’re this fucking close to it.

Nonetheless you garble out nonsense and cinch inwards on yourself to fight it off now that you’ve apparently decided against it.  There’s nothing worse than a half-assed orgasm, and you have to quickly summon the conviction behind your split second reaction before it’s too late and your body takes the pleasure any way it can get it.

Poe’s mouth releases your nipple at the way your whole spine suddenly hunches in and he drops his forehead to your chest, breathing heavy down the slope of your breast as you tremble and grapple for your sanity.

“Did you just cum?”  Is the first thing he says to you, his voice is so ragged and stony it’s practically gravel crunching as he speaks.

“N-n-no,” you quickly stammer at the ceiling, trying to remember how to breathe correctly.  Inhale, exhale—fuck, which one is inhale again, which one comes first?  Maker, does he need to call a fucking medic?  “Huhhhhalmost?”

Poe takes a deep breath and slowly releases it with a bassy and warm mmmm rumbling against your skin, so coarse but pleased enough to sound like melted chocolate dripping down your body.  The noise sends a violent shudder through you and it’s almost enough to knock you back to that edge again, even without your fingers assisting it.  

His head dips and the sheet pulls down even more, just below your belly button now, and you let out a quiet gasp in anticipation, nearly on the verge of begging him to keep moving downwards.  But when Poe’s eyes close and his mouth suddenly moves back up to open over your other nipple instead, your patience snaps.  

Fuck him, bad way.  This is your orgasm, you’re done waiting.

“I’m gonna cum,” you snarl furiously down at him, shoving your hand between your legs even as Poe’s lips quirk against your skin.  It’s not a warning, it’s a threat.  If he’s gonna be like this, he doesn’t get to share it with you.  It’s your orgasm, you’ll give it to yourself if he doesn’t give a shit about it.  “Thought you wanted it, guess not.”

You immediately feel his teeth again in response to your admittedly slightly bitchy comment and this time he lets your nipple roll just a bit between them, making you jerk at the sensation and quickly find your clit again.  Oh, you’re soaking fucking wet, you’re wet everywhere.  Slick and swollen and burning, and it’s not going to take much at all.  The sheet sticks to your overheated body and you can’t tell the difference between your sweat, his saliva, or wetness from between your legs—it all just feels damp and slippery as you gradually lose your bearings under his mouth.

“Fuck this, I’m gonna cum,” you breathe once more, possibly nothing more than a mindless reiteration but most likely just one last veiled plea for him to give you what you both want.  As if he can tell, Poe quickly lifts his mouth and suddenly the sheet is ripped the rest of the way down your naked body completely, sharp and frustrated, and then his lips brush against your elbow as it twitches, nipping the sensitive skin there.

“Brat,” he growls quietly against your forearm as he keeps dragging his lips down further, following the path it makes along your tummy.  “Just likes making shit difficult.”

“You’re the one—” you hiccup, trying to sound angry but just melting into a puddle at the tip of his tongue slowly trailing down your frantically moving wrist, “—you’re the… the o-one who… who…?”

But you’re already sprinting towards that edge, feeling him drop even lower and his hot breath fan against your fingers, and at this point you’re too far gone.  Poe gently kisses at your closed thighs, in perfect position and ready for you, but you can’t stop yourself anymore unless he makes you stop, and the longer he waits down there without grabbing your hand to replace it with something better the more you don’t give a shit about whether or not it’s going to happen.  You can feel the orgasm rising, you can feel your toes flex and everything start to lock down for the approaching tsunami.  You’re going to get it this time, you’re going to cum, you’re going to—

“This is—” you rasp, “—this is a f-free, a fffff-ffreeeeb—”

His tongue softly grazes your knuckle as it works.

And then there’s a moment.  A suspended moment that seems to go on forever, where you’re launched directly over that cliff and yet you still seem to be gaining altitude.  Where’s the drop?  You’re already cumming—you can feel it, there’s absolutely no fucking going back now, but it’s like your sheer desperation has so much momentum that your body tricks itself into believing there’s nothing to land on, no gravity to immediately rip you straight down to your demise.

You choke out his name and your back arches with it and that must be the signal, because Poe finally pulls your hand away and lets his chin dip, and then his jaw falls open and allows you just enough time to catch the glimmer of his pink tongue before it slides wet and slow through your swollen folds.

Heat.  It sears through your whole body with a wracked shudder, the slick glide over your clit as his eyes flutter closed, and within the very first second of feeling his mouth on you, you’re instantly cumming inside it.

There.  There’s the drop.

The burning erupts into molten chaos, crumpling your whole body on impact like an accordion, but he sinks all his weight down on your legs and forces you to endure it with everything below your waist pinned to the mattress.  It’s fucking mayhem.  You feel like your voice actually rips itself in half with the ragged cry of blinding relief, so enormous and soul wrenching in power that you couldn’t even hope to muffle it.  You can’t move your hips through it, you can’t stutter up to ride it out—you have to experience the whole thing with your lower body completely still while his tongue takes slow, gentle licks at your throbbing clit, only able to sit your shoulders up and slam them back down and grab his head as you endure.

You cum hard.  Fucking hard.  It’s daunting and explosive and utterly devastating in the havoc it wreaks, and just when you think you’ve seen the worst of it, it’s just so slow.  Creeping along and obliterating everything in its path, taking an eternity to pass because of how fucking big it is.

When you’re finally able to float back down into your own body again, the first thing you notice is how tight his hold is.  Poe’s arms are wrapped around your thighs to keep them pressed tight together and you can feel the wetness all the way down to your fucking knees as they tremble against each other.  Stars, what did he do to you?  You feel like you actually wet yourself, there’s way too much dampness on the mattress underneath you to feel anywhere close to normal for you.

His mouth eventually leaves you but his head doesn’t move, nothing else moves.  Even his hot breath feels like rough stimulation to your throbbing pussy.

And then Poe shifts and adjusts his body just enough, catching the backs of your knees and slowly spreading your legs up and apart like you wanted to do ages ago.  They feel like jelly, wobbly and unsteady even as his thumbs hook right under your knees and easily support most of their weight.  Your pussy is soon exposed completely, and his shoulders move down just before his head drops to lick the collection of wetness right from your entrance.  Fuck, he couldn’t get it from the previous angle your legs were at, just your clit at the very top—but this is deep and personal and you know he’s probably getting mouthfuls of how hard he just made you cum, using the tip of his tongue to scoop your arousal up and swallowing it quietly before going back for more.

“Poe,” you whisper, and he rumbles low in his throat in response without stopping.  This isn’t for you, this isn’t for your benefit right now.  Your pleasure receptors aren’t concentrated right here, just the physical evidence of them being overloaded just a few moments ago, but he stays for longer than necessary.  He keeps his mouth here far longer than you need to push past the throbbing sensitivity and start to crave the sensation again, forcing you to bite your lip to stop yourself from telling him to move back up just a couple inches.

So you seek it out instead, the lower part of your body clearly not listening to a damn thing your mind tells it right now.  Your hips drop and his velvet tongue catches your clit at the apex of its repetitive motion, and you gasp and rock upwards again as Poe groans and immediately rises with you to chase it.  He attaches to the swollen flesh and sucks at it gently for you, following your lead, letting your wet fingers comb his hair back from his face and clutch a good fistful of it as you plant your feet and slowly grind up into his mouth.

Fuck.  He was right.  You needed this.  Everything about it is heaven—endorphins pour off you in waves as you roll your hips against his face, and he lets you do it.  He’s not just pliant, he’s willing.  His tongue works diligently, his eyes close and he moans into your pussy, allowing you to tug his hair and fit to his mouth exactly how you want.

Oh, everything burns.  Everything smolders and sparks, because he’s always been so withholding and now he’s just going for it.  He’s reading your mind better than he did during the battle today, not necessarily submissive in his approach but… servicing.  Accommodating.  Finally giving in and putting real effort into helping you chase after another shot of ecstasy without being so stingy about it like before.

As soon as you feel another familiar swell of something deep down, your mouth is suddenly dropping open.

“How many—” your ragged voice comes out without thinking, and it takes so fucking long to actually attach the train of thought to its conduit of translation.  You swallow thickly and flex your fingers in his hair, tugging at him to ground yourself, trying to anchor yourself to the very thing that’s about to fling you into oblivion again.  “—fuck, how many times did you… how many fr-freebies do I—do I…”

Poe eases his chin back just enough to respond, and the slick sound his tongue makes leaving your clit makes you shudder and miss the wretched words at first.  “Mm.  Just the one.”

And then his tongue is already sliding back through your pussy by the time your eyes pop open in immediate panic, and your clit is in his mouth again as soon as yours drops to frantically contest.

But the words aren’t coming, it feels too fucking amazing.  Your jaw goes slack and your fingers tighten in his hair.  Maker almighty, the orgasm swells up so sharp and quick that you have to fucking kick him at the very last second to get away from it.  Thankfully Poe’s mouth abruptly leaves you with his oof of shock at your audacity, lifting his head as you snap your legs together and grit your teeth through your miserable retreat from ecstasy.  You don’t even notice the way your knee almost knocks into his jaw with it—you just focus on shamefully easing your way back down again from the platform overlooking bliss like you’re too afraid of the high-dive.  After a second, you actually have to turn on your side and rock yourself like a child as Poe slowly sits up with a grimace, lifting his arm to rub at his ribcage where your heel slammed into him.

You peek an eye open to watch him do it and oh no, it’s not a good plan.  He’s so… fucking hot.  Fuck.  He’s unbelievably good-looking—his hair curls and frames such handsome features, his body is lovely and warm and seeing his chest bare and up close like this makes you want to reach out and slowly drag your hand down the smooth curve of his side.  But then your gaze catches on the dark sweatpants tented shamelessly between his legs and how he’s glistening with perspiration, too, and how he tugs at the fabric covering his crotch and sighs softly, blinking down at you slow and intoxicated with lust.

You have to close your eyes and bury your face into the pillow because your body is latching onto anything to keep you within inches of that edge.  The mere sight of him is enough to make you worry for yourself.  You take deep breaths and do your best to tune his existence out entirely.  Just you, just you in your bed, trying desperately not to cum without even touching yourself.  You’re naked and curled up and there's no one here to look down at you with deep brown eyes, no one else breathing and especially not equally as loud as you are.  Just you, just you.

And, just when you think you might finally get to the point where you’re not teetering anymore, where you’re at least mostly certain that moving around and looking at things and just existing in general isn’t going to make you completely unravel hands-free at any moment, he has to fucking… go and be himself.

You peek up to see him staring down at you, dark and intimate and devouring, before his hand gently brushes down the curve of your hip.  “Maker, you are so fucking hot right now.  Was that a close one, pretty baby?”

Your hand snaps out to grab his wrist with a whimper and you don’t know if your intent is to stop him or just hang on for dear life, but your grip is weak and you shake and Poe takes the opportunity to grab a handful of your ass while you do absolutely fuck all to stop him.

“Mmmm.  Open your legs,” he murmurs, releasing your flesh just to give it a soft smack.  “You’re only making it worse like this.”

“What?  W-What do you—” you stammer, but Poe drags his hand down your thigh to catch one of your knees and pull it up without waiting for your babbled reply.  Both knees go with him, your pelvis wound too tight and frozen to do anything but rotate your whole entire body on your tailbone.

“You’re just adding more pressure by keeping them closed,” he explains, wiggling his fingers in between your knees to try and get enough of a grip to pry them apart.  “C’mon—open your legs, let yourself breathe.”

“Nnnnnnstop talking,” you groan, trying to slap at him, but he’s strong enough to force the movement regardless, levering your knees apart and then pushing them tight to the mattress.  And, though he would normally be right about it, you’re fighting your mind to get away from the orgasm just as much as you are your body.  The sudden exposure and the positioning and the way he automatically drops his gaze down at your needy pussy with his cock still hidden in his pants like that only serves to displace the cause instead of eliminating the effect.  Closing the door and opening a window, shifting the stimulation somewhere else but allowing it to throb steady and aching regardless.

“Much better,” he sighs lowly, digging his fingers into the sore muscles inside your thighs and you just keep your hands loosely attached to his wrists as he works.  “Fuck me, baby’s got such a pretty pussy doesn’t she?”

“Poe,” you wheeze up at him, hearing him rumble at the sight of your cunt contracting around nothing, probably shining and glistening with your desperation for him.  By this point, you’re worrying again.  You have no doubt whatsoever that he could talk you into cumming just like this, with your hands trembling and clutching at his wrists.  If he keeps murmuring filth while holding your legs open and staring at your pussy like this, you have no doubt you’ll find a way to get there somehow.

Thankfully, he seems to understand.  He goes quiet and just keeps massaging your sore muscles while you try not to writhe underneath him.  Stars, it’s like he’s genuinely doing what he can to take it easy on you and you’re still all kinds of fucked up about it, still frantic and desperate while all he’s doing is just squeezing your legs.

“Calm down,” he gruffs, but you can’t.  “You’re working yourself up, don’t—”

“Stop talki—” your ragged growl is cut off by your own hiccup as you quickly find the strength to shove at his hands, knowing they’re at least mostly to blame for your prolonged tightrope walk.  You can’t fucking think when he’s touching you, you become too hyper-aware of your own body, it feels too good in a way that’s hard to describe and impossible to explain.  Poe’s palms immediately listen and raise in front of him in surrender, his back lifting to give you space while you hide your face from him with shaky hands and gasp.  It’s pathetic and your legs are still held wide open and your fingers tremble hard enough to resemble a malfunction.

You just.  You need a hard reset.  You need that thirty seconds of complete idle, of figuring shit out on your own without an electric current running through you before you can start working properly again.  It can’t be rushed, it’s necessary when most people just want to power down and then right back up again.  The wires connecting your parts are all criss-crossed and tangled and sparks are lighting up at the slightest stimulus, you just need to experience absolutely nothing for thir—

“I’m sorry,” Poe murmurs, still staying in his own space but the gravelly voice shooting a bolt of lightning down your spine.  Thirty seconds, of course he couldn’t give you thirty fucking seconds.  “Fuck, you’re so hot, I’m sorry—”

“Please stop talking,” you beg him, your fingers curling against your face, “Maker, I—I don’t want to cum—”

“Fuck, I know, it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever fucki—”

You go to kick him again and even though it collides wrong and does nothing more than get your message across, the jostle is enough to knock you back from the approaching oblivion just slightly.  It serves to wake you up way more than it remotely hurts him, the equivalent of someone just smacking a piece of machinery and fixing the problem temporarily.

You heave an enormous breath and blink your eyes open behind your fingers, immediately locking with his.  Poe’s teeth are digging into his bottom lip but he’s mercifully silent, even when you drop your shaky hands down to your spread thighs and stay equally silent another full minute while you make the effort to right yourself.  After awhile though, you realize he must be taking cues from you, waiting for you to speak.

Only, you suddenly don’t know what to say.  You’re at a complete loss, looking up at him through your eyelashes in uncertainty now.  Something you’ve never been around him, even as your pussy is wide open for him to look at.  He hasn’t recently, though, you don’t think.  He’s just keeping his eyes on your face, watching you bite your lip and blink up at him while your mind whirls, the only sound that can be heard is the radio continuing to lull from the bottom bunk.

You wish he’d say something.  How come he’s choosing right now to listen to what you tell him to do?  You don’t… you don’t know what to say to him.  Why can’t you figure out something?  You fidget but then suddenly feel your expression lose all its struggle and just look… innocent.  Needing his help.

“Do you want me to leave?”  Poe eventually asks after another moment, tentative of breaking the silence, and you frantically shake your head before he’s even finished speaking.  Fuck, something drops in your stomach at how desperate you’re probably coming off right now, but you’re so lost and you know that’s at least one question you know the immediate answer to.

Poe tilts his head thoughtfully, slowly reaching a hand towards your thigh without removing his eyes from yours.  “Want me to make you cum again?”

You shake your head again, wide-eyed and worried.  He immediately pulls his hand back and blinks slowly at you.

“You want to be edged more?”  He asks lowly, and you shake your head vehemently for the third time.  Poe sighs and sits back, planting his palms to his thighs and pulling at the fabric of his pants in budding frustration, clearly tired of playing twenty questions.  “Well what do you want, baby?  You wanna just hang out?  That’s fine, I don’t care, but you gotta tell me.”

Fuck, he’s right, what do you want?  The only thing that’s standing in your way of feeling better, you soon realize.

“Want you to cum first,” you mumble, cheeks warming at how childish you sound.

“Not a fucking chance,” Poe immediately scoffs, crossing his arms over his bare chest.  “And pouting at me isn’t gonna help.”

“Why not?”  You breathe, dipping your gaze down his body.  “I can use my mouth.”

“I don’t—” he stops short, suddenly registering what you said and switching gears.  “You can—?”  Poe narrows his eyebrows and looks suspicious.  “You’ll let me… cum in it?”

“Okay,” you whisper in breathless agreement, sitting up and reaching for him, but Poe groans and pushes you back down on the mattress with a flattened palm against your shoulder like you just aced a test he was hoping you’d fail.

“Fuck whoever’s idea this was,” he grits darkly to himself while you arch up against his hold, wanting him to grab your tits but knowing it’s not a good idea right now.  “Maker, I’m so fucking hard—fuck whoever’s idea this was, making me turn that down—”

“You said,” you pant, licking your dry lips and blinking up at the ceiling, trying to control yourself, “before, you said that you’re… you’re not doing this for a bet, right?  So why not?”  Your voice goes softer when you flutter your gaze back at him, even though the accusation feels like it should be sharper if anything, since it comes from a very real place of distrust.  “Were you just… lying to me about that?”

“Fuck, come on,” Poe groans, his voice starting to waver as he shakes his head and squints one eye at you, exasperated.  “You don’t get it.  You can’t think of a single fucking reason I don’t wanna blow my load just yet?  Really?”

The sentence coupled with his rock solid hold on you skitters a thrill through your body and you automatically reach up to run your hand along his forearm.  He looks down at the caress and then back to your face and fuck, even you feel like you’re sending mixed signals right now.

“You could… fuck me,” you whisper, and Poe’s dark eyebrows pull up as his gaze falls down your naked body, nodding and digging his teeth into his bottom lip.  An agreement backed by so much unspoken desire that it looks like it almost hurts him just to hear you say it out loud.  “And we can just… see who cums first.”

“Yeah?”  He croaks, his eyes pinned between your open legs.  “Just say fuck it all and race for last place?  Okay.”

Your heart pounds, having just enough wherewithal to preemptively establish a safety net for yourself.  “And—and we can’t finish at the same time or we both lose.”

“Fuck,” Poe groans, reaching down to catch the hem of his sweatpants with his thumb and lifting his hips until his cock is exposed to the dim room.  “We can’t stop once we start, then, we’ll have to see it through.”

Except you don’t catch any of the last part because, uh.  Well, to sum up.  May the Maker have mercy on you all.

Just like that, the only thought in your mind is… you get it.  Okay, you get it.  He told you before that girls were only interested in him for his cock, and it actually… stars, it makes so much fucking sense now, you totally get it.  You thought maybe he was just boasting as a form of overcompensation at first—or, to put it another way you’ve probably used in conversation with him before, talking big talk but walking small walk.  Only now, you’re… humbled.  By a fucking dick, you’re humbled.

You haven’t seen more than a few of them in this context, so you know you’re not necessarily qualified to give an informed opinion, but heavens it’s a sight.  It’s thick and swollen and just a shade darker than his complexion and everything inside you rockets to attention as soon as he wraps his hand around it.  It’s big.  It fills his whole palm without much room to spare.  Far larger than what you’re used to, and you know that no matter how he fucks you with it, you’re gonna feel it tomorrow.  Next weekend, probably.

Your eyes must betray you, because Poe suddenly loosens his grip and breathes your name softly, causing you to flick your eyes back up to his.  You didn’t realize you were staring so openly.

“I’ll go slow,” he reassures you quietly, voice gentle and knowing.  The complete lack of sarcasm or aggression in his tone is enough to snap you back to yourself, knowing that can’t possibly be right.  He’s talking to you like he did when you stumbled your ass out of the x-wing today, when you were barely responsive and lost in dumb shock.  He doesn’t have to… be nice to you right now, like you’re still only moments away from losing it.  It’s offensive.

“I can handle it,” you harumph, widening your legs while Poe immediately suppresses a grin.

“'Course you can,” he sighs with the slightest note of fondness creeping into his voice, dropping his hips as he lines up at your entrance.  “And I’ll go slow anyways.”

You open your mouth to respond but at the first push of his head inside, you inhale sharply and your palm immediately shoots out to press against his chest on complete instinct.  The stab of pain is impossible to mask from your features and Poe instantly stops with a shaky breath, watching how your jaw drops at the intrusion and your face contorts.

“Ahh.  Shit…” he whispers as his head tips down, dark eyes clamping shut and his hold on you tightening.  “What—shit, what the fuck…”

“Keep going,” you growl out, even though you know you’re just making it more difficult on yourself.  You can take Poe’s cock, you can take it, he has absolutely nothing to brag about, it’s completely normal-sized—

His hips inch forwards and you gasp at the excruciating arc of sensation, slapping at him harder.

“Keep going,” you babble while locking your elbows and shoving him back, “fuck, keep going, keep going—”

“Baby,” Poe groans, wrenching one of your hands from his chest and bringing your wrist up to his mouth to kiss and breathe hot air on it, “baby, you gotta let me—”

He moves a little more and you cry out, jerking your hand back from his lips and knocking it hard against his chest before you even realize it.  Oh shit, you can’t handle it, you haven’t been fucked in so long—

“I’m sorry,” you choke out, trying to be nicer by flattening your palm but then immediately digging your nails in, “fuck, I’m sorry, it’s just—it’s been awhile since I—”

“Shit, I can tell,” he pants brokenly, his fingers dropping back down to flex hard on your hip.  “Hoooolyfuck, I can te—ah, fuck, it’s alright, it’s alright, just—nnnnnnshit, okay, just relax, don’t tense up too muuuh… much—”

His cock pushes deeper even as he keeps rambling through it and you feel yourself being rearranged to make room for the slow movement, giving way to a rich pleasure even as the discomfort increases.

Poe stops once more when your hands shove up against him, somehow simultaneously shakier and firmer than all the other times put together and a little more than half of him inside you at this point.  You’re so slick and hot between your legs that there’s no resistance besides the stretch, nothing to stop him from slamming home besides your weak hands trembling at his collarbone, but everything about the way he stays completely frozen for ages says he’s controlled and patient.

Everything except his face, you soon realize.

When your body is finally able to come to terms with the sensation and you blink up at him, Poe isn’t looking at you anymore.  He’s staring directly over your head at the wall, tangible regret manifesting itself in seething frustration marring his expression.  His eyebrows furrow and he scowls but all of it is silent and directed at himself, as if he’s asking why the fuck he actually agreed to do this.  You know then that it must be really fucking wet.  You know then that you must be just blazing hot and tighter than sin and as if in rhythmic agreement, his cock jumps inside you with each pounding rush of blood through it.  You can see the sweat beading at his hairline as he continues to ignore you for the moment, choosing instead to silently lament at the wall like it did something to mortally betray him.

You could… make this a sprint, something devious suddenly whispers to you.  He’s struggling through the pleasure and you can outlast.  From the severity of that look alone, you can put an end to it before it even starts.

Admittedly, you don’t even let the devil finish his damn sentence before you decide to take your own initiative.  You clamp down around him as hard as you can and Poe whips his attention down to you and punches out a curse that sounds like you wrenched the word from his throat before he was anywhere near ready for it.  It comes from somewhere high and defenseless in register and then quickly falls down into a growly pit as his hips automatically lurch forwards the rest of the way inside, hard, smacking into yours as you squeeze wickedly around him.

You keep squeezing through the sudden upward shove of bliss, you keep tightening up even though you’re making agonizing noises and your eyes clamp shut and it hurts.  But stars, it feels good, why does it feel so good when it hurts so bad?  It makes your throat scrape and your face twist up, but you can hear his cursing getting louder and more desperate so you still don’t relax your viselike hold around him.

“Stop it—” he snarls down at you rabidly, “—oh fuck, stop or you’ll make us both cu—”

Shit, he’s right.  You know he’s never been more right about anything as soon as his hips stutter and kick up to a full blown gallop in the middle of his furious scolding, and the sudden build of ecstasy is so fast and intense that you sob his name, not being able to loosen your muscles anymore as soon as it overtakes you.  But it’s like a closed circuit, you’re both recycling the same pleasure without knowing how to shut it off.  The harder you bear down on him, the faster his hips work, the vicious cycle compounding and circling and manifesting in the perfect typhoon within just a few tumultuous seconds.

But then suddenly he rips himself out of you with a gasp and it’s not a moment too soon, because both of you have to scramble and grab onto things to brace yourselves through the worst of it.  You choose the mattress and he chooses the railing, and through the searing discomfort and settling of the chaos that’s becoming more and more familiar to you as this exhausting day passes, you know you fucked up.  You underestimate his self control, time and time again.  But, exactly like earlier today, you feel a thrill skitter up your spine at how he’s going to respond to your brazen treachery in the face of a newly established truce.

