#i managed to fracture something in the back of my thigh actually and it was messed up for over a week with deep bruising....

[pinkblondie]

I heard some of you freaks like bruises🩹

⁽ᶠᵃⁱʳ ʷᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ: ʷʰᵉⁿ ᵖᵒˡᵉ ᵈᵃⁿᶜⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵒˡᵉ ʷⁱˡˡ ᶠⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵇᵉᵃᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ᵘᵖ⁾

Paypal ♡ Wishtender ♡

[cultofdixon]

A long road to recovery

Daryl Dixon • She/Her Pronouns • Her screams will forever haunt the archer especially with the visual aid permanently in his mind. But there’s only so much he could do for her • ANGST/SFW • TW: Femur Fracture / Major Injuries / Blood Loss / Mentions of Amputation

Requested by: Anon

In the Apocalypse, you’re going to face some threats that want to make it unsafe for your family.

First it was Shane, now it’s this man who calls himself “The Governor”

No one really encountered him until a ghost of the past decided to make himself present again. But even Merle didn’t know how far the Governor decided to go.

“We’ve got another hostage. 2 actually…more willing to give us answers”

“How are you sure?” Merle questions the Governor who only gave him an annoyed look before two other soldiers took the redneck by the arms detaching his blade. “What the hell are you doing?!”

“What I should’ve done the second that son of bitch yelled your name” and without a second thought, the governor knocked out Merle letting the men take him to what he had planned next…

After he tried to get more information out of the two he captured in the heat of it all…

Daryl and Y/N

While Daryl was chained to one side of the room blindfolded, Y/N was completely aware of their surroundings as she tugged at her own restraints. She saw what he did to Glenn and was afraid the same treatment will happen to Daryl.

“Please. We don’t want any trouble. Just let us go we were only following orders” Whatever needs to be said, Y/N. Without giving too much away.

“Mm. Oh but you did. You didn’t want to give us what we wanted to hear…now you’re just doing the same as them” The Governor knelt to her level grabbing her jaw harshly feeling and watching her resistance. “But this time I know exactly how to get it out of yea” he let go of her face before rising to his feet and snapping at the archer’s direction to let his men know to untie the blindfold resulting in a crazed enraged look from the man. “He’ll give me what I want”

Daryl scoffs knowing he’s not going to say a word, nor is Y/N. But the way the devil-like man smirked in his direction caused all his blood to run cold watching him wind up his fist that instantly landed itself against Y/N’s cheek.

“No! NO!” He shouted tugging against the restraints as every time he managed to stand, he would get knocked back down…continuing to watch every punch land on its target.

Eventually Y/N spat out blood avoiding eye contact toward everyone in the room. She brought her attention toward the Governor watching the anger spill out of him.

“All either of yea have to do, is tell me how fucking many of you there are. Then no more of this” His fists clenched listening to Y/N chuckle weakly hanging her head low as her jaw hurt too much to speak. He quickly grabs a fistful of her hair gripping onto it tight causing the tears to spill from her eyes. “TELL ME OR ILL FUCKING KILL HER”

The look in her eyes tells Daryl not to say a word. But every fiber of his being was screaming against him.

“Over my dead b-body…” He said with hesitation watching his anger spill out as the Governor tosses her to the ground bringing his leg up and harshly bringing it down on her thigh.

The crack caused an unbridled screech to escape her lungs as she now laid on her side not being able to control the pain filled screams just from her own movement caused by the break he had down. Daryl lost it. He couldn’t. He couldn’t anymore.

“I-I-I…There’s not m-many” Daryl sobbed. “Most of us are children and old folk…o-o-or too weak to fight” he screams out his sobs tugging harshly at the chains as Y/N’s screams over powered his. They were strong enough to fight. But he just. He needed something to be a lie.

“Good.” The Governor scoffs before driving his foot into her stomach for extra measure turning to the archer watching him fall apart but not share more. He got what he needed. “Get them up. It’s time”

As the big man makes his way out of the room, Daryl watches two men come in to grab Y/N as he couldn’t believe what he saw. Now his anxiety started to eat at him watching her get taken away and before he could fight…a sack was thrown over his head.

Now he’s lost

But it didn’t take long

For the sack to be removed and for his unrestrained self is standing beside his brother whom he thought was dead in an arena of sorts.

“Let’s get these walkers hungry YEAH?!” The Governor shouts with a huge smile as the cheering grew louder.

The Dixon brothers instantly turned to the sobbing mess that was Y/N and as she was dropped, the walkers were released on their chains. Without a second thought, Merle leaped the moment the walker tripped letting the undead sink its teeth into its metal nub before it got to Y/N. She looked up at him through a tearful gaze thanking him but also wishing she wasn’t in this position in the first place.

________

“Merle you dumb bitch!” Glenn shouted at the eldest Dixon that ran through almost a sea of walkers to get to the building closest to the one the Atlanta group was held up in.

“He’s going to get himself killed” Andrea sighs watching this all unfold.

Merle dodged several walkers and right as he miscalculated how close one got, he felt his whole body get tugged into the nearest building. In a safe yet temporary hiding spot, Merle locked eyes with Y/N. The one his brother’s fancies.

“How the fuck did you sneak out of the clothing store?”

“I’m more useful than you fuckers think and I knew you wouldn’t make it quick enough before curfew” Y/N scoffs punching him in the arm resulting in an enraged expression. “What the fuck was I gonna tell Daryl if you became Walker bait?”

“That I’m one less problem for the pig back at base to deal with”

“Fuck Shane and what he thinks. Just fuck off and thank me for saving your life”

“Hell no! I’ll just save yea as my own form of thanks”

“You know I’ll take that as a thanks right?” Y/N rolls her eyes taking out a flash grenade she found from one of the tanks they scavenged a few nights ago, tossing it across the sea as the second it went off the two left that spot returning to the rest of the group.

________

Once Merle killed the walker that almost got Y/N, a gun was met at his head by one of the other soldiers but he was met with a bullet that came from Maggie.

“LETS GO!” She shouts as Rick joined in the cover fire.

Daryl quickly ran to Y/N grabbing one of her arms to throw over his shoulder as Merle did the same with the other. Both carried her out avoiding the fire the best that they could.

“Steady”

“Don’t move her too much”

“The fuck happened?!”

“Son of a bitch broke her leg!”

Y/N tuned out all of their voices when they loaded her up in the car letting her take up the whole backseat which meant Glenn and Michonne would hold up in the trunk. But that didn’t happen right away.

What she didn’t know because the pain flooded all of her thoughts, Daryl left with Merle because of the whole “blood” spiel. No one can really argue with such, or really want to. They just. Didn’t want a piece of their family to leave.

No one wanted to tell Y/N but she got the idea. She knows Merle enough and knows what he’d done so it wouldn’t be sane of them to welcome him with open arms. She just wished her partner didn’t leave.

“What the hell happened?!” Carol shouts when Rick and Glenn were the ones carrying Y/N in as she still hadn’t controlled her painful outbursts.

“Get her in a bed and Glenn you know where the old pallets are? Take some wood pieces off and you, whatever you name is” Hershel gestured toward the prisoner. “We have duct tape anywhere?!”

It wasn’t the best splint but it would have to do. Hershel duct taped two blanks on other side of Y/N’s right thigh to stabilize the broken femur. A bone you should never break. He’s already told her if worse comes for worse, they would have to take the leg and she had a semi-easier recovery.

But that’s worse case scenario.

Right now Y/N laid uncomfortably, with a minor tremor whenever she tried to do anything else besides lay there in a pool of pain and sweat from the stress of said pain.

“Why’d you save her? From that walker?”

“The fuck you on about?” Merle scoffs. “Y/N? Oh because I have the hots for her” the sarcasm poured out him with those words. Daryl grabbed his brother’s arm harshly pulling his attention to him. “WHAT?! YOU THINK IMMA LET THE ONLY GOOD GODDAMN THING IN YOUR LIFE FUCKING DIE?! Hell! Why the fuck did you even leave with me? They ain’t ever gonna let me in and those Woodbury fucks aren’t gonna either.”

Daryl was left speechless and with that the silence just grew between the brothers until the youngest had about enough of their situation.

“You’re coming with”

“They won’t—-“

“You’ll listen to everythin’ they fucking have yea do. Even if that means being in a cell”

And with that the Dixon brothers returned and Merle was instantly put in the cell that they held Michonne.

Hershel felt the eyes on him as he was sat beside Y/N’s bed after scrounging up a sedative through the few pills the group scavenged from the farm to the prison. He quickly turned to the cell door finding Daryl standing there anxiously as his eyes were glued on her swollen thigh.

“She might lose it if we don’t figure out a way to get the swelling down. Good pain killers can help. Ibuprofen works best”

“Ice?”

“Like we’d manage to find any or hell, make it. The best for that are those ice packs in quick first aids. The ones with an activator that makes it cold.” Hershel checked her pulse out of an anxious habit because he didn’t know how strong the sedative would work on her. But given no tears and screaming, it did wonders.

“Didn’t Carl find all the med shit in this place?”

“Yes. But none of those ice packs. I’m glad nothing is bleeding or we would use the whole supply to cut her open, let the excess blood spill, then wrap and wrap until it stops”

Hearing all that didn’t sit well with Daryl as he had to step out coming face to face with Rick who came to check on Y/N himself.

“You alright?” The man seemed to never worry for himself at times.

“Nah. I won’t be until she is. I gotta go out there”

“Daryl. This Governor guy is on us and will know our scavenge points from what information any of yall gave. We have to take him down before it’s safe to go out”

Things only escalated with the Governor which at one time had them moving Y/N’s body so that they could trap the soldiers in a section to take them out. Merle also gave his life to try and solve the problem for them by killing the guy coming up unsuccessful. But when Daryl found his body, and his belongings, he found most of the med supplies one of the Governor’s trucks had. Including those ice packs.

Now in the rebuilding time, which meant the defeat of the Governor and infusion of the Woodbury folk…Daryl listened to Hershel with everything he instructed when it came to caring for Y/N while she wouldn’t be able to do much of anything. But something she tried to keep to herself was the pain becoming unbearable at night. They slowly started going on runs and developing a flow while making the prison a home, so meds come in very scarce.

She doesn’t have to keep a front just so they don’t run out of meds. They know what she’s dealing with.

Daryl entered the cellblock after taking a night watch the second Y/N fell asleep. But he was met with soft sobs escaping their shared cell. At first he thought someone was walking a fussy Judith but when he entered their cell he heard Y/N cry in a half fetal position hugging onto a pillow. The swelling gone down quite a bit but the pain was still unbearable and the break was going to take some time to heal.

“Sunshine, how bad is it?” Daryl whispers kneeling beside the bed resting his hand on her shoulder while glancing to her leg to make sure she’s trying not to bend it.

“It’s f-fine” Y/N sobbed hiding her face in the pillow so she couldn’t see the annoyed but worried look on Daryl’s face. “I-It’ll pass”

“Hun. Hershel said it’s best to take the pain medicine to help the healing process. This ain’t some addict shit—-“ Sometimes addicts who have surgery, refuse pain meds. To stay clean.

“It’s a rare resource” Y/N pulled her face away from hiding, feeling Daryl’s rough but gentle touch rest on her cheek brushing the tears that fell with his thumb. “I-I…I can’t use it a-all. What it—-“

“Nah. No what ifs. You need it. You ain’t gonna sit here and suffer. We’ll find more. When you’re better you can even help find more”

“Heh…like you’d let me out of the walls” Y/N softly laughs watching a twitch of a smile grace the corner of his lips as he rolls his eyes.

“Listen. As much as I wanna protect yea…after all we lost and shit…I don’t want to make yea hate me by keeping you confined longer than you already have”

“I could never hate you, Daryl. You just owe me a ride when I’m fucking okay again” She laughs whole heartedly this time giving Daryl a chance to lean into her pressing his lips against hers for a chaste kiss before getting up to get the pain meds and his canteen.

Daryl helped her sit up so she could take the pill and drink the water without spilling on her, but as Y/N was sat up he snuck his way behind her so that when she laid back down it’d be against him.

His comforting embrace

A long. Four. Months. Later.

The archer was working on his bike to prepare for an incoming run when he heard the familiar whistle coming from his girl. He quickly stood approaching her as Y/N made her way to him with a bit of a limp. You think a break like that will heal straight?

“Making your laps?”

“Yeah, I’ve been doing so for a month and wanted to see what my partner would be doing at this hour” Y/N smiles bringing herself close feeling Daryl’s arms snake around her waist as his eyes checked their surroundings of any bystanders. “Don’t worry. No one is watching”

“Mm. Like I care who sees me kiss my woman”

“Oh? Is that what I’m receiving while I’m here?”

“Oh I don’t have t—-“

“Just kiss me already, Dixon” Y/N smiles grabbing his vest carefully and pulling him down for her to connect their lips enjoying this moment. A moment she felt like she waited forever to have.

[radama-zard]

Dungeons & Drabbles 2023

Day 8 - Ignorance

(Oops! Life got a taaaaaad busy there! Between having to finish a heck ton of designs and products for a market, several days of travel, restless sleep and a birthday, there wasn't really any time to write! I'm gonna do my best to get back on track now though~)

----------------------------

QueerPlatonic PolyQuad Krook House Crew - ModernHuman AU

“Get FUCKED, scum twatter!”

With a satisfied smirk, Anni watched the scowling little old lady turn with a huff, more than glad to see the back of the nasty ass hag.

“That was a little harsh, don't you think?”

“Letters, you know I love your sunshiny ass, but shut the fuck up.”

Fresh Cut Grass gave a slight huff, staring up at their beloved crusty punk of a partner, watching as she flipped off a gruff looking middle aged man, her glare almost daring him to come say something. And perhaps he would have, if it weren't for Ashton right behind her, cracking his knuckles something fierce, managing to look threatening even with Milo curled up in their lap, nose deep in a textbook thicker than their thighs.

“I just don't- I’m not saying that-” they tried, starting and stopping, failing to get his words out just right. “I know she was- That people tend to be a tad…”

“Ignorant?” Milo interjected with, not even looking up as they let the page flutter over to the next.

“Shitty?” Ashton added, reaching over to thread their fingers through Fresh Cut Grass’ bouncy locks, scratching at their scalp in a way that always had him melting in seconds.

“Deserving of a swift kick to the shins?” Anni finished with little flourish of her combat boots, skidding a foot across the grass before settling back into place, leaning heavily into Fresh Cut Grass’ side.

“Rude! I was gonna say rude!” They cried out, a familiar exasperation dripping from each and every word. Yet there was no bite to it, no true annoyance to be heard, this old song and dance so deeply familiar to them all.

After all, no one really understood them.

Too close to be friends.

But distinctly lacking in romance and lust.

And yet, the love they all shared was undeniable.

No others were allowed to touch Ashton in such a way, their flesh only connecting with most through flurries of blows. Only their crew was allowed the privilege of gentleness, of warm, heavy embraces and ever so gentle hands, as large and powerful as they were, tenderly holding, patting and stroking.

Only they were worth that pain.

Who else could draw Milo from the safety and comfort of their own home? The outside world was so bright and noisy, full of people who always threw funny looks their way. Away from their beloved projects and personal coffee blend that only Ashton, Anni and Letters knew how to make juuust right.

Yet here they were, outside on a sunny day, in the middle of a public park.

Only they were worth the mental energy.

Anni notoriously got along with just about nobody. People were a pain in the ass. They didn't like her crass sense of humor. They only ever tended to like her when she was performing. But her music, her art, was deeply personal to her, and outside of actual gigs, no one got to hear her play.

Nor did they get to see beneath the brashness. The loyal heart that lay beneath.

Only they were worth trying for.

Fresh Cut Grass loved hugs and going out and meeting all kinds of people! By all means they should have been surrounded by a plethora of love!

But they had been burned before, both metaphorically and, well, physically. He had felt loss. Felt abandonment. Felt lost and alone and so so afraid.

It had been Ashton and Anni and Milo who had put him together again, who never gave up on them, who fought against a world so big and cruel, just to keep them safe.

Just to see Fresh Cut Grass smile again.

Only they were worth that fractured trust.

“Rude is fair too,” Milo agreed, finally setting their book down to peer over at their partner, throwing them an understanding smile. “Honestly, all those answers were. People are assholes when they don't understand something. I think we all know that pretty well. I for one, can't really complain about ignorant bastards getting what’s coming for them. Anni and Ashton need some kind of healthy outlet for all that pent up rage.”

“You saying I can punch a mother fucker?”

“Not unless you have bail money ready. I am not spending my afternoon trying to get your ass out of an arrest AGAIN, Anni.”

“Booooo, you whore!”

“Can't get arrested if you punch them hard enough that the fucker can't even remember their own name.”

“Ashton! You promised, no more fights this week!

“Ain’t a fight if they never punch back,” Ashton retorted with a shit eating grin. Fresh Cut Grass crossed their arms in turn, before playfully flicking the very tip of his nose.

“You know what I was meanin’! Only necessary violence allowed, like self defense or wrestlin’ street alligators!”

“... Do I even want to ask where that shit came from?”

“Street alligators? Oh! Well I was watchin’ YouTube late last night…”

“Late night conspiracy vids. Got it.”

Under the shade of an old oak tree, upon a fluffy old blanket, they four of them continued on, voices overlapping, intermingling as their bodies did aa well. Their touches casual, yet still intimate. Lingering without complaint, with familiar comfort.

Like this was all they ever needed.

Like, together, they were home.

And that was something worth the scorn, the cruel whispers and willful ignorance.

After all, nothing else quite mattered outside of them.

[rubyarrows]

Been Thinking

I sat in the Jeffersonian lab, my eyes fixed on the skeletal remains sprawled across the examination table. Dr. Jack Hodgins, our resident bug and slime enthusiast, was busy analyzing the insect activity surrounding the bones. As his unwilling assistant for the day, I was to help gather any and every little creature and naturally weird substance around the body. It is not my area of expertise, I’m more of a skeletal analysis type of person. I mostly help Brennan, but that job has been taken for the day, so Hodgins pretty much voluntold me to be his helper today. Not that I would have said no to the man, I just don’t do bugs. 

"Wendell," I said when I noticed a bunch of small fractures in the femur of our victim as I tried to gather a small... beetle (I think) without squirming out of my own skin and glanced over at my best friend who was diligently scrutinizing the skeletal structure, "what are your thoughts on these bone fractures? Looks like whoever this is, got hit pretty hard at thigh level. Foul play, maybe?" 

Wendell Bray, one of Dr. Brennan’s interns and my longest friend, looked up from his examination, his eyes meeting mine before he looked in the direction I was going over. "It's hard to say for sure just yet, YNN. Given the state and position of these fractures, I would assume you're right. But Dr. Brennan doesn’t go by assumptions so the only way to really tell is getting them back to the lab." His blue eyes looked up at me once more and he smiled. “But, then again, you knew that.” 

I raised my eyebrows playfully at him and turned back to what I had already been doing. “Just testing you is all, Wen. Making sure you didn’t miss anything. One can never be too careful on the details.” I say as I slowly but surely pick up some kind of whatever bug I now had held within the prongs of my tweezer. “Even if it's the creepy crawly ones.” 

The best friend laughed and looked over at Hodgins, “I wanna know how you actually managed to get the girl to deal with the insects,” he says with a very amused look upon his voice. 

Jack then looks up with an equally amused face, watching me place the creepy, crawly critter into an evidence container. “I didn’t give her a choice. Brennan had you come in for the day, so I stole YN for the day. To be honest I expect Brennan to ask to switch not even halfway through the case.” I hand the container over to the man and as I do so he asks, “How is it to deal with body parts and other stuff along those lines and it’s the bugs that give you the heebie-jeebies?” 

“I have my reasons. Wendell, don’t you dare say anything or I’ll have your head.” I said, quickly turning towards my best friend and pointed a finger at him. 

The blonde-haired man raised his hands in the air in a mock defense. “Wasn’t even thinking about it,” he confessed with a chuckle that had my heart palpitating. 

As we continued our analysis, I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more between us. Wendell and I had been friends for years, always supporting each other through thick and thin. But lately, my heart raced whenever he was near, and I found myself wanting more than just friendship. 

A few days later, after another successful case closed, Wendell and I found ourselves at our favorite local coffee shop. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air as we settled into a booth in the back, away from prying eyes. Taking a much-needed break before heading back to the Jeffersonian to fill out and file the tons of paperwork that needed to be concluded. 

Temperance did in fact want me back to doing my actual job, so Wendell and I switched places. I got Brennan and he with Hodgins. Which I was incredibly grateful for. I love Hodgins, he’s great, but I just... I don’t do the bug thing. Wendell’s always been better with that than I was anyway. For that alone I was more than willing to step away from Hodgin’s office and go back to studying bones.  

"So, YN," Wendell began, stirring his cappuccino thoughtfully, "I've noticed something. Lately, whenever we're together, it feels different. Something that I don’t remember being there before. It could have been, but I don’t I was paying too much attention to it." 

My heart skipped a beat, and I took a deep breath. "Good. I wasn’t the only one who noticed it. I thought it was just me." 

He nodded, his eyes locked with mine. "I don't want to ruin what we have as friends, YN, but I can't deny what is going on between us. We’ve been colleagues for a while now and friends for way longer than that. Ignoring these feelings just isn’t possible anymore. At least it’s not for me." He said as he reached over the table and laid his hand on mine. 

A mix of excitement and nervousness surged through me. Here was the man I had come to care deeply about, expressing his feelings. “I don’t think I could agree more than I do right now. We know more about each other than our friends will ever know. And though it might be taking a risk, it seems to work out for Angie and Hodgins as well as Brennan and Booth. Why wouldn’t it work for us?” 

Wen’s smile grew as I spoke, something I don’t I'll ever get tired of. “Great. How about tomorrow, we go out to that cute little diner you like on eighteenth and make it our official first date?”  

“You wouldn’t call this our first date?” I questioned playfully. 

Wendell shook his head slightly. “No, no. This is just coffee. We’re making plans for tomorrow and you can’t fight me on this either because you will not win.” 

I let out a small giggle and nodded. “Okay. If you say so. But the not winning part is still to be determined, you know that right?” 

He rolled his eyes playfully at my question. “Sure. We’ll see.” 

[faofinn]

DAY 6: secrets revealed

@febuwhump

It had been a few days since Fao had been up in the middle of the night, putting in an NG tube for Steve so he’d stop being so stubborn and actually get some fluids and nutrition into him. He knew the older man didn’t talk much about his history, but Fao really did hate not knowing what was going on. Steve hadn’t told him much, just that it had happened before and there was nothing to worry about. Fao struggled to believe that - he’d been so stubborn about it, and if he was anything like the rest of them, he hid more than he should. 

The tube was still in, Steve still not over the flare enough to manage without it, but he’d get better with time. He wasn’t at work, choosing to take some last minute leave and focus on catching up on stuff in the basement. There was a lot of admin that needed doing, surprisingly, and it was a chance to get on top of it. 

Fao was down there with him, sorting through notes and making sure everything was filed properly and up to date. There was a comfortable silence settled on the pair, both just going about their business and happy not needing to fill the silence. 

"I don't remember what happened, y’know?" Steve spoke up. 

Fao lifted his head. “Don’t remember what happened when?” He asked.

"My accident. I've read the files, heard what they said, but I'm missing so much. I didn't recognise Bel for a month."

“Oh.” Fao said softly. “You don’t have to tell me anything.”

"I owe you it." He sighed heavily. "Give me a second, I'll get the file."

“Still, it’s… It’s big, I know you don’t like telling us.”

"Why do I get to hide my records? Keep all these secrets?" He shrugged. "That's not fair."

“Because you wrote your own records.” Fao said lightly. 

"Doesn't mean I can do whatever."

“Kinda does, though.”

"You deserve to know."

“If you want me to.” Fao said. “I’m glad you trust me enough to share with me.”

"Of course I trust you. I know you’re not blood, but you might as well be a son."

Fao couldn’t help the tightness in his throat at that. “Jesus, don’t start.”

"I'll go grab the file." He cleared his own throat, heading off into his office. 

Fao sipped his tea, awkwardly chewing his lip whilst he waited. He didn’t want Steve to feel like he had to share. He was entitled to his privacy.

Steve returned with his file, several times larger than the usual public one. He dropped it by Fao, apologising under his breath. "My stuff is all in there, all the hospital records."

Fao looked at the thick file, raising an eyebrow. “Would you prefer if we went through it together?”

"If you want to. I can…I can tell you what I remember, and then what they told me, if you prefer?"

“Whatever is easiest for you, honestly.”

He managed a laugh as he pulled up a chair. "Neither are."

“We really don’t have to, Steve.” 

"It's fine. We…we were on our way back, we must have already have evaced our patient because I was definitely alone. I don’t know if they just misjudged it, or got distracted, or something else happened, but we fucked our landing. Our right wing took the barrier down, we spun and smashed everything in our path, basically. There was shit everywhere, as much as we'd secured it, at that speed, it was useless. I don’t know what knocked me out, but I had several impact points, so it had a good go at taking me out."

Fao’s breath hitched. “You were RAF, right?”

"Yeah. More medical, not that I was much use at that point."

“Bit difficult at that point.” He murmured. 

Steve's focus was on something Fao couldn’t see, long in the past. "My seatbelts were locked, they couldn't get me out quick enough and I don't know what happened with the cutter. There was a delay, I ended up with second and third degree burns down my back and thigh from it. Broken ankle, fractured T2, T3, dislocated shoulder, wrist and elbow, and, uh, obviously my head."

Fao nodded slowly. “That’s… a lot.”

"I don't remember the month before it still, but at the time, there was nothing. I didn't recognise Bella, or the twins. Not that they saw me at first, I was too much of a state."

Steve rarely spoke about his family from before. Fao swallowed thickly, looking down. “I can’t even imagine.”

"Took me six months to get it back."

“How old were the… the twins?” The question felt foreign in Fao’s mouth. 

"Eighteen months. I missed so much. Bel always said I'd catch up…I never did."

“I’m sorry.”

"I missed a lot of firsts, and the ones I got," he shook his head. "The ones I got…I wouldn't wish on anyone."

Fao cleared his throat. “It must have taken you a while to get back into everything, especially surgically.”

"Another eighteen months, just to get back to where I was. I was lucky, really,  my deficits ended up being physical, like my speech and swallowing."

“Is that the only thing you still struggle with?” Fao asked, mostly curious. “The back or anything?”

"Reduced sensations at times, various other problems, the burn scars kill me at times too. It feels like they're burnt all over again, when they debride it, god. Never again."

“Yeah, that’s brutal. Really, really tough.”

"The PTSD is a bit shit too."

“Now that’s something I can understand.”

"Yeah."

“I honestly just want to help.” Fao said softly, trying to find the words. “I know it’s easy to hide things and not want to get other people involved, but I could’ve helped you out ages before if you’d just asked. I wouldn’t have asked anything, either. So if there’s anything you need, no judgement or questions other than what I need to know to be safe… I’m here.”

Steve found himself choked up, and he shook his head, taking a moment. "Thank you."

“Let’s just try not to be so damn stubborn and accept help from now on.”

"Easier said than done."

“I know.”

"The pain never really goes away, but you deal with it until you can’t. I don't usually have problems breathing and eating and all that, but when it flares, it flares. 

"Work aren't ever happy about it, why would they be? A fucking neurosurgeon that can't feel his hands because the whole arm feels like it's on fire. The tremors I get when I get so low, I just…I don't know. I'd never do anything to put 

the patient at risk, but they just care about the image."

Fao nodded, taking it all in. “It must be really hard, but you’re an amazing doctor. I can tell you care so much about your patients, you’ve taught me so much.” He said softly. “We’re lucky to have you, and if work can’t see it too then they’re idiots.”

"Thank you, Fao. It means a lot"

Fao moved to hug him. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”

Steve hadn't expected that, but sighed and held him close. "Thank you, Fao."

[ereawrites]

Hush

reiner braun x reader

warnings: smut

wc: 8.4k

summary: reiner comes home, even if part of him doesn’t. who can blame you for wanting to offer him some comfort against all the fucked-up things he’s been through?

Late summers in Marley come with a dry, constant heat, the kind that lasts well into the night. After so many months of sun warming your room, even the stone walls can't keep it cool - you've never been good at sleeping in a hot room, and that's the excuse you use to forgive sneaking away to Reiner again. It's selfish. You're distracting him from the war, you worry, for the sake of a little comfort for him and a little peace for yourself. You shouldn't do it, but you do.

"You can't tell the others that I'm doing this.", he whispers against your bare collarbone, exposed by your own shaking fingers that have undone the first three buttons of your uniform. You try to guide his face back up to yours with a hand cupping his jaw. Reiner leans into your touch, but he doesn't move, instead pressing his forehead against the curve of your shoulder. A shaky breath tickles your skin, and it tells you everything you need to know.

When he first came home, no one saw him for weeks, not even the servants who took meals to his room - you caught them in the corridors, of course you did, if only to ask after the wellbeing of a comrade. Pieck eventually pulled you aside and told you, with pity shining in dull eyes, that they were putting him through tests. Psychological evaluations. From what she had left unsaid, you supposed that they were testing his loyalty more than his wellbeing. They decided that he was their most loyal warrior, and they rewarded him with more battles to fight.

Now, trembling beneath you, in a chair hastily shoved back from the desk in his room, you can see for yourself that Reiner is fractured. He's strong - so strong, not broken, not yet - but he is struggling and he is alone, even months later. You smooth your palms over the taut muscle of his shoulders. "I won't, I swear - no one even knows I'm here.". You've been sneaking to his quarters for months; only to speak, at first, to let him know that he doesn't have to bear the burden of Paradis quite so alone.

Although, to be fair, you've never went so far as to straddle him in a chair. You don't know how it happened, really. You had started off perched on the edge of his desk, and one second you were reaching out to cup his cheek -already too far, presuming too much and breaking too many rules in the name of comfort - and the next thing you knew, you were on top of him.