“Fuck,” he jerks his head to spit the obscenity at you, sounding more pissed off than you’ve ever heard him, the shredded anger in his voice starting to burn through you.  “Fuckfuckfuuuuck—you make me so mad.  You make me so mad.  I wish I could fuck you right now, on Maker, I’d ruin you.  I’d wreck your shit until you learn and you’d deserve every single fucking second of it, you—”

He stops short and growls jagged sharp in frustration, but you can’t help yourself.

“Say it,” you whimper on a dare, feeling your heart pound.  The words quiver with an inexplicable sort of excitement as you dig your fingers into the mattress, wanting to hear his voice snarl the mysterious profanity.  “Say it.  ‘You…’—what?  Say it.”

Shock suddenly paints his previously tense expression blank, even though his pupils blow out and his chest heaves.  Your voice is too breathless, it’s too needy to sound nearly as antagonistic as you want.  

And then Maker, it’s as if the sheer control he’s clinging to serves to spark his vexation even more.  Mad that you would ask for something so enticing at a moment like this.  Your heart thunders as Poe nearly flashes up close to you and points a threatening finger at you.

“You’re not going to get what you want from me,” he snaps, quiet and furious.  “Not tonight.  I don’t give a shit, I told you I’d slow fuck you and now I’m gonna do it until you act right.”

“You’re an asshole—” you move to lift up onto your elbows, but his hand suddenly plants against your clavicle and shoves you back down flat on the mattress.

“Not even ten minutes after I make you cum and you’ve already got a fucking attitude problem again,” he shoots back, positioning his cock at your entrance with his other hand once more, and Maker you’re drowning between your legs.  His sharp rebuttal and the firm hold on the upper part of your chest makes it that much wetter, knowing you can’t do much more than lift your legs the way you need when he eases his way back inside.  

“P-Poe—” you gasp breathlessly, but it's like he doesn’t hear you.

His expression tenses and he shudders out a low growl.  “Fuck.  Tight little baby.  Rude little baby, just wants everything her way but doesn’t know how to behave herself.”

You have to bite your lip hard to hold back a whine when he’s completely sheathed and his hips connect to yours, and… shit.  You already feel it.  You already feel that simmering starting to take hold deep down once more, that monstrous second orgasm you’ve been fighting now digging its claws into you and licking the base of your spine with fire.  And, as if he can tell, his demeanor instantly changes.

“Uh, oh,” Poe murmurs quietly, equal parts lilting and baiting, slowly dragging his cock out and then starting up the laziest pace you’ve ever experienced with his hand still planted high on your sternum right below your collarbone.  “Can you feel it coming?  Fuck, I can,” he shudders.  “Already.  Fuck, you’re so wet, you’re so wet—wish you had let me eat you out mor—”

“You can’t c—umm,” you hiccup, grasping his wrist and writhing through the building ecstasy, and you don’t know who you’re talking to at this point.  Your other palm slaps at his shoulder with increasing urgency—fuck, he’s been fucking you for barely ten seconds and you’re already struggling to hold everything back.  Only, his hand quickly grabs yours and pins it to the mattress, his face dropping closer as he rolls his hips achingly slow.  You feel his back working with the steady pace, you see his neck flex as his cock drags so thick inside you, and then your gaze starts to lose focus a bit.  It slides up his throat as lazily as he’s augmenting your pleasure, following the contour of his smooth skin until it reaches his face.

And mercy, Poe’s tongue comes out to wet his lips and a dark curl hangs down his forehead, concentrating hard on fucking you steadily without giving into the same creeping euphoria you’re feeling, and you have to turn away and bite back a whimper at the metal railing when the image starts to burn you alive.

“No,” Poe gruffs and his hand slides up a few inches to frame your jaw, twisting until you face him directly once more.  “Right here, you stay right here with me.”

Your eyebrows pull up weakly and your eyes flick across his stunning features, the way he’s so present, so focused and determined while you’re starting to drift.  His skin is so smooth, so golden when his jawline used to be dark, and—

“I—” you choke, starting to lose it, “—I-I…”

“What is it, baby?”  Poe growls, staring down at you with unwavering, intense concentration.  “Tell me.  You gonna cum?”

“I…” you whimper, blinking at him slowly, “I… liked your… b-beard…”

Poe’s eyes, previously hardened and steadfast, suddenly go a bit dumb, a bit dazed.  After a second, his eyebrows lose all strain, his gaze turns warmer and he rolls his hips deeper—

But the swell begins to become the only thing you can comprehend—that and the fact that you should be fighting it.  You should be revolting against it, but now he’s looking so softly down at you and you can’t remember what could possibly be so bad about letting him take away all this ache and desperation again.  Let him continue to take it away, over and over and over until it’s nowhere to be found at all.

And then Poe leans down and kisses you.  And it’s… nothing like you’d expect.

It’s gentle.  It’s tender.  It goes on forever while he rocks into your soaking wet cunt, easing his throbbing cock in and out of you with such a smooth, repetitive motion that sends sparks of ecstasy down your spine at the apex of each thrust.  

You handle it silently.  At first.  You don’t audibly react to any of it, you force your voice to at least keep quiet if you can’t hide the pleasure from your face or body, but then true to fucking form, he has to go and ruin it all.  Poe uses his knees to scoot up just the slightest bit, and then his moan breaks through the absence of the desperate sounds you’ve been holding back as his tongue slowly slides into your mouth.

Your pussy flares, contracting painfully around his cock as it hits a spot that makes your legs shake against his sides.  Your eyes roll back as his soft tongue dips into your mouth and everything just gets tighter, and tighter.  Poe moans again and his hips push a little bit harder into yours on the next thrust, and it’s almost like a domino effect, except that doesn’t do it justice.  It doesn’t topple one by one, it doesn’t take any time at all for the beginning to reach the finish—it’s a house of cards, the whole thing collapses and crashes down in on itself all at once.

You cum.

You lose.  Fair and square.

You make a long, anguished whine into his mouth as you just start spasming, clutching hard at his shoulders and drenching his cock with it, your eyes squeezing shut as you cum so slow and fucking helpless around him.  Oh Maker, it’s fucking devastating, it feels even more destructive and powerful than the first one.  You pull and shove and claw at him equally, mouth slack as Poe tightens his hold and keeps tasting your whimpering cries, fitting his hips snug to yours as he slowly pushes you down through the debilitating ecstasy.  You sob in euphoric defeat and a low, bone-shattering groan of satisfaction rumbles through his chest in response, grinding his cock into you and holding it deep as your pussy convulses.

All those weeks of holding out, just to lose.  You had a freebie, he gave you an orgasm already and it was like a massive dose of spice to your deprived system—all it did was make your body want it more.  Even worse, your orgasm doesn’t immediately inspire one in Poe like a part of you hoped it would, if only so you could reasonably contest the validity of the outcome.  He’s able to ride out every twitch and flex as you shudder your way through it, continuing to lazily slide his tongue into your mouth while it’s held open and slack.  He tastes like you.  He tastes hot and slick and everything about your body feels the same way, damp and unbearably warm from your nape to your elbows to your cunt to the backs of your knees.

You lay there for what feels like a lifetime afterwards, powerless to the way your thighs tremble violently against his hips and letting the tip of his tongue slowly trace the bottom edge of your teeth while he firmly keeps his cock buried inside you.  It pulses thickly and you know he wants to cum, you can feel the tension pulling at his shoulders as he keeps perfectly still.  But then Poe shuffles his arms up until they’re braced around your head, using himself to box you in completely without moving his lips from yours.  His teeth close on your bottom lip as he inches his hard cock out long and aching from your sensitive channel, and then groans and goes back to the same exact dragging pace from before.

Your expression furrows, even as he keeps kissing you and the movement lights up your oversensitive nerves.  Fuck, you want him to speed up, it’s all the more shattering and viseral when he takes his time.  What is he doing?  What is he waiting for?

“Fuck me,” you whine against his lips, demanding a quicker pace.  You don’t know why he isn’t just letting loose on you now, giving into his body’s need to cum.  He’s aching for it, still rock hard inside of you.  “Come on, I already l-lost, just fuck m—”

“Told you before,” Poe whispers back, refusing to speed up.  He keeps his pace dragging and steadfast, no matter how much you work to entice him.  “Never… fuck.  Never gave a fuck about that stupid bet.  Suffer though.”

The complete lack of harshness in his tone sears through your nerve endings even though what he said wasn’t exactly nice.  You never thought hearing him tell you to suck it up could be delivered in a way that inspires so much arousal in you, but then his tongue is in your mouth again as his hips work slow and easy, and your eyes roll back at how… overwhelming it feels.  So intimate.  You’re completely surrounded by him, his forearms propped next to your head and his mouth on yours, and… Maker, there it is again.  Your body is so deprived that it’s already gearing up to go again.  He’s being lazy and you can’t fucking stand how it’s breaking you down.  Gradually, with incredible stamina and a patience you never expected from him.  When you first feel that pull, part of you still wants to pick up the other end and start a tug-of-war with the sensation.  You’ve been fighting for so long that your body almost doesn’t know any different, its automatic reaction is to resist.

A distraction, that’s what you need.  That’s what guys do to stop themselves from cumming too soon, right?  Fuck, think of something, think of…

—Poe, you can't think of anything but Poe.  Fuck.  His cock sinking deep, the way he tastes, how his fingers thread into the damp hair at your crown so you can feel him that much more, how you can hook his biceps with both hands and swirl your tongue around his while he fucks you open.  Your hips roll up with the pace and almost immediately stutter back down again, not sure if you can handle the wicked shot of oversensitivity—but then Poe groans and shifts up until his thighs are under your ass and he can curl you in more, lift your feet a bit more and make you feel smaller.  And—stars, the next thrust in is enough to nearly make you bite him on complete accident, an unexpected sound ripped from your throat as he keeps that specific angle.

Poe keeps going.  He keeps kissing you, keeps rocking into you.  He lets you claw at him, lets you grapple helplessly while his cock shreds molten hot euphoria deep inside you, and then everything tightens up again.

“Ah, fuck,” Poe breaks away and curses a whole few seconds before you descend into mindless chaos once more, garbling out broken syllables with the absense of his mouth keeping yours occupied.  Your voice crescendos and breaks at the same time you do, the pleasure arcing through you over and over and wringing you out repeatedly around his throbbing cock.  Poe’s lips quickly move forward and give your whole cheek an open kiss while your expression crumples with it.  Teeth drag down your skin as he moans hot air across your skin, his hips slowing to a complete stop with an obscenely slick sound.

You throb and clench around him and his lips are suddenly on yours again, his tongue sinking deep and dominating.  Your mouth is slack and all you can do is squeeze him through the bliss, scrape your fingernails down his back and hope it leaves a mark.

Eventually the tremors pass and you’re dead in the aftermath, you don’t have energy.  Your body is starting to acclimate to the slow orgasms and just let them steamroll you flat, fully accepting now that you can cum but still putting everything you have into it like every single one might be your last for a while.  You come back to yourself enough to feel Poe’s cock solid and achingly hard inside you, and your bottom lip is being tugged between his teeth.

And then he eases out and goes back to fucking you.  Same speed, same control.  

Your eyes nearly fucking cross.  “P-Poe—”

He immediately makes a noise of disapproval with his mouth closed, a nuh-uh but kept tight in his throat.  He doesn’t want to hear it, he’s not even letting you finish your thought.

You can’t take it, though, you didn’t think he was capable of this.  This is torturous in an entirely different way, overstimulating and shattering you with every thrust.

So, you think back to the one thing that got him to nearly snap earlier, the one time you really got to see that fire you love playing with.  Only now, you need that fire, you need him to take everything out on you.  Your floor muscles clamp down without warning and squeeze him as tight as possible, squeeze squeeze squeeze until you feel his hips stutter to a halt once more.  Your breath catches—fuck, is this gonna work?—but then Poe breaks away from your lips to drop his head and sink his teeth into your neck.

You nearly squeal at how careless he is about it—an animal that bites you lazily even though it sends sharp agony rocketing through you.  Again, your attempt at sabotage backfires spectacularly as a subsequent flare of pleasure swells up, and oh, that’s what you want, you want him to be mean—

“Please,” you whimper, hooking your ankles behind his back and locking down hard enough to make your toes curl.  Poe groans as you grab a fistful of his hair and tug at the way your skin pinches between his teeth—you know you’re gonna have a bite mark for a few days and it thrills you.  “Fuck, please, Poe—please just fuck me, please, I want you to fuck me until it hurts, fuck me the way we both nee—”

“You and me almost died today,” Poe grits into your neck, cutting off your desperate whimpers with a short growl.  “Maker, it was so close, I don’t think anybody has any f-fucking…”  His hips pull out and then spear deep and you choke, tightening and tightening.  “But—shit, we didn’t, we lived and now—oh fuck, now baby’s finally letting me fuck her and I’m not cutting it short, no matter how pretty she sounds asking.”

His words sound slurred against your neck and you can’t tell if it’s his delivery or your perception that’s lagging.  But when you feel Poe inch his cock out and start to slowly fuck you through the tightness, you let out a weak little whine and feel yourself drifting… somewhere else.  

Things subtly lose their clarity, your eyelashes dip and you stop talking because words won’t come.  You can’t tell if you’re staring at the ceiling or your eyelids or the back of your head, but Poe’s voice abruptly breaking through the silence makes you realize you don’t have a concept for time anymore.  You couldn’t tell him how long you’ve been floating, but you almost don’t understand what he’s saying at all and it takes you a remarkable delay to fully comprehend.  But judging from what he says, it sounds like it hasn’t been long.

“Shit, are you cumming again?”  He suddenly gasps into the crook of your neck and grinds his hips achingly hard into yours,  “O-Oh—fuck yeah, you are—baby’s cumming again—”

“P-Poe?”  You stutter and smack your hand against something, him maybe, not knowing literally anything else.  Not knowing what he’s talking about, not knowing where you are, not knowing your own name, “Poe—oh m-my… God—”

“Whhh—W-What—?”  You hear him breathe a split second before everything compresses down tight, and then it all shoves forward at once.  All of the buildup makes itself known the very moment it becomes too much to control, like a flash flood but the downpour happened miles away.  You think you might actually squeak this time, helplessly cry out like it hurts because stars, it does.  It hurts so fucking good, it spiders pure plasma through your entire body with rhythmic jolts and wipes your mind completely vacant.  Your shoulders shoot you up and knock your chin into something and you think you might be crying?  You don’t know anymore.  Your spine comes back down to the mattress like the damp fitted sheet covering it is made of pure ice—your body is overheated and you keep tensing and jerking back up until Poe forcefully pins you tight against it, growling filth under his breath as he slow fucks you through it.

You feel his hand dropping down between your bodies and you sob pitifully at the ceiling when the tip of his calloused finger brushes your clit.

***

You lose count.

It’s just… constant, there isn’t a point in keeping track anymore even if there happened to be the ability—which, nope.  Not even close.

He ruins you slowly.  Meticulously, with nothing more than steady, unwavering determination.  Every structure you built, he takes apart by hand instead of bulldozing it the way you beg him to when you find the words.  You’re certain you find them—you must find them at some point, but they’re interspaced between babbled gibberish and breathy whispers of his name.

Even though it’s slow—Maker, it’s so slow—you’ve never been so fucking exhausted.  He makes you give him everything and then he drains the reserves, the hidden ones you weren’t even aware existed.  He never goes fast enough; in fact, you think he’s actually slowed down over the unknown amount of time it’s been since you first called out his name and asked for this.  If you were in a frame of mind to notice, you’d probably realize he’s trying harder and harder to not cum, but in your wild headspace, it just feels like a prolonged punishment for you.  It still feels like he’s depriving you for his own pleasure, even though he’s actually depriving himself for yours.  But you always do manage to find some way to read things wrong with him.

Eventually, he begins to waver.  He stops talking so much, stops chastising you when you plead with him.  He hasn’t looked at you since he first kissed you—he’s either hidden his face in your neck or closed his eyes as his soft tongue slides across your bottom lip before dipping inside.

But then there comes a point where even you realize he’s struggling not to let go now, and in your faded traces of sanity, you hear your broken voice cut through the sounds of the soft radio.

“Y-Y-You—” you gasp, trembling under him, “—youneedtocum.  You need to—”

“No,” Poe grits against your chin, sounding shaky and weak no matter how sharp he makes his consonants.  “Fuck, not yet, I—I-I don’t want to yet.”

“Oh no,” you wheeze out, feeling the swell begin again, the familiar flicker of warning you get as his cock slowly rocks into you.  Maker, the pleasure is getting raw and painful even as your pussy is drowning his cock with it, allowing him to glide slow and deep into your sensitive channel and letting the sheer tightness of it be the only resistance your body puts up.  You can feel the wetness on your cheeks though, the tears of frustration gathering as your body prepares itself for yet another wave of attack.  “Oh no, ohhhhhnononononono—”

“I don’t want—” Poe gasps, his hips stuttering just a bit and one of his hands coming down to smack the pillow next to your head as he chokes, “—don’t want this to… e-end yet, I—”

Your next orgasm suddenly slams through you and Poe immediately rips himself out of you before it’s too late.  He shushes you frantically while you sob in distress and writhe side to side through the contractions solo this time, having nothing to clamp down on, not even able to grind up into him because he keeps his leaking cock elevated far beyond your reach.

Oh, that’s it.  That is it.

“Fuck me!”  You wail up at him, water blurring your vision and tears streaming down your cheeks, “Stop fucking around and just fuck me, you asshole!  Fuck me and fuck me hard Dameron or I swear to every fucking star in the sk—”

You don’t get too far.  He’s immediately scrambling over top of you and a strong hand is clamping down tight over your mouth, muffling your high-pitched cries against his palm.  Your legs are shoved apart and one is caught under his arm and wedged back as far as it can go.  His head drops to your neck, and then he snarls a ragged, “Brat—“ under your ear before ramming his cock back inside you.

Stars.  Stars light up, it’s so much—the angle, the force, the speed, the sound his hips make as they start ruthlessly colliding with yours.  Your eyes screw shut and you dig your nails into the meat of his back, but he doesn’t slow down—he speeds up—

“Fuck, you still think that throwing your little fucking fits works on me?”  He hisses, drilling into your g-spot with such blinding hard precision that you can’t do anything more than just claw at his chest, gasping for air that just won’t come into your lungs.  “Huh?  Think you can just be a little bitch to me about it and it’s gonna change anything?  You still don’t have any fucking idea, do you?  Look at me—” he snarls, grabbing your face and shaking it to get you to respond, “—look at what you fucking do to me—”

But you can’t.  You already came countless times and he’s lurching you up the bed with every single rabid thrust into your blindingly sensitive cunt, fucking you into the railing and then the wall behind it.  You still feel his fingers grasping at your jaw, forcing you to address him, to look at him, and you can’t seem to focus your vision on his blurry features even when your eyes flutter open.  You’re too dumb with grinding pleasure to see anything besides blurs and stars, to say literally anything back to him.  But that’s not what he cares about.

“Oh fuck yes, there it is,” his voice whines, pitching up something vulnerable as his hips ram you into the corner hard and unyielding, “fuck, there’s those pretty eyes, that’s what I wanted, baby, that’s all I wanted—th-that’s—fuck, that’s—”

They must cross, or roll back, or something, because suddenly you can’t see him at all anymore.  You don’t know what happens—but you know it’s wet.  You know it bursts forth something fierce and you shriek his name with a hoarse and shredded voice like he steals the last part of your whole fucking soul with it.  Fuck, you’re not even there for most of it, you might actually black out.  

In your conscious moments, you can feel his whole body flexing over and over again on top of you.  He empties his load deep inside you and takes a fucking eternity doing it, so many breathless praises leaving his mouth so quickly that they slur together and you can’t understand any of it even if you could hear him.  All you can do is feel your cunt tighten and convulse in tandem with the throbbing of his cock, rhythmically working the cum out of him until Poe stops stuttering his hips, until he finally trails off into nothing but labored gasps and slumps down on top of you in exhaustion.

You both lay there for a while, dead weight breathing.

You want to hold him, your cum-struck mind quietly provides in the comedown.  You want to feel his body now that you can finally think straight and take a moment to enjoy this blissful relief.  He fucked you so good and you want to touch him, you want to run your fingers through his hair and massage the tight muscles at the base of his neck.

But then you just start giggling.

It’s stupid.  It’s so fucking stupid.  You smack your hand over your mouth but the garbled noise easily floats beyond it, completely elated and having absolutely no explanation at all.

Poe quickly pulls his head back to look at you and you try to twist sideways under him to hide it, but you can’t stop—like a complete loon, you snort and start to laugh harder at the ridiculous sound.  Oh, you don’t just float, you’re the air itself, so light with endorphins that you close your eyes and get lost in the fit until water wets the outside corners.

After a moment, a hand gently grasps your wrist and slowly pulls it down until he can see the way your mouth opens as you giggle, hear it unobstructed and let the sound bubble up at him and fill the room.  And you blink your eyes open just in time to see him slowly break into the most dazzling smile you’ve ever seen him bestow a person.

And… you’ve seen him grin a million times.  He’s almost always smiling, as long as you’re not right in front of him.  He smiles at his squadmates, he smiles at girls, he smiles at complete strangers, and you always thought it was pretty.  Always knew that he could light up a room with it, you always knew he could get anything he wanted with it, but this… this isn’t that kind of smile.  That one is practiced and alluring.  It wasn’t fake, necessarily, but that smile’s purpose always had more to do with making anyone who happens to witness it feel a certain way than it did about signifying his own emotional state.

This one is… goofy.  Amazed, and uncoordinated.  Thunderstruck in a way, except the clouds all part at the same time and let you see a rainbow.  It makes you feel… alive.  Colorful.  Radiant.  Sunshine.  Butterflies.

Poe quickly drops his lips to catch yours and you moan happily, sliding your tongue into his mouth this time.  You both adjust, you arch into him as he pushes your damp hair back and makes a deep noise of satisfaction, letting you explore while he wraps his arms around you and finds a way to make this atrocious position comfortable.  Every part of you is smushed up against him and there’s absolutely no space to be found, and you’ve never been happier.

“We made a mess,” he groans against your lips, rocking his hips into you with a disgustingly slick sound as if to illustrate, and his cock is soft but it’s still so thick that it stays buried inside your sloppy entrance.  “Shit, I—I think I might be bleeding.”

“What?”  You ask breathily, and he heaves himself up with his elbows just enough to reveal his chest.  You both tuck your chins unattractively to look and you don’t immediately see any blood, but your claw marks are clearly red and visible scraping down his pectorals.  “Oh.  Pfft.  You’re fine.”

He drops back down with a huff and your head is tilted at the perfect angle catch on the tiny droplets of blood decorating the marks criss-crossing his shoulder blades.  Oops.

But he’s already kissing up your neck and over the curve of your jaw and making out with you again like he can’t get enough of it, and you forget.  You forget everything.  You forget every disagreement, every gripe with him you’ve ever had.  It’s all wiped away and replaced with giddy, childish adoration.  Resetting completely and starting off on the rightest foot imaginable.

“Let’s go to my bed,” he murmurs, and you make a tight noise of disapproval.  No.  This is good, this is how you want to stay.  The railing is digging into your lower back and he’s heavy but you’re perfect like this, this is perfect.  “Baby,” Poe pants against your lips in exasperation when you quickly clutch the back of his neck and keep him glued to you, “mmph—you got everything all wet—”

This time you make a low hum of agreement and drag your hand down the bare curve of his spine to his ass to give it a squeeze.  A testament to how hard and raw he fucked you.  Poe shudders hard enough for you to feel his body tremble but you just kiss him harder, pulling him down onto you more.

“You’re gonna have to give me, just like—I don’t know, at least an hour or two,” he chuckles, grabbing your hands to make it easier to peel himself from your body and groaning when his cock finally slips out.  “Come on, let’s hang out in my bed.”

You’re so boneless when he pulls you to sit upright, you roll a little bit and Poe has to catch you, and you laugh again.  Maker, you’re a complete mess and absolutely delighted about it.  Your attempts at grumbling and complaining don’t hold any sway when you’re still trying not to giggle, and Poe is able to pull you to the top of the ladder and make his way down first.

As soon as he’s out of sight and calling up to you, you weakly slide into position with a groan and feel yourself leaking at the movement.  “Gah—look what you did.  I’m all… gooey.”

“I know, s’the hottest fucking thing,” he says under his breath from the floor, before beckoning you by tapping on the closest rung a few times.  “Come on, be careful.”

You do as he says, easing your naked body down one step at a time with wobbly legs.  It’s clumsy and you whine the whole way through, wordlessly grousing and mumbling.

“Oh, I just know it,” he comments on the sound, “nice clean sheets, I’ll get the violin.”

Normally, you probably would’ve snarked something back down at him, but you’re still so loopy and shaky-legged that you just start laughing again.  The fact that he’s absolutely right and you’re being ridiculous about something like moving beds suddenly strikes you as incredibly fucking funny for some reason.  You don’t realize his hands are hovering inches away from your hips until your legs buckle and Poe quickly supports your weight.