His voice is so small. "They can't know. They already think I'm weak, I- I am, I am weak, you can't-"

This time, you tilt his face up with insistent fingers under his chin. Even after everything, his brown eyes are still the same: sadder, maybe, and crinkled at the corners with a frown, but filled with the very same gentleness he's always regarded you with. "You're not weak, Reiner. You've been through so much, and you're still here, and you've been so brave. It's okay to let yourself feel things - right here, right now, okay? That doesn't make you weak, or selfish."

Reiner closes his eyes as if he's in pain. "...I'm selfish for doing this - being here. I should be out there in the field instead of letting my heart distract me again."

Again, he says, and it sends a jolt through your gut. They never let you find out what happened on the island - Reiner isn't ready to tell you, and you don't know he ever will be - but you're beginning to realise that the man beneath you is being torn apart by the things that happened to him, and the things he did, and the things he's doing now.

"Rei,", you say gently, tracing your thumb over his lips as you lean your forehead against his. "If you don't want me here, I'll go back to my room, and we don't have to speak about it again... Just say the word."

He sighs. For a moment, you think he's going to ask you to leave. As much as you want to believe that you're only here for him, only here to support him and do what he needs, you'd be lying to yourself. Your heart sinks. He picks it back up again with his hands coming to rest on the curve of your waist. "I do want you."

And you're going to tell him that you want him too, but all of a sudden he's kissing you.

Your body reacts before your mind can even catch up: you thread your hands into hair that's more grown out than he usually keeps it, all the way down to his nape, half pulling him closer and half pressing yourself further into him. Reiner lets out another small sigh, deep in his throat. The sound makes your knees go weak - god, you like him so much, too much, perhaps he's not the only one being selfish here - and your legs sink down until your weight is resting solely on his thighs. His hands instantly fly to splay over your back, one between your shoulders and the other just above your ass, and his palms are so big that he's anchoring you against him without even trying.

"I want you,", he repeats between kisses, "So much. For so long."

Something possesses you to slip your tongue into his mouth. You shouldn't do it - you should let him set the pace because this is about him, and - who are you really kidding? He holds you as if he's scared you'll leave, and you kiss him harder. For a few moments, you don't think about anything other than how good his mouth feels on yours, nothing at all. Every time you run your hands over his shoulders, he shudders as if you've sent an electric shock through him.

Reiner breaks away for air and you nearly whine - so embarrassing, but you realise you don't actually give a fuck. There's something in his eyes that seems scared. Scared you'll leave, or scared you don't want him. You're about to kiss him again before you register the faint taste of whiskey on your tongue. "You've been drinking?"

"A few hours ago. I thought you weren't going to come tonight. Helps me stop thinking about you so much.", he admits with a low voice. The expression on his face is almost nervous, as if he's worried you're going to be angry with him about it, but the confession has your heart racing faster than it has any right to. This is about him, you remind yourself; you're glad that his hair is longer now, because you can tug gently on it, making him tilt his head back and expose the column of his throat. It bobs with a thick swallow when you press the first soft kiss to the hollow beneath his Adam's apple. You don't reply to his words. You honestly don't think you can without crying.

There's no need to rush this. Your body screams for you to, but you've been harbouring these impossible feelings for the man underneath you for months - since before he left Marley, if you're to be truly honest - and you need to savour this and he needs gentleness. Slow, chaste kisses peppered across his neck, his jaw, even his shoulders through the material of his shirt. You ghost your nails down his nape and revel in the way his breath hitches slightly. Somewhere along the way, you realise just how closely you're pressed up to him: your chest is pushed hard against his, hips almost flush, and he's still holding you close. There's a tenderness in the embrace that makes your heart hurt all over again.

"Is this okay?', you ask - Reiner's breaths are coming slow and deep, and you can't get rid of the nagging concern that this might quickly become overwhelming for him. "Are you okay?"

He tips his head back down to level his gaze with yours, and the warm brown of his irises has all but melted away into the black of his pupils. "I want to... touch you."

"You can do anything you want to me, Rei.", your mouth says of its own accord, and you still really don't give a fuck about how shameful your lack of control is, because his grip tightens, and he makes a face like you've stabbed him. You're compelled to wipe the expression away with a quick, hot kiss, just barely dipping your tongue into his mouth before pulling away again. "Anything to make you feel good again."

It's a struggle to wrap your fingers around his thick wrist, but you just about manage it, and guide his hand up to the next button of your shirt. It isn't trembling so much now. The slightest tremor, still, but you half-suspect that's due to the careful, gentle awe that you see glinting in his eyes. Reiner mumbles your name as he starts to fumble with the button. "I don't think I'll be able to stop myself after this."

"I don't want you to.", you reply quietly. Quickly, you come the realisation that Reiner's struggle with the button must have been feigned for your comfort, because he has it - and the next one - popped open before you can even gasp in a quick breath. His lips chase his fingers, so, so soft, trailing down each new piece of skin he exposes (when did you start burning up?) and you find that you push back up on your knees instinctively; high enough for his mouth to be able to reach the space between your breasts and, god, it sends fireworks shooting up your spine.

You hardly pay attention to the last few buttons of your shirt being undone - Reiner's lips on your chest see to that, kissing slowly, almost reverently, around the curve of your chest, just underneath each breast and then back up to your collarbones. It's only now that you recall your decision not to wear a bra. It was already late when you left your room, past midnight, and you couldn't afford to be seen sneaking around looking as though you were dressed to actually go somewhere. 

Besides, Reiner has never been disrespectful to you in any way, never leered at you like some of the other men in the compound. A simple cotton button-up and slacks had seemed the obvious choice. A bolt of worry flashes to the forefront of your mind: what if he thinks you only came here for sex? He means so much more to you than that, you don't want him to think-

His hands ground you. One has slipped beneath the material to rest on your bare waist. He's just brushing the skin, and he's staring at your lips, and he looks as if he's terrified and in awe and maybe something else, all at once. The fingers of his right hand play with the edge of your shirt. He has callouses on the pads of his fingers - a lifetime of too much work and not enough gentleness. This is about him, you remind yourself. You nod, pressing a kiss to his forehead, and then another, and he starts to slip the shirt away from your body.

Reiner whispers, "You're beautiful." against your neck before he's even looked at you. "So beautiful. Sometimes I think you're an angel." An already weak protest dies in your throat when he dips his head to start kissing your neck - real kisses this time, warmer and faster and with a hint of tongue, and although it pains you so much to release your grip on his hair, you do it so that your shirt can fall forgotten to the floor. "Too good for someone like me."

Hushing him comes easily, even if hearing his words is hard - you've spent months trying to soothe him and help him with words, so maybe now is the time to show him with actions instead. Reiner is the one who's too good for you, too good for this world in fact, a world that has done nothing but abuse him. You have to stop thinking and start feeling, both of you. He actually makes a tiny grunt of protest when you push his face away from your neck in order to peel his shirt away. It's selfish, you know, to run your palms up his abs and chest when you do it, just as it's selfish to stare shamelessly at his arms when he raises them to tug the shirt over his head, but Reiner catches you doing it and, for the first time in weeks, he smiles.

"You're beautiful too, Rei. I've thought so for a long time.", you say into a kiss that's already started. His hands are at your hips and your arms are wrapped around his neck, you're so close to him it hurts, so close you feel every last bit of self-control slipping away; he pulls you closer, kisses you harder, lets your tits press up against his bare chest. You kiss him until your lips are swollen and you're panting for air. No one's ever made you feel like this: so safe and whole and damn hot with just a little kissing.

Then, you adjust yourself in his lap, and you feel that he's half-hard in his pants. Honestly, you doubt your own underwear is in a much better state. Still, you can't help the way your breath hitches: Reiner's jaw tightens, probably because of the inadvertent friction, but you feel the heat spreading over your cheeks. You both want this, of course you do, but it's still shocking to feel the evidence of his arousal. And that's without even thinking about how big the bulge felt in that one little instant.

Reiner tugs you backwards by the hips and you're scared that he's become overwhelmed. He steadies you as soon as your ass is resting further down on his thighs, though - the loss of skin-to-skin contact draws a small whine from you - and starts kissing down your neck again, leads your hands to support yourself on his shoulders, and now his hands are on your tits. It starts off fairly slow. Not quite as gentle as before but the reverence is still evident. An angel, he said, and he touches you like you are one. He claims to be a monster but he treats you so well:  licking at your collarbones and kissing your neck, swiping those calloused thumbs over your nipples until they harden, pinching so gently and just right, making the breath shoot out of you in a shuddering moan. The scolding he gives you sounds entirely absent. "Got to stay quiet, sweetheart. No one can know you're here."

"I-", forced to bite your lip when he rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, "Sorry. I know. Just - feels good."

"It's what you deserve."

God, Reiner makes you totally weak and he doesn't even seem to know it. His voice is quiet as ever. You always have to speak lowly when you're here, in case someone hears and they keep you from seeing him again - but it's dropped so low, and it's got just the littlest bit of rasp to it. He sounds desperate. You're pretty sure you can actually feel the dampness in your underwear now. Torn between sitting there and letting him play with your nipples for hours, and just unbuckling his belt right now and riding him in his desk chair, you're so close to becoming overstimulated and simply melting into his arms, but he makes the decision for you.

The way he leans even further down to wrap his lips around one nipple must be uncomfortable for him, he's so tall, taller than you even when you're sat on top of his thighs like this - he must enjoy it, though, because he groans lowly as his tongue swirls around it. You nearly have to clap your hand over your mouth to stifle a moan, and he clearly knows you're going to need extra support staying up, because his now free hand slides around to hold the base of your bare back. "Oh my God-", you hiss. You're almost certain you feel him smile again.

"Rei. Is it okay if I...", you manage to pant out, gesturing to the zipper of your slacks, after a few more minutes of indulgence - after seemingly being satisfied with the attention he gave one breast, he had switched to the other, making practically inaudible noises each time your hips canted against his broad thighs. One day, if he lets you do this again, maybe you'll ask him to let you get off on the hard muscle of his quads. You'd like to feel his arms around you as you fall apart.

His fingers slip just below your waistband. They're so, so close to where you need him, and your body is so hot, and Reiner's must be too because his pecs are starting to glisten with sweat. "Please.", as if he's on the verge of breaking with how much he wants you - it would sound conceited to believe, but you see the way he's looking at you, you feel the way he's touching you. It wouldn't be fair to deny him of the only emotion he's allowed himself in a long time.

Of course, he waits for you to nod your consent. Those warm, fractured, black-brown eyes swallow you up so much that your whole body is set ablaze as he slowly undoes the button of your trousers. You at least had the good sense to wear acceptable underwear, although you suspect Reiner will want that gone, too. He's seeming to grow harder with every bit of bare skin he manages to touch. As he drags the zipper down at a pace much too slow for your liking, he murmurs, stand up for me, sweetheart.

You do, in the space he makes for you between spread thighs, and the thought of being away from him right now is so unbearable, that you press your knees up against the chair to keep the closeness. Reiner looks up at you for a moment, cheeks a little red and lips a little swollen, before his eyes are on your body and your trousers are being tugged gently over the curve of your ass. The heat in your stomach grows even more intense when you literally see his mouth drop open at the sight of your underwear, and he blushes harder when your thighs are exposed; you're tensing them together to relieve some of the pressure, you realise, but Reiner's easily strong enough to get past that. He even leans down to caress your calves as he pushes the slacks the rest of the way off.

"I would have dressed up for you a little more, if I had known this was going to happen.", you half-giggle. It's been a long time since anyone has seen you like this. You're not exactly ashamed of the fact that there's most definitely a damp spot on your underwear - one that Reiner hasn't noticed, too preoccupied with kissing your lower stomach and squeezing your thighs - but it's an intense feeling, finally being in a moment that you've tried so hard to stop imagining. Reiner huffs a small laugh in return against your abdomen.

"You're stunning. In anything.", he says, just before he lays a kiss to your pussy through the material of your underwear. He must feel the wetness because he groans, too loud, and then he licks. You gasp. Even that small action feels so much better than your own fingers ever have. Visions fill your head: sitting on the edge of his desk, watching him eat you out, those huge hands holding your hips in place until the skin bruises, those beautiful eyes staring up from between your legs - he twines his fingers into yours, and brings them to the waistband of your underwear. You catch the hint right as he leans back into the chair again.

Stripping in front of him puts a lump in your throat. Rei is kind but he's huge, especially when he's spread out in his chair like that, with a sweat-slicked broad chest and thick thighs and a bulge that you worry might actually tear through his trousers, and you feel so vulnerable to do this just in front of him, where he can reach out and swallow you up at any moment. It's so incredibly hot. There's no need to put on a show. He watches you as though you're the most beautiful thing in the world anyway. You do it for him regardless, though, as well as you can. You take it slow, being sure to drag your hands over your thighs in a way that feels silly and sensual all at once. When the lace reaches your knees, his hand is there next to yours, and you take it for balance as you step out of your underwear completely.

"Fuck...", he remarks under his breath. His thumb traces absent circles over the back of your hand while he drinks in the sight of you. Perhaps it's because of the dim lighting, the room lit only by a few candles and a lamp in the corner, but you feel like he looks at you too hard, for too long, for someone who isn't supposed to care about you. Your stomach lurches and you feel your inner thighs begin to become wet. You won't take this from him, or yourself, not when the dark look in his eyes is making your pussy clench like this. He holds your hand the entire time he looks at you. "So pretty. C'mere."

Instantly, you're settling back on top of him. The fog in your mind means you don't even question how compliantly you react to his baritone. His left hand snakes around your back again to hold you steady, and you're not quite sure if your hand guides the other to your inner thighs, or if he does it of his own accord. Either way, he's ghosting calloused fingertips over the damp skin there as soon as you make yourself comfortable. "Ah- please.", you whimper.

Reiner probably doesn't mean to tease you, but you need him, you need something to touch you before you go insane. You plead with him again, saying his name this time, and he swallows thickly. The sound that leaves your mouth when he runs a finger up your slit is pitiful. He responds so well, though, repeating the action a few more times before he pulls his hand away. "You're so wet, god."

His voice is rougher than you could ever have imagined. Another clench of your pussy, and you see his eyes widen at the strings of wetness connecting his thick fingers. Your own tone comes out far too high and shaky. "You just - I can't help it, you make me feel... something, I don't know, I-", and it tapers off into a senseless whine when his fingers start to trace lines over your pussy again.

"Relax, angel. Gonna make you feel good like you deserve, I promise.". The reassurance is murmured between your breasts, where he's licking away the salty dampness rapidly collecting there - Reiner clearly wants all of you, every part of you, just as much as you want him. He keeps up the motion for a little longer, spreading your wetness around, until your clit swells up so much that it catches on his finger every time he passes over it. Each gentle bump drags another stifled gasp out of you. No one can know you're here, no one can know that Reiner's grabbing the flesh of your ass and rubbing your pussy, but he sure as hell doesn't make it easy for you.