“Maker,” Poe chuckles before giving you a firm yank, and then catching you before you can tumble down the ladder in your naked, teary-eyed mania, “let’s go, giggles.”

He carries you a few steps to the mattress and plops you down on top of the comforter, letting you take up the whole bed while he sits on the end and puts your feet on his lap.  Poe grimaces for a second and then shuffles until the radio is pulled out from under him, and you can hear the soft sound of it playing once again.  You bury your face into his pillow, inhaling the warm scent lingering there while he tosses it carelessly to the side and rubs your shins for a little bit, watching you stretch out naked on his mattress.  

“I’m not giving you two weeks of pay,” you suddenly grunt, and he just grins down at you, not arguing.  Not saying anything.  Sitting in comfortable silence with you when you’re expecting him to bicker.  So you stay like that for a long time, breathing deep and relaxing, until Poe’s hands leave you for a second…

… to pull a bag of chips out.

Maker, at the first squeaky sound of the wrapping assaulting your eardrums, you want to roll your eyes.  You want to tease him about how fucking typical it is.  Like clockwork, you could probably set your watch to his middle of the night cravings.  You don’t know why you thought fucking him would change any of that.

You want to give him shit for it.  You even open your mouth, the snark on the very tip of your tongue.  But then your stomach growls as soon as he rips the thin plastic apart.

Poe’s eyes shoot to yours and neither one of you move, but apparently your tummy doesn’t get the memo.  It takes forever to trail off into silence again, and he blinks.  Fuck, you know you should’ve forced yourself to eat at least something earlier.  Warmth floods your cheeks and you scramble for something to say, but there’s no way to play it off.

“Would you like some chips?”  Poe suddenly asks with a boyish grin, raising his eyebrows and tipping the open bag freely in your direction.

The corners of your mouth pull downwards even as the inside of it waters.  You wouldn’t call it stubbornness necessarily as much as it is a… a desire to stick to consistency.  After the unbelievably hard time you always give him about midnight snacking, you’re hesitant to partake.

Though, the chips rustle against each other and sound absolutely fucking delicious as Poe shakes the bag and bounces his eyebrows, and you know what?  Fuck it.

You snatch it without thinking, cradling the precious food to your chest as you dig your whole hand in and shove a bunch into your mouth at once.  You catch him smiling again, but he doesn’t comment.

You both take turns, and by take turns you obviously mean you take turns stealing the bag from each other instead of just setting it equidistant between you and openly agreeing to share it, but it works for you.  It seems appropriate.  And then it’s quiet again, just munching and crinkling, except for the radio continuing to play from its place in his lap.  You have to work to listen over the loud crunching vibrating through your skull, but when you finally manage to stop chewing and catch a few bars, you suddenly find yourself trying not to smile again.  Fuck, it’s been years since you’ve heard this song, you love this s—

“Fuck, I love this song,” Poe promptly exclaims with his mouth full, licking the tips of his fingers before scrambling to pick the radio up and twist the volume knob without using his wet fingertips.  He starts humming over the melody, loud enough to almost drown it out completely, because of course he does.  The one damn time you actually want to listen to his radio and he still finds some way to mildly irritate you.

But this irritation is almost… fun.  You want to laugh just as much as you want to yell at him.

“Hey, who sings this song?”  You immediately ask over the sound of him clearly not knowing the lyrics, already ready with it.  Oh, the round is in the chamber, your finger is on the trigger, you are ready, and Poe’s eyes sparkle as he seems to stop and think about it.

“Mm, not sure,” he eventually shrugs, just before you rush, “Let’s keep it that—”

And then he’s slapping a hand on your leg and belting out the chorus while you scoff, giggling.  He ruined the punchline on purpose and is now getting chip dust all over you, but you know any complaint you make will be drowned out by his suspended notes and backing track, so you just roll your eyes and swipe the bag of chips from him while he continues to serenade you.

“My ears are bleeding,” you mutter under your breath.

He has a nice voice, you think.

[darylsgirl]

I was claimed by Daryl Fucking Dixon NSFW 18+ Daryl Dixon & Reader

Summary: 

Your sick of waiting for Daryl to make a move or even speak to you and decide to dress up to do your chores hoping you’ll catch his eye.

You manage more than that He gets jealous when other men/ and one woman ;) show an interest and he admits he’s wanted you all this time an roughly claims you.

*Heyyy to anyone who reads this! If anyone reads this Haha, This is my first ever attempt at fan fic and it kind of got away from me and is a lot more intense than i thought it would be! If there’s anything you don’t like about this please feel free to tell me! I’d love to improve for my next one :) Hope y’all are having a great day wherever you are :)*

How long had it been? Since the end of it all? 

Since all those carefree nights we used to stay up drink, party & Fuck. 

Months? Years? 

It felt like all time stood still when He found me. 

I was alone, Terrified & hiding in an abandoned liquor store when I heard them, I Snuck to the window and saw the biggest herd of walkers I had ever seen. I made sure all the bottle’s i had scavenged were wrapped up in my clothes to dampen the noise and waited for a break in the herd so I could make a run for it to my bike just across the road. After what felt like hours there it was my chance i put my hand on the door handle but before I was even able to twitch the handle,  I felt a hand clamp over my mouth and drag me backwards away from my chance of escape. 

“Fuck you think your doin girl, Tryna get yourself eaten!” I stared up at the man before me with his hand still over my mouth. His angry eyes met mine and I stopped fighting gazing up into those piercing blue eyes. That was the last thing I saw before the pistol came down on my temple. 

I woke with a bag over my head and my wrists bound, I was in a car and I could hear the engine stopping and the brakes kicking in ‘Shit’ . I thought I had no time to think of a way out of this. Two doors slammed shut and I could hear two men arguing.

“Answer me, Fuck did you hit her for Merle. She’s only a girl she couldn’t av ‘urt us, She looked me in ma eyes. There was no fight just fear” 

“Bitch had it comin Daryl, Tryna kill hersel and take us with her” 

“Did’n even no we were there, Or are you that shit of a hunter yous unable to sneak up on people naw, Stop being an asshole and get the fuck outta ma way” 

The car boot opened and someone lifted me out by putting a hand under my knees and one under my head cradling me, he held me tightly with my head in his chest. I inhaled and could smell his manly scent, It was intoxicating, He held me for a moment more before he set on my feet; next the bag was ripped off my face. Instinctively I winced waiting to see if the light would blind me but all was still dark around and i could see we were in a forest.  The man with the mesmerising eyes gripped my arm and started walking me into the woods. 

A logical person would feel fear at this point but there was something about those eyes, I just trusted him.

“Got a lil way’s to go, ya ok walkin? Or you need me to carry you rest of the ways?” His southern drawl mixed with those blue eyes made my knees go weak. I stumbled slightly then stood again and kept one foot in front of the other. I nodded to the man that I was ok and kept going. 

Fifteen minutes later we arrived at the edge of a camp, A few people rushed forward “Shit what happened to her?” “Has she been bit?” “Why is her head covered in blood?” “Where did you find her?”

Daryl rolled his eyes and replied “Merle, No she aint, Merle again annnd liquor store.” He said the last answer with a smirk. 

I scowled at the pair and dropped my mouth open to throw a few choice words their way when I was stopped by Merle grabbing me and spinning me round to face him, He moved some hair out of my face, fingers lingering near my mouth and said.

“Girl looks mighty fine to me, Pretty face not messed up, not one bit! And I do love me a pretty face sweetheart” he winked at me moving his hand from my mouth to my throat he pulled me close to him wrapping his other arm around my back to pull our pelvises close together so I could feel his growing erection against my stomach. “How about it honey” He said winking again  

I drew my head back with the intention of smashing his nose, When we were tackled to the floor Merle was pulled away from me and i rolled onto my back and back on to my feet, I looked back at the two brothers and saw Daryl’s hand smashing into his brothers face whilst he was shouting “I’ll mess up your face you asshole” 

Daryl was dragged off Merle by two men, Merle got to his feet and laughed “It’s allllll good baby bro, I’ll forget about this, this time. I know how feral you get when you see a pussy you wanna claim.”

Daryl locked eyes with me as Merle said this then spat at the ground at Merle’s Feet He picked up his crossbow off the ground and stormed off towards the woods shouting “Man forget ya, I had enough of your shit for one night” over his shoulder. 

That was months ago now, That night the group took me in and took care of me and I took care of them. We moved from the original camp to the CDC then a farm and now we are in a prison in Georgia. The prison has been good to us so far, there was that run in with a crazy guy who called himself the governor and we lost a few of our family. But we persevered and built this place into a home and soon started bringing in new people to help run our home and join our family. 

In the time i had been with this group i had noticed there were a lot of frustrated people here, Especially the men, I can’t get through a day without some proposition or another. I also can’t say that I didn't enjoy the attention, It had been awhile since I had felt another's hands on my body and I craved it, I craved it more than air at times and the person I craved it the most from had decided to pretend I didn't exist. But that didn’t stop me from going to bed each night with my wandering hands and relieving my aching pussy with the thoughts of his hands exploring my body and that voice groaning in my ear. Hit the spot every time. 

There had been a few men that had caught my attention but after a few conversations and meet ups with each they all started to pretend i didn’t exist the same as he had. I didn’t even get so much as a kiss from any of the fuckers and when i decided to confront them and ask why they refused to tell me and walked away. 

It had hit summer here and i had hit my breaking point, I’d had enough of being passed over and wasn’t going to take this shit anymore, I was going to make them all regret not taking me up on the opportunity when it was there for the taking.

I woke early for my shift in the fields the next morning, Still thoroughly determined to set my plan in motion I grabbed my knife and a set of clothes and set to work. I cut most of the legs off my jeans and the sleeves from my Tartan shirt. I pulled the jean shorts on and folded the legs over so they became tighter and pushed my already perky ass up. I then pulled my shirt on forgoing the usual under shirt and tied the two sides closed in a knot above my belly button so my slim waist was on display. I buttoned one button above the knot so that not too much of my bra was showing; Turning it from slutty to sexy. I pulled on my best brown cowboy boots. Combed my hair out. I was very lucky to have thick wavy hair that rarely required me doing anything with it. I just let it dry and brush, I grabbed Maggie’s make up bag and applied a small amount of make up just to accentuate my natural features.Smiling at myself in the mirror this was perfect, Let's see that southern shit ignore me now. Or any of the others for the matter. 

I sauntered out of my cell into the main block and walked the long way through the middle of everyone taking extra care to have a bounce in my step to make my boobs bounce nicely and swayed my hips more to make my ass jiggle as I walked. I greeted everyone in the same way i usually would with cheery “Good Morning’s” Instantly i felt eyes roaming my body and not just the male’s which made me grin I was happy either way. A few let out low whistles and I winked in return. This felt great. I want to feel this way every day, my pussy had soaked my panties by the time I had made it out of the block and into the yard I was panting with need. 

I took a few minutes to calm my breathing before continuing out towards the field, I glanced at the guard tower to make sure he was here today keeping watch, When i saw his leather vest and his longish wavy hair my breath quickened again, Shit it was going to be hard to get through today without a little relief, It took everything i had not to rush up the guard tower and beg him for it, Instead i continued over to the field, waiting until i was in his vision before looking up smiling and waving. Sure enough there he was binoculars in his hand staring down at me. I grinned again, wiggled my fingers at him and sauntered away from the tower. 

Luck was with me today and I was set to work on the potatoes which were planted in a perfect view of the guard house. I made sure to always face the tower when just sitting working so he had the frontal view and when I needed to bend up or down I turned my back to him so he got a great view of my ass. Everything I did that day I made sure to find some way to make it sexier. More than a few men came to bring me water or talk to me that day i gave each of them a big grin, Laughed and put my hand on their arms and send them on their way enough to make them feel there could be a chance, I felt Fucking powerful. 

At the end of the day i saw Maggie making her way over to me with a backpack over her shoulder, “Y/N I gots you a gift” she said in a sing song voice “from Merle of all people” she laughed and pulled out two big bottles of Merle’s special moonshine “I guess someone saw your production today sugar” She giggled a bit more handed you a bottle and settled down on the grass next to you. 

Daryl

Ever since Merle and me brought Y/N back to the group with us she’s been a literal pain in my pants, I'm surprised my cock was even capable of a hard on at this point as it feels like it hasn't gone down in months. So far i have managed to stay away from her as i wasn’ gonna let no bitch get the better of me and i wasn’ going to let fuckin Merle be right. 

My mind wandered back to her again when i started my shift in the guard tower that morning, I considered going into the office to rub one out but decided i'd be on the balcony waiting, I always made sure i got the shifts in this tower when she was being put in the fields, Watching her sweating down there in the heat was good enough to get me off later in the night when i was alone in the office. I lived out of this tower now as I liked it better alone even now with Merle being back in the prison, I didn’ need his shit talking around me at all hours. Not when I had my own entertainment. 

There she was right on time to interrupt me from my thoughts, Holy shit what was she fucking wearing. I grabbed my binoculars to get a closer look, When i found her again with them she was almost fucking naked by the looks of it! In tiny shorts and an even smaller top, From this vantage point i had the best view straight in her bra, I kept my eyes on her all day fuck the perimeter it’ll be fine and i’m sure some weak ass will scream and let me know. 

I watched her all day as she wiggled her hips and wiped the sweat from her chest, Turns out i wasn’t the only one watching even guys I've fuckin told before to stay away come flocking, What don’t the asshole’s understand about “i’m always fuckin watchin” by her quitting time it wasn’t just my dick that was rock hard and throbbin but also the vein in my temple that tells me i’m about to snap.

Balling my fists up i wait for her to start walking back but Maggie fuckin Greene starts walking towards her, Fuck sake. I send the next watch away and tell them ill radio to come back. I wasn’t allowing no fucker to have this view. I watched as Maggie sat down in the grass with Y/N and pulled out two large bottles. I grabbed the binoculars again. Fuckin Merle! That’s his shine if i ever saw it. Making a mental note to smack that bastard later for this. Now everyone had gone back inside it was deadly silent out here which meant their voices were carrying more than they knew and i could hear every word. I settled back down and watched the girls for a while biding my time. 

Y/N

You both look at each other with a glint in your eyes, Pop the tops off your bottles and start downing it. Maggie comes up for air first. Dropping my bottle and swallowing the harsh liquid i Cheer in celebration and yell a little too loud “that Merle may be an asshole but he sure makes some good hooch” 

“Sooooo ya had any bites today?” Maggie grins winking at you. “Yeah but not the one i want, He’s so fucking frustrating. I think I've noticed him watching me more today than he has the entire time i’ve known him” I sigh. 

“You know he's got a huge thing for you or he wouldn’t be acting like this”  Maggie Giggled. “But then who in this friggin place doesn’t especially after today! You even made my breath hitch never mind poor Glenn who had to get a shower!” “Ugh maggie he’s your guy why the hell is he looking at me!” I grimaced. She put her hand on my thigh and winked at me again “He’s got my permission, don't worry it spices things up a little” I didn’t move her hand just enjoyed the feeling of her fingers running up and down the inside of my thigh.

We both downed more of Merle’s hooch giggling and the conversation turned to a debate on the size of Daryl's dick. I lick my lips promising to tell her if I ever get my hands on it. The conversation is turning more and more heated as her hand is getting closer and closer to my throbbing core. She’s getting that close now I’m sure she can probably feel the heat coming from it.  As we are getting close to the bottom of our bottles and really starting to feel the effect Maggie still with one hand on my thigh leans close to my face and whispers “He’s stayed up there watching past his shift. Let's give him something to see hmm?” As she’s finishing the end of her sentence I bridge the gap between us and meet her lips with mine. I bring my hand up to her hair and pull her closer into me, deepening the kiss Moaning into her lips. 

Daryl 

When the girls first started chatting i wanted to find out who they could be talkin about and punch the prick out till i heard my name and if my ears weren't already prickling up they definitely were now, He heard Y/N promise Maggie that if she sees ma dick she will tell her how big. He bites his lip and decides he’ll help her keep that promise. 

He picks his binoculars back up and notices Maggie's hand running up and down Y/N’s thigh. If there were two people he thought he wouldn’t have to warn away, it would have been Glenn and Maggie and they pick a night that he’s mad as hell to change his mind about that? 

He brings one hand to his aching dick giving it a few tugs through his pants to relieve some of the pressure and brings his eyes back to them just as he sees the girls lean into each other, Shit! Shit! He doesn’t know whether to run down there and interrupt finally or let them continue. Y/N pushes Maggie to lay her fully down and straddles her hips, I grabbed my radio and called for the replacement as i couldn’t take much more.

While i waited for the lazy shit to get here i watched Y/N & Maggie get even more heated and their hands exploring each other the moaning reaching me in the tower, I look to my right and see Glenn watching from behind one of the buildings hands and lower half suspiciously hidden.

Ah hell no fuck this tower! Daryl reaches over the side and grabs the pipe work swings himself over and uses it to get down quickly. As he hits the bottom his replacement is strolling over he grabs him by the scruff of his shirt blocking his view into the field. “Put ya lazy ass in that office and don’t fuckin leave till i come back and tell ya, ya can leave. Ya fuckin hear me?” I growl at him. The kid runs into the office in the tower. I spin around pretending not to see Glenn hiding there, I ran across the field towards the girls and as i reached them i let my shadow fall over them. 

Y/N

From where i am lay on top of Maggie i watch as Daryl slides down the side of the watch tower and charges over to us, I smile against Maggie's lips when he gets closer i moan feeling her hand snake its way into my bra, Were both panting loudly and moaning when his shadow falls over us. 

He clears his throat next thinking we hadn’t noticed him there. Maggie moves her mouth to my neck and I let out another moan but this time I raise my eyes to his and lick my bottom lip not breaking eye contact. 

“Come with me...NAW” Daryl growls and grabs my arms and pulls me off and up. Maggie looks at him and pouts “oh boo Daryl always gotta ruin our fun” I wave to Maggie giggling as he starts to drag me across the field. 

“What the fuck Daryl” I try to push him off my arm but his hands are unyielding. “Shut the fuck up ill deal with ya in a minute” He growls and pushes me up against the wall of a building stares longingly into my eyes then darts his arm out and smashes someone’s head into the wall. “Didn’t think id have to fuckin warn ya Glenn, Thought it was pretty fuckin obvious. Don't let me catch ya ass again” he grabs my arm again and drags me across the court yard until we reach a secluded spot, He slams my back up another wall and presses his body up against mine keeping me pinned between him and the wall. 

“What you think you’ve been doing girl, Flaunting your shit all day for any man to beat his meat too?” 

I squirm under his gaze, Shit i think i actually pissed him off, Definitely not the emotion i was going for!

“You think i’m gonna sit by and let tha happen?” 

I find my voice, “What do you mean, You won’t let something happen. You’re not the boss of me!” you say glaring back at him, If he wants to play the pissed off game he won’t be playin it alone.

“Ya know exactly what i mean! I’ll show you who the fuckin boss Y/N” He said, pressing his hips harder into mine. I try to suppress my moan. His eye’s darken even more hearing me moan for him now. 

“Who do you think told those pricks to back the fuck away from you, They wouldn’t of just left you alone on their own naw, they needed some rough persuasion Y/N” 

I glare at him again and he pushes his hips back into mine again.”Ya gonna learn yet? Every time you glare at me, ill smash my dick into that dirty clit o urs” He explains with a wink. 

Not knowing how to respond to that You ask “You’re the reason no man looks at me anymore? What fucking business is it of yours”

“Hell fuckin yeah i am” He says with a smirk “No one will dare ya touch you if I've claimed ya, So i did” “Naw I’ve claimed you, I’ve made it very clear if anyone touches you they’ll lose a fuckin arm” He growled

“For fuck sake Daryl! You can’t just put claims on a girl you don’t even give a fuck about” I said with a snarl.

“I give a fuck, Just didn’ want ya to know i gave a fuck, I enjoyed watchin ya squirm... but ya forced ma hand and naw... Well naw i aint gonna be gentle bout it”

You close your eyes tight, If he hadn’t of “claimed” me i would be in heaven now but learning that he’s behind your dry well makes you so mad. 

“This what you were trying to get huh?” “I would of thought twice before you pulled this shit, I aint no gentle man” she breathed into her ear. His gravelly voice driving me crazy. 

I look him in the eyes and shove him hard, running back to the cell block. I took a breather when i got through the door and realised he hadn’t followed me. As i was walking past the showers a hand darted out and pulled me inside. 

“Woah what the fuck” I gasped as I felt a hand move over my ass and pull me against him, Jees i need to wear this outfit more often. 

I was pulled into the light and saw it was Zach who had pulled me in with him, Zach was one of the ones who daryl must of scared away. 

“Hey baby, Missed me?” he breathed at me. “How could i miss you zach i never got a chance to know you, You let that asshole scare you away” I said hurt 

“Gimmie another chance Y/N, ill show you a good time, This could be our secret. We could have some real fun and piss that hillbilly asshole off” He squeezes me tighter to him. 

“Gerrof Zach if your too pussy to pursue someone when warned of by a man I’ve only ever spoken to once then you’re not a guy i want any fucking part of”

“Awww c’mon you don’t mean that” he grips the back of my head and pushes his lips to mine i tried to fight him off be but he had too tight of a grip. 

A low growl came from the doorway “I believe she said to get ya bitch ass hands off her” Zach jumped back like someone had shocked him when he heard the voice. Daryl walked forward and put his arm round my shoulder “an i believe i told ya to not even look at her again bitch” His voice gets louder “Tell me asshole what did i say i was gonna do to ya?” 

H waited a moment staring at Zack “Hmm to fuckin scared to answer?” he walks forward and punches him rapidly in the face Zack goes sprawling across the shower floor. Daryl stands over him and threatens “it’ll be worse next time if you don listen to me and come near ma girl again”

Daryl turns and heads back to you and wraps his arm around your shoulders again “Bet Ya glad i claimed you now” I nod slightly. I squirm out of his arms and run back to my cell, my hooch high still buzzing in my mind. Thank god without this how could i be this brave? I smile when I get to my cell wondering how long it will take him to catch me. 

I  barely had time to catch my breath before i felt him, He made no noise whatsoever like a hunter closing in on his prey.Whenever he was near me it felt like my entire body was electrified and tuned only to him. 

I spun around and my breath hitched in my throat at the sight of that venomous glare, He just stood and glared with his eye’s roaming every inch of you, You could feel every hair on your body standing to attention for him. 

In the blink of an eye he was back in front of you again pinning you back against the wall with his hand tangled in your hair, pulling your head to the side exposing your neck. 

He looks over your body panting his eyes still liquid stone, Ever glaring. I could feel the heat coming off him in waves as he studied me. His pushed his mouth next to my ear, “When i’m finished with ya, ya legs will be useless and everyone in this damn place gon know my name. An i promise you aint gon forget who’s ya are” He paused for a second staring into my eyes, “Naw take this shit off before i rip it off ya” He said pulling roughly at my shirt.

With Shaking hands i reach up and untie my shirt and push it off my shoulders, Watching his eyes grow darker as he watched. My shirt fell to the floor he grabbed the centre of my bra “All of it” He growled. I undid my bra and threw that into the corner. He looked down at my shorts seeming impatient gripped both sides and ripped them down. He came back up to me gripped my arms and pushed me further up the wall off the floor and quickly puts his legs in between mine and rests my body on them. 

He reaches forcing my head to the side again and brings his mouth down to my neck kissing and biting furiously his other hand gripping my breast roughly, Earning a loud moan from me. I reached for his shirt desperate to run my hands on him, Before my hands met their mark he had gripped my wrists pinning them above my head. 

“Ya don’t move, Touch or make a fuckin sound unless i say so, Ya hear?” I nodded eyes growing wide at his words. He let my feet touch the ground again and tore my underwear off, He bunched them up in his hand “Mmm look how wet these pantie’s are for me girl” “Open your mouth, Naw” I obediently complied letting him stuff them into my mouth, Dying to moan under his stare. 

He stepped back and let his vest fall over his shoulders and hit the floor, He then took his shirt off and used it to bind my hands together. He stood back admiring his handiwork, I Squirmed under his lustful gaze feeling myself getting wetter by the second. I watched him slowly bring his hands to his belt unfastening it then his button and zip, His pants hit the ground and he kicked them to the side. My breath went wild when I saw him in all his glory i love a man who doesn’t wear any underwear.

He lunged forward again pulling my legs over his and wrapping leg around his hips pressing his huge dick at my entrance. It was so long and thick: my mouth started salivating instantly imagining wrapping my mouth around it. 

He pulled my underwear from my mouth and growled into my ear “Scream my fucking name” as he plunged his entire length into me, The breath was forced from my lungs “shitt, Daryl!”

“Did i fuckin stutter, I said scream it” he growled again biting my neck pulling out almost of the way and plunging deep into me again. Damn did i scream this time my eyes rolling back into my head enjoying the sensation. 

“Tha’s better now ride it bitch” 

I felt raw already from his huge length and girth filling me like i’d never been filled before. Pulling my arms around his neck to steady myself i used him to pull myself back up and then down slowly trying to adjust to his size. 

His mouth met mine in a rough eager kiss, capturing my tongue with his. He pulled his mouth back to my neck and whispered “Ya don know how long i’ve been waiting for this, Tell me how much you love my dick Y/N”

“Ahh” i cried out “so much baby so much” My eyes rolling into the back of my head still rolling my hips onto him. “Naw, Tell me who you belong to” “You” I moaned “You i belong to you daryl” I panted out. 

“Louder! I want everyone in the fuckin place to know your mine” 

“Oh god, Daryl, I’m yours! Only yours” I screamed 

“Better” He smirked. He moved my arms from around his neck and released my hand’s from his shirt. He walked backwards with me still perched on him, His legs hit the end of the bed and he sunk down taking me with him. 

“Now show me how much you love this dick”

I positioned myself better over him and sunk down to the hilt slowly savouring every glorious inch of him. My eyes shot open again moaning when my clit hit his pubic bone and i started grinding harder and faster now. 

I could feel his hand’s everywhere, God i can’t believe how long i had been longing for this moment, I cried out again. He leant up on his elbows and pulled one of my nipples into his mouth nibbling, and running his nails down the inside of my thighs. The combination was pure ecstasy. I could already feel the pressure in my mound building painfully begging to be released. 

He removed his mouth from me earning a sad moan from me desperate to feel his mouth on me, He looked back at my eye’s amusement on his face. He ran both hands up to my chest again gripping almost painfully. “And these, Who do they belong to Y/N?” “You baby, All yours” i breathed shakily. I was so close when he growled again “Say my fuckin name” My wall’s started constricting against him. “Ahh god, Daryll ....fuck Daryl” His eyes shone at my words. He was even more spurned on now. He flipped us over, throwing me into the bed and pulled my hips into the air ramming harder and deeper than before. 

“Cum for me baby” He whispered in his incredible gravelly voice.

Those four words was all I needed to push me over the edge. Crying his name out again i felt the damn of pressure welled up in me from the moment I saw him burst open. I rode out my high as hard as i could against him, I collapsed to the bed and felt him slow down, My brain fuzzy from my incredible high. I tried pushing myself up on my elbows and my eyes caught another’s at the door. 

I looked down and back up rubbing my eyes, “Shit Darryl stop!” I reached for the sheets to pull them over me. There were at least 6 men gazing in, Daryl continued unperturbed. You tried putting your hand behind you trying to push at his stomach to get his attention. He captured your arm and it around your back and pulled you up against him. 

“You think I didn't know, Now tell me again who you belong to” “Daryl please!” I said trying to cover my chest. He grabbed the sheet and flung it away. 

Rick spoke up from the back Your cheeks flushed horrified they had all seen you in the throws. “I think Daryl told you to do something, He doesn’t like to be kept waiting” He said with a gleam in his eyes. You gazed around the men seeing Rick, Zack, Merle, Glenn & i wasn’t sure who else grinning enjoying the show. I was suddenly unashamed as i felt the pressure build back up dangerously high.

Daryl seeing my eyes wander over the group wrapped my hair around his wrist and pushed my head back into the bed, Ramming harder and faster than i’d ever felt before making me scream again. “Say it” he shouted at me “Ahh shit im daryl’s, You claimed me baby” He replied “And no one else is going to make you feel this good again are they?” 

“God no, Only you, Ahh so good!”

“Ya heard her '' He said addressing the men “She’s mine. Naw you can all fuck off back to your pits and keep your fucken hand’s to your selves asshole’s” You heard Merle hoot “wooowee you get it baby brother” You stomach turned grateful daryl had told them to leave, before his body pushed another orgasm out of you. 

They all turned and left as Daryl biting my ear lobe moaned into me “Now cum again for me baby” He suddenly dove his hand under me and onto my clit. 

I instantly caved again screaming into the bed. 

Feeling my second orgasm pushed him to the brink again and he jackhammered into me. Hard. Chasing his high. I pushed back furiously desperate to feel him. I moaned “Cum in me Daryl please i need to feel you” 

I felt him explode moaning my name and grinding deep into me riding it fully out” 

He collapsed on top of me breathless. We lay like that for a few minutes when I felt him going hard in me again. He pulled out and lay back on the bed pulling me into his chest his heart still pounding in his chest.

“God girl, If i’d of known you were that good a fuck, I’d of taken you that first fucking night” A relaxed grin on his face. 

He turned and took my face in his hands kissing me softly and murmured into my lips “I hope you don’t think i'm done with you yet” He winked “I aint had a girl like you in a loooong time i aint even close to done with ya” 

He rolled back onto me pulling my lip with his teeth. “Ready?” I nodded desperate to feel him again. 

God knows how many hours & Orgasms later he fell off me pulling me close into his chest again. I passed out instantly, Thoroughly exhausted. He chuckled into my hair and followed me into blissful sleep. 

When we woke the next morning his arms still tight around me, Smiling in his sleep. 

I looked over happy wishing i could stay here forever but there was work to be done. 

I slowly picked his arm up and tried to wiggle out from under it, Before i'd gotten half way those glorious muscles had flexed and pulled me straight back into him. “Morning beautiful. Hope you don’t think your going anywhere. We’ve got so much time to make up for.” He nuzzled his face into yours sweetly. You could feel him growing hard against your hip. “Don’t worry i’m feeling responsible. I’ll make it quick!” 

He fucked me again for another hour until we were both sweaty, shaky wrecks. 

I groaned and rolled to the edge of the bed and sat up trying to stand up and instantly felt my legs buckle beneath me. He was up and caught me before i came crashing down. He laughed. “Don’t say i didn’t warn you” You laughed with him. “God, I love that sound” He said, staring into my eyes and planting a sweet kiss onto my lips. He stood and started grabbing his clothes from around the room and dressing. 

“Take your time getting up, I’m back in the guard tower again today, Don’t forget what i taught you last night” He said with a wink and ducked down to kiss me. He moved to the doorway and moved the curtain turning back at me. “Oh and babe I wanna see that outfit again today, Now i know it’s all for me” He winked again and left. 

I fell back on the bed with a huge grin on my face. Holy shit I can't wait for tonight! 

[helliontherapscallion]

Hello! For the event, can I please get a Philza x male reader who has old scars from self harming? Like, the reader was like "Yea, I had problems with my self esteem". And Phil just comforting him? Thank you!

Food Fights and Comfort

Warnings: swearing, self harm scars, and self harm mentions (nothing graphic)

“You have no idea how hard getting that enchantment was,” Tommy groaned out through a mouthful of half-chewed food. Wilbur reached over to slap him upside the head, “don’t talk with your mouth full. No one wants to see that.”

“Fuck off Wilbur I can do what I want!” Tommy shoved more food into his mouth, chewed it up, and opened his mouth wide facing Wilbur. Your older brother wrinkled his nose in disgust before he shoveled some mashed potatoes onto his spoon and flung it at Tommy where it collided with his shirt. Tommy looked at the brunet with rage before he swallowed his food and scooped up some mashed potatoes and drew his spoon back. Philza’s hand on his arm and his warning glare made him freeze.

“Tommy, if you throw that I swear to god I’m gonna ground you for a month.”

“But- but he started it! I-”

“Let me finish. And Wilbur’s grounded from his guitar for two weeks.”

“C’mon! He-” Wilbur was cut off by Philza’s angry glare, “don’t make me extend it to a month, Wilbur.”

Technoblade leaned over to Tommy when Philza wasn’t looking and whispered in his ear, “if you do it, I’ll do your chores for two weeks.”

“Make it three and you have yourself a deal,” he hissed back at the pink haired teenager.

“...Fine, just do it.”

You silently watched as Tommy genuinely considered it before picking up his mashed potato-armed spoon and flinging the potatoes at the tall brunet next to you. They splattered on his yellow sweater making Wilbur look at him in offense before scooping his food once more and returning fire, his elbow knocking over your mug. The steaming contents of the mug splashed onto you and scalded your arms, soaking through your thick sweater.

A startled yelp left your mouth as you leapt up from your seat frantically trying to brush off the offending liquid unsuccessfully with your hands. The table fell silent as they watched you.

“Shit, I’m so sorry (y/n), I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s fine, Wil, accidents happen. If you all would excuse me, I’m just gonna go clean myself up.”

“Here, let me help you-” Wilbur pushed himself up from his chair only to sit back down when Philza put a hand on his shoulder.

“No, you stay here and clean up this mess. This is exactly why I didn’t want you two to have a food fight, someone always gets hurt.” He walked over to you with a small, reassuring smile, “c’mon.”

You grew increasingly nervous as he led you to the bathroom, your hands pulling your sleeves down repeatedly. He didn’t know about your scars, they were something you struggled with accepting even though it’s been almost a year since you’ve stopped. You were lucky, he had adopted you just at the beginning of fall when you could wear long sleeves as much as you wanted without getting weird looks.

After sitting you on the counter, he turned to rummage in the closet for the first aid kit. From your short time here, you could already tell that the family would go through first aid kits fast. It was a very accident-but-not-really-accident prone family.

He let out a triumphant laugh as he found the box and turned around to look at you, wiggling it in the air, “found it! Now, let’s patch you up, yeah?” When you made no move to push your sleeves up, he furrowed his brows and looked at you a bit closer. He could see the shame and anxiety on your face as clear as day, confusing him to no end. From your short time living with him, you were always an open book, telling him anything whenever he would ask.

“Kid, why’re your sleeves over your hands? I’ve got to see if you have any burns, so if you could push them up I can put some ointment on them.”

You hesitated, the last time you had shown someone your scars was when you were still at the orphanage. You had shown your best friend at the time, and they exploded at you. They told you that you were a freak, that you were an emo for self harming. They ended up spilling everything to the other orphans, and word spread fast at the orphanage; every day was the same there, so they craved new information like it was an addict’s drug.

That began the assault of ‘show us your wrists’ and ‘barcode scanner’ jokes being thrown your way. You became the outcast of the orphanage as fast as you became the loved one. You weren’t sure if the adults knew about it, but if they did, they turned a blind eye to the torment you were going through. It was a miracle that you managed to stay clean during that entire time, you were so close to relapsing. If it hadn’t been for Philza adopting you when he did, you would’ve fallen back into your old ways.

You knew Philza would never do that, as he was one of the kindest people you’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. However, you had thought about your ex best friend and reflected on what they did to you. Philza had something they hadn't, however, he had your complete trust.

You prepared yourself for the looks of horror and potentially getting thrown back into the orphanage and hesitantly pushed your sleeves up to your elbows. When Philza saw this, he gave you a reassuring smile and quickly got to work on your slightly burnt forearms.

The entire time, he said nothing about the blatantly obvious scars that littered your wrists. This confused you since there was no way that he didn’t see them. Before you knew it, he tied off the bandages and put his hand on yours gently.

“Those should heal soon, you just gotta keep putting ointment on it and let it breathe for a while each day. If you want to, we can go downstairs and finish our dinner.”

You snapped yourself out of the daze you were in and cleared your dry throat awkwardly, “sure, that… that sounds good.”

“Great,” he gave you another smile before he went to leave the bathroom, “I’ll meet you downstairs, just come down when you’re ready.”

“Wait!” You hadn’t meant to say it so loud that it scared the blond, but the anxiety and paranoia that almost blocked your throat forced the word to be louder than intended. He jumped slightly and looked back at you with a soft, yet questioning gaze.

You pushed your sleeves down and fiddled with the ends of them, “you’re not going to say anything?”

“I’d never force anybody to do anything they’re uncomfortable with, it’s just not the right thing to do. It’s always better to let people open up to you whenever they’re ready to,” he said, walking over to you again and standing in front of you. “The same goes to you, I’m always going to be here to listen whenever you’re ready to talk about it.”

You shrunk in on yourself slightly and nodded, contemplating on whether you should tell him about what pushed you to that point, how you were treated when you had opened up about it for the first time. Eventually, you swallowed past the lump that had formed in your throat, “I’ll take you up on that offer.”

And so you told him everything about your previously declining mental health and how the others treated you during your stay at the orphanage. Though he concealed it well, you could still see his anger when you told him about the jokes made at your expense. He never interrupted you to ask questions, he never gave you any sign of malice, he patiently waited for you to continue whenever you paused, and he always showed you that he was actively listening to you whenever you looked at him.

A part of you expected him to kick you out of his house and take you back to the orphanage, but he offered you nothing but his full support. Talking about it, though it was hard, was far easier to do compared to your previous experience. He was an easy person to talk to, radiating a welcoming and judgemental free aura.

“You’re not going to judge me?” You questioned him when you were done, anxiety gripping at your chest. He put a hand on your shoulder and shook his head, “no, you couldn’t help it; it’s heartless to judge someone based on their struggles… You’re a strong person, (y/n). It takes a lot to get yourself out of that cycle and I’m so proud of you for how much you’ve grown and persevered through what life’s thrown at you.”

“I- thanks Dad,” you wrapped your arms around him and squeezed him lightly. Without a second of hesitation, he quickly reciprocated the hug. He tucked your head underneath his chin and rubbed your back in small circles, “any time, I’m always going to be here for you. I love you so much, son.”

[quickspinner]

You Only Had to Ask

(don’t get used to this pace, guys, I still have a lot of big fics to work on, but I can have a little one shot here and there. As a treat)

Alright, @airi-p4, here’s your fix-it fic. 😘 I wasn’t really gonna because I wasn’t actually that upset about the ep, but then there was chatting and I got to thinking--and the rest of my thoughts are under the cut because--

Season 4 SPOILERS for Truth and Gang of Secrets

eta sorry guys I swear there was a cut there before I posted, all fixed now

Because if you can just talk someone out of an akumatization out of Friendship then why the hell can’t we just do it out of Love. If we’re going to arbitrarily decide (despite repeated, frequent evidence to the contrary) that appealing to the person under the akumatization is a thing that can actually work, then WHY THE HELL NOT, LET’S GO. Talk-no-jutsu for the win.

(not that I’m bitter)

Our scene picks up during the fight in Marinette’s room during Truth. I’m really terrible at action you guys so please forgive the obvious deficiencies in the fight-related stuff (especially the way I completely forgot about Phaero for 90% of this.

Oh and I fixed Chat a lil bit while I was at it.

***

She had to stop him. Ladybug steeled herself, and then ripped the belt off of her mouth. “Luka, please stop! You can stop this. I know you don’t want to do this. This isn’t how you wanted to find out! You told Marinette she could tell you everything or nothing, that she could be herself with you!”

“But she isn’t,” Truth snarled. “Tell me—”

She didn’t wait for the compulsion, answering quickly to keep him from specifying. “She is herself with you! Her best self! And she does trust you, but some secrets don’t belong to just one person!” 

Truth sent Chat flying, and Ladybug had to dodge debris from his impact. “Luka,” Ladybug said desperately. “You helped me as Viperion. What did you tell your family and your friends after that?” 

Truth visibly jolted. Hope rising, Ladybug persevered, listening with one ear as Chat tried to extract himself behind her. She held a hand behind her in a wait gesture. “What would you have told Marinette if you had to leave to become Viperion? Would you have lied to her?”

“No!” Truth yelled, grabbing his head in his hands. “No, I would never lie to Marinette—I—”

“But you wouldn’t break my trust, would you? You know how important it is to keep identities secret!” Ladybug pressed.

“I know,” Truth ground out. “But I can’t lie to Marinette!” 

“So you wouldn’t lie to her,” Ladybug persisted, dodging a blast from Pharoah. She glanced at Chat and nodded a the orb, and he launched himself at the sentimonster with a yowl. “But you can’t tell her the truth, either, right? Because you don’t trust her?”

“No! I trust Marinette. I love her!” Truth growled, shaking his head, still in his hands. “Marinette wouldn’t be safe if she knew! I can’t put Marinette in danger. Or my family! I had to keep the secret.” 

“So you can see that there are reasons why someone might not be able to tell the truth,” Ladybug cried. “It doesn’t mean Marinette doesn’t trust you! It doesn’t mean she doesn’t love you! I’m sure she loves you very much, Luka, or she wouldn’t be trying so hard, even when she keeps failing.” 

“I—” Truth gasped, and looked up at the wall above Ladybug’s head. 

“Look, she has pictures of you,” Ladybug said quickly, throwing out a hand to point in a way that blocked some of the Adrien photos from view. “Look, tacked on top of all these others! Aww, cute, she put a heart on this one!” 

Truth made a sound that might have been a sob, and fell to his knees. “Marinette,” he gasped, and the purple mask appeared over his face. “No,” he growled. “I won’t do this. Digging into her secrets won’t make her trust me any more than before!” 

“Yes! Fight it, Luka, I know you can do it, you’re so strong.” Ladybug knelt in front of him. “Fight it for Marinette.”

“No,” Truth growled again, louder. “She chose me. I told her—anything—or nothing—and I. Don’t. Lie!” The mask shattered, the butterfly and feather burst from his necklace, and Truth slumped to the ground, becoming Luka as he collapsed. Ladybug’s yoyo whirred out and clapped shut around the butterfly and the feather as she sighed in relief. 

Ladybug felt the compulsion lift from her as she released the purified butterfly, and quickly dropped back down beside Luka to scoop him up, tears in her eyes. “You did it,” she told him as she held him close. “You did it, Luka. I knew you could.” 

Luka’s hand closed around her upper arm. “Marinette...I have to find her. I have to tell her...I’m so sorry…” 

“She knows, Luka,” Ladybug said tenderly, smoothing the hair back from his face. “She’s fine. Now breathe. It’s going to be okay.” She rocked him a little bit. He was still shaking from the effort. She wiped tears from his face with her gloved fingers. “It’s been a rough day. I’m sorry.” 

He rested against her for a moment, eyes closed, breathing deeply as he tried to ground himself. 

“Ah, so, we’re done then?” Chat asked, tilting his head. “Because as much fun as we have together, I have someone—somewhere to be right now.” 

“Go ahead Chat,” Ladybug smiled. “I’ve got this.” She threw her lucky charm in the air, still holding Luka with one arm, and the ladybugs swarmed through the city. Chat grinned, giving her his two fingered salute before leaping out of the skylight.

Ladybug waited a moment, listening, but Luka began to push away from her, trying to get up. “I have to find Marinette,” he said heavily, but Ladybug tugged him back. 

“No, you don’t,” she said.

Luka frowned at her. “Yeah, I really do.” 

Ladybug took his face in her hands and he blinked in surprise. “No,” Ladybug said quietly. “You really don’t. Because she’s right here.” She took a breath as Luka stared at her in confusion. “I’m tired of having to lie to the people I care about,” Ladybug quavered, and had to clear her throat. “And...I need help. I can’t do this all on my own. You’ve always been there for me, Luka. I absolutely trust you. And even though it’s dangerous, I…” She paused, steeling herself as she looked into his still-confused but compassionate eyes. His hand found her shoulder and gripped it, and she smiled. “Spots off,” she whispered, and closed her eyes against the pink glow of magic that engulfed her. 

When she opened them again, Luka was still staring at her from between her hands. His eyes were like saucers. 

“Oh,” he said weakly, and Marinette giggled. Slowly, she drew him forward, giving him time to back away, though he still seemed too stunned to move. His eyes flicked down to her lips just before she got too close to see anything else, and his lips formed to match hers as she pressed into him. It was nice, spreading a pleasant warmth through her— 

All at once Luka came back to life. His arms wrapped tight around her, nothing like the cautious way he had held her while she cried. This time he pulled her close and curled around her, and his mouth began to move against hers in a way that sent thrills through her whole body, and just like that she went from the kisser to the kissee, bent slightly back in his arms as he kissed her again and again. 

“You’re so amazing,” he gasped between kisses. “I thought i knew that, but—” The next kiss was harder, and his hand was buried in her hair, and she nearly felt dizzy from it. “You’ve been doing so much,” he said, mercifully pausing the kissing to pull back and look at her. “I’m so sorry, Marinette, I—I’m so sorry.” 

“Me too,” she whispered, curling up against him. “Me too, Luka. It was wrong of me to try and date you when I can barely keep it together as it is. I just...I wanted it to work so badly…” 

“It will work,” Luka promised, guiding her head down to his shoulder. “We’ll make it work. Now, I know, and—um...hi…” He trailed off, and when Marinette peeked up at him, he was staring over her shoulder, his expression bewildered. 

Marinette lifted her head and looked around to find they were encircled by the kwami.    

“Oh,” she giggled. “I guess I, um...have some introductions to make.” 

“I guess so,” Luka replied weakly. “Hey, Sass.”

Sass chuckled, and flew to perch on Luka’s shoulder. 

“Hey,” Marinette pouted, poking Sass in the tummy. “We’re having a moment, here.” 

“By all means,” Sass smirked. “Proccceed.” 

Marinette pouted, but Luka just began to laugh, and leaned down to kiss the pout off her face.

“You heard him.” He grinned, and stroked a hand through her hair. “We have a lot to talk about, huh?” Then he froze, his gaze going distant. 

“Luka?” Marinette put her hand on his cheek, and he looked back down at her.

“Jagged Stone’s my dad,” he said wonderingly, and when Marinette bit her lip and nodded, he added, “Shit.” 

“Shh,” Marinette put her finger over his lips. “The last thing I need is for the kwami to learn to swear.” 

 “What makes you think we can’t already?” Xuppu snickered, and Marinette groaned, burying her head in Luka’s shoulder.

“Are you okay?” she mumbled, fingers curling in her hoodie.

“Not really,” Luka admitted, and she felt his big hands running over her back absently. “It’s a lot.” He sighed, and dropped a kiss on the top of her hair. “I probably need to get back to the Liberty. Seems like there are a few people I need to talk to.” 

“Yeah.” Marinette lifted her head, and reached up to run her fingers through his hair. His eyes fell closed and he made a pleased noise in the back of his throat that she liked very much. “You should rest, too. So...kiss me goodbye, and we’ll talk about the rest of it after you deal with your family.” 

Luka nodded. “I’m here if you need me, though. I mean it, Marinette. I know we haven’t had time to talk about the details, but this—” he glanced around at the kwamis who were still watching them like a favorite soap, “this is a lot. I’m yours first anytime you need to talk, okay?”

Marinette smiled broadly. “You’re mine.” 

Luka snorted softly. “Like that’s news.” 

Marinette giggled. “Shut up and kiss me you dork, and then I’ll take you home by Ladybug express.” 

Luka frowned. “Shouldn’t I apologize to your parents first?”

Marinette reached up and ran her hands through his hair again, regarding his kiss-bruised lips with satisfaction. “I don’t think you’re especially presentable right now.”

Luka blushed, and she grinned wider. “Right,” he coughed. “Then, yes please.” 

Some time later, Ladybug set a breathless Luka down on the Liberty’s deck. She was gone a moment later, and Luka stared after her with a dopey smile.

“Did you just make out with Ladybug?”

Luka jumped and turned to face his sister’s maybe-impressed stare.

“No! No way!” Luka—well, not exactly lied, because he hadn’t been kissing Ladybug. He’d been kissing Marinette, who was...Ladybug...his knees went weak and he had to sit down on a nearby rope spool. Trying to cover, he grinned up at Juleka. “Marinette and I made up.”

Juleka raised her eyebrows. “Made up, or made out?”

“Both,” Luka laughed. “She is my girlfriend after all.” He laughed harder at Juleka’s expression. “You didn’t notice?” 

Juleka’s wide eyes said she hadn’t, but before she could answer, someone cleared their throat. Both siblings turned to find Jagged Stone standing sheepishly on their gangplank. He gave a little wave of his fingers, and Luka and Juleka exchanged a look. 

“Well, this is gonna be a weird conversation,” Luka muttered under his breath. 

Fiction Master Post

[tamagochiie]

Hi!! Could I request a hc for my man Levi Ackerman where he has been crushing on the reader for a while now but thinks he doesn’t really have a chance because she’s just so beautiful, kind and a little on the younger side. And he doesn’t really think that someone like her could ever be interested in someone like him. Then those toughts only get bigger as he sees how much time she spends with Jean or Eren or someone. And then some sort of drama is happening which eventually leads to this dramatic confession from both Levi and the reader. Hope that’s not too long? Have a great day!

First of all, I am SO sorry this request took so long to reply to. I was in a really bad headspace when I first got this, and I couldn’t write it properly at the time. But here I am now! Also, I got waaaay too into this, so I apologize that it’s a little long... 

Move My Mountain ; Levi Ackerman 

Levi Ackerman is nothing short of confidence and pride; insecurity scurries back into the shadows at the sight of him.

But you are sunshine and hope—all the good things in life wrapped in a lilting laugh, tucked in the corners of your lips when you smile, and the twinkling in your eyes;

Just the sight of you makes his title as “Humanity’s Strongest” fray at the edges and wither away, and it irritates him to no end. 

Of all the ugly his eyes have seen and horror his ears have heard, its you that has him weak in the knees, you are a sharp contrast to the stoic man.

You’re young, youthful, and promising—all the things Levi is not. 

Levi is many things, but worthy to feel the warmth you radiate as you walk into any room, a room that he might find himself lingering around in, is not one of them. 