This time, he doesn't run his finger straight over your clit. He stops moving as soon as your body reacts to the touch - he's right on the most sensitive part of you, and he presses with the smallest bit of pressure, just enough to have you grasping wildly at his shoulders for something to ground yourself on. You're so worked up that it feels more incredible than you would ever have imagined. He's so perfect and good to you, and he doesn't stop there: he begins to trace slow, steady circles directly onto your clit - your body jerks of its own accord, but his forearm around your waist is big and strong enough to pin your hips in place against his hand.

"Oh- Rei-", you moan. You definitely see his cock twitch. Maybe it's a trick of the light, but you're pretty sure you can see a considerable damp spot forming on his trousers, too.

"God. I always knew you'd sound pretty."

The rasped confession has your hips trying to buck again. Reiner's finger starts to move a little faster. The increased pleasure means you're faced with moaning too loud and getting caught, or finding some other way to occupy your mouth. You're panting when you ask, "You've... thought about doing this?"

"Yeah. Too much. I- I'm sorry-", Reiner admits as he mouths your nipples, sounding hardly sorry at all. You envision him fisting his cock to the thought of you right as his middle finger leaves your clit and pushes inside you to the first knuckle,"-I couldn't help myself, I never can around you."

"Shi- I think about you too.". Mewling, your upper body collapses so it's leaning against Reiner's strong torso, your lips against his temple, his head buried in your neck, his arm keeping you steady as he works his finger into you. Senseless blabbering is all you can manage, spilling your filthy secrets into his ear without an ounce of shame. "When I touch myself. I - oh-", turning your face into his hair when his finger catches on that sweet spot inside you, "- I think about you, I always imagine it's you, your fingers, your cock-"

His finger finally, finally is fully inside you, although Reiner is already eagerly pushing another into you; this one makes you feel the stretch, hot and full in a way that even three of your own fingers can never achieve. Shuddering, another moan of his name, clawing at his shoulders - your body welcomes him even if it's a difficulty, gushing more wetness onto his palm until he starts to scissor his large fingers inside of you, stretching you out until tears are pricking your eyes in protest of how good it feels.

"Wish we could do this where no one else could hear."-and so do you, you want Reiner to know just how good he's making you feel- "You sound so pretty. Do you... think you can take it..?", he mumbles, and you know he's talking about his cock, inside you - two of his fingers have you writhing, so the thought of his cock has your eyes rolling back in your head. He crooks his fingers onto your sweet spot right as you open your mouth, almost like he wants the risk of you being too loud and getting caught.

"Please, Reiner, I want to!", you respond a breathy whine, all of it rushing out of you at once before he can catch your g-spot again. You start to snake a hand into the cramped, hot space between your torsos. All you can think of is how good he'll feel when he's inside you. "Let me-"

"Not yet.", he groans, curling his fingers again, and again, not stopping, and he sounds genuinely authoritative for the first time. Your body goes weak, but you'd stop moving for him anyway. "Come on my fingers first. Wanna get you nice and wet before you take me, okay?"

"Fuck-", you cry. The motion on your most sensitive spot just isn't stopping, he's found where he wants to be - the callouses on his fingers are making the friction even more perfect, especially when he brings his thumb to retrace those slow circles on your clit. He keeps it steady for a few minutes - could be hours, or seconds, all you know is that it feels too good to care - and the pressure inside you is becoming something else. Reiner is taking his time with every motion, but that's exactly what's bringing you to the edge so fast. His fingers are so thick and the pressure on your clit is so good, that's it, you're starting to shake in the kind of way that leads up to an orgasm that makes you go blank in the head. You fold into the way he holds you and you let go.

Rei lets a strained grunt out. "That's it, come on, you're taking it so well. You're dripping onto my leg, that's exactly what I want, my angel.". So wet that he can feel it through his trousers, it's so humiliating and Reiner obviously loves it so much because he groans again when you start to clench on his fingers, picking up the pace of his movements and you can hear how wet you are and it must be all over his bare forearm-

"I'm gonna-", you try to warn him: he coaxes you into it, come on, please and you cum hard.

The behinds of your eyelids go white, or black, you have no way to tell. Your entire body feels weightless, grounded only by his arm around you, and his fingers must keep curling inside of you because the waves of pleasure don't stop, they just keep coming, hitting you until every part of your body is alight and molten for him, and you're very vaguely aware of your own hand covering your mouth. It takes longer to come down from it than it's ever taken you.

Then again, no one has ever ripped an orgasm that strong out of you.

"Are you okay?", Reiner asks. His fingers are no longer inside. He's rubbing soothing patterns into your inner thighs, and either your thighs are soaked or his hand is; your muscles feel like jelly, but you just about manage to support your own weight again, leaning back so you can look him in the eyes. There's wetness on your cheeks, maybe tears, and Reiner looks at you with clear concern through blown pupils. It's so endearing and sexy that you have to smile. It must relax him, given how he returns it with a soft one of his own - you notice marks on his lower lip, like he bit it to hold back a sound, perhaps.

You kiss him softly to soothe the pain, whispering into his mouth, "Can I have you inside, now, Rei?". His hands come to grip your waist hard. You know how you must sound to him: fucked out after his fingers alone, speech slurred and pitchy from the aftershocks of your orgasm, asking for his cock. And yet, he still waits for you.

"...Are you sure you want me?". You nod in response. He picks you up like you weigh nothing at all, not even letting out a breath of exertion, and your shaky legs wrap instinctively around him as he stands from the chair. For a moment, Rei just holds you there, kissing you with an indescribable, soft kind of intensity, letting you run your hands over the biceps and triceps that aren't even straining with the effort of holding you. His bed is close, but obviously too far away for him, so he places you down onto the edge of his desk. You separate from the kiss, only meaning to glance down to adjust yourself - falling off the desk would be a great way to kill the mood - when you see it.

"Oh - oh my god, the window is open..!"

It makes sense; he knows you don't like a hot room, he's kept his window open in the evenings ever since you told him that weeks ago. Why didn't you check? Everyone else should be asleep by now, but... Porco's room is so close to Reiner's, and if he's somehow awake with his own window open - you move to hop off the desk. Reiner cups your cheek in his hand, drawing your gaze back to him, and suddenly all thoughts about the stupid window disappear.

"It's okay.", he promises. "They won't hear if we're careful. I'm going to be so careful and slow with you, I swear."

God. You look down and you're reminded of exactly why you're so worked up - there is definitely a wet spot on his trousers, he must be leaking for you, and the thought of that cock slowly working you open drives you to start fumbling with his zipper. This is the first time your hands have been near that bulge and they look positively tiny in comparison. You worry if he's going to fit, briefly, but Reiner promised to be careful and you're more than ready for him. Without even bothering to fully remove his slacks and underwear - you just tug them down to his upper thighs - you're met with the full sight of him.

It's so much bigger than you would have thought, even generously, fuck; you're pretty sure your jaw actually drops when it springs free from his underwear, slapping against his taut abdomen. It's long, enough to make your mouth water, with a nice, prominent vein on the underside, but the most impressive part of him is the thickness. Even the head is fat, curved upwards somewhat, and he's leaking so much that a bead of precum rolls down his cock within seconds. You rip your eyes away to look up at him and, somehow, he looks embarrassed. You can't stand to see him like that, not when every part of him is so perfect and handsome, so you wrap your hand around his cock and begin to stroke gently.

Your fingers just barely touch around his girth. His precum slicks your palm, though, making it easy enough to set a nice, slow pace of pumping him, watching how his brow instantly furrows. "Holy shit - ah, use both hands, sweetheart, please -". Reiner doesn't need to ask twice: you spit into your other palm to offer him even more slick, then bring it to join the other, relishing in the choked gasp he makes. Even stroking him with two hands, there's so much of him you can't hold at once.

He's beautiful, you think, with gritted teeth and head thrown back. Right now, you could happily stroke him for as long as he wants, as long as he needs to spill himself all over your hands, but he only grants you a few short moments and a low hiss before he's carefully pulling your hands away.

After a kiss to the knuckles of each hand, he cups the back of your head and leans over you, bringing your back flat against the desk. "Lie back, just like that.", and your legs wrap around his waist without having to be told. There's the briefest flash in his eyes, a feral glint when you tug him closer using your thighs, but then it's gone, and he's tenderly holding your head so it doesn't rest directly on the hard wood of the desk. "Want you to look at me when I'm filling you up, okay? So I know you're okay. Can you do that for me?"

Reiner is going to fuck you, you realise. He really is going to be inside you. This isn't a dream, not the fantasy you have when you're touching yourself after returning to your own room. Reiner is above you, pumping his cock in his fist, staring at your aching cunt as he does it.

"Anything.", you whisper. He dips his head to kiss you once more, then props himself up on his elbow so he can watch your face. The first brush of his cock against your core has your hips bucking, rolling, rubbing yourself up and down his length like a bitch in heat, and he lets you do it, looking into your eyes and smiling when his cock head catches on your hole. Your ankles lace behind his back to pull him down onto you, just as his hips make the first small thrust, and suddenly he's inside you.

It can only be the first inch or so, maybe not even all of the head, but it hurts and you have to bite down on a cry of his name. It hurts and it feels amazing. Nothing has ever stretched you out so much, and you can feel yourself dripping, trying so hard to accommodate him, because your body needs him just as much as you want him; Reiner groans at the first spasm of your walls, much louder than he should be with an open window, but who gives a fuck if Porco hears - it hurts but you nod for him to keep pushing, go deeper, stretch you out around all of his cock.

Reiner begins to pant once he gets the second inch in, going slow for both of your sakes, sweat beading at his temples. "God, you're so - tight-", as he stuffs more into you, watching you whimper and watching your eyes roll into your skull, "-like you're..made for my cock, huh, fuck-"

His voice dissolves into a growl by the end. You roll your hips, all the way up off the desk, and the movement has even more of him inside you. "Oh." You moan, and you think you're tearing up again. Reiner kisses at the edge of your eyes. The sensation is so perfectly overwhelming, the slow drag of his cock as it threatens to split you open, and coupled with the sounds he's making on top of you you're in total bliss.

Both of you go on like that for a while, slowly rolling your hips against each other and stifling noises as well as you can. Marks left on his back by your nails can be hidden, and the red-hot kisses he peppers over your tear-streaked face will fade away. By the time the tight fight has stopped hurting - still intense, maybe too much, but only good - his hips are flush with yours, and he's completely still. His free hand yet again keeps your hips from bucking. You've done it, you realise. You've taken all of his cock and it feels incredible. But he won't move.

Reiner barely starts to speak before you're begging. "Does it feel good-"

"So good, Rei, so fucking good - you can start moving, please."

He doesn't need any further encouragement; the first thrust is shallow, slow, only pulling out a few inches before working his way back into you. Still, when his hips bump against yours again, there's a sharp flash inside of you and he's actually hitting your cervix, fuck, you gasp so loud that he has to muffle it with his tongue in your open mouth. He holds it there for a few seconds before repeating the motion, letting himself fall into a rhythm as you pant and sob into his mouth with each thrust, clutching desperately at his back while every thrust gets deeper. Within a few minutes, he's pulling out almost to the tip each time - only the thick head left to fill you - before slowly, slowly pushing back in.

"You're taking me so well, my angel.", Reiner praises through a ragged breath. Even fucking you slow, he's struggling to contain himself. "You feel so good around me."

"Then, go fa-faster, Reiner, please - I can take it, I promise, just-!"

His hips snap against yours like a gunshot and you're completely filled again in a heartbeat. Your cunt clenches around him as you moan, throwing your head back, and Reiner collapses onto you. His body covers you completely even as he keeps the weight off by leaning on his forearm, letting you feel the drag of your nipples against his skin when he stuffs you with his cock so quick again, he's kissing your jaw and now you have nothing to silence your cries with other than your own hand, heaving for breath through your fingers as he starts to rut into you. The fingers on your hip pull you against him every time he bottoms out, pushing his cock even deeper, and you think you feel him smile against your neck when you gasp, "God, you're so deep."

The faster, frantic pace means that the room is filled with the sound of his skin slapping against yours, especially when you ask him to go harder and stop holding back, Rei, because you can take everything he has to give you. That perfect curve near the head of his length keeps catching on your g-spot - Reiner knows how to find it, he's hitting it too often for it to be an accident, angling his hips just so and matching each of your moans with one of his own. He must get off on watching you come undone underneath him, falling apart on his cock, you think, because you feel him pulse inside you every time you brokenly sob his name.

"This what you need? Am I giving you what you want, huh, sweetheart?", he rasps and it's not demeaning or teasing, he means it, he really means it- "Am I making you feel as good as you deserve?"

A particularly deep thrust has your toes curling at his back. "'S so good, yeah, feels so good, wanted you for so long-"

Your speech is slurring from the shocks of pleasure he's sending through you. Between the jolts to your cervix, the constant pressure on your g-spot, the way his body is rubbing against your clit with each rapid thrust of his hips - his lips on your neck and his grunts in your ear - you're going to cum again, you tell him, and he shoves himself up off the desk to stand upright. The change in position has your legs falling away from his back, and you scramble pathetically to adjust your hips so his cock will be deeper again, but his hands catch your thighs and easily overpower you. Both forearms slip underneath your knees, so your legs are hanging over his arms, and his hands grab either side of your hips to slam you back onto his cock.

"Holy shit- you feel even tighter like this, does that feel good? C'mon, answer me, tell me it feels good, please-"

"Yes!", you sob, and you can't give him any more than that because having your legs raised means he's right on your g-spot: all you can do is stare up at him through bleary eyes and admire how good he looks. His abs clench with every thrust, and his arms look so big holding your legs up like that. God, you're so close, just a little more - you reach down to play with your clit but Reiner pushes your hand away and pleads, "No-" and one of his hands slips around your leg to find it himself. Of course he finds it, you're so swollen for him, and he's rolling it between two fingers before you can clap your palm back over your mouth. You all but squeal his name.

"That's it, sweetheart, that - that's it, fuck, clench around me, please, want you to cum again, wanna feel you cum on my cock-", he says. You just barely hear him through the pounding in your head and the sound of your own desperate panting, and god you want to please him, you'd do anything for him, this is all for him, remember, so even though you don't know if your body can handle it, you nod. You shove your own fingers into your mouth to keep yourself quiet, the ones that he was dripping precum over when you stroked his cock, and you let Reiner slam into your g-spot and rub and pinch your clit until you're coming again.

Reiner doesn't slow down, he doesn't stop toying with your clit, he keeps telling you how perfect you feel when you squeeze him like that - you somehow feel and hear it all even though you can't understand anything other than the fire spreading through your nerves and into your limbs, consuming every part of you as he keeps fucking you - it's so intense that it doesn't last more than a few seconds, it can't, it's too much, you're starting to drool around your fingers when you come down - and then he tells you he's close in the loudest moan you've heard yet, and you're coming again-

You come back to your senses trembling, boneless and crying with pleasure. "Gonna cum for you.", he says, pressing down on where his cock bulges through your stomach. "You did so well for me.", and it takes everything you have to reach out for him. Reiner pushes your legs down to your chest so he can interlace his fingers with yours: you're almost sure you're still coming because your body spasms under him, your throat constricting in a soundless cry, but you don't take your eyes off him. He keeps you safe in his gaze for the final few thrusts, and then he takes your hand down with his as he pulls out, and together you stroke his cock so he can spill himself all over your stomach.