Levi may be sharp, attentive, and quick on his feet (quite literally). But it takes him an embarrassingly substantial amount of time to realize his feelings for you—that no, he does not hate you, but rather he finds himself completely smitten over you.

He realizes he always has been since the first time he saw you as a cadet. You weren’t entirely talented, and your skills were questionably underdeveloped, but you had heart and you were just as determined and fiery as your counterparts. 

Levi looks forward to seeing you persevere during trainings; but he likes it better whenever you waltz into his office and assist him in paperwork he can clearly take care of on his own. 

And you find yourself feeling comfortable around the Captain, entertaining him through small talk or sharing a few fun facts with him that always leave him dumbfounded. 

Not that he’ll show it. 

He’s quite kind to you, and though you found it off-putting at first, you had eventually grown comfortable to it. You even found yourself growing selfish, wanting more and more after each visit. 

However, unbeknownst to everyone save for Erwin and Hange, Levi Ackerman is petty as he is incredibly violent. 

There’s a twinge of jealousy in his chest and a twitch in his eye whenever he sees Jean joined to you by the hip. He’s aware of the history you two share, being childhood friends and choosing to join the Survey Corp together after the attack on Wall Rose. 

But it doesn’t stop jealous seeping out of Levi like a waterfall. 

He hates it when he catches Jean ghosting around you, dipping down to you a little too close for comfort whenever he talks to you, so Levi’s patience snaps like a twig and he crinkles his nose in disgust, steam rising from him when he watches Jean throwing his arm over your shoulders, pulling you close to his chest while you laugh at his jokes. 

A line has been crossed. 

Unfortunately for Jean, though his actions meant no harm, he’s drowned in piles and piles of work within the following week. Levi has him carrying extra weight, makes him run more laps to his knees shake, and riddles him with questionable work from dusk til dawn. 

And just when things die down and the tide of Levi’s jealousy pulls back, it’ll come rushing back in when he catches Jean do another thing like leaning his head on your shoulder after a day’s worth of training. And it begins to bother you, picking at your skin until you can longer keep quiet and watch your friends suffer. 

You’re in the middle of handing Jean your bottle of water (because Sasha chugged all of his in one breath) when Levi cuts in. Maybe it’s the heat of the sun that casts over the training ground, or maybe its the fact that once again, Levi’s jealous has once again gotten the best of him and he’s playing it off as frustration for the whole squad. 

Whatever it is, there’s steam rising off as he glares at you and Jean. 

Levi clears his throat, arms folded across his chest as he taps his foot, “If you have time to drinking other people’s water, Kristien,” Jean chokes on his water when he realizes Levi’s presence, quickly saluting him, “then you’ve got time to do laundry.” 

Jean’s eyes widen, jaw slacking. “B-But I already did that yesterday, S-Sir.” You watch as Levi pulls his brows down, narrowing his gaze intensely as he strides up to Jean. He shifts uncomfortable under Levi’s inspecting eyes and clears his throat to try and gain some composure. 

“That’s the great thing about laundry,” Levi grits, “it always piles up, so why don’t you hurry the fuck up and fuck off.”

However, Levi’s plan to wedge you to apart because you offer yourself to help. 

You may be bubbly and full of life, and some may mistake your soft nature as someone naive and gullible, but you read the room easier than anyone. For the first time, Levi finds himself silenced; throat dried as if sawdust had been shoved into his throat, and he watches you saluting to him before excusing yourself along with Jean. 

Unluckily for you, you become the target of his boiling rage. He’s ticking like a clock, the countdown to another outburst lingering in the air. It’s your turn to be buried in the extra weight of chores and responsibilities, doing more laps and push ups than you can manage. But you never complain, not even once.

Not until Levi strips you and Jean from the opportunity to go out on an expedition and traded off for laundry. 

“I’ve had it!” You boom as you uncharacteristically lose composure, shoving the basket of dirty laundry to the side and causing Jean and Armin to flinch. “I’m gonna do laundry—laundry instead of joining the expedition? You’re kidding!” 

Levi had overworked you painfully til your knees shook and your head felt dizzy, and at some point you wondered if was still training you or if it had any ulterior motive.

“I’m only the barer of the news!” Armin defends, visibly shrinking as you slowly grow unhinged. 

“Then I’ll talk to him!” Jean steps in front of you, looking at you warningly as his chest heaves. “Jean, go away.” 

“No,” He’s firm, headset in stopping you. “Make no mistake, the man is short, but he’s scary as hell. You saw him when he beat the shit outta Eren.”

“I can take a punch,” You state dryly, “now move.” 

You place your arm on Jean’s shoulder, gripping it tightly before swiftly shoving him to the side, causing him to skid on the floor.

Determination drips from every step you take out the room and down the corridor. Your eyes directed towards one door and one door only. You wind past other captains and cadets, not bothering to even take a glance at them as you finally close in on Levi’s office. 

You storm in, not even thinking to knock. You’re met with wide eyes and looks of disbelief from Erwin, Hange, and Levi; they were in the middle of a meeting when you barged in. Erwin’s jaw slacks, his brows pull down as he looks at you quizzically, “Cadet—What are you—”

“You.” You seethes, breathing heavily as you glare at Levi. “Why am I assigned to do laundry instead of joining the expedition?” 

Hange and Erwin turn back to Levi with an alarmed expression painted on their face, as if they were only hearing this for the first time. “Surely, that’s not true,” Erwin chuckles lightly as he grips his hands on the armrest of the chair, shifting uncomfortably underneath the thick tension between you and Levi, “Levi, is this true?” 

“It might be.” He answers dryly, a bored expression in his dark eyes as he glares back at you, “But I’m sorry, am I supposed to be answering to you? Who the fuck do you think you are interrupting a meeting?” 

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Your new found confidence not only shocks them, but most importantly you. 

You always kept yourself in your place, never needing to be reminded who you are and what you’re meant to do, always biting your tongue and cheek when you’re angry. You never caused any trouble, but always slyly getting your friends out of it. 

That is, until now. 

“Excuse me?” Levi looks at you in bewilderment. 

“What the fuck does doing laundry have anything to do with saving humanity?” You repeated, balling your fists till your knuckles color white. “I’m one of the best and you know it, yet I’m wasting my time cleaning Reiner’s DIRTY UNDERWEAR EVERY DAY.”

“Bold of you to assume you’re one of the best.” Levi is cold as the first winter of the year, looking completely unfazed by flow of your emotions. But you are, indeed, one of the best, nearly surpassing Mikasa. 

Not that he’d ever admit to it.

“Why am I staying behind?” You press, raising your voice as you take a few steps closer to the desk. 

Unfortunately, Hange and Erwin stay in the crossfire of your argument. They’re unsure when to take the beat to get up and leave.

They worry they missed that opportunity a while ago. 

“It’s dangerous and you’re not ready,” Levi clips. 

“I’m ready and you’re just taking your anger out on me!” You counter, “You don’t think I haven’t noticed how you’ve been taking your anger out on Jean and now on me?” 

“You made us work to the bone, but we persevered. We pulled through. So, if I can handle Reiner’s sweaty laundry, then I can handle saving humanity. Grow a pair and let me back in on the expedition.” 

“No.” Levi is stern, the grip in his pen is tight and his knees locked in as his ability to stabilize his emotions withers. 

“Why not?” You groan, throwing your head back. “Because it’s dangerous.” He states matter-of-factly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“WHY DO YOU CARE IF ITS SO DANGEROUS?” You’re yelling, breaths labored and chest constricting as your frustration grows. You’re completely unhinged and with little to no care in the world how you look like to everyone in the room. Levi bangs his fists against the surface of his desk, swiftly standing from his chair. Erwin and Hange flinch at his sudden aggression, exchanging looks of surprise. 

“BECAUSE IF SOMETHING WERE TO HAPPEN TO YOU, I WOULDN’T KNOW WHAT I WOUDL DO.” 

Silence falls on the room and after a moment, everyone stands on their toes as they reflect the confession that slips Levi’s lips just moments ago. 

You, Hange, and Erwin look at Levi wish a slack jaw and a puzzled expression. 

“I don’t—“ You swallow thickly and take a deep breath, “I don’t understand what you mean… Why would you—”

“Hange,” Erwin calls out to his friend softly as he clasps his hands together, “I think this is the part where we leave.” 

Hange pouts her lip begrudgingly, “But—“ 

“Now.” Against her will and her wishes for juicy gossip, Hange mirrors Erwin’s actions as he rises from the chair and a hunched position and swiftly scurries out the room. 

You and Levi stand in a thick blanket of silence. Levi is a man of many words, though most are painted in aggressive and backs up his violent tendencies, so he admits his worries about someone and that someone being you, it means everything. 

It comes as a shock—a shock that feels electric and runs down your spine, you feel like you’ll lose your breath. “Why…why would you care?” You come down from your anger and the thumping of your heart calms down. “I don’t—I really don’t understand….” 

Levi licks his lips as he loosens his grip; for the first time you can see him clearly without having to second guess it. He shudders a breath as takes a step back from his desk, the chair scrapping against the floor as he abandons the paperwork and slowly yet surely walks to you. 

You grow tense and the budding anticipation in your stomach spreads through your body and up your throat. It’s only until Levi is a few steps away that you finally tear your eyes from him, dancing around the room desperately looking anywhere but him.

Levi halts his movement, only within an arm’s reach away from you. “I’m not good with words,” He admits in a mutter, more to himself than to you, “but I—I would like to be honest because you make me want to be honest.” 

Levi’s gaze wavers along with the rest of him; his arms fall limp , his hands clammy as he twiddles his fingers to ease the fear hammering in his chest. “I have…” Levi speaks softly, a sharp contrast to how he usually his. His voice comes out dry and gravelly as if he had just woken up. 

“I can easily read others as if I was looking at the back of my hand, and I know  when people feel things…But it took me forever to understand what I felt for you and when I finally caught up with it, I didn’t—I don’t know.” 

Hesitantly, as if you were scared to see something contradicting his words, you meet his eyes and you gasp. He’s looking right at you, eyes full of certainty yet wavering in his doubt that he’ll ever get a chance with you.

“What do you mean?” Your words come out so quiet, Levi almost misses it. “What don’t you understand?” 

“Out of all the things I’ve seen and heard, and all the blood my hands have been stained in, you move me.” 

He steps a little closer and you find yourself holding your breath, “You move me.”  

You don’t know what to say. You scan through your memories, all the ones that you had with him and try to remember what you felt. And maybe you did feel something for him, something more than just cadet and captain, but you never let yourself think too far from it. 

You were scared to let yourself fall, but for some odd reason, Humanity’s Strongest was letting him fall on his knees for you.  

You can’t help but smile and your eyes glistening as you take the final step to close the proximity between the two of you. “

If you’re saying what I think you’re saying then,” You sigh as you close your eyes, your breath fanning against Levi’s cheeks, “don’t be shy to move a little more and show me what you mean.”

 Levi’s takes a moment, studying the look in your eyes as he calculates his movements. He feels excited, but fear pulls the rug beneath his feet and all of a sudden he finds himself more scared of you than any mission he’s even been in. 

You hold his face in your hands, smiling at him. “Don’t tell me you’re shy now.” 

And just like that, your words egg him on and have him pushing all his doubt behind him.

 Levi’s lips are soft against yours, the kiss is gentle yet eager to go deeper. He’s reluctant to cage you in his arms, but when he feels you smile against his lips and how your arms wind around his neck, he realizes he’s eases in. 

Levi Ackerman has seen all the uglies in the word, and had his heartbroken one too many times to count, but you are the only one that moves him. 

[henderylikespink]

Fluff Alphabet

최산

Choi San

                                ♡ San ♡

A- Affectionate

San can be so snuggly sometimes! He would really have to be in the mood though lol. I can picture him wrapping his arms around his s/o and snuggling his head against them. If this boy can lay his head on your chest, he is in heaven. 

B- Baby (Do they want a family?)

San probably wants a small family. A kid or two, nothing too much. A small yet very close and united family. :) 

San would totally be the type of dad that all his kid’s friends call him a DILF lmao.

C- Cuddle

I feel like San’s favorite cuddling position would be spooning. He doesn’t really have a preference little spoon but if you want him to hold you all night, he will! 

I do feel like San could only cuddle right before falling asleep before turning to his side of the bed. If he gets too hot, he can’t sleep. His body has to be on the cooler side so even if he really wants to hold you, he really can’t. Unless you have a nightmare or something of that nature, then expect to wake up to his back in the morning. Not like that is a bad thing ;). 

D- Dates

Netflix/ movies dates!! San would love to watch comedies with you to laugh. Romantic movies could also be on the agenda... Y’all would definitely share your favorite tv shows and cry, laugh, and gasp together lol.

Nap are definitely a passtime for y’all lmaoo cuddle on his bed with all his favorite plushies seems like heaven to me.

E- Everything (You are my…)

You are San’s reason to smile. Seriously, one glance at you and he’s beaming like the sun.

F- Feelings (When did they realize they had feelings for you?)

I feel like typically San would only fall for someone he has known for a while. He would realize that he had feelings for you when you guys started to hang out more than you usually did. Also, instead of hanging out with other friends as a group, y’all would hang out separately. It would really shock him to see how comfortable he has gotten with you without even noticing it.

G- Gentle (How gentle are they with you?)

San is a gentle man. Yes, he may get excitable at times but he always is soo gentle with you. One could say you didn’t know if the look in his eye was softer than his touch.

H- Hand/ Hold (How do they hold you?)

San loves to hold your hand! No matter where you are, expect to find his hand intertwened with yours. I can see him being the type of guy to place his arm around your shoulder. Ahhh it would be so freaking cute!!

San would like to cuddle when going to sleep and when watching tv. Other than that, I get the vibes that he likes his personal space. That’s probably why he likes holding your hand a lot.

I- Impression (First Impression)

San probably met you through friends so his first impression was that you were really chill and funny! He loves how well you got along with everyone. The first thing he noticed about you was your beautiful smile :). 

J- Joker (Do they pull pranks?)

He would probably do things like poke your sides or hide from you when you're not looking but I don't know if that's pranking or if it's just annoying lol.

K- Kisses (How do they kiss?)

Sensual, sensual, sensual kisses dear god. He would just grab your chin and go to smooch town. He's definitely a clean kisser, none of that hot, messy shit for him. But remember because it's clean doesn't mean it can't get hot and heavy. ;))

L- Love (Who said I love you first?)

I can see San saying "I love you" first. I feel like San is the type of person who knows what he feels so he just goes for it. That doesn't mean he wouldn't be nervous about it, but he would probably sit on it for a few days before saying it to you. I can see him saying "I love you" between 6-8 months of dating.

M- Memory (Favorite Memory)

San's favorite memory is when he took you to the Han River. Your beautiful reflection that shone in the lake and the smile that accompanied it is forever ingrained in his memory. Full bellies, full smilies, and full hearts, it was definitely a memory San holds dear to his heart.

N- Nickel (Do they spoil you?)

San spoils you!! When he sees you he loves to bring you snacks, or perhaps that sweater that reminded him of you. He would love to have matching rings or necklaces with you.

O- Orange (What color reminds them of you?)

A light, light blue. It reminds him of the day he took you to the Han River when the clouds intertwined with the sky like the delicate hand he held in his own.

P- Pet names (What pet names do they use?)

Definitely uses babe or baby. He uses your name occasionally but he likes babe or baby more.

Q- Questions (What questions are they always asking?)

Send you a good morning test everyday without fail with the question, “Did you sleep well last night?” If he can’t ask you in person.

R- Rainy Day (What do they like to do on a rainy day?)

San loves to catch up on TV shows he hasn’t been able to watch in a while. He loves to see you curled up besides him intently watch the TV. Takeout is a must. 

S- Sad (How do they cheer themselves/ others up?)

I have a feeling that San doesn’t really show when he is sad. The only way you can really tell is due to his lack of energy. San likes to sleep when he is depressed because he has no energy to do anything else. Please spoon this baby when he is like this.

T- Talking (How much do they talk? What do they love to talk about?)

San has a great balance of talking and listening. He can do either one, if you are in a talkative mood he would love to listen to you! San probably loves to talk about the new cheorography Attez is learning, what happened in the latest episode of a show y’all watch, or show you funny/ cute memes he found.

U - Unencumbered (What helps them relax?)

Again, watching TV with you and the members helps him relax. He loves being surrounded by the people he loves and sharing a lot of laughs. When you both relax in all of his plushies on his bed, he instantly relaxes.

V - Vaunt (What do they like to show off? What are they proud of?)

San likes to show off his fashion style. (Boy is always looking snatched) Expensive clothes, jewerly, shoes you get the jist of it. More importantly though, he is very proud of where he is in his career. Several people doubted him as a trainee (even his parents said they thought he would drop out) but he kept persevering to his debut and after. San is so immensely talented, he deserves to see the whole world watch him perform.

W - Why (Reasons why they love you)

San loves how comfortable he is with you. He feels like he has a best friend for life. He wishes the moments of full smiles and laughter never end with you.

X - Xylophone (What’s your song?)

I feel like San would vibe with the song “Paparazzi” by Slchld & oceanfromtheblue, really anything on that album. He really vibes with all the songs so I can see him playing this album when y’all are together.

Y - You (What you are to them?)

Like I mentioned before, you are his best friend for life and his place of comfort. You place so much calmness and reassurance in him that helps him keep moving forward.

Z - Zebra (What pet they want to have?)

San would totally get a small dog of some kind. It would be so cute!! He would always hold the puppy in his arms whenever he could. 

Masterlist

[haloud]

things we could burn in one go (eminence) - chapter 11

also on ao3

Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Isabel Evans & Max Evans & Michael Guerin, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, Forrest Long/Alex Manes Additional Tags: post-s2, Canon Compliant, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Starts Forlex Ends Malex, Other Characters May Appear, Tags Subject to Update, Mutual Pining, Breaking Up, Getting Together

Chapter Summary: Jones lets Michael in on a secret.

Excerpt:

He took a step back, but the symbols he’d touched continued to glow, burning into the surface of the pod. They pulsed, gold and fiery, for several seconds, before dimming, the colors of the pod pausing, like it was holding its breath.

Then it flickered; Michael yelled in shock as the symbols lifted from the surface, shimmering and gold and shaping themselves into a familiar-unfamiliar form.

A young woman, hair pulled back severely, wearing a stark-white uniform—at least, it looked like a uniform, almost like scrubs—looked down at Michael. The corners of her mouth turned down, a line formed between her brows that Michael saw most days in the mirror, but her eyes gleamed with some other, indefinable emotion.

Michael couldn’t breathe.

 Thursday, 8:30 am

Wiping his hand across his forehead, Michael squinted down into the guts of the Acura that was his latest patient. An easy fix, the job should have been done half an hour ago, but Michael’s mind wandered mercilessly, pulling his eyes to empty space, turning his thoughts to white noise worse than the static on Sanders’s busted radio blaring out oldies from the office. With a final jerk of his wrench, he declared the Acura done and dropped the hood, pacing over to his water and taking a swig. The water did little to cool him off; he paced back to the next car of the day, popped it open, and immediately slammed it shut again with a frustrated sigh.

Fuck, he’d barely been here an hour; he had a backlog a dozen deep or more; what the fuck was wrong with him?

No breeze disturbed the air or lifted the heat, already heavy on the skin even in the early morning. On a normal day, Michael worked methodically in the peace, savoring the solitude, time slipping away under the satisfaction of skill applied and challenge met. No matter how much Sanders griped, Michael always got the job done and the customer satisfied, keeping the lights on, no matter how old and dusty they might be. But today, Michael couldn’t reach that meditative place; his skin crawled in the silence, and his teeth grit at every sound.

Walk. He needed to—walk, exercise off some of this nervous energy. He’d been cooped up after Jones, too long, his feet restless, buzzing all in his veins. It was too early for him to take a break without catching shit from Sanders, but he’d live; Michael would work late, maybe, after the strategy meeting, however long it took, to make up for it. Right now, he couldn’t stay, penned in by the junkyard fence, rattling around in it like a caged dog.

A mile in, Michael realized he had a direction. The buzzing inside him tuned to a frequency, and he followed it, a call sense-familiar, a call like the one that bound him to Max and Isobel and them to their pods, a full-body variation on the sensation of touching alien tech.

Shading his eyes, Michael pulled out his phone and dialed Isobel—nothing. No signal. Of course. With no way to know if this call resonated in Max and Isobel too, he couldn’t do anything but continue on into the desert, following a familiar heading. On foot, it might take hours. It might mean everyone coming to meet him and him not being there, everyone panicking, Alex, panicking. Could he really do that to them again? Reckless, irresponsible, selfish—but none of those thoughts penetrated past the ineffable signal, and Michael walked, to the source of it, the origin.

The cave, at least, dewed cool and refreshing, sheltered from the sun and sand. Michael’s lungs thanked it too, a sanctuary from the hot late morning filling them every step of his trek. Once inside, it was only a short distance to the pod chamber, where Michael stopped.

What the fuck? Like coming out of a trance, Michael whirled around to see the way he came, no memory of it but the body-memory of aching feet.

Nothing there. The pods shimmered on. They had no answers; they weren’t even asking him why he was there, though he asked them. Silence.

Michael crossed the cave and stood in the center of the triad. First, he touched the pod that held Isobel for their new life and held her against death, running his fingers along the cool, frictionless surface. Next, he caressed Max’s pod, and finally, he stood in front of his own, if he could call it a possession, and slid his hands into his pockets.

“Well, I’m here,” he said aloud. “What, did you need something? Spit it out.” He snorted.

“Michael?”

He flinched at the sudden noise, but turned on his heel as his mind caught up with his instinct.

“Max!” he called back. “Dude, what the fuck are we doing out here? Have you talked to Isobel—”

The entrance to the pod cave was short, barely a crevice in the rock that held this chamber, unlike the deeper mines and systems that dotted these hills. Sound traveled fast from the entrance, and so did feet.

It wasn’t Max.

“Michael,” Jones said solemnly, with a shake of his head and a cluck of his tongue. “It disappoints me to have to call you out like this. I thought, after the conviction you showed last time, that you’d return for another lesson.”

“Jones,” Michael replied, taking a step back.

“We could have walked here together; I have plenty of stories to tell to pass the time.”

“Why did we have to walk here at all?” Michael demanded.

“You may have experienced the joys of traversal, but it isn’t something to be done lightly. It takes a great deal of energy and mental focus and fortitude—”

“I’m not talking about walking,” Michael snapped, “I’m talking about here. Why am I here? Why are you here?”

“Well, call me curious,” Jones replied pleasantly, folding his hands behind his back as he began to circle the trio of pods. “I had such a small sample of the woman’s handiwork to study during my confinement, I had to see her stasis pods for myself. The craftsmanship is truly remarkable. Truly remarkable.”

He gave Max’s pod a condescending pat. Michael clenched his fists.

“Most pods have a tendency to decay or have a decaying effect on their inhabitants.” Jones continued his circuit of the pods, passing Isobel’s. Michael stepped to the side so they circled each other, unwilling to let him too close. “But the timed release on these specimens taught them to ration their energy, and here they are, close to a century after crash-landing. Remarkable.”

“Are you telling me my mother built our pods herself?”

“Built, engineered, programmed, grew…” Jones waved a hand. “All of the above. Don’t be so limited in your thinking; you know better than that.”

“You don’t know me.”

“Don’t I? I thought we were getting to know each other quite well. How has Max been lately?”

“Shut up,” Michael snarled.

Jones chuckled. “That’s no way to speak. I didn’t come just to monologue; I came to give you a gift.”

He stopped beside Michael’s pod, and Michael stopped when he did. The entrance to the cave was at Michael’s back; he should cut and run from this vantage and let Jones do whatever he wanted with the pods—but in the middle of the desert, where was he supposed to go? His phone still had no signal, and there was nothing for miles. It would be child’s play for Jones to catch him. Or Jones would wait until Michael was home, until he thought he was safe, and crawl inside his mind to pull him out again. Was anywhere safe? Could Michael be trusted now, or was Jones inside him, somewhere beneath his skin, a trigger buried beneath Michael’s jumbled memories of that day waiting to be tripped?

“When I first came to make my observations, something clever caught my eye.”

Laying a hand on the surface of the pod, Jones’s eyes gleamed as a symbol drew itself beneath his touch, the familiar three-pronged alien sigil.

“It was on the door to your cave,” Michael said. “We’ve seen it our whole lives. You know what it means?”

“Of course. But that can wait. Come closer.”

Michael stalked a few feet, still keeping a wide berth. As he approached, one side of the symbol burned brighter, a circle with a bold, askew cross within. Jones touched a few more symbols in sequence as they rose to the surface.

“If you had persevered through your ordeal instead of running straight to Max, you would be able to read this,” Jones said idly.

“That’s a funny way of saying ‘gee, Michael, sorry for the attempted murder.’”

“Apologize?” Jones still didn’t look at him, face impassive, barely a flicker of irritation passing across it. If Michael didn’t know Max so well, he would know nothing about this man at all. “What good is an apology? I told you before—pain is an excellent teacher. Of course, there are those who disagree.”

He took a step back, but the symbols he’d touched continued to glow, burning into the surface of the pod. They pulsed, gold and fiery, for several seconds, before dimming, the colors of the pod pausing, like it was holding its breath.

Then it flickered; Michael yelled in shock as the symbols lifted from the surface, shimmering and gold and shaping themselves into a familiar-unfamiliar form.

A young woman, hair pulled back severely, wearing a stark-white uniform—at least, it looked like a uniform, almost like scrubs—looked down at Michael. The corners of her mouth turned down, a line formed between her brows that Michael saw most days in the mirror, but her eyes gleamed with some other, indefinable emotion.

Michael couldn’t breathe.

“I hope you never hear this, darling,” Nora said. Or—she didn’t speak, but Michael heard her all the same.

She said, “I hope the journey goes smoothly and we land softly in a new life, and my attempts to find some kind of goodbye can just be deleted like a bad dream. But I’ve been having a lot of bad dreams, baby, and I can’t let this go without a contingency.” She huffed a short sigh. “So here I am.

“You’re sleeping in your room right now. You know its your last night in your little bed, but I’m not sure it’s sunk in exactly what that means. Is it wrong that I’m glad for it? I don’t want you to be afraid. I never want that.

“But if you’re seeing this, it means I’ve likely already failed on that front, so what is there to say except I’m sorry? I’m so sorry, baby, if you’re seeing this. I love you so, so much, and I’m so sorry. I don’t know how to tell you how much I love you without holding you in my arms—these words, these feelings, they aren’t enough. Nothing I say could be enough. But baby, just know that you are the only thing in my heart. Your brilliant mind, your big heart, you are so wonderful, and having you in my life has been my life’s greatest blessing. No matter what, I know you’re out there—even if the worst comes to pass, even if you’re out there alone, even if you come to hate me for abandoning you, any word with you in it is worth saving, no matter what else has been destroyed.

“I love you, I love you, I love you, my son. I’ll love you even more tomorrow, for every day we’re together and every day we’re apart. Goodbye, and goodnight.”

Nora’s form reduced to gold once more, sinking back into the pod, and the silence that followed sucked everything in with it, sucked the air straight from Michael’s lungs. The whole world blurred behind his eyes, his left hand clawing over his chest, over his racing heart, his mouth working to find the words, words his mother hadn’t even known in the much more primal language of thought and emotion sown softly directly into his mind.

He'd felt, all these things, all those emotions she spoke of, hand to hand, through the grime and glass, condensed into one split-second, the atom before the bomb. The love, she’d poured it into him, a vessel too cracked and flawed to hold it. Would having words put to it help him understand? Lyrics to the harmony and melody?

“Touching,” Jones murmured.

“Shut the fuck up,” Michael said, voice cracked to pieces.

“What? I mean it. A mother’s love. No force like it in the world, wouldn’t you say?”

Jones began to circle again, approaching Michael.

“That love brought you here across the stars. Would you like to thank her? Or condemn her? She left you the burdens you bear, after all.”

“It’s not her fault the military locked her up and tortured her!” Michael shouted, a boom to his voice that shook the cave around them, shedding dust like the old days, when Michael’s rage moved furniture and shook art from the walls and moved minds to thoughts of hellfire.

“You really don’t hold a grudge? Not even in the slightest?”

“Why do you care? You hated her, right? Because she got one over on you, she got Max away from you. And she outsmarted you again here on Earth.”

At that, Jones sighed. He took a step closer, and this time Michael stood his ground, his mother-made pod at his back. Jones’s eyes shone glassy in the low, shifting light.

“Thank you, Michael, for that eloquent declaration of your loyalties. I’m disappointed in you, but it does uncomplicate things.”

He flicked his hand and Michael flew across the cave, head slamming sickly into the wall, like Michael had flung Jones when he fled from him the last time. As the world swam and a hot trickle wound down the back of Michael’s neck, Jones approached leisurely.

“See, for a sec, I thought the soft approach was working on you, Michael. I thought my charm was still good, even after all these years. You want to learn. You want the knowledge, the understanding. You want to stand in the light of the truth. Don’t you?”

Michael spat, and Jones ground him a few feet up the wall, his back scraping stone inch by jagged inch.

“So loyal. So dedicated. There is so damn much of that woman in you, no matter what kind of taint this rat-hole planet has left you with, human.”

The word oozed off his tongue like a slur.

A sneer on his face, Jones continued, “I hope it gives you solace while it can. I know it has a certain soothing effect on my own guilty conscience.”

“You’re fucking insane!” Michael gasped out. He flung his mind at every loose object around him, but nothing budged, his powers weak and fickle and inadequate.

In rage, they’d never failed him. But beneath his placid face, in Jones was something stronger than Michael, stronger than rage. But not stronger than Michael’s mother; not stronger than Nora Truman; not stronger than her by any other name she may have claimed in languages Michael would never speak.

Jones wasn’t stronger than her. So Michael would find a way. She sacrificed too much for him to give up now.

“Even on this life-forsaken psych-dumb wasteland planet, you have to understand that there are crimes and there are punishments,” Jones seethed. His composure was cracking, the man they’d first met in that cave pushing through the veneer he’d constructed over the months he’d been among them. He didn’t wait for Michael to respond, ranting on, “She stole from me. Ran from me, a fucking pirate! She stole my healer! My people! My heir. She had no right! And, not content in her flagrant audacity, she put me in a fucking hole in the ground! There are crimes and punishments. But she is beyond me now.”

Michael’s back lifted from the wall and slammed down again. He groaned as his vision went gray and his stomach heaved.

“She got what was coming to her. A fitting enough end, destroyed by the world she thought would hide her. But how can I be satisfied without a little vengeance of my own? Now that I’ve seen her message, my path at last is clear. You’ll do.”

The invisible iron bars pinning Michael six feet in the air disappeared, and he slumped to the hard-packed floor, air sawing through his chest, ribs screaming with every wheeze.

“Wouldn’t she be proud to see you now,” Jones murmured, and everything went dark.

When Michael came to, the world swam dim and gold into view, and squinting and wincing it took him a full minute to absorb his surroundings. He was slumped on the ground beneath the ladder of his workshop. Every bone and muscle ached; every breath seared inside him and ached its way back out.

“Michael! There you are. For a moment I was afraid in my excitement you’d gotten a little ahead of me,” Jones cried jubilant from across the room.

Staggering to his knees, Michael groaned, “Don’t fucking touch—how do you even—know this—”

“Either I plucked it out of your ripe mind when you offered it to me or I know someone who knows you,” Jones said. Something clanked as he tossed it. “Believe whichever, it doesn’t matter to me.”

He flung the tarp from Michael’s worktable, baring the console skeleton before his greedy eyes.

“This—” He laughed. “You truly are a marvel, you stupid boy. What I wouldn’t give for time and space to study you. Mold you. It’s almost a pity.”

“If Max is what you want, he’ll never forgive you if you kill me,” Michael slurred.

“Max is a piece of the puzzle. One piece,” Jones said. “And there have to be three. Or hasn’t anyone told you?”

Jones whirled away and went back to rifling through Michael’s papers, muttering to himself. Inching a little more upright, Michael craned his neck to look at the opening to the bunker, thrown wide, sunlight streaming down. He blinked in the sunlight piercing his pounding head, frantically trying to calculate the time. How close were they to crossing paths with everyone? Had Michael’s stupid wandering called the fox right in? Alex, Isobel, Max, Maria—

“I know, I know, no time to waste,” Jones said. “As entertaining as your little drawings are. We have things to be getting on with.”

With one hand, he seized the console, and with the other, he seized Michael, seized each of his organs in brutal turn, Michael sputtering and choking, writhing for relief that wouldn’t come, a beetle crushed beneath a boot.

“Let’s go somewhere we won’t be interrupted.”

[absoluteindulgence]

HC: Hot Girl Summer with the Boys

A/N: Hey y’all, I’m back... Let’s party. This is a magical world where the Rona has not taken over the world and summertime was filled with nothing but fun and bad choices ✌🏿. Sorry that it’s long, I had a lot of thoughts lmao. I hope you guys like this~ Characters are aged up⬆🆙

☀ 🌞Mirio🌞☀

Staying home reading a book... just fucking kidding

Mirio couldn't keep his ass still even if you told him to

This man is taking you all over the world, every amusement park to every ride.

Ever looked fear in the face? Well, being in front of every rollercoaster multiple times means you have.

His true daredevil nature comes out as you both try to see who will last longer going down the roller coaster

You've wanted to throw in the towel many times, but persevered, beating Mirio by a landslide. 

Due to all the crowded lines and the fact that you're heroes, everyone lets you skip. You try being modest, but it doesn't work as the other patrons say, "Not only are you my favorite heroes but my favorite couple. You deserve to have fun!"

The willingness of everyone approving of your vacation time is gratifying, to say the least.

After spending time doing all the extreme rides, You guys enjoy all the other stalls.

Ironic enough, Mirio comes across the win-a-prize games and swears to get you one.

You try to tell him not to worry, but that fires him up more. I guess in his blonde brain, he thinks you don't want one, so he wants to prove your cute ass wrong.

And oh boy, did he.

He had accurate precision: Throwing the ball in the cup, throwing the hoop onto the bottle, shooting the paper plate off entirely.

Mirio the Assassin confirmed

After managing to win 4 STUFFED ANIMALS, 3 are for you while 1 goes to Eri.

The feels right in the kokoro~

With enough wins under his belt, Mirio treats you to bubble tea and taiyaki. With no shame, you stuff your face happy to finally enjoy food that won't come up.

"Wow, this taiyaki sure is great! But nothing is as sweet as you, baby."

Heart: ABLAZE

This goofball can't even let you enjoy your food in silence. But his honest smile compliments the moment as your flushed cheeks puff from drinking your favorite thirst quencher.

The day ends with you walking around the amusement park, arms full of toys, and finding a unique spot to watch the marvel of the sunset.

As you hold hands, a glance is shared as you two share a passionate kiss.

❄Shouto🔥

You guys are spending a lot of time reading manga and going to cafes.

Shouto lives to see you get dressed up as you let your hair flow in the wind (no matter how long or short, he knows you like the cool air on your scalp. The smile that spreads across your face is contagious as he stares at you with a similar grin)

Your beauty leaves all the other pedestrians gawking as Shouto, nonchalant but proud holds your hand.

Some fans come up to take selfies with you guys and damn do the photos look good. 

Going to various cafes through Japan has been a bucket list that you've shared since your first date. Rating each and creating a rating system. When all other plans fail, the top-rated are the ones you'll go back to.

The day is mellow, leaving you to stay inside because you feel like it. Cuddling with Shouto has proved to be an all-time favorite.

His light snores turn into light conversations. He has a hard time opening his eyes since he feels secure in having you by his side.

When you finally wake up, you cook together, his fave ofc, Cold-ass Soba. (One time you pranked him by boiling the noodles in strawberry milk, and he retaliated by putting pepper in your tea. On that day, you learned not to come between a man and his soba)

When yearning for a little excitement, you drag Shouto to a karaoke bar

He tries not to get too involved, but then you play one of his favorite angsty songs, and he's singing like one of the greats

You can't tell me that Shouto wouldn't vibe to Linkin Park, 3 Days Grace or The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus (Especially when he hated Endeavor to his core)

Shouto would give an excellent performance to Breaking The Habit, Home, and Face Down. I FEEL IT IN MY SPIRIT!!!

The only way you feel like you'll win…. Is if you rap Monster (Nicki's Verse ofc) or sing My Heart Will Go On lmao

Shouto thinks you're cheating tho because those are your trump cards when all else fails lmaooo

After the scream-singing match is done, you guys go home and drink a bunch of tea, hoping your voices aren't gone by the morning

💥Bakugou💥

If you're going to an amusement park, y'all going straight to the "horror" houses.

You guys usually go in to laugh at the horrible attempts to make you scared. Until there's that one jump scare that makes your heart leap out your chest.

You're breathless with the mocking laugh caught in your throat as you grip close to Katsuki's side.

This fiery bastard laugh gets even louder seeing you cower in embarrassment. Once he's done making fun of you, he kisses your forehead.

"About damn time, you move in close."

Now say you're not at an amusement park? You guys are going to the spa.

Not because you're tense but because it's always funny seeing Katsuki tense up when they try to butter him with complimentary things (thanks to being top heroes).

He hates going to public spaces and getting stuff for free. He wants to pay for the experience so that no one can say he takes advantage of his status.

Although it creates funny scenarios, you respect how committed he is.

His reasoning is that he's a citizen paying another citizen for their service.

Granted, if the service is excellent, the worker is guaranteed a tip (depending on the country since he likes to follow customs).

The funniest thing is him coming from Massage therapy, he's a big ol’ softie.

The cuddles are intense, and his face never changes from the color pink, and his smile is curved too high.

Onlookers seeing him smile are terrified, and yet you are smushing his face between your hands kissing him all over.

"You look so relaxed, Boomer, let's take a bath together~."

Coming back to his senses, he'll grit his teeth a little and retort, "I'm not a damn Boomer!"

He's not mad that you called him that he's just mad you said it in public LMFAO

🌋Kirishima🌋

You guys are spending most of your time at the beach, soaking in the sun and enjoying his thick ass hands rubbing sunscreen all over your body

Don't let him see you enjoying it, he might have to pull you away from the public and give you that good ole sea cucumber

But when he can't get your sweetness right away, he'll have to push his energy into something else

And ofc, Kiri has an active personality, and when you mix that with demolishing opponents while playing volleyball, you too get into your competitive mode.

Anyone playing against you guys will catch HELL. Some cried from the impact of the ball, hitting them. Some deserving for the shit-talking...

Others getting sincere apologies and an autograph or picture lmao

Everyone on the beach knows you two as the power couple, and you win the nicknames, Otters of the Sand.

After kicking so much ass, you guys enter an eating contest as a team. Everyone's surprised to see how many bowls you've cleared. The appetite is already built up, so you guys are willing to stuff your faces until you're waddling back to the hotel.

And with the stamina you've gained at UA, you made it happen. In Second place to Kiri. He basks in his crown, winning first place, and you guys happily waddle back to your hotel room, taking a shower together then cuddling.

Imagine you guys decide to stay lax the whole summer, video, and card games are the vibe.

You try hard to kick his ass in Smash and end up losing... No matter who you main. You even try random (3 times) and still lose.

"Wow, Babe, you're doing well for a sore loser. You almost got a 3 stock victory!"

His laugh ticks you off even though he's just teasing you, and you wanna switch the game. Even in the back of your head, you deem it pointless, but he still obliges you.

No tlk angy frm l0sng😡💢

When you've played your last game, you accept your defeat only to tickle him into submission.

He apologizes and wraps you into a bear hug smothering you in kisses.

[ransprang]

harry potter match up for @donthugme1mscared

your harry potter match up is…..Luna Lovegood!!

- Lunas’s been through some shit in terms of bullying and losing her mother but she has persevered

- Luna isn’t one for social niceties or norms and would rush right into the deep talks and psychoanalyzing <3 She always says what’s on her mind with little regard for what other people will think

- Luna will definitely very subtly and often unintentionally roast your father whenevr you want to rant about him :)

- Luna looks pretty eye-catching too due to her eclectic sense of style. We hope her lion head hat attracts you to her <3

yours owlishly,

admin san

(keep reading for her info)

——————————————

Hi there! I’d love to request a matchup for Harry Potter :>

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Bisexual

Gender preference: don’t have :>

Personality:

At the start I’m a somewhat stiff and observant person. I don’t talk a lot and tend to stay in the background. I will probably have a negative image of the people who want to pull me out of my comfort zone because I prefer to float in my own reality than hold unnecessary conversations. I love deep talk and I hate small talk. I believe that I don’t need to talk with the people I like because it’s enough for me to feel comfortable around each other. I’m also very apathetic (as you can read-), sluggish and nihilistic at times. But I‘m still very loving towards the people and things I like, I experience lots of emotions and I want everyone to know what I’m currently feeling. I’m someone who most likely won’t back away no matter how many people urge me. However, my biggest personality trait will always be that I’m incredibly compassionate with those who where wronged by society. Even though I don’t talk a lot at the start I soon start to talk a lot and say what’s on my mind 24/7.

Hobbies: Lyra dance and I sometimes draw

My type: I don’t really have a type. Maybe someone who is willing to go out at night with me where we can talk without anyone bothering us. I really like people who say what they think and say what’s needed to say instead of what’s wanted to say. I admire that a lot. People with strong personality’s are very eye catching. But what’s more eye catching are people who don’t care what others say.

What I hate:

Sitting home all day, insects, fire, smalltalk, manipulative or possessive behaviour, my father, anything bitter, religions or religious themes.

Love language: Probably quality time. My way of showing affection is taking them out, going on walks in the city or I‘ll just take them to the beach at midnight where we can lay on the sand, talk without anyone bothering us, and just enjoy our togetherness. I may not be the one who constantly cuddles them or gives them kisses all over their Face, but I love to link pinkies and enjoy the night with them :>

I‘m also a night owl and very active at night. Thus said they should expect that at daytime I will go over to them and nap next to them.

Thank you so much! Have a nice day!

——————————————

[amethystpath-writes]

I loved your recent drabble Dragged by the Ankle! Do we maybe get to see some of Villain's training in the woods? ~tears-and-lillies

Aw shucks! Thank you; glad you liked it! It was a little less training and a little more surviving ;) Very long, but I think it's appropriate to be so. Slight gore warning: animal attack, can see the bones, mention of blood, survival (in the woods) situation- whump of minors

Continuation of this

******

"I'm thirstyyyyyy," one boy complained as the group continued walking.

Villain wondered how long it'd been since they'd been outcasted. He recalled the way Hero's face changed; from worried and scared to...to stone cold, emotionless. He didn't think he'd ever forget that face, the face of indifference, as if Hero didn't even care about him anymore.

How could that happen? How could they have been so close, been so happy being brothers, all for Hero to just...abandon him? Walk him out in the woods with a group of other kids and say 'Fend for yourselves. And if you live through two weeks, you can come back'?

Villain couldn't understand why his older brother suddenly didn't care at all. He knew Villain wouldn't survive out here in the woods like this. He'd been housebound for several months, taking care of their deteriorating mother. Any muscle Villain once had was nearly gone. He wasn't skin and bones per say, but he couldn't wrestle a bear, that was for sure.

"Quiet, now. I'm going to teach you all something." It was an older boy, maybe sixteen, whereas Villain was fourteen. This boy had been a captain's son. Guess he wasn't living up to the Captain's standards. "Sh, sh. Listen, alright?"

The boys went silent. Most of them were under the age of ten. It was ridiculously unfair they had been sent to the woods. It was unfair that any of them had been, but who could send a child to fend for itself in the woods, somewhere far away from civilization, far away from help? 'Strength in numbers' Hero had said before setting them off. 'Stick together and more of you will live as opposed to if you split up'. A true soldier's lesson. These boys weren't soldiers though. They were just boys.

"You hear that flow of water?" A collective nod of heads. Villain stood nearby, but also a little separated from the group, leaning against a tree. "Which direction do you think we need to walk to find the water?"

One kid began humming in question, but the eldest put a finger to his lips, whispering again, "Listen. You have to be quiet in order to listen."

Another boy raised a hand.

"Not yet. Let the others think of an answer themselves." The oldest hummed himself, and the boy from before nearly corrected him before the former finished, "When everyone has thought of an answer, put a thumb up, alright? Then we'll all point where we think."

***

"You're really good with them," Villain said. "The younger boys."

The sixteen year old shrugged. "Thanks, I guess." He gave a small laugh. "I'm not used to interacting with them in that way. I guess it's just the way I always wanted to be treated."

"In any way, you're good at it."

He nodded, muttered another small 'Thanks'.

***

They were on their fourth day. Villain considered the sixteen year old a friend. He was closer to his own age than anyone else. He was kind and he was a good leader. Villain aspired to be him in some fashion. Not entirely, because Villain liked his own identity, but he wished he was stronger, more capable like Friend.

It was night now, and Villain couldn't sleep as everyone else did. He kept thinking about Hero, about how much he missed his older brother.

They had always been so close. When Father returned home, Hero would always take Villain out to the cliff edge. There, they would forget about the day's stress and aggravations. Sometimes they'd throw what little sand they could find at one another. Villain smiled at this memory, smiled at remembering the way they laughed together and the way, when he began to tire, Hero would lie down and Villain used him as a pillow. They'd watch the sun set over the waters then walk home.

There was a groan, and Villain looked over at the group of boys with raised brows. Friend sat up and Villain nodded, having figured out who it was.

Friend stretched before asking, "Have you slept at all?"

Villain shook his head. "Restless mind, restless body."

"You haven't been sleeping very much. It's going to catch up with you." He stood, stretched, and walked over to Villain before slinking beside him against the trunk of a tree. "What would help you sleep, huh?"

Villain shrugged at Friend. "Nothing that can actually happen."

"What is it?"

"I want my brother to be here with me."

Friend hummed. He did that a lot. "I could be your brother. Wouldn't be quite the same, I know, but if you think it would help..."

Villain huffed. "Don't force a relationship on my behalf. I'll get over it."

"You're angry," Friend observed aloud. "Your brother let them take you away, didn't they?"

Now Villain laughed. It was an ironic laugh, one that presented his anger further. Really, he didn't know he was angry until Friend said it. But it was true. He was angry with Hero, not just saddened by him. "My brother is the one who led us out here."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

***

Several more days passed and Villain was struggling. His thirst was quenched; the boys traveled upstream, always having water on hand as long as they could make a fire, and they could. The lands were dry, though not so dry as to start a forest fire. A general campfire was easy. It was the hunger, though, that dug at Villain.

There were seven boys in the group, including Villain and Friend, and it was only those two that were successful in capturing rabbits, squirrels, and fish, but it happened so seldom that Villain hadn't even had anything to eat. He gave it all to the younger children. Friend did the same, except he had one fish for himself, in the middle of the night once, to maintain his strength.

***

Another day. Another night.

The boys were walking, all of them a bit tired from the journey, but persevering nonetheless. They were going to settle in a bend of the river, a 'comfy spot' the younglings said. Villain knew it was because it reminded them of the hugs they missed from their mothers.

Friend held a hand up, shushing the group. There was a howl somewhere in the distance, but if they could hear it, it meant it was too close. They'd never had to fight a predator before, even after a full week.

"Wolves," Friend said. "They don't travel alone; they travel in packs, like us." Villain liked this comparison. They weren't boys, were they? They were all wolves, too. But which pack was stronger?

The boys scrambled about, crying with worry of death. Friend did his best to calm them down, but ultimately it was Villain who succeeded in doing so.

"You don't want to be wolves, do you?"

Some still crying, the majority shook their heads. Others just listened.

"Did you ever hear about these creatures called monkeys?" They nodded. "They don't live around here, but we can make them exist. You want to?" Again, they nodded. "Good," Villain smiled. "Good. Monkeys climb in trees, alright? So that's what we have to do."

One boy, the youngest, asked, "What noise do they make?" He was one of the few who hadn't been crying. He seemed to not understand what was going on around him. He played with a twig in his chubby hands.

"Noise? Oh no. They don't make any sounds. That's a myth."

The boy squinted, but accepted it.

More howls sounded. They were getting closer. Villain looked to Friend. He felt very terrified all of a sudden.

Friend said, "Up you go, in the trees." The boys began jumping for branches, but weren't able to reach. Before helping them, Friend said to Villain, "Genius thinking, brother." He clapped Villain on the back before helping the smallest up a tree first.

That hollowness Villain felt as his fear increased settled just the tiniest bit. He smiled at Friend. Not a forced relationship, after all. They were brothers and they would continue to be after this second week was over.

Villain moved to help some of the others as well. They'd nearly all gotten up, except for the middle child in the group of five younglings. And, of course, Villain and Friend were left as well.

Helping the last up, Villain heard a low rumble. At first he thought it came from his stomach, but then the rolling continued, and a quick snarl made itself heard. Slowly, he turned his head, and as he did so, his eyes stung. There, between the trees crouched a beast of grey and brown fur. Villain froze. He wasn't even sure that he was breathing. Could he breathe? Would it trigger a fight response in the wolf?

Friend, having already finished with his group of kids, tiptoed as slowly as he could manage to Villain. He whispered, and it made the pit in Villain's stomach double in size and despair, "Get him up there, slowly, quietly. No sudden movements, you hear me?"

Villain said nothing, but began to nerve strikingly push the child up through the air. The wolf howled and Villain's shoulders and arms tightened. He felt tears building up in his eyes before they slid down his cheeks. He didn't bother wiping them away, afraid- again- that the action would cause the wolf to attack. I don't want to die. Please don't let me die.

Another howl. The wolf was calling the rest of the pack, telling them that it found food. A shudder traveled through Villain and he flinched. I thought wolves stuck together at all times.

"Go up the tree, Villain. You're going to be okay. We'll get out of this."

Villain's watched the wolf's ear twitch as it heard. It began taking slow, cautious, and predatory steps closer to them. Every time Friend spoke, it would approach faster. Their voices were a taunt to the beast.