There's so much, you dully register. You don't watch because you're too caught up in his face, how his brow finally relaxes and his lips part so nicely, how he looks so at peace and so happy. You don't watch but you definitely feel his cum on your body. It's all over your stomach and chest by the time he finally stops stroking, finally opens his eyes again. It's strange: he must have fucked you so silly that you think he's looking at you like man in love.

A man in love, and covered in sweat, and exhausted. You smile despite yourself. "'S heavy. Get off."

Reiner lays a kiss to your forehead before doing as you say, leaving you to close your eyes and recover on the desk. He has a washbasin in the corner, you recall, when you hear the noise of water: he must be cleaning himself off. Then, the sound of footsteps, coming back towards you. He sounds tired and hesitant when he says, "...Do you want me to clean you...?"

For some reason, you blush. You've just had sex with Reiner - for his sake, you remind yourself, to let him know that it's okay to feel things again - and yet you're embarrassed over that simple offer. Then again, you only came here tonight to talk, to offer him some comfort on a day that you suspected had been a bad one. Sex is one thing: against the rules, but forgivable, a way for him to get rid of some of his frustrations and get his mind back on the mission. That's what you'll tell them, if they ever come asking. The intimacy of cleaning each other is a different matter entirely.

But no one ever has to know. Neither of you will ever tell the others that you're doing this, right? "Please.", you whisper, and you keep your eyes closed as if it makes it okay. Your brain is still heavy and fogged, but you don't miss how carefully and tenderly he touches you as he wipes you down - such a big man, being so gentle with you even now. You wouldn't blame him for asking you to leave now. In all good sense, this was a mistake, one that neither of you should speak of again, and it's in both of your best interests to move on as fast as possible. He won't have to know when you remember this night when you-

Reiner calls your name, and you reluctantly open your eyes. It's selfish, but you don't want this to end. He must have finished cleaning you and discarded of the washcloth, because he's already changed into a fresh pair of sleep pants, and he's holding up a shirt to you. You take it with a sigh.

"I'm sorry, Reiner. I shouldn't have... I shouldn't have come onto you. I've put you in a bad position and I really am sorry. I won't tell anyone that this happened.". The words pain you to say, but you know that you should apologise, and you give him a sad smile as you pull the shirt over your head. It's only when you catch the scent that you realise that this isn't your shirt - it's his. The questioning look you shoot him when your head pops out is met with a hand offered to you.

"I... meant what I said about wanting you. Not just for sex.", he says, although he looks scared to say it. "You mean more to me than that, you know. You make me feel like I'm more than what I've done. I know it's wrong, but-"

"-it's not wrong!", you blurt, and Reiner's eyes widen like he was expecting you to agree with him. "You are more than what you had to do, okay? I promise. To me, none of that matters, because I know you're a good person at heart. All of us know it."

That little interjection is exactly what you've been telling him for months. This might be the first time he looks as though he's beginning to believe it. You take his hand, smiling as much as you can even though you're still fighting the shame of what you just did, and Reiner says, "Stay here for a few hours - please. You'll sleep better, my room isn't as warm. Go back to your room before wakeup call. No one has to know.". He leads you to the bed and he lets you hold him, and you pretend that you don't hear him crying when he thinks you're asleep, or how he whispers that he thinks he might be in love.

[katsukithme]

First Aid

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x reader

Summary: Your pro hero boyfriend is annoyingly opposed to first aid, and you have to get a little persuasive.

Warnings: Language, suggestive themes, lil bit spicy!! Not smut but like I’m easing into it. Mentions of injury.

Word count: about 1.9k :)

A/N: idek what this is man I am just h word on main for angry blonde firecracker man

**Character is aged up to at least 20**

You've about had it with this man. This absolute stubborn child of a man. If his bottom lip weren't already split, right now you'd be very highly considering doing it yourself.

You both were crowded into your small bathroom in your apartment, first aid supplies strewn across what little counter space you had, a few knocked onto the tile floor. You'd learned very early on in your relationship that keeping a first aid kit on deck was essential to dating Katsuki Bakugou. If only the bastard would sit still so you could actually use it.

It was a feat in and of itself that you managed to get him in here for the first aid in the first place. It was like luring a cat into the bathroom right before a bath. He knew what was coming... and it took bribery of course. But he was here, hips leaning against the edge of the sink, arms crossed over his bare chest as he faces you. You were standing in front of him (conveniently between him and the door), antiseptic in one hand and a bandage in the other, desperately trying to clean the cuts that littered his skin.

"Katsuki, come on! Quit moving around!" You say sternly, trying once again to dab the cloth over the wide gash that reached from his collarbone to his shoulder. It had stopped bleeding a while ago, but it looked pretty gnarly. And you'd be damned if you didn't at least disinfect it.

"I told you, I don't need first aid! I'm not even hurt." He retorts, indignantly avoiding every move you make towards him. Finally you throw down the bandage with a loud groan.

"We do this every time! How many times do I have to tell you? If you don't clean them they could get infected!" You demand, hands on your hips.

"Tch. As if I'd ever let something like that happen to me." He was operating with one singular braincell, you were sure of it. And the braincell was sitting in the 'stubborn asshole' part of Katsuki's brain.

"You- it's not... Jesus christ. It's not something you let happen! It'll only take a minute to clean them up, I promise."

He doesn't seem the least bit convinced, brows drawn together in such a deep scowl. It was exactly the sort of face a mother would scold you for, saying it'd get stuck that way.

Sometimes for him, you really thought it did.

"You said it'd take just a minute last time. And it absolutely fuckin' did not." He gripes and you throw your hands up in exasperation. It was like talking to a brick wall.

"Because you kept moving!" He rolls his eyes and stands up from the counter, pushing past you gently to go towards the door.

"Whatever. I don't need first aid." He growls out. Your hands ball into fists and your face sets into a hard expression. You'd had enough... no more good cop.

Before he turns the door handle you say just one more thing- and it stops him dead in his tracks.

"Bakugou Katsuki, if you don't come over here and sit your ass down so I can treat your wounds, so help me god I won't fuck you for a month."

He freezes, hand still holding the doorknob. He turns slowly to look at you over his shoulder, expecting to find any sort of lie, a trace of a fracturing exterior so he knew you didn't mean it. Instead, all he was met with was a stone cold glare.

He scoffs. "You're bluffing." He tries, and your arms cross over your chest.

"Try me. Go ahead, leave the bathroom. Get used to fucking your hand, it'll be the only action you see."

He was tempted of course to just leave. The odds of you bluffing were pretty high... he wasn't stupid, he knew it was just as much of a punishment for you as it would be for him. But the look in your eyes– it was threatening. Kind of hot, but he'd keep that to himself. The threat of an agonizing dry spell was too risky for him to point that out.

"Fuck. Fine..." he relents. And he takes his hand slowly off the doorknob.

You smirk triumphantly as he trudged slowly back into the bathroom, scowl still set into his face with no signs of leaving any time soon. You take a few steps back, however many the right space would allow so you could direct him. As much as he despised it, your threat had him wrapped around your little finger. More than usual.

You jut out your chin once towards the toilet, which had the lid closed. "Sit, asshole. Lemme fix you up." You say, tone firm but just a little soft around the edges as he finally starts to do as you say.

He plops himself down on the seat with a grumble under his breath, something along the lines of 'this is cruel and unusual punishment, but he sits nonetheless. And he was almost pouting with that expression on his face. It was cute... even if he was acting like an child. You decide to make the ordeal a little sweeter for the man, even if he was being unruly. With antiseptic in one hand and a bandage in the other, you give a soft push to his chest so he'd sit back and make space for you.

It was a cramped sort of space, not super ideal for his comfort or yours. But he always had space for you. He cocks a brow curiously as you move him, but says nothing when he realizes you're going to take a seat. How could he say no? Even he'd admit, he liked having you so close. Even if you're tending to injuries that really weren't that bad.

You straddle his thighs as settle in on his lap, shifting just a little to get comfortable. His hands immediately find your hips, keeping you nice and close. Once he seemed contented enough, you get to work cleaning him up.

It's quiet in the bathroom as you tend to the wounds, the only sounds being that of your first aid ministrations and your mingled breathing. He watches you intently, taking in every little mannerism and facial expression, hands tracing absentminded circles into your hips. His fingertips were barely beneath the hem of your shirt, seeking out the warmth of your bare skin to keep him entertained while you treat his minor injuries.

Finally once most of the scratches and such were taken care of, you turn to the cut on his lip, eyes meeting that intense vermillion gaze. He was uncharacteristically quiet, but you knew it was much more than that.

Katsuki wasn't really a man of words. He didn't express his undying love every five minutes, and you didn't expect him to. Instead he showed it in actions, in unspoken words found shining in his eyes. In a small quirk of his lips when you laugh, or an affectionate eye roll when you do something dumb. Showed it in the way he kissed you. In the way he'd lay you down and give it to you nice and good, just the way you liked.

You lightly dab at the wound on his lip, being careful not to hurt him since it was still pretty fresh. He doesn't seem even slightly fazed.

"Gotta be more careful, and lemme do this for you. Can't have you getting more hurt because you're bein' stubborn." You mumble, averting your eyes from that deep stare to eye the plush of his split bottom lip while you cleaned him up. If you made eye contact any longer, he'd have the satisfaction of making you blush.

He grunts softly, pulling you a little closer on his lap. "I was gonna let you." He mumbles, and it makes you roll your eyes. And his lips quirk up just a bit.

"You were not. You were gonna walk right out that door if I didn't threaten to take away sex." You mumble, and one of his hands starts to trace up your spine, effectively arching you against his chest.

"Maybe. But if I hadn't, you wouldn't be on my lap, would you?" He snarks, but his voice is all soft. You put your first aid supplies down on the counter and turn your eyes back to his once again, and he was grinning. He almost looked smug.

"Ah, shut up. Didn't have to sit here. Did it for you." He snorts in response, strong arms wrapping firmly around your waist.

"Sure you were." He was sarcastic, but his tone was still fond. "You like bein' this close just as much as I do, ass." You wrinkle your nose at him and push at his chest in retaliation, but it only makes him draw you in closer.

"You're the ass. Wouldn't sit still, wouldn't shut up till I said I wouldn't fuck you. Think with your dick, huh?" You tease, and his lips raise in a half playful snarl. Large palms slide over your hips to grab handfuls of your ass, keeping you right up against him.

"Shut the fuck up. You like when I think with my dick. Gets you all hot for me." He mumbles, lips barely brushing yours when he leans in close. You could feel the heat in your cheeks at the comment, spreading to the tips of your ears. He always did know just what to say to get you wrapped around his finger.

"What," he continues, dragging your hips forward against his own and you choke back a gasp. "Suddenly you're all quiet? Bet t's'cause I'm right. But I dunno, maybe I'm just thinking with my dick." You have to struggle not to whine as his hands guide you back and forth across his lap, and by god the friction was going to kill you. Your hands clutch to hard muscled shoulders, aching to gain back some semblance of self control.

But it was hard to keep sane around Katsuki. Damn near impossible.

"Fuck... you..." you breathe, trying to give him a glare but it comes off a little more wanton than you intended. His teeth graze your bottom lip, biting it gently and tugging outward before letting it back into place. His hips cant upwards, rolling into yours as he keeps you rooted firmly in place, and it tears a moan from your lips.

"Yeah? You wanna?" His voice has dipped down dangerously low in his throat, rumbling through his chest and sleeping into your bones. Between the movement of his hips and his mouthing along your jaw you felt as if you were going to combust.

"You're gonna be the death of me..." You can feel that damn shit eating grin against your jaw, and when your eyes meet deep vermillion you know you're a goner. He had you, hook line and sinker.

"Complain all you want, but you're whipped for me," he mumbles, one hand leaving the plush of your ass to cup the back of your neck, dragging you into a kind of kiss that made your toes curl, your knees shake. Hot and heavy, tongue and teeth.

Yeah, you were pretty whipped for Katsuki Bakugou... but he was just as whipped for you.

[frostahesmegabite]

DWC Day 1 - Reunion - Daily Writing Challenge Entry - Mega Goes Home

[ This scene takes place after a two year storyline between the FBC Guild that I’m the GM of and a personal storyline between Megahes and his Fiance, Naturasu. During this time, Megahes was cursed by a Cultist to slowly die from an agonizingly painful hex that was slowly killing him and all hope of its curing/removal was stripped away when this Cultist was killed during the conflicts. Ammaelin came to save Megahes (and acquired some ‘favors’ along the way) by using fractured shards of a Naa'ru to force Megahes into becoming Light Forged in a sense. This process took several years thanks to the manipulation of time via magic and while Mega felt the strain of three-four years of work, for everyone else it was roughly eight to ten weeks before his return. ] The Zeppelin ride to Orgrimmar was agonizingly slow, probably more than any other ride Mega had ever had on one before in his entire life. It was enough to drive him mad and the longer it took in combination with the closer it got to taking him home to Naturasu the worse it became. The goblin fidgeted, tugging at his clothes and making sure all the buttons on his shirt were done properly. His sleeves still crisp and the ironed lined still present. Hell, he even fought with the rolled up sleeves and their buttons that kept them pulled up to his biceps. The wait on returning home was killing him. What was Nat going to say when he walked in the door? This reunion between her and him played in his head a thousand times just today alone, he couldn’t even count the amount of times that he played out similar scenarios while he was away. “Nervousness does not become you Mister Frostbite.” The voice was formal and flat, its source coming from a blinding armor clad Blood Elf that stood several feet higher than himself. Crimson red hair blowing in the breeze thanks to their mode of transportation. Ammaelin, the Blood Knight who was responsible for the absence that proved to be a miraculous, and most likely a very heretical, healing process. If one could butter their bread with his smugness, one’d choke on it just from looking at him. “I’m aware, but that doesn’t make it any less. I been gone for three years now.” He quickly brings up a hand to stop the Elf, they’ve had this conversation several times before already. “And I know, I know. Months for her, for everyone else. Years only for You, Me and the others. But still years for me…” “We did what needed to be done, especially in regards to our agreement. You would have surely died otherwise.” Ammaelin’s head turns if but barely, just enough to cast a glance down upon the golden metal that was imprisoned into Mega’s flesh near his wrists. “You are lucky that you had those shards hidden away. Had any other Paladin known you held those, my brother's curse would have been the least of your concerns. I have no doubt the Church or the Draenei would have come marching on your doorstep…” Megahes’ face contorts as draws upon sarcasm to mock the Elf. “I have no doubt…” Mega blows a massive raspberry in the Paladins direction, which causes him to turn and look back upon the horizon, not giving in to Mega’s provocations. “Look. I know how risky tha thing was and I appreciate what you did and I get that I owe ya. But… all’a that aside. I’m just nervous man. What if…” He just stops and breathes, voice quivering a bit as his eyes begin to moisten, forcing him to stop and look back over the side of the Zeppelin once again. “If she doesn’t approve or she’s moved on due to thinking you dead or not coming back?” “I mean, I could have put that in better words, but yeah.” “I think perhaps you worry too much.” Megahes grumbles and sighs, running his hands up and down his face several times before they slide into his hair, where he just grabs hold of himself and pulls out of frustration only to realize he’d fucked it all up. His head shakes and he sets out to fix his hair as best he can, a nervous tick, to be sure. Mega was about to open his mouth to retort, but the Paladin stopped him by pointing to the horizon. Pandaria’s Jade

Forest. Pillars of tall stone began to rise and fall down into gorgeous forests, rolling hillsides and lily and reed filled rivers. The air was crisp and something about it just filled one's body with a rejuvenating sense of purpose and peace. “We’ll be at your domancile shortly, Mister Frostbite. I suggest you gather your things and we’ll drop you off directly.” If Mega wasn’t nervous before this, he sure as hell is now! His nearly trips… Well, he does actually, right over his own two feet and in a fluster, he looks about for something that wasn’t there before he speedily heads towards the cabins to gather his bag. He’d had this ready hours ago. It wasn’t much, he had no time to prepare for this little ‘retreat’ of his, which he was thankful for now as he threw it over his shoulder. He pauses and looks over at Ammaelin. “For as big of a pain in tha ass ya have been these past couple of years, thank ya. Truly. If it wasn’t for you and them Priests, I wouldn’t be makin’ this trip back.” Ammaelins’ face during this brief statement was a rollercoaster! Disdain and irritation appearing quickly was soon replaced with an oddly peaceful smile by the end of it. “Our time has taught us much, Mister Frostbite, about a great many topics. It has been… enlightening.” His choice of words being an intended pun and irony placed upon Mega. There were no hugs, no great exchanges of physical emotion. The two just look at one another before Mega turns and descends into the bowels of the Zeppelin so he can board the loading platform and get lowered down to his home. Their home. Gold, this was excruciating. The platform lowers slowly, painfully so, at least to him. Each inch makes Mega’s ears pound so hard that he can hear them in his ears and if it got any higher in his throat, he’d choke. “I’m gettin all nervous for nothin’, she probably ain’t even home. Probably in Orgrimmar havin’ some drinks or workin’ at the Knot.” He blows through his lips with enough strength to cause a slight whistle. Stress and worry, all self-induced of course, at how this was going to go. He was happy, no doubt, but worry came natural. The lift jerks as the ground makes contact, nearly sending him sprawling down to the floor of it just for him to look up in utter irritation, sending up a solid middle finger at the crew whether they could see it or not. “Ain’t no wonder these things fall out of tha fuckin sky so much…” He grumbles, straightening himself and clambering off before they end up actually managing to kill him somehow. Once off, the Zeppelin began to hoist the platform once more as it turned to head off towards its next stop. Mega’s red eyes watch it drift off for a moment, offering an overhead wave in case Ammaelin was on deck and looking down upon him. Given time, Mega turns away from it, looking at his pandaren styled home. The smell of the Arboretum orchids wafting through the air hit his senses and caused him to smile and for a moment, peace was welcome until he began to pick up his feet, swearing they are encased in lead the closer to home he became. Much like a scene from one of those cheesy romance books he kept hearing people go on about, he freezes at the door, hand up and ready to knock but nothing comes. No, instead he pats himself down and takes the key out of his shirt pocket and uses that instead. Quietly, creeping open the door slowly as if he expected to walk in and find his place full of cobwebs and everything cold and abandoned. The sight he gets is quite the opposite. Everything was nearly just as he left it. Albeit, more golden now. Naturasu loved her gold and it was a miracle that everything they owned wasn’t gold or khorium at this point in some facet or another. The sight brings a small smile to his face, sucking him into the house where he quietly closes the door behind him, fingers tracing over chairs and couch arms before he lets his pack slide down into the floor where it was quickly abandoned. Quietly, he walks through the house, almost scared to break the silence just to realize that that’s all there’d be

but a sudden clattering coming from the kitchen broke what he hadn’t dared. “Oh gold… what is she remodelling in there now?” It was a good question to ask! Not one that he had malice towards however, as the modifications they’d made thus far were phenomenal. His feet take him into the doorway where Nat can be seen in her usual home attire of thigh-high socks and underwear along with a set of tools, some powered and some not, as she was working on some of their retractable steps that allowed the two of them to cook shoulder to shoulder despite their obvious size differences. And it was this image that made him choke in silence and just stare at her. She was still here and all of his fears, irrational or not, just vanished and all he’s left being able to do is croak out a cough and throat clear. Nat’s voice calls out in irritation as the work clearly wasn’t going as planned. “Just leave tha rollers and frames there on the floor Sugah, thanks.” She must have thought he was someone from the Contingents Engineering or Supply Staff. Had this been any other time, Mega probably would have played into this mistake and taken up the chance to pretend to be said person and elicit some lewd scene, but, no, not today… Well, at least not right -now-. “Sorry, I uhh… must have forgotten them back at tha office. I can go back and get them if ya like.” Mega’s voice quivered in a nervousness that refused to leave his bones that were joining with both excitement and happiness. Naturasu on the other hand, froze entirely just to drop the wrench that was in her hand to the floor. Slowly, she wheeled about, perhaps not sure if she heard the voice correctly or if it was just her senses fucking with her. Whatever her reasoning, the moment her copper colored eyes hit Mega’s own crimson hues, time stood still for them both. No words came, they didn’t need them. Naturasu hit her knees and before she could even get her arms outstretched entirely, Mega was across the room, pinning himself to her and locking his own behind her in an embrace so strong that Titan Steel couldn’t have broken it if it tried. The two remained conjoined and just wept. [ Thank you again for reading my entry to the @daily-writing-challenge ! This is Day One (09/19/2021) and today's words were #Reunion and #Afterlife. I had the choice of using one or both, but decided to run with only Reunion today just in case I decide to pull out some deathly stuff later in the month. ] [ Edit Addition: I apologize if there's some formatting issues. I tried to implant a couple of images to help convey things but Tumblr just wasn't having it, so I had to remove them. I've tried to correct the errors I did find, but I may not have gotten them all. ]

[chenziee]

Thank you @kerowyn-fr​ for the cute prompt :D I hope you like it :)

[READ ON AO3 OR UNDER THE CUT]

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When Garp handed him the newspaper with a stupid grin on his face, former fleet admiral Sengoku already knew he wouldn't like what was written inside. Taking a deep breath, he slowly unfolded the papers and immediately, the huge, bold headline punched him in the face, making him nearly choke on his tea.

Somehow, he wasn’t even surprised that Morgans found out about Kaido’s defeat faster than the navy but goddamn it, this bunch of kids really did it. Sengoku honestly didn’t think he’s see the day of Kaido’s fall, much less for it to happen thanks to some stupidly young pirates—the words ‘Straw Hat - Heart - Kid Alliance’ seemed almost mocking at this point. Damn brats doing the government’s job for them again.

Although, he did have to admit he would love to see Sakazuki’s face when he found out about this.

Looking at the attached photo of the apparent post-victory celebration, Sengoku’s eyes zeroed in on Trafalgar Law’s blurred figure and despite himself, he smiled. The kid might be a pirate, a member of the worst generation no less, but Sengoku still couldn’t help but feel proud of him, proud of the child Rocinante died to save. When he had talked to him on Dressrosa, he was worried the pirate was going to burn out, or completely lose his way after getting his revenge, but his lively—if annoyed—expression while he ate his rice ball and shoved at an equally annoyed Eustass Kid’s face with his foot… It gave Sengoku the feeling that instead, he had found himself somewhere along the way.

With the ruins of Onigashima behind him, he really looked like he was about to own the seas  and Sengoku hoped Roci was watching and was happy about the man his adopted son had grown into, about the great things he had managed to accomplish.

Just then, Garp moved to stand right behind Sengoku, reaching over his shoulder to poke at the photo. “Can you believe these three? They can’t even celebrate beating two of the emperors at once without fighting. I bet you Luffy started this,” he said, before bursting out in loud laughter.

Sengoku had to laugh as well. It really was ridiculous; they were like three little peacocks showing off their tails to see whose is the prettiest.

Wait, three?

He frowned, looking at the photo again. Now that he thought about it, Law really wasn’t the type to shove at someone with his bare foot, judging from how reserved he always acted during warlord meetings—all two of them that he actually bothered to show up for anyway. But he could only see Law and Eustass so where was the little Monkey?

Now that he looked closer, he could see that the foot in Eustass face was twisted at an unnatural angle that could only mean the ankle was either fractured several times over, or it was made of rubber. Following the limb with his eyes, he finally noticed another body splayed on the ground in between Eustass and Law, and soon he also found the arms that held up a plate stacked full of rice balls. It looked like the little Monkey was trying to keep the plate as far away from Eustass as he could and Sengoku was sure those rice balls were the whole reason of this scuffle. Then, he finally reached his head resting against Law’s thigh, clear threat in his eyes as he bared his teeth, looking like he was ready to bite Eustass’ metal arm off.

Sengoku shook his head in disbelief. It was no wonder he didn’t notice him at first; for one, his black hair was blending almost perfectly with Law’s dark coat, and two, who would look for the little Monkey in someone else’s lap? Certainly not Sengoku, and certainly not in Law’s lap.

Suddenly, the reality of what he was seeing downed on him.

Someone had a few questions to answer.

—————

As the Polar Tang pulled up to the Thousand Sunny one sunny afternoon, Law was surprised to see another small ship already there, swaying gently in the waves next to the Straw Hats’ ship. He didn’t recognise the vessel so at first he assumed maybe Straw Hat’s brother came to visit but then he noticed the navy flag and froze.

Listening carefully, he couldn’t hear any fighting; it was completely quiet, almost eerily so. But Law couldn’t see any damage anywhere, and the navy ship seemed too small to be a threat in the first place. The more he thought about it, the stranger it all seemed. He gripped Kikoku tighter, gesturing to his crew to wait at the Tang for now before he called forth a room and teleported himself onto the Sunny.

His anxiety wasn’t eased when he opened his eyes to see absolutely no one on the ship. Looking around the deserted deck, he tried to at least find some signs to tell him what in the world had happened but there was nothing except something that looked like a half-eaten newspaper page.

He was almost starting to panic when he noticed some movement in the direction of the kitchen and when he looked, he found all the missing Straw Hats in a huddle by the door, the movement he saw apparently being Tony climbing over everyone else to get as close to the door as he could.

Law sighed, rubbing at his forehead. He swore he would murder all these people one day—if they didn’t manage to stress him out enough to kill him first.

“What the hell is going on here?” he asked when he made it up the stairs to stand behind the Straw Hats, making everyone turn around to stare at him.

“Torao, hi!” Tony whisper-shouted from where he was hanging onto Nami’s shoulder, the only one who bothered with a greeting.

A long and heavy silence filled only with the crews judgmental, accusing stares followed. Honestly, this crew was so damn lucky their doctor was so cute or he would have beheaded all of them and stuck them to the mast.

“Well?” he prompted, raising an impatient eyebrow.

Several glances were exchanged until finally, Roronoa looked at him. “We were hoping you would explain why Luffy is getting a lecture.”

Law only gave him a blank look, trying to let his silence speak for itself but before the intended effect could arrive, Usopp interrupted, “Yeah, you could have warned us. Why didn’t you tell us who your grandfather was?”

What?

“For real. I almost had a heart attack when he got on board,” Nami added with a glare at Law as if it was somehow his fault.

“Right? Between Sanji, Luffy, and Torao, I can’t tell whose family is crazier.” Usopp shook his head before continuing in a disappointed tone, “And the fact neither of them bothered to tell us is ridiculous.”

Black Leg clicked his tongue then, lightly kicking Usopp in his shin. “Don’t lump me in with them, my only family is in East Blue.”

What?

“What the fuck are you people on about? My whole family is long dead,” Law snapped, his fingers flexing threateningly as his grip on Kikoku tightened again.

A beat of silence passed. Then Robot slowly raised his hand and pointed at the kitchen with his thumb. “Explain why this guy came here demanding he talks to his ‘grandson’s super boyfriend’, then.”

“And why he then grabbed Luffy and dragged him inside to talk about you. They’ve been in there for about half an hour now. I only hope Luffy isn’t getting squeezed to death,” Nico Robin added oh-so-helpfully.

Law’s head was spinning. First a nonexistent grandfather, now he was suddenly Straw Hat’s boyfriend? Ridiculous. He might have liked being around him, maybe his heart even fluttered when Straw Hat smiled at him in that blinding way of his, and perhaps he's been letting Straw Hat touch him more than strictly necessary, possibly even holding his hand once or twice but they weren't dating. Hell, Law hadn't even confessed yet.

He shook his head to make himself focus on the matter at hand. This 'grandfather' was a more pressing matter than his unaddressed feelings. "I'm going in," he sighed, then paused, looking around the eavesdropping huddle of people. "And get the hell out of here or I'll toss you in the sea."

"Sure you will," Nami muttered with a roll of her eyes, a smirk on her lips.

Law shot her and all the other grinning idiots a glare, which finally made them all shuffle away. Law was sure they’d be back the second he closed the door behind himself, though. With a sigh, Law gripped the handle and pushed the door open.

As soon as he entered the kitchen, two people and a goat turned to look at him and Law did a double take. Straw Hat was one thing. A random, actual, live animal on board was weird, but he’d seen much weirder on this ship. The old man who was sitting opposite of Straw Hat, however, that was a completely different issue.

“What the fuck?” Law muttered, unable to say anything more coherent.

“Hello, Law,” fleet admiral Sengoku said with a nod.

“Torao!” Straw Hat greeted as well, grinning and waving at him before he pulled out the chair next to him. “Come sit, your gramps has really good rice cakes!”

Law slowly turned to stare at Straw Hat instead and, a short moment later, moved forward as if on autopilot, too stunned to do anything but comply. Only when sat down and Sengoku tilted his rice cake packet towards him did Law manage to break out of his trance. “You're not my grandfather," he blurted out, eyeing the rice cakes suspiciously.

Sengoku hummed. "Technically not but you are still Rocinante's boy so I feel responsible for you."

Law blinked; it was true Cora-san was like a father to him and Sengoku did say Cora-san was like a son to him but that seemed a little shaky a connection to warrant the old man going around claiming he was his grandfather.

"We've been chatting about you," Straw Hat said, stretching his hand out to grab a handful of the rice cakes Sengoku was still holding out, then offering a few to Law.

At that, Law finally conceded and accepted the snack. He had to admit they were pretty tasty. "What about me have you talked about?" he asked, doubtful, yet almost afraid of the answer.

Straw Hat pursed his lips and frowned, quite obviously trying to remember the actual contents of the conversation. "Just how cool your powers are and that I shouldn't break your heart or something. It's not like I'm going to do that though, why would anyone do that?"

"Break my—" Law sputtered, his eyes going wide as he stared at the pirate who seemed like he didn't understand the implications of such a statement.