Nodding, Villain reached up, grasping a thick branch before pulling himself up, but he wasn't strong enough. His body jerked down as his arms gave. The wolf let out a startling bark, pounced forward a bit.

"Shit," Friend spat out, grabbing Villain under each arm. "Grab it," he said, panicked. "Grab the branch!" Villain did as he was instructed, and this time Friend helped push him up.

Several howls followed Villain as he climbed up. He spotted the boy he helped up as he tried looking for whatever wolves were approaching. He'd forgotten it wasn't just him and Friend who were facing death.

Villain looked down just as the first wolf lunged at Friend. "No!" Thankfully, Friend had rolled out of the way before the wolf's teeth could sink in.

"Come on! I'll pull you up! I'll pull you-" Friend's hands grasped one of Villain's while the other held the branch he jumped up to grab. Not in time, though. The wolf clenched its jaws on Friend's calf, yanking him with one vicious pull to the ground.

"Friend!" Villain could hear the grunts, the hollers, the snarls, and the rips. Villain couldn't watch. He couldn't watch. There was blood and- and no. No, that's not a bone. Friend screamed again and again, sometimes at the wolf, sometimes at Villain.

"Stay in-" Scream. Punch. Thrash. "Stay in the trees!"

Don't die. Don't die. Don't die, don't die,don't die-don'tdiedon'tdie. Please don't die. Villain couldn't handle both of his brothers disappearing from his life. And not like this. Not like this.

A massive wave of fury struck Villain in the next moment. If it weren't for Hero- he let out a holler of frustration. If it weren't for Hero, he wouldn't be in these woods. Friend wouldn't be in these woods. None of these kids would be in the woods, hiding in trees to avoid being eaten by wolves. Villain was willing to bet Hero had never seen a wolf before, much less fought one.

The screams stopped. Villain screamed, cried, punched the branch he sat on with both fists until they felt swollen and bruised. And then he fell asleep, exhausted, and not willing to think of the horror he just witnessed.

***

The boys slept in the trees. The wolves left. After Villain had fallen asleep, the other wolves arrived, scratching at the trees, whimpering that they couldn't reach the delectable bags of flesh and meat stowed away, hidden behind leaves.

When Villain woke, he saw two piles of clothing, each stained with blood, both containing hard and thin objects called bones. Two piles- so one of the children had fallen prey, too.

Villain threw up in the stream over and over, pouring himself out, tears and stomach acid alike. "I can't do this," he gasped. "I can't do this."

But he could. And he would. Because Hero needed to pay, and Villain would be the one to collect.

******

Part 3 here

[kopikokun]

Spilled Drinks & Study Sessions༄ mark l.

↳ When you’re forced into a study session with your next door neighbour Mark, who also happens to be your academic rival in school, things go south very quickly.

pairing; mark lee x reader

genre; fluff, slight angst, enemies to lovers (more like friends, but anyway)

wordcount; 2503 words

author’s note; how the hell do you guys write e2l and make the transition so smooth? bro i could never. also, the header pic is different than what i normally do :/ it’s kinda eh, but i liked the picture so i had to do something with all that empty space

Request 26: Mark + “Oh, are you ticklish?” (73) + “Why are you naked?” (109)

— 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧. | 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬.

The animosity between you and Mark is intense and painstakingly obvious to everyone around you. Well, everyone besides your parents, you suppose. 

   “Can you stop being so loud? You’re distracting me,” you grumble, angrily flipping through your homework. 

   “Well, I’m sorry for breathing.” Mark rolls his eyes at you. “Would you rather I stop entirely instead and drop dead right here, right now?”

   “At least it would be quieter if you did.” You press your pen down harder, taking your rage out on your poor, innocent worksheet. If you’re going to blame anyone for the excruciating torture your homework is enduring, you’d blame Mark. Even if it technically isn’t his fault, you’d still pin the blame on him. 

   “What’re you gonna do with my body? You wouldn’t be able to lift me, I mean, you couldn’t even open that can of Coke.”

   Your cheeks grow warm, mentally replaying the image of a grinning Mark as he effortlessly opened your can of Coke, the soft hiss of its fizz taunting you. Mark had puffed up his chest triumphantly like he was some kind of hero. For crying out loud, he had only opened a can of Coke, not saved his country. It still bruised your pride though, having to ask for help from Mark, your sworn rival since middle school. Childish, you know, but you’re certain that Mark thinks of you as such too. 

   “Whatever,” you fumble for a name to call him, “nerd.” Mark snickers at you. “My fingers were just slippery.” He arches a brow, challenging you, and you scowl. “I wouldn’t be able to lift you because you’re heavy, fatass. Not because I’m weak.” You twirl a lock of your hair around your finger. “And look who’s talking, Mr. I-Can’t-Open-Doors.”

      Mark flushes crimson as he silently fumes. “That was because I was pushing the pull door!”

   “That’s even worse, Mark,” you tease, unable to suppress a smile. “Dumbass,” you mumble below your breath, enjoying the way Mark seethes.

   “You’re calling me a dumbass? If I remember correctly, I was the one who placed above you last term.” Mark haughtily flips a page in his workbook. “Which I think is why your parents want me to tutor you.”

   You throw a measly eraser shaving at Mark in rebuttal. “You know that’s not why I’m here!” Another shaving is thrown at Mark’s head, yet he doesn’t even look up at you. “In fact, your parents probably wanted me here so I could babysit you!”

   Neither you or Mark are right. Your parents just chucked you together because they thought that after all those years of living beside one another and having weekly dinners together, you two would be absolutely wonderful buddies, and you can’t fault them for assuming such a thing.

   Logically speaking, you and Mark are supposed to be the bestest of friends. As much as you dislike the word, it seems as if fate has decided that you two are meant for each other. Gross. 

   In almost every situation possible, you and dear Markie boy over here have been unwillingly strung together—from group projects, to assigned seats, you two just can’t get a break from one another.

   Your parents had innocently thought that having a little study session while they went out for a double date with Mark’s parents would be beneficial for you two. Perhaps even fun. Fun, your ass. 

   All those years spent with Mark hasn’t made you friends, no, it’s made you rivals.

   Yeah, so not sworn enemies, but what’s life without a little exaggeration?

   You’ve always been a bright kid, some would even go as far to say that you’re ‘gifted’, but you think ‘persevering’ is a better word to describe it. You weren’t just born naturally intelligent or outstandingly athletic, no, you’ve had to work hard, insanely hard, for that. It hadn’t been handed to you all nicely wrapped with a little bow to match, just for you to tear it open and take. You’ve had to tolerate and undergo several sleepless nights, and many agonising hours of training. 

   Up until middle school you were top of your class in all aspects. You were idolised (well, as idolised as you could be for a middle schooler anyway), loved and acknowledged. It had been blissful. 

   That was until, little Mark with that stupidly cute gleam in his eyes came along, skipping over to you in those worn-out track pants and smiling toothily as he introduced himself as your brand new next door neighbour.

   You have to admit, initially, you and him were close friends. You’d walk home together, sneak out to go to the convenience store together, share snacks together, the list goes on. You’d even given Mark your very first kiss, right on the cusp on your twelfth birthday. He didn’t know that it was your first kiss though, and he’ll never know. You’d rather be shot at point blank range than give up such private intel. 

   But when one day, in seventh grade, when Mark had begun closing in on you in rankings, outrunning you at the park and gradually being everyone’s new favourite, you found yourself isolated. Even one of your friends, a girl with straight long hair that fell past her waist, started hanging out with Mark more than with you.

   And when you invited her to your thirteenth birthday, the first thing she’d asked was, “Is Mark going to be there?”

   And at that same party, you saw her, kissing the boy you had been crushing on for the past year. And it looked like Mark really enjoyed kissing her too. More than he did with you.

   From that point on, you began to distance yourself from Mark. It was gradual, slow, but you knew Mark could tell. When he finally surpassed you academically too, you started harbouring a resentment towards him, and the rivalry between you two started.

   You were somewhat hoping he’d confront you, at least wonder why your attitude towards him had seemed to change in the blink of an eye, but he hadn’t. And that stung.

   Obviously rumours had circulated in middle school about what was going on between you two. Kids, no, people love to talk. And talk they did. 

   It had been widely known that you and Mark used to be inseparable at one point in time, and it was jarring seeing how differently you two were acting around each other.

   Mark and that friend of yours had broken up some time after that, and evidently she was pissed. It seemed as if she had begun spreading gossip about you, claiming that you had been some sort of psycho ex-girlfriend and that you had threatened Mark to break up with her, essentially, she was villainising you.

   When high school finally rolled around, Mark’s ex had moved by then—you weren’t sure where and you didn’t care to know. The rumours eventually died down with her absence, and you thought that maybe, just maybe, you and Mark could finally make amends, bury the hatchet, as one would say. But that never happened.

   Looking back, you’re a bit amused at what an eventful and dramatic childhood you had. All those scandals at just thirteen? What a boss bitch. Present you would not be able to stomach that.

   You take a peek at Mark. He’s attractive. Of course he is. He had been a cute kid, no doubt, but as he’s aged, he’s matured into his good looking features. He’s not the rugged and manly kind of good looking, he’s got more of a sweet boyish look to him, and in your opinion, it adds to his charm. 

   “What are you staring at?” 

   Shit, you’ve been caught. No, caught? It’s not like you were doing something you shouldn’t have. “Nothing.” You reach forward to take a sip from the infamous Coke can. It’s lukewarm, but you gulp it down regardless, trying to appear unfazed.

   “Were you checking me out?”

   Disaster strikes just as those words leave Mark’s lips. The putrid sensation of warm coke leaves your mouth entirely, not because you’ve begrudgingly swallowed it all, but because you’ve spit it out from the sheer shock of Mark’s question. 

   “Hey! What the fuck?” Mark stands from his chair across from you and its legs scrape against the floor with a sound that makes your skin crawl. 

   You cough and sputter, gasping for air. Once you’ve gotten past that tight feeling in your throat, you wipe the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand. A few droplets of the sugary drink dribble onto your shirt. But fortunately, well for you at least, you’re not as drenched in spit-laced Coke as Mark is. 

   “Shit!” You lift your gaze to look at Mark, who’s surprised, to say the least. 

   Mark takes a breath to say something, the words on the tip of his tongue, but he clamps his mouth shut, opting to groan in annoyance instead. “Jesus, why’d you even do that?”

   Your face burns in embarrassment. No way you’re going to admit to him that you were checking him out. Sort of. “I don’t know, it just went down the wrong channel, I guess.”

   Mark’s lips form a thin line of dissatisfaction. “Yeah, okay, whatever.” He cringes as his shirt sticks to him. “ I’m gonna go change.”

   He runs a hand through his hair, face upturned in frustration as he stomps up the stairs, his footsteps echoing throughout the living room. Your eyes follow his figure until he turns a left into his room. 

   You sigh. If you were home alone, you would have screamed in humiliation. The can of Coke on the table mocks you. You resist the urge to pick it up and hurl it into Mark’s neighbour’s backyard—well, your backyard. 

   A sliver of positivity presents itself in the form of you and Mark’s mostly unscathed worksheets. There are a few stray droplets here and there, but it’s barely noticeable. It would’ve been much worse for both Mark and you if you had drenched those as well. In fact, your homework wouldn’t be drenched in just saliva and Coke, but also in tears at that point. 

   You curse the can in your grasp, its aluminium smooth against your skin, before you dump it in the bin. Good riddance, bitch. 

   I should apologise. You can suck up your pride for that. No, this isn’t even about petty things like pride anymore. That shouldn’t matter. I should apologise, you think to yourself firmly.

   Alright. Apologising. Sorry. You inhale deeply, gathering your senses and calming your jittery nerves. Why are you even nervous? It’s not like you’re professing your undying love to him. Chill the fuck out.

   As you’re standing before Mark’s single, wooden door (which looks extremely daunting for some reason), it doesn’t dawn on you that perhaps you should knock first.

   If it had, then perhaps you wouldn’t be staring at a shirtless Mark, your hand still wrapped around his doorknob and your mouth hung agape.

   “Oh my God, Mark!” You cover your eyes, the door shutting behind you with a creak. You’re a bit ashamed at how fast your cheeks are overtaken by a hot, prickling feeling. “Why are you naked?”

   Mark, though just as startled as you are, has the common sense to reach blindly for the stained shirt he just took off, holding it in front of him. “What do you mean why am I naked? Why are you here?”

   You take a few steps back, your back pressed up against the door. “I- I came up here to say I’m sorry. You know, for uh, just now?”

   Your hands slowly fall to your sides as you burn holes into Mark’s carpeted floor with your eyes instead. 

   “Oh, uh, o-okay. Apology accepted, I guess.” Mark’s voice cracks and he clears his throat. “Let me just uhm—”

   You can hear his drawer sliding open and the faint rustle of fabric. All the while you keep your gaze glued to the floor, feeling your cheeks grow warmer by the second. Oh my God, you’re acting like a little girl who’s just held a boy’s hand for the first time.

   This isn’t the first time you’ve seen a guy naked—for fuck’s sake, Mark’s not even naked. He’s all covered up where he should be. Why is the sight of just his bare body from the waist up making your mind go blank and your palms grow sweaty? It’s not like you have feelings for him anymore. No, you don't.

   “You can uh, you can look up now.”

   You steel yourself, looking up to face Mark. Why did you have to steel yourself? It’s not like he’d have taken even more clothes off once you looked up again. You feel like slamming your head into the wall.

   You fiddle with your fingers, searching for something to say to try and ease the tension. “Uh, sorry. For spilling that Coke all over you, I mean.” You scratch the nape of your neck. “And for you know, walking in on you changing.”

   “Why didn’t you leave?”

   Your shoulders slump. “Huh?”

   Mark chuckles confidently, like he’s unabashed. His cheeks are ablaze with colour, though. “I mean, why didn’t you just back out of the room when you walked in on me changing? Why’d you just stand there?”

   You blink at him. Why didn’t you just leave? “I- I froze up, okay? Don’t bully me!” Your ears are burning.

   “Yeah, okay, okay.” Mark raises his hands by his sides, that entertained smile never leaving his lips. “Let’s go back down, okay? I still need to finish my work.”

   You chew on your inner cheek. “Yeah, whatever,” you try to find a creative name to call him.

   “Yeah, I know. Nerd.” Mark raises his brows at you, still with that amused grin. You wish you could smack it right off his stupidly handsome face.

   You huff, turning on your heel and practically booking it to the stairs. Mark catches up to you in no time with long, languid strides. Stupid long ass legs.

   “Hey, wait up, loser,” he says, a hint of delight in his voice. He pokes your side and you jump, shoving his hand away and mustering a weak glare at him. “Oh, are you ticklish?”

   You gnaw on your bottom lip. “No, I’m not, fatass!” Despite your harsh tone, your cheeks deceive you, blossoming with warmth yet again.

   Mark smiles genuinely this time, although there’s no sarcastic edge to it whatsoever. “You getting shy?”

   “No, I’m not.”

   “Hey, don’t be upset!” The next thing Mark says is nearly incomprehensible, but you hear it. Oh, you definitely do.

   “You look cute.”

   Your head swivels to look back at Mark, and you realise that he hadn’t meant for you to hear that.

   The faintest of smiles teases your lips, before you turn away, denying him the satisfaction of seeing you break out into a grin. “Yeah, whatever, Mark.”

   Now, it’s Mark’s turn to be enveloped in heat as a red tint spreads across his cheeks.

[thepointoftheneedle]

Fragment

I’m really enjoying the fragments (and I freaked myself out with that word count thing so I’m taking some time off from writing....note to self -NEVER look at the stats page.). Anyway I keep trying to write this little soulmate thing but, without me intending it, it always becomes an academic paper on the philosophy of colour perception.  And I can’t imagine anybody but me is interested in that!

Below the cut anyway....(I guess this should have been for Friday but what the heck...)

His eyes fluttered open as he awakened but, feeling the warmth of the sleeping girl by his side, he closed them tightly.  He wanted them to have this experience together.  Nothing would ever be the same for them again.  It was a special moment for a couple and he wanted it to be perfect.  He had installed the app on his phone so he fumbled for it, knocking some loose papers from the nightstand and cursing gently.  She mumbled and stirred so he put his hand over her eyes.  “What the hell J?  What’re you doing?”  

“I’m opening up ‘Soul Truth.’  We can look together.”

“Oh J, no, don’t do that,” she moaned softly, beseechingly.

“Ssh, don’t worry.  It’ll be great.”  He kissed her gently, voice-activated the app and removed his hand from her eyes.  She was looking at him, not the screen so he gently turned her head and looked down as she did.  The screen was a uniform blue.  His stomach lurched.  It must be a glitch.  “Wait, wait a second,” he muttered, clicking the app closed and reopening it.  Solid blue.  He looked at her and saw the sadness in her beautiful dark eyes.  Sadness but not surprise.  

She reached out a hand and stroked his cheek softly, “Hey, I’m sorry J.  I didn’t want to disappoint you but I already knew.  I just didn’t feel it last night.”

“Jeez Rox, I’m so sorry.  I can do better, you just have to tell me what I did wrong.  I know I can be what you want. I thought you’d…I thought I felt you...”

“I did, Jughead, of course I did.  Listen.  It was great.  You were great.  So tender and kind.  It was beautiful and I really had a good time but it wasn’t…I don’t know.  It wasn’t whatever soul mates have.  You’ve heard Fangs talk about it.  It’s next level.  Transcendent.  What we had was great sex, but it was just great sex.  No angelic chorus.  You had to feel that?” She was normally tough and streetwise but now her voice was gentle, trying not to hurt him.  There was a painful lump in his throat.

“I thought it was transcendent, you were anyway. I think I’m falling in love with you Roxie.”  His voice was quavering.  He was ashamed of his weakness.  “It has to be a mistake. It’s the app.  It has to be.”  Abruptly he was up and heading down the hallway before she could say another word.  “Fangs, “ he yelled.  “You in there?” He stood waiting, shivering, in his boxers, while disgruntled groaning emanated from the room, until eventually the door opened a crack and Fangs peered out at him.

“Jones, the building better be on fire.  We didn’t get in til four.  What time is it?”

“Just after eight.  Look, is this broken?”

Fangs looked at the proffered screen blearily then a small smile appeared on his face.  “Aww cute bunny.”  Jughead snatched the screen back and swiped up.  An image appeared in his visible spectrum of a cartoon bunny rabbit holding out a carrot.  The legend underneath read “I wuv you.” 

“Uggh, why don’t they have something with a bit of gravitas?  Shit.  Fuck it!”  Jug turned around just as Fangs understood the situation.  

“Oh my god Jughead!  Did you and Rosaline finally do the do? Oh shit…you can’t see that can you? Oh Christ man, I’m so sorry.” 

Jug swallowed down his disappointment, just like he had been swallowing down his anger and sorrow and guilt and sadness for most of his life and shrugged at Fangs.  “No biggie.  Apparently I’m destined to die alone.  Whatever.”  He stalked off back to his own room only to find Roxie already getting dressed. “Roz, shit, can’t we talk about this?  Don’t go. Maybe it’ll happen later, perhaps it’s not always instant?”

Her voice was low and mournful when she spoke. “J I really care about you, you’re my good friend, but we’re both searching for something that we’re never going to be able to give each other. Let’s just take some time apart.  Maybe in a few months we’ll be able to go back to being pals again.  I’m really sorry that you’re disappointed.”  With that she was gone in a whisk of magenta hair and Cabotine perfume.

He sat on his bed and stared into space.  He’d been so sure.  She was a dear friend, she understood him, laughing at the same things, enjoying the same movies.  There was never any stress or conflict with her.  It was easy. She indulged his bad moods and cajoled him out of sulks with food and silly jokes.  He knew enough to leave her well alone when she was getting into one of her rages.  Then gradually, as they worked together on the documentary project, he found himself wanting to touch her hair, wanting to hold her tiny body against his in a protective embrace, wanting to make her feel good with his touches.  She’d seemed uncertain but he’d persevered, wooed her really.  Then finally, excited and giddy after the showcase where their documentary project had taken first place she’d kissed him and whispered, “Do you want to go back to your place?”  He’d been so happy as they’d crunched back to his apartment through the first snow of the winter.  He’d wondered if it might happen when they finished the film.  While sex tended to be the main way that a soul bond was revealed, a lot of soul mates actually bonded on completion of some other kind of shared project.  It hadn’t happened then but he’d been so sure that, if they made love, it would click and the missing shade would be revealed to them.  And then it hadn’t happened.

The app was pretty new.  Before the advent of the smart phone, folks would have a painting or a poster in their homes.  To those who were not matched it would look like an ordinary scene but once a soul bond was formed, the missing colour in the spectrum was revealed, and the soul mates could read the message in the image.  It was a little like a magic eye poster.  You looked at it for a moment or two and then the missing colour reconciled itself into words or an image.  Originally they had some gnomic inspirational quotation.   The one in the trailer he grew up in had, his mom said, had the Rolling Stone’s lyric, “You can't always get what you want but if you try sometime you find you get what you need.” Ironically FP and Gladys had been neither what the other wanted nor what they needed.  Later it would turn out that FP had lied when he stood in front of that poster and told the innocent, love-struck young girl, wrapped in the sheet from his bed, that he saw it  for the first time too. Actually he’d already bonded with someone else, someone who had no intention of getting tied up with a guy in a gang from the wrong side of the tracks.  He must have thought it was his lucky day, a second chance for happiness, when the beautiful girl he’d been romancing excitedly admitted that she could see the colour for the first time.  He’d nodded enthusiastically, said, “Yeah, me too,” and whisked her away to a world of damp trailers, drunken arguments and angry guys repossessing their truck, or the tv, or the kids’ toys.  She’d stayed because she believed he was her soul mate.  She thought she had no other options until, in a drunken rage, he’d revealed that it had always been a lie. She snatched up her daughter and left him.  And left the boy too, unwilling to take a kid who looked so much like the man she had been fool enough to trust and who had ruined her life with his lies.

The fact that scumbags with no moral scruples lied about this shit had led to the development of checking apps like Soul Truth, “the truth, the soul truth and nothing but the truth” according to the tag line.  You both looked at the screen and noted down what you saw, then swiped up and the image was revealed in ordinary unbonded colours.  It made it harder for predators and perverts to take advantage of young innocents while their good sense was overwhelmed by romantic dreams.  It also revealed that about ten percent of bonds were unreciprocated like Jughead’s parents, one of the couple bonded and the other didn’t.  Those couples had to decide if they would make that work, aware that one was more invested than the other, or if it was better to simply part, the bonded still feeling that desperate pull to their mate even decades later. Jug guessed he should be relieved that he hadn’t seen the colour that morning since, clearly, Roz was just not that into him.

He’d been sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the rug like that for thirty minutes when Fangs tapped softly on the door.  “Not now,” he snapped but Fangs ignored him and pushed open the door.

“Ok Jug.  I know you’re upset but it just means you haven’t found her yet.  She’s still out there and if you go into one of your epic sulks you’ve got less chance of meeting her.  What classes have you got today?”

“Nothing I can’t cancel.  Everyone’s cramming for Finals.  I was supposed to meet the princess to go over the final layout for the literary magazine.  She can do it on her own.  She’ll like that better anyway.” 

Now Kevin joined his boyfriend in the room, both of them making him feel self indulgent and guilty with their solicitousness.  “You shouldn’t shut yourself away and mope, Jughead.  Go and edit like a champ and then come by the theatre for us and we’ll go for burgers. We’re striking the set but we can take a break.  Our treat.  What do you say?”

Jughead pondered for a moment.  Nothing was going to change if he sat here, the princess would  be unbearable if he blew her off, and burgers on someone else’s tab were his favourite kind of burgers, so he grudgingly allowed himself to be persuaded.  

An hour later he was in the midst of a heated argument with the princess about his perfectly legitimate decision to kill a terrible poem about the fall which she, inexplicably, had marked for an already overcrowded page four.  “You can’t just take things out without consultation Forsythe.  We’re an editorial committee, we make decisions together.  It’s supposed to be a collaboration.”

“What, you want to keep this pile of third grade horseshit do you? And you’re just calling me that to make me mad. Don’t think I don’t know.”

“I didn’t say that.  It’s terrible.  It obviously has to go.  But you can’t just do it unilaterally. And you can’t call me Princess and not expect me to retaliate.  You know my name.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake Princess... sorry, my humblest apologies, for fuck’s sake Betty.  What the hell are we arguing about if we both think it’s bad and needs to go? And why is it even in here in the first place?”

“It’s in there because we were waiting on your egregiously late piece of sub Lovecraftian geek porn.  I was filling space.  Since you finally got your ass in gear we don’t need it anymore. So spike it.”  She had this way of making him feel like he lost, even when he won an argument.  It was infuriating.