"I was just making sure your boyfriend was aware of the worth certain people place on you and your devil fruit and the danger that puts you in. Also that I will feed his precious hat to Baarbara if he makes Roci cry,” Sengoku explained, pulling out a rice cake of his own.

Ignoring the use of Cora-san’s name over his own, Law took a slow, deep breath before responding curtly, “I can take care of myself—”

“That’s what I said,” Straw Hat next to him announced proudly.

Law paid him no mind, simply continuing— “and he’s not my boyfriend.” He frowned, then added one last question, “Also who the hell is Barbara?”

“Baarbara is my goat,” Sengoku said fondly as he glanced at his pet, who was by his side happily chewing on something that looked suspiciously like one of Nami’s maps—Law really hoped he was wrong about that one. “But are you sure about that?” the former fleet admiral asked with a raised eyebrow, his eyes dropping down’t Law’s body to pointedly stare somewhere just above the tabletop.

Only when he followed his gaze did Law realize the position he was in. Somewhere along the way, Straw Hat had turned to the side in his chair, putting his legs over Law’s lap and, for some reason, Law had apparently put his own hand on his knee without even noticing. It was… yeah, it felt pretty damn intimate and Law felt heat raising to his face.

Slowly, he looked up at Sengoku, who looked like he was trying very hard not to burst out laughing. Then, his gaze slid to the side to glance at Straw Hat.

The other pirate was grinning back at him, looking entirely too amused by Law’s mortification, and Law scowled. “You’re not my boyfriend,” he said quietly, sounding uncertain even to his own eyes.

“I kind of am,” Straw Hat said, his grin widening even more. “Torao, you can be so stupid sometimes.” As soon as he was finished speaking, he started laughing in that cute, contagious, absolutely maddening way of his and Law…

Law has never felt so dumb and mortified in his life.

Yet, he still couldn’t find it in himself to push Straw Hat away when he leaned forward to give Law a messy, loud kiss on the cheek. Somehow, this had turned out to be simultaneously the absolute worst and best day of Law’s life.

He was still not showing his face around the Sunny again for a while though.

[bastillia]

Rough Landing

Part 2 of First Lesson

Summary: Commander Ren has a few more things to teach you.

Rating: Explicit

Words: 8.4k

Warnings: cockwarming, overstimulation, threats during intimacy, inappropriate use of the Force, oral sex (ROUGH, m receiving), unsanitary sex location, public(ish) sex, kinda exhibition kink, no aftercare, uhh bit of cumplay

A/N: Whew alright I know it’s been 3 months, but we’re picking up pretty much right where we left off. Thank you all SO much for the love on part 1. And huge thanks to my incredible friends who have supported me, beta read, and helped me conquer my stuck points. I couldn’t have pulled this through without y’all. Enjoy!

***

There was plenty to like about being in space. For one, it was absolutely quiet. 

Perfectly soundless. Unfathomably endless. In a way, the void between the stars had always been your perfect aegis; a blank slate to nurture everything you’d hoped to become. It held power in its silence, and possibility. It was calm, dark, vast-- it was home, for as much or little as you knew about the word. 

If you thought about it, living aboard the roving flagship of the First Order had always given your life more or less a perfect structure. Most of the time, you didn’t even mind the predictability of it. Your days were purposeful and productive. If, sometimes, just a little boring. But, that was okay--you liked the quiet.

And you were never ever taking it for granted again.

“Stop moving.” Kylo Ren’s voice broke through the growing rumble of the hull. It was only the sensation of gloved fingers tightening down into your hip bones that finally alerted you to the fact that you were squirming. Again. You grimaced.

"I'm trying." 

Friction from the gathering atmosphere punched the craft into a sharp rattle, and your heart struck your sternum as the controls lurched underneath your palms. Your fingers cinched down tight, the lack of circulation in your knuckles settling into a dull throb as you continued to wring the contoured grips, as if you could strangle some desperately needed assistance out of them that way.

Fuck.

Breathe.

You could do this, you just had to stay calm--think about home, about the tedium of whatever meeting was probably going on right now. About how all eyes would be on you if you were there, about the dumbstruck look on General Quinn’s face when you presented that fucking perfect dossier you’d compiled on some key New Republic official he’d been trying to track down for months.

Yes, think about that.

Not about the sweat beginning to break out across your skin, the unnerving rattling around you growing louder and louder. Not about what was still sheathed inside your twitching cunt, stretching you, demanding that your body yield to its presence.

Warm echoes of your last orgasm flared up with another clattering vibration of the atmosphere. It felt almost trapped within you, an electric refrain to the adrenaline melody that pounded your veins now. Your floor muscles quivered tight with it, eliciting an approving twitch from within your walls as Ren’s fingers flexed into the bruises on your hips. 

It was incredible, really. How time had begun to feel almost obsolete until now. It had passed abstractly in the quiet serenity of space as you’d sat filled to your limit, feeling nothing but the commander, his breathing, the omnipresent ache of his cock. Your world nothing but an aroused haze-- stirred every so often by a subtle buck of his hips, a kiss to your neck, hot breath in the hollow of your ear whispering don’t move, don’t you fucking move. Good girl. 

Your thoughts snapped back to the present with a vaguely wistful pang as the hull gave another violent shake. 

Atmospheric entry. What was that, week five? Six? Of the TIE pilot training program? It was on the phase-3 test, you were certain. And you’d put credits down that none of the novice pilots had ever experienced the added curriculum of a cock shoved inside of them.

A warning squeeze stilled another involuntary shift of your hips.

You gritted your teeth against your discomfort, instead trying to let the adrenaline form a whetstone to sharpen your senses.

Breathe.

You could do this. You were way beyond just some novice trooper, you were a fucking lieutenant general of the First Order.  And what did you do to earn that rank? You adapted. So, fucking adapt.

A jolt slammed the craft, and your muscles locked up as the head of Ren’s cock speared something tender and abused deep inside you. The ship squirreled under your grip, leaving you paralyzed as the movement of it set off every panic alarm in this new and untested region of your brain. Without missing a beat, two huge, leather-encased palms came up to wrap over your shaking hands, steadying you with remarkable certainty as they coaxed the vessel back under control. 

“Focus, lieutenant." There was almost an amused purr in Ren’s throat, his voice low and close, utterly lacking in any kind of concern. Your pulse gradually came back down, and with it, your fear curled into a flicker of annoyance. If he was going to mock you, he could at least use your proper title.

You know.

The one you’d worked your ass off for.

The drag of fingertips across the bare skin of your upper thighs jolted you. Your body felt hyper-sensitized, like the sudden touch ignited a cascade of fission that couldn’t seem to find equilibrium anywhere. It fractured your brittle composure in two, just as the roaring blaze around the viewport flared again with a powerful tremor that kicked your heart back up in a sudden panic. 

Sweat lined your palms, adrenaline congealing and turning to acid in your veins. You felt your nerve slip.

"Com-commander, s-sir, I--" 

A hum. “Control yourself.”

It was only two words, but each one cut through your rising panic like a blaster shot to the sternum, rattling you to a realization. 

Control. 

That was the test all along. He’d laid it right out in front of you, challenged you to a game with incredibly fucked up stakes, and he was drawing his hand. Taking a seat at a proverbial Sabacc table, stretching out his chest and waiting for you to either bet up, or lose your nerve. The ante was rising, piece by piece as he silently tested the parameters of your breaking point. 

But he wouldn’t find it. Not like this.

Fresh determination fixed your grip around the shaking controls. It was even enough to keep you from reacting this time when a dull pain lanced under your skin, his teeth catching a tender spot where he had marked your neck some time before. He growled. You tucked that card up your sleeve. 

“Decelerate.”

His tone had shifted quieter in a way that made your ears prick, snapping your attention away from the dull ache of your insides. It sort of stunned you, actually, into something of a quiet curiosity. 

His hand reached around you to swipe at a holopad on the console. An altimeter blinked to life, just before the soft heat of his lips returned to your ear.

“Drop to this zone.” He pointed to a region on the display. “Remain there until we get closer." 

Remnants of panic still swam somewhere in your blood, but you managed to draw a careful breath and nod your understanding. Your ante was still on the table, you told yourself. But perhaps he’d decided that challenging you could wait. For now.

Refocusing, you caressed the controls. The ship banked beautifully, intuitively at your will, before lurching a final time as the thrusters hit a stable layer of atmosphere. 

Beneath you, clouds floated in gossamer ribbons over the calm air, as tattered and thankful for its mercy as you felt. Farther down, the dim moonlight breathed monochrome shapes into being, half-swallowed by the murky vapor of shadow between them. Droplets condensed on the viewport as you dropped through the thin cloudbank, skittering shyly outwards and allowing the shapes to solidify into the oppressive grid of a cityscape.

Slowly, you could begin to make out vague details. Industrial sectors, shipyards, scrappy comms towers. The occasional twinkle of speeder headlights creeping between dilapidated buildings, and--

Your gaze snapped back to the holopad on the nav console, a deft swipe of your finger bringing up your coordinates. The planetary code blinked neutrally back at you, but the unmistakable string of numbers harpooned you with a bolt of clarity that had your ribs tightening down around your lungs. A question resurfaced from the bottom of your memory, curling up to slither coldly along the back of your neck. 

“Commander?”

“Hm.”

“Why, um--” You faltered. 

In truth, there was no reason for you to ask. The answer was already swimming around in your gut, acquainting itself with the sour feeling of dread that settled there. Waiting for your brain to analyze it while at the same time sitting in an insidious state of knowing that didn’t need to reach your head at all for you to feel its weight. 

You swallowed, and adjusted your grip. “Why a TIE fighter? Why didn’t we bring the command shuttle?” 

A pause. He reached around you, flicking a switch on the main console, and the Silencer’s headlights shuttered off with a resounding click. “We may need to leave quickly.”

For the first time since leaving the Supremacy, you felt something familiar settle inside of you. Deep and quiet, like the way sound doesn’t travel in space. It was the same, utterly instinctive feeling that took over every time you managed to get yourself in over your head-- when a negotiation turned volatile, when an unforeseen flaw surfaced in a mission strategy mid-execution. Those moments where the fixed parameters of your training ended, and the only thing left to take the pilot’s seat was your own intuition. 

But this time, there was something else there with it. It glowed within the powerful shroud of calm, thrumming quietly, filling you with something potent and restless and--exciting, that you couldn’t quite place.

Real, physical danger was not something you had much direct experience with. The various moral complexities associated with putting others up against it at your command, you had come to know well. But you were here now. Facing it in the flesh, not protected by the reinforced hull and ion cannons of a Star Destroyer. 

You were here, looking down on the dark streets of Corellia, a planet so lawless and foul and flat out fucking dangerous that the First Order had all but given up establishing a presence here long ago. Even the New Republic’s ties here were thin.

A tightness struck through your chest as you very suddenly realized that it was only a matter of time, now, before you were going to have to--

“Drop lower.” The commander shifted to tap something into the nav console. A flight course lit up the holopad, leading to a destination marker just a few klicks ahead. “Land here.”

The sector you entered seemed somehow even darker than the rest as you brought the Silencer down over the shadowed streets, hints of crumbling walls and rusted vents just barely illuminated by the occasional weak street lamp. No headlights, hardly any ground lighting--you were no ace pilot, obviously, and it took your full concentration just to maneuver the ship between the vague silhouettes of broken antenna towers, avoiding them where their spindly shadows jutted up from the rooftops. You jumped when Ren’s hands enveloped yours again.

“Right here.” He guided your hands, expertly swinging the craft around and into a hover above a dim alleyway, empty and lined on both sides with large, abandoned-looking industrial structures. Your pulse jumped. He released your hands, a finger drawing your attention to a switch on your right, then flicking it casually. “Landing gear.” 

The hull rumbled and thumped. An array of green lights flashed to life in what you could only assume was an indication of the ship’s readiness for landing. If only you felt the same. Your hands were frozen on the controls, your mind simultaneously racing and completely blank. You waited dumbly for guidance, heart hammering, shallow little breaths trapping themselves high in your throat. 

“Relax.” Ren’s voice permeated to your bones as both arms slid around your stomach, liquefying your fear into a trembling plea. 

“P-please, Commander, I d-don--” You cut off with a shiver when his lips met your neck, his hips beginning to rock in a slow, enunciated rhythm that had your cunt immediately bearing down with need as you felt him harden. “Fuck, p-please, I don’t know how t--... h-how to--”

Your eyes rolled back as a hand slid down between your legs, the leather pad of his finger finding your clit stiff and sensitive, its touch featherlight. A hum rumbled under your shoulders. “Your intuition, lieutenant. Feel it, don’t think.” 

Maker help you, there were a lot of things you could fucking feel right now. Namely, your commander’s cock slowly massaging your walls, lazy in its rhythm. Your grip on the controls banishing the circulation entirely from your knuckles. His fingers sliding down your slit, spreading as he reached the root of himself, shamelessly feeling the obscene way your body yielded to the thickness at his base. The lust that erupted low in your belly in response. The panic that was rising as you remembered your task, its sharp tendrils threatening to reach your head and overwhelm you. 

Control yourself.

A turbulent breath shook some air back into your lungs as your tiny inner voice of reason managed to surface again. Collecting yourself, you let it expand, pushing each distraction away one by one as it went. Focus, it reminded you. Remember the card up your sleeve, get through this round. 

You tethered your awareness to the ship, to the curve of the controls against your palms, to the way they extended like a continuation of your own neural circuits to command the sleek metal beast encircling you. A steady, downward press of your hands, and it purred its obedient response, settling slowly towards the ground below.

“Good girl,” Ren said. “Just like that.” 

There was something--a tiny flicker of mischief in the shadows of his voice. Maybe you would have caught it quicker, but your tunneled focus left you one fatal step behind him, too slow to anticipate his move. His hand shifted, easily finding your raw clit against his fingertip, and pressed down--hard.

Electric. Everything was electric. Your vision doubled, the shredded remnants of your nerves shorting out and screaming against the paralyzing flood of sensation, ripping a ragged gasp from the bottom of your lungs. Maker, don’t scream, don’t fucking-- 

A shift of his finger and your hips jerked, an involuntary movement of sheer desperation for escape that carried right through your whole body and into the ship.

One wing dipped to the side, and it was only the sharp trill of a proximity alarm that managed to blast through to what was left of your reflexes just in time. A curse cut the air through your lips, your shaking hands grappling the controls into a clumsy counter-correction that swayed the craft wildly as you wrestled it back to center. The rocking slowly stilled, the ringing in your ears no longer from the alarm, but your own pulse bludgeoning your temples. Ren simply chuckled, and released your clit.

“Commander.” A few rapid blinks cleared the blur from your vision, but oxygen was still painful through the panic in your chest, leaving you frustratingly breathless. “With all due respect, sir, do you want me to crash your ship?”

“You won’t.” The smirk was audible in his voice. “Or is my confidence in your aptitude misguided, lieutenant?” 

A slew of unkind words lashed themselves to your tongue, fighting for freedom with the fuel of indignation that scalded your throat like bile, but you swallowed both, smothering your thoughts into silence. Stay calm. Maintain control. You drew a tight breath. “No, sir.”