They worked on pagination for another couple of hours with surprisingly little conflict, and then he wrote kickers for a few of the longer submissions, hoping to tempt the reader to give a story a chance.  She made sure the submissions were correctly attributed and that the running heads and page numbers and folios were in place.  Finally it seemed that they were done.  He clicked back to the front page, checked the position of the artwork and the masthead and looked over at her with a questioning expression to see if she was satisfied. She nodded her approval and, at last, under the words “Joint Editors”, he typed "Betty Cooper & Jughead Jones.”    As he clicked ‘save’ something shifted in his field of vision.  He was alarmed, pushing back from the desk and looking around, meeting her startled eyes.  Her green eyes, which weren’t green anymore.  He couldn’t describe what colour they were, there were no words.

“What just happened?” she whispered, obviously badly frightened.  

“Does…does anything look different to you?” he replied, hesitantly, reaching for his phone.

“Yes, everything.  What’s going on?”

“I’m not sure. Look at this.” He pulled up the app.  On the screen he could see, without difficulty, a cartoon cat, Pusheen maybe, its paws deep in some dough.  The caption read “I knead you.” As he read the words in his head, she said them aloud. “Fuuuuck,” he murmured.  “I think we’re soulmates, Princess.”

[astraeagreengrass]

exile [the woods part 1]

When you wake up in the floor of your apartment, you have no idea of how much the world has changed

Word Count: 2.708

Warnings: angst, mentions of death and death-related themes, PTSD, brief allusion to a panic attack.

A/N: A month ago, Taylor Swift released her eight studio album folklore and, unsurprisingly, it took over my life. The stories Taylor beautifully narrates in her songs inspired me to write something of my own: the woods is a four-part, post-Endgame story, with some slight changes to the canon, featuring Steve Rogers. Updates will be every Friday. Thank you to @xbuchananbarnes for proof-reading this and @thegetawaywriter for encouraging me to write. The banner picture was found here. Dividers are from @writeyourmindaway. Here is exile. I hope you like it ♡

i think i've seen this film before and i didn't like the ending you're not my homeland anymore so what am i defending now? you were my town, now i'm in exile, seein' you out i think i've seen this film before so i'm leavin' out the side door

Being pieced back together was like a hangover.

Like drinking too much wine one evening and then waking up on a foreign bed, not knowing how you got there. It was a pounding headache, a churning stomach, a dry throat. The back of your teeth were sensitive and the sound of sirens rung too loudly on your ears.

In the aftermath of your intoxication, the city is deafening.

You groaned at the light - you must’ve been so wasted if you’d forgotten the blinds. Every breath took a toll of your lungs, stretching your muscles beyond their strength, creaking your joints as you exhaled.

Someone gasped, startling you.

The familiar floorboards of your apartment greeted you when your eyes opened. Timeworn almond timber, the New York staple. Craning your neck, you saw a foot. Shit. You weren't one to bring one night stands home, or actually have them in the first place. Little ol' you was a little too square, a little too cautious, struggling to keep her trust issues from spilling out of her hands. Definitely not the best candidate for loose-stringed affairs, but your grandma always told you there was a first time for everything.

The foot’s owner nudged you, and you groaned again.

“Miss?” they said. “Are you alive?”

I don’t know.

Your gaze focused and you noticed the person was a boy of eleven or twelve, with a beautiful dark mop of curls and soft brown eyes. What the...

“Who are you?” you managed to croak. There was an ashy taste in your mouth, as if you’d swallowed dust.

The boy looked up and across, and you noticed that, on your left side, his father was crouching beside your body. He looked just like the kid, except a couple of decades older, so you assumed he was the father.

“My name is Cal,” the man said, spacely, as if he’d might frighten you if he spoke normally. “This is my son Daniel. We’re not going to hurt you.”

"Nice to know the invaders won't hurt me," you tried to say, but it came out a jumbled, messy current of words, like a baby first learning to communicate.

"Invaders?" the boy exclaimed, insulted. "We live here!"

"Daniel!" his father chided. "Miss, what is the last thing you remember?"

You pressed a palm to the ground, trying to lay your weight on it so you could stand up. You weren't about to answer an unknown man's questions while laying face-down on your own apartment floor. You might be hungover, but you had more dignity than that. When your body crumpled like a twig under a boot, Cal held you up, helping you to a seating position facing the window.

Craning your neck to shield your eyes from the sun, you noticed it.

Golden brown leaves.

Golden brown leaves that shouldn't exist in May.

You clearly remember opening the windows yesterday to green, lively foliage. New York was many things - loud, chaotic, more often than not dangerous - but it’s seasons were consistent, enduring. Through the tempests and disturbances, nature persevered in her year-long cycle, living and dying and living again.

These particular leaves belonged to October, perhaps even early November, never May.

Something was terribly wrong.

“What day is it?” you whispered, wide eyes going from the window to the man aiding you.

Cal grimaced. His boy was suddenly very quiet.

When you were a child, you used to have nightmares: a ghost in the attic, a wolf haunting the woods outside your house, an IED blowing up your father's convoy in Iraq. They'd trap your consciousness, suffocating your mind with fear and panic, and no night light or teddy bear could stifle the onslaught of relentless screams that rattled the walls and hallways of your childhood home, until your frantic grandmother shook you awake. The reality that greeted you on the floor of your apartment was that Twilight Zone all over again.

“Please,” you pleaded, perhaps to the man, perhaps to yourself.

Cal sighed.

“Today is October 17th, 2023,” he said and you learned that the only thing scarier than a nightmare is life itself. “You’ve been dead for the past five years.”

“We could go to the house in the woods,” you mumbled to the warmth of Steve’s chest.

He tightened his hold around your body, pressing a feather-light kiss to the crown of your head.

“Whatever you want,” he said. “You’ve got me for the weekend.”

“The whole weekend?” you smiled at him, finding the reassurance you needed in his indigo gaze.

Steve kissed you again, a fierce press of lips this time. Mouths and tongues and teeth intertwined, your hand finding hip, his hand finding you thigh.

“The whole weekend,” he breathed in the shell of your ear, right before the two of you became nothing more than a mess of pillows and sheets, drowning in love and want and lust. “And then forever.”

When the world ended, several hospital units closed down due to lack of patients.

When the Avengers managed to reverse the effects of the Snap - no one knew how they did it, but everyone knew it was them because of course it was - the mayor of New York declared the interruption of all kinds of activities in the city in order to help those returning. It was in a campaign hospital in Bryant Park that Steve Rogers found you, sitting up cross-legged and wrapped up in a grey blanket, having your temperature checked by one of the volunteers.

Wearing dark clothes and a cap, Steve was nothing more than a shadow behind the woman's shoulder. A lesser-trained gaze would glide past his figure in a quarter of a second, but not you. Never you. You'd recognize him in a sea of people, as if the blood that sustained you and the bones that built you knew exactly where to find him.

Steve had the decency to wait until the woman was done to approach you. With slow, clearly measured steps, he came closer, taking a seat at the foot of your stretcher. If he reached out his arm, he'd touch you, but he refrained and you were glad he did. In your mind, you saw him days ago, but reality told you differently. The calendar at the nurse's station, the newspaper you got a hold on, the constant broadcast of news: all of them mocked you, tormented you. Five years had gone by - more time than you’d ever had with the man across from you. And if there was ever any lingering doubt in your mind that this was some elaborate trick to fool you, they faded when you noticed the modest signs of aging that nothing but time and grief could inflict on a Super Soldier.

Again, a lesser-trained gaze probably wouldn’t catch them, but that would never be you when it came to Steve Rogers.

The two of you stayed in silence for minutes, watching a CNN report of a family reuniting in Idaho. The mother snapped right after the birth of her daughter - now a little girl with ginger pigtails, hugging her legs and kissing her hands. Everyday since you woke up on the floor of your apartment, there'd been thousands of stories such as this: parents finding children, husbands finding wives. The fallen - that's what the press called people like you, the dead that weren't really dead - all had the same lost look in their eyes. You supposed that's what happened when your clock was five years too late.

“What happened?” you finally asked when the broadcast changed to twin brothers reconvening in Hawaii. “What went wrong?”

Steve didn’t look at you, instead he kept pulling at a loose thread on the hem of his shirt.

“He was too strong,” he sighed. “And I thought I could fight him without Tony, but…”

You nodded.

“One of the nurses said he was badly wounded in the battle upstate,” you mentioned.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “But he’ll recover. Banner is looking after him. He’s got a kid now, you know? Tony. Her name’s Morgan.”

“Wow,” you smiled genuinely. “That sounds unbelievable and incredible at the same time.

“She’s a good girl,” Steve said. “Keeps Tony on his toes.”

On the TV, the two brothers embraced with a beautiful sunset as background.

“What about Sam and Nat?” you wondered.

Steve's fidgety hands stilled. With the left one he rubbed his mouth and chin until his skin was reddish.

"Sam was like you," he muttered and the implicit words hurt more in his voice than anyone else's. "Natasha… She didn't make it."

She didn't make it.

Natasha Romanoff. Natalia. Your mentor, your friend. The strongest woman you'd ever met. She didn't make it.

"What?" you gasped. "What do you mean 'she didn't make it'? Didn't she come back?"

Like Sam and the mother in Idaho and the twins in Hawaii. Like you.

Steve shook his head.

"It wasn't like that," he said. "She survived the Snap. Spent years trying to find something, anything, even the smallest possibility of getting everyone back and when we finally did… She sacrificed herself so we could have the Soul Stone."

"Sacrificed herself? For a stone?" you were extremely agitated now, the grey blanked falling from your shoulders as you looked at Steve searching for any sign of emotion. "Steven, look at me!"

 His eyes were glazed, a big blue sea threatening to spill over in waves of sadness.

"It wasn't a simple stone, Y/N. I'd rather not explain to you here, people can't know about this," he whispered, looking over his shoulder for anyone that could be listening.

"You mean they can't know why they disappeared and were brought back together like broken toys?" you exclaimed. "Toys that the Avengers can grab and then toss aside however they please? I'm not your toy, Steve!"

You knew you could be cruel. Ruthless. A child yelling ferociously at the top of her lungs until she got what she wanted. An angry teenager. An intelligence officer with obscure morals. But even when he left you without a goodbye, you'd always kept your forked tongue away from Steve Rogers.

Until now.

"Please," Steve pleaded. "Let's go home. I'll explain everything to you when we get there."

"I have no home," you spat. "I had a home three days ago when you came in saying something bad would happen, only to leave me again. Now I have nothing!”

Your tears were hot when they streamed down your face.

“I don't even know myself anymore,” you admitted and somehow that was worse than knowing you were alone in a world you didn't recognize. "All I know is dust. My bones were dust and now they're not. My heart was dust and now it's not. Everyone keeps telling me that I'm safe and that 'it's all over', but what is?"

You gasped, trying to breathe in some tranquility and breathe out some of the agony twisting your insides, but all that came out was a distressing wheeze.

"How do I know that I will not disappear again?" you cried and there was no more Steve, just a curtain of water contorting his figure, like one of those paintings he loved and you never understood the meaning.

The stretcher creaked when Steve pulled you to him, rubbing your arms back as he whispered your name.

"Breathe, Y/N. Breathe."

But you were so scared of breathing. So scared that you'd taste ash again and your lungs would collapse in dust, leaving not a shred of the person you were for people to remember you by. So scared of losing a game you didn't even know you were playing.

"Steve..." You weeped, gripping his shirt tightly.

"I'm here, my love. Just breathe."

You weren't expecting him.

After two years, the hope that kept you up at night waiting for him grew tired, dwindling until it was mere utopia. So you shut the windows, changed the locks and turned off the bedside lamp. Perhaps that's what brought him to your door, you thought. Maybe, wherever he was in the world, he felt your devotion waning, so he returned to haunt you.

You had to admit, though, that of all the ways you imagined Steve Rogers coming back to you, him ringing your doorbell at midnight wasn't one of them.

He looked handsome, with shaggy blonde hair curling at his ears and a beard, and it hurt like a punch to the stomach.

It's hard when the one that hurts the most you looks so unfazed, meanwhile you're just a shell of what you used to be.

"You've lost weight," was the first thing he said, as if he'd left to grab groceries instead of becoming an international criminal.

"What are you doing here?" you replied, ignoring his greeting. If that could even be a greeting.

He sighed, mentioning with his head to the hallway behind you.

“Can I come in?”

You stepped aside, letting him walk through. You didn’t bother turning the key because if anyone really wanted to get to him they wouldn’t be worried about leaving your door in one piece. Steve stood in the middle of the living room, his hands on his waist. An onlooker would never guess that he once belonged there.

“Did you hear about Tony?” He asked when you sat down at the armchair next to the window. The one you bought together in Ikea and Steve insisted he could assemble on his own.

“Yes,” you said. Tony Stark went missing after an alien ship appeared in Midtown. It was exactly the kind of disaster that would bring Steve Rogers to New York. “Have you found him?”

“No,” he replied. “But the same aliens that took Tony attacked Vision in Edinburgh. We managed to stop them from killing him, but he’s badly wounded. When he heard about Tony we flew to the Compound.”

You nodded. It was strange how you could feel so detached from these people- Vision, Wanda, even Tony in a way. They were once your friends, your colleagues. Now they just felt like characters in Steve’s tale - no longer part of your life, only his.

“And why are you here?” you asked.

Why did you come to the home we used to share? you meant to say. Did you miss it? Did you miss me?

He shrugged.

“I thought maybe you could’ve found something on Tony and…”

“If you went to the compound it means you saw Rhodey and Rhodey has most definitely told you that I quit my job when the Avengers split,” you interrupted him. “I have no tech, no machinery, no means whatsoever to find Tony here, nothing that Rhodey has at his disposal Upstate. So why are you really here?”

He was a stranger. Cold and detached, like the house that once trapped him. There was no tenderness in the blue of his eyes.

“Something bad is coming, Y/N,” he said. “I’m not sure what it is yet, but I… I wanted to see you. I wanted to know that you were safe.”

You thought Steve Rogers was done breaking your heart. You thought that when you stopped expecting his return you’d go back to who you were before him, even if you couldn’t find that girl amongst the mess he made of you. You thought you’d be safe from love, and trust and kind soldiers with blue eyes, but you’d never be safe from him - your fellow and your foe.

“Is that all you wanted to say?” you croaked, holding back the tears swimming in your throat with a cough.

Steve fisted his hands, and for a moment you swore that he was stopping himself from holding you. But he just hung his head, tearing his gaze from where you were sitting by the window.

“Just stay home, ok?” he stated. “Try not to leave the house until this situation is resolved.”

Then he turned around and left again.

[readyplayerhobi]

Flower | Drabble 3

Okay so...this is set the day after the MC meets Hoseok’s parents and is from Hoseok’s POV! So...it’s 2.3k so a bit of a long drabble (especially given how short the chapters of Flower are) but I suppose you’ll enjoy it. Please reblog if you liked it and leave me comments about what you thought about another venture into our leading man’s head!

You get to find out a bit more about Hoseok, his mindset, his past and his relationship with his mom here :D

This isn’t proof read at all btw lol

-

Hoseok watches his mom carefully as she makes her way round the kitchen, the ingredients for her banana nutella pancakes laid out before her as she prepares to make him breakfast. It’s the day after he’d introduced you to them for the first time and you’re still upstairs, fast asleep in the double bed that had been his since he was sixteen.

Unsurprisingly, he’d gotten up long before you had. Over the course of your relationship so far, Hoseok had discovered that you could sleep forever if allowed whereas he quite liked to be up and about in the morning. Which was why he was up at only 8am on this fine Sunday morning.

Neither of you had intended to stay the night but by the time the movie you’d all been watching had finished, you’d been fast asleep against him and he’d been loath to make you wake up to travel all the way back to yours. So instead, with the permission of his parents, he’d taken you upstairs and carefully tucked you into bed before curling up beside you.

At the moment though, it was only him and his mom awake which was why she was indulging him with his childhood favourite. Licking at his lips, he takes a sip of the sweet, fresh apple juice and sighs softly to himself. There’s a lot of times he wishes he could go back and fix things with his parents when he’d been an ass to them.

He’d said a lot of things he hadn’t really meant, things that had been hurtful for the sole purpose of being hurtful because he was angry. It hadn’t been a pleasant experience raising him as a teenager and he was aware of that now, aware that he couldn’t change anything but it still made him feel guilty for what he’d put them through.

His parents had loved him despite whatever he’d thrown at them and he was just thankful now that they hadn’t thrown the towel in. That they’d persevered and given him chance after chance. It had taken him a while, but he’d finally opened up and taken that chance after years and now he was determined to not ruin things for them again.

They’d lost one child already, he didn’t want them to lose a second.

“Do you want me to cut them into Power Rangers?” She says suddenly and he realises he’s let his thoughts get away with him. Blinking rapidly, he processes what his mom says before laughing and shaking his head, remembering how she used to cut them for him back then. She’d gotten a special pancake...tin or whatever they were called to make him Power Ranger pancakes.

“I think I’m okay to just eat normal ones now mom. But thanks. Next time I feel like defeating Rita Repulsa, I’ll let you know.” It makes her laugh and he smiles at the sound, realising that you were completely right when you’d teasingly called him a mommy’s boy when you’d found out he called her every other day and talked for hours. You’d meant it in a positive way but it was true all the same.

There wasn’t a lot he wouldn’t do to make his mom happy. Not when he’d spent so long making her sad.

“Well, I’m just checking. You’ve not asked for banatella pancakes in a long time.” She turns round and hands him a plate piled high with pancakes, more cut bananas carefully placed atop the pile of extra Nutella that he loved so much. Banatella had been what he’d nicknamed them when he’d been like...six or something.

Hoseok shrugged, placing the plate down in front of him and picking up his fork. A careful bite has his mouth filly with fluffy, perfectly made pancakes that fill his mouth with sweetness. Humming happily, he tucks in and eats contentedly while his mom cleans up. He wants to protest her making this without making herself anything but she brings a bowl of muesli with fresh strawberries to the table and sits opposite him.

“I wasn’t expecting you both to stay the night.” She says, beginning the conversation as she takes a sip of her coffee. It’s black, like she always has it, and he’s always amazed that she can drink it like that.

“We weren’t gonna, obviously. But she gets tired very easily and gets a teeny bit grumpy if I wake her up. Didn’t think it was worth it.” Shrugging, he eats another mouthful and looks down at his plate.

“I peeked in at you both this morning, I’ll be honest. It was cute though. She was almost sprawled over the top of you.” His mom laughs lightly, her smile bright as she remembers and Hoseok can’t help but laugh in response.

“Yeah...she does that. There’s like zero concept of how to sleep next to someone ‘cos she’s never had to before. I don’t really mind, doesn’t wake me up. Except that time she accidentally punched me in the face in her sleep. Didn’t mean to, but I woke up to a sore jaw and her hand right there.” He snorts at the memory, fingers rubbing at his jaw as he gets a phantom pain.

“I think I’ve done that to your dad a few times so I guess you might expect it a little more.” The conversation dies down a little after that and the two of them just eat, the silence comfortable. But Hoseok has a question burning within him that he’s a little surprised about, a need to check that his mom likes you. That she approves.

He doesn’t want to say it though because he feels a bit stupid acting like that. At almost twenty-nine years old, he doesn’t need his parents approval anymore. But he’s spent a large portion of his life being an asshole to them and never doing anything right. So he has a need to make sure that he’s doing this right.

“You like her, right?” Mentally, he facepalms as he realises that he’s asked the question in the most childish and attention seeking way possible. There was even a little hint of whining in his voice, which he doesn’t even understand because why the hell would be whining about this? Maybe it’s because it’s his mom or something.

She pauses in her eating, looking at him intently and he resists the urge to fidget under her stare. That was a mom stare for sure and he feels like he’s done something bad. Like whenever she caught him smoking weed in his bedroom in high school or that time he’d had to hide a girl in his closet. 

He’d been a wild teenager, he admits this.

“Yes. I like her. And so does your dad. She’s very sweet and kind. A little shy and a little awkward like you said, but...she’s nice. I’ll admit, she’s not what I expected when you announced that you had a girlfriend you’ve been dating for longer than three weeks,” He pulls a face at that. “But I’m glad of that actually. You had some...dubious choices back then.”

“I think you mean that I was chronically allergic to the concept of a relationship and therefore only ever ‘dated’ girls had the same opinion as me.” That was a nice and polite way to put it, he thinks to himself proudly. Better than saying ‘I liked to stick my dick in women who had no expectations of a future’. 

Thinking back, he really was an asshole for years.

“You mean that you slept with women, you didn’t date them?” His mom says dryly, a brow raised in amusement at him as he sputters at her bluntness. Literally, there’s bits of pancakes everywhere now and he’d be embarrassed about that if he wasn’t mortified over the fact his own mother had just openly pointed out that she was highly aware of his previous sex life.

“Mom!” He whines, rubbing at his mouth to make sure there’s no residue and cleaning his lip ring. “Yes. That. we don’t talk about that anymore. That was a different Hoseok. He had...low standards. For everything apparently.”

“Well, I’m glad that you raised them with Y/N. She’s honestly lovely and if you were acting like how you used to act, then I’d say you don’t deserve her. But you’ve changed a lot and it’s very clear that you love her and want to try hard. And she obviously loves you too.” Playing with a piece of banana, he pokes his tongue into his cheek as he considers her words.

He knows you love him. You haven’t told him yet, but he knows. The level of trust and faith you’ve put into him to not hurt you was a little humbling and only part of why he was trying so hard with you. Hoseok’s past was filled with many women, sure, but he honestly believed it was because he’d just never found anyone he’d clicked with and wanted to be in a relationship with.

“This is going to sound incredibly sappy and I kind of want to sink into the floor just thinking the words. But it’s like I met her by pure chance when I wasn’t looking and she’s everything I wanted. I have to work a little, be incredibly understanding and slow with her but...I’ve never found someone that I want to try so hard with before. Even that first date, when I was just going along to give it a try and realised this girl is nothing like any other girl I’ve been with before, I knew that I’d found something worth keeping. She’s just...she’s not perfect. And she’d be the first to tell you that. But it’s like...I’ve never been so fascinated with someone, her mind goes a million miles a minute and I can barely keep up but she comes out with the most random shit and I love it. I don’t know what it is about her but...I found her by accident and I never wanted to let go once I did. God that was really lame, wasn’t it?” He cringes.

His mom is smiling so happily though and he realises that her eyes are glassy, causing him to whine once more as he realises he’s made her cry. Which is ridiculous, why is she crying?

“Why are you crying!” Hoseok protests, a little outraged that his incredibly soft words had made her cry but more worried about the fact he’d made her cry. What had he said to cause this?

“It’s nothing sweetheart,” She says, her voice strained as she reaches forward and grasps his hand. “It’s just...hearing you talk about her. I don’t think you realise just how much you love her really. Your face lights up and you get this smile. I spent a long time thinking that I’d never get to see you this happy, that you’d never settle but you didn’t just find someone to love. Hobi, my baby boy, I know you’ll roll your eyes at me but I really do think you’ve found your soulmate.”

Okay, she’s right. He does want to roll his eyes at her when she says that but he doesn’t. Because he can see how happy she is and how emotional she is to hear that he’s finally found the happiness and stability that he’d obviously been searching for for so long. He’s not an idiot. He recalls his therapy very well and he’s pretty convinced that he never settled for anyone before because he didn’t believe that he should just settle for someone he liked.

His sister never got the chance, so he should make sure that he found the one. Oh god, he’s being just as sappy and romantic as his mom now. She’s putting these thoughts into his head, that has to be it, he thinks to himself. But he doesn’t say it because she looks happy, and that’s all he wants.

“I’m not gonna say that’s cheesy. Okay no, it was definitely cheesy mom. But...I’m not gonna say no either. And I would like it if we could both just forget this conversation ever happened please. I feel very embarrassed right now and I know it’s fine for men to talk about their feelings but there’s talking about their feelings and then there’s talking about their feelings to their mom. I just...as long as you like her.” And now he’s gone awkward, causing his mom to laugh as she picks up his empty plate and places her equally empty bowl on top.

“Hey, hey, I can clean it! You made it, I’ll clean it.” He says insistently, standing to take them from her. But she simply shakes her head and gestures to him.

“Nope. You should go back up and wake her up for breakfast too. It’s fine, I’ve got it. You want to forget the conversation happened? Go bring her down for breakfast. Otherwise she’s going to hear all about how her big, tattooed and pierced boyfriend melted into ice cream talking about her.” He recognises that tone in her voice, the teasing one that’s edged with more than a little sarcasm.

Hoseok recognises it because he does it himself and he locks his jaw at realising he’s been outmaneuvered by his own mother. Not surprising really. She did give birth to him and all. So he does what any dutiful son would do in this moment and backs down at the threat. Before leaving though, he pauses in the kitchen doorway and points to her, eyes narrowed.

“For the record, I’m only going because we’re going somewhere today and she needs to get up. It has nothing to do with me telling you things. If you think it’d embarrass me, you’re totally wrong. I don’t know what woman wouldn’t like to hear that her ‘big, tattooed and pierced boyfriend’ was getting all mushy over them. So ner.” And with that, he does that very adult and mature thing of sticking his tongue out at her before leaving.

His moms laughter is sweet music to his ears as he climbs back up the stairs and he smiles in response.