“Mm. Good.” He rocked his hips firmly up into you, and a pitiful little noise clutched in your throat. “Then land my ship, and perhaps your proficiency will be rewarded.”

Desire shot up your spine like a flare, igniting at the base of your brain and rocketing your thoughts clear past apprehension and ahead to the promise of relief. It was enough to allow bravery to wriggle back into your fingers, your hands finding the wherewithal to resume their task even as your lungs stalled in anticipation of another distraction. 

But none came. 

The relief that flooded you was immediate and powerful the second you felt solid ground settle under the landing gear. The hull groaned around you as the craft came to a full rest, wheezing like a fathier after a hard gallop, and you, its master, just thankful to have survived the race. But there was one more hurdle for you.

“You know this part.” Ren gestured vaguely to the console, still alive with various lights and indicators, many of which, no, you certainly did not know anything about.

Your eyes darted back and forth a few times before it hit you. Of course. The ignition sequence.

Presumably, to shut the fighter down, you would just need to… to do it backwards? That seemed like the logical course of action, at least. Stars, how long ago had you even taken off? The Supremacy already felt like a faint memory, the edges of its shape scattered through a hazed prism, each facet reflecting nothing but incandescent pleasure and the blinding heat of Kylo Ren. 

But you had to remember. This was--you hoped--the final test, and there was no way you were going to fail. Maker, what was wrong with you, you were better than this, just think. The last thing he turned on had been…

Thrusters.

Right console, three switches. Bring all of those down. The roar of the ion engines quieted, taking the vibration of the hull down to a faint rumble. Okay, good, next was--

Ignition. Yes, ignition: off. Much quieter now, and stars, when was the last time you breathed? Fucking breathe. Okay, next. 

Compressor: disengaged. Auxiliary last.

Everything went black as you killed the main power. Your breathing seemed to echo around in the stillness of the cockpit, your cunt twitching to life in acknowledgment of what was now pressing harder than beskar steel against your guts, amplified by the darkness. It was almost as if the power from the ship had never really shut down, but simply transferred into your own body instead, flicking your ignition switch and bringing your arousal roaring back to life with a vengeance.

Every line of the commander’s body against you was lighting up your awareness, filling the sensory void with his presence, the unbearable stillness of him. What had he meant when he said he’d reward you? You’d learned his lesson, yes, and passed every fucked up test he’d thrown at you to prove it. For that, you could commend yourself. 

But if there was one lesson more poignant than the rest, one that now stuck like thermal sludge to every crevice of your understanding, it was that his next move could come at any moment--and not always in a way you could anticipate. 

This seemed like one of those moments.

A shift of his chest under your shoulders made you jump, one arm reaching up somewhere you couldn’t see to flick a control, and the hatch cracked open with a hiss. The night air flooded the cockpit, all but drowning your racing thoughts as it drew in like a cool sigh to kiss the heat in your cheeks. Your head fell back, lungs gratefully accepting the damp and oddly foreign relief of atmospheric oxygen, even as the scent of it stuck in your mouth. It was thick, leaden with rain and crude fuel, but you hardly cared. It felt divine.

Beneath you, an impatient grunt and a single squeeze to your thighs brought you back to the present with a tiny flicker of alarm. 

“Out.” 

Your muscles froze. 

“But, I--” Whatever you might have expected out of this moment, that was possibly the last thing you could have prepared for, and your brain was fumbling spectacularly in an attempt to process the one word. 

Did he actually mean that? Was this another test? You didn’t even feel like you could move right now, let alone clamber out of the ship with your whole body aching and clenching as it was. And you were so full, and he was so hard, and now you were nearly trembling with need and--

And you took too long to act. 

Wide hands locked around your waist, and then everything shifted--he was picking you up. Holy shit he was strong, he hoisted you upwards in one effortless motion, throwing your world into a blur. The only thing you distinctly registered through your disorientation was the feeling of his hard cock pulling along your tired walls, finally popping free for you to flutter and clench around nothing for a moment before your bare ass came down on the lip of the cockpit. 

Cold metal bit your flesh, a harsh and unforgiving contrast to the warm lap you’d grown accustomed to. Fuck, everything was dark. But hearing him shift underneath you had you hurriedly swinging your legs around to jump down.

And... the ground was a lot farther down than you thought. 

You landed hard. Hard enough for your knees to buckle, and you stumbled against the hobble around your thighs in a clumsy attempt to keep yourself upright. But before you could lose your balance you were moving again, being yanked by the arm and slammed back hard against the ship.

A huge, black mass crowded in on you, looming and pressing you back against creaking durasteel, the metal still warm under your shoulders as the ship settled from flight. Your heart slammed against the commander’s advance, eyes darting through shadow. 

In the span of a shared breath, his mouth crashed down on yours, open and wanting and hungry in the darkness, and everything inside of you detonated.

The heat of his mouth was dizzying. You mewled into it, the feeling of him so strong and warm and everywhere, tugging at your hips, tongue sliding past your teeth. Your hands gravitated upwards for any leverage they could find just to pull him closer, to taste him deeper. A low, rumbling sound scraped the bottom of his chest and two huge hands encircled your wandering wrists, easily plucking them off of their feverish course and slamming them up beside your shoulders instead. 

His exploration of your mouth grew brazen as he pinned you open, crushing you against unyielding steel, even taking a moment to suck at your bottom lip before his hot tongue was licking deep into you again, stealing your breath and coaxing soft sounds from your chest in its wake. 

An immobilizing sensation locked your arms in place, keeping them tight against the ship even as his touch slid along your arms and around to the front of your torso. The extra sensations hardly even registered through the feeling of his mouth on yours until you realized you still couldn’t move while he was cupping your face with one hand, the other leather-encased palm flattening over the confines of your uniform, squeezing at the soft swell of your breasts hidden beneath. 

A low growl into your mouth, a shift of pressure up your sternum, and then his fingers found and curled over your pressed collar. With one purposeful tug, the material popped open, and you gasped.

"Commander," you broke the kiss, your head spinning as his breath immediately blazed against your neck instead. His movements were impatient, uncharacteristically clumsy in their urgency as you felt the material of your top continue to separate all the way down to your cleavage. “Commander, w-we--”

Fuck, it was impossible to think, everything in your brain felt thick with a vibrating fog. You could feel tiny points of rational thought trying to take form, trying to remind you of where you were, of why this was risky. But they were like infant stars peeking through a hungry nebula, unable to solidify before being swallowed again. 

"Fuck, w--” His tongue slowly rode the curve of your jaw, and stars, what were you even going to say? “W-we sho-shouldn’t-" 

“Shouldn’t what?” he purred, smooth fingertips trailing slowly down the bare plane of your sternum and sliding under the open edge of your coat.

A soft whine was all you could muster, broken thoughts dissolving on your tongue the moment he cupped the curve of your breast and scooped it free of your neckline, pushing the fabric aside to let your nipple peak up against the open air. 

The empty street was quiet enough that your breaths seemed to ricochet as they tripped softly over each other, sliding along the walls of the alley and joining the soft buzz of a flickering street lamp farther down. Stars, anyone could be listening-- watching, for all you knew. In a city like this, it was impossible to anticipate the stakes. Rife with the sorts of creatures who took refuge in shadow, even the darkness seemed to betray you, leaving every inch of exposed skin glowing as if the dim moonlight had suddenly adopted all the strength of a Tatooine sun. 

Your heart raced. You scrambled to clutch at the caution left within yourself, for any remaining instinct that would tell you that this was wrong, that you shouldn’t be going along with this. 

But you found no purchase. Your inhibitions were dissolving through your fingers-- dwarfed in Kylo Ren’s shadow, smothered under his hands, the power of his presence atomizing any need for your guarded reluctance and casting it into obsolescence. 

And as you surrendered, suddenly every eye that might be watching, every ear that could be tuned to your pleasure just around a shadowed corner, was like a hit of fucking spice. The thrill of it arched your back, coaxed bolder sounds from your chest that bounced daringly off of the bullet-scuffed duracrete to fade into the darkness of the alley.

Ren gave voice to it first, a growl breaking through the roar between your ears. 

“You’re enjoying this, lieutenant.” A swift yank of your undershirt revealed both of your tits to the damp air, and the chill of it settled wonderfully on the thin sheen of sweat that had gathered under your stiff uniform. The sigh that melted through your lips was as much confirmation as you could provide him. 

“Filthy thing.” His voice was a darkened hiss as he roughly took both of your breasts in his hands. “You’d let me do anything, wouldn’t you? Right here in the fucking street.” 

There was no doubt that he could sense the pleasure soaking your thoughts with every passing second, the heat coiling up through your body, breaking you into soft trembles against the solid seams of durasteel.

Stars, this was wrong. 

But there was something about it--about being pinned up, shameless, tits bared and groped in the middle of a dirty Corellian backstreet like some cheap outer rim whore, that had you feeling freer and fucking hotter than you ever had in your life.

Yes.

He could do anything. Take anything. And right now, you’d fucking give it to him. 

Your teeth sank into your bottom lip, head nodding in desperate submission as your fingers wiggled against their invisible bonds. It was like your body was coming alive for the first time, finally catalyzed to its transition state, now burning and shifting and begging silently for him not to fucking stop touching you. 

“I want to know, little whore--” His hand spread over your bare collarbones, the wide junction of a thumb and forefinger pressing the base of your windpipe. A gasping little moan left you as his lips brushed your jugular, heat striking up through your belly and all the way into your neck when his other hand urged your thighs apart to tease your slit. "I want to know just how far you can take me down this pretty throat."

Everything in you shuddered, and your unrelenting bonds were probably all that held you up against the sudden lack of support that your knees offered. Kylo Ren pressed the tip of one thick finger inside you, barely curling at your soaked entrance. 

“Do you think you can swallow my cock, lieutenant?”

“Fuck. Yes, yes sir, please.” The breathless response left you before you even registered what you were saying, so thick was the need enshrouding your brain. It muddled your hearing, put everything else on a sensory delay to the pulsing heat that slid down and coiled up in your core.

And that’s why you almost didn’t catch the gritted command before the strong presence of his body suddenly drew away from you, leaving your head spinning. 

“Get on your knees.”

The Force evaporated from around your forearms. The loss of physical support nearly made you buckle, your body sagging against the fighter and leaving you to clutch at a ridge of metal for balance. You’d heard him, vaguely, but your brain still felt spectacularly slow. You were having trouble remembering which way was up, blinking against the low light, and the small hesitation was enough. 

In a flash of movement, his saber cleared the clip on his belt, cracking the air in two as it ignited in his hand and leveled to heat your neck. 

"Now.”

For a second, everything was extraordinarily still. Your lungs, your mind, even the faint drizzle of mist seemed to suspend in the air, vaporize around the searing plasma, and equilibrate into a deathly quiet.

The red aura vibrated in your immediate periphery, engulfing your retinas and casting everything around it in near-total blackness, unwavering in its proximity as the cold street pressed your knees. 

A very marked shift took place in the state of your awareness as you knelt, waiting-- feeling. Everything was hazy and warm before, but now. Oh, now, everything was hot, and sharp. 

The snap of plasma echoing through the empty street sounded somehow both hushed and magnified. The gravelly bite of duracrete into your knees was both painful and electrifying. And all you could do was sit here and accept the way Kylo Ren drank you in, just hold absolutely still and let the tip of the saber rotate to your front, the light of it illuminating your bare chest.

And, fuck. Oh, fucking Maker-- 

You were wet. 

Every beat of your heart was an enunciated hit to your core, giving your arousal a wicked edge that cut into every last molecule of your body. Your cunt ached more with every pulse, and yet Ren just held there, his breaths shaking the damp air between you as he gazed at your naked tits under the light of a weapon that could kill you in half an instant.

You were possessed, the danger and thrill of it flooding your skin with intoxicating fire, and in a moment of what might have been either immense bravery or unfathomable stupidity, your hand began to move. 

Very, very slowly, it pulled along your belly, fingers twitching to splay downwards. The saber heated your knuckles, following as you guided it all the way to the apex of your thighs, where you paused. And then you sat back on your heels, spread your knees as far as they would go, and curled your hips forward, letting the crimson light gleam off of the wet shine of your cunt. 

“Fuck,” Ren rasped from the shadows, something delirious and urgent unearthing itself from the gravel of his voice. Somewhere beyond the snapping hum of the blade, you heard the slick sound of leather moving over flesh. “Fuck- touch yourself. Sh-show me--”

But you were already moving. Your fingers slid into the wet heat of your folds, tender with arousal, the flesh plumped up from abuse. You dragged your slick all over yourself, spreading for him, pulling up to circle your neglected clit and letting out a soft sigh at the relief that saturated you in a deluge. 

The cool air did little now to temper the exquisite heat that flooded your body as you pleasured yourself openly for him, whimpering when you felt a familiar swell prime itself deep within you. It brightened with every practiced curl of your fingers, blooming outwards to rival the lightsaber that illuminated you steadily, and it wasn’t long before your thighs began to clench, your hips rocking against the movement of your hand while heady gasps punched your chest, that luminous heat coming closer and closer to a blinding apex.

You began to flutter, tightening with closeness, but the blade shot up under your chin, freezing you in the one movement. 

“Don’t cum.” 

Your heart slammed in your throat, every muscle locking into place where it was. You could feel errant sparks biting your skin, daring you not to move or speak.

And then darkness swallowed you, a hiss of steam resounding as the saber abruptly disengaged. The lingering imprint of it marred your sight, and you gasped when the whirl of movement in front of you turned into a large hand snaking into your hair, hips crowding your face, and the warm, solid length of Kylo Ren’s cock pressing against your cheek. 

You whined, stiff muscles liquefying as you turned your mouth towards it, moisture already welling under your tongue. But his fingers tightened at your scalp, stopping you.

“See what you do to me, little thing?” 

His other hand gripped around his base, letting the weight of his cock thump against your cheek once, twice. Fuck, he was so hard, and if you thought he was big before, it was even more obvious now that he was pressed right up against your face, so close to the soft heat of your mouth.

You nodded and whimpered, letting your cheek brush against his erection, still damp with your own slick. He rocked his hips forward, and the sheer breadth of his stature dwarfed you as he pressed in closer, until your face tilted and your jaw rested up against the hard plane of his adonis belt. Heat seeped into your cheekbone, radiating from the saber hilt strapped deftly back to his hip, like a warm sun to the earth and smoke of his body. 

An absolutely crippling wave of desperation crashed through you then, pulling an audaciously loud moan up tight through your chest that morphed into a pitifully sobbed out, “Please.” 

The hand in your hair gave a firm tug until you were looking straight up his torso, the glint of his eyes just visible to your adjusting sight. He held you there, his strength commanding, voice slipping like dark matter through his vocal cords when he spoke. 

“Are you going to let this whole filthy fucking city hear what a little whore you are?” He rocked your head back and forth by your hair, turning your neck muscles to liquid. “Begging for my cock?” 

You bit your lip, too far gone to deny or assent. Perhaps caution would still be the smart thing, but stars--you didn’t fucking care any more. You’d let every wretched street rat on Corellia hear you beg for him, if it came down to it right now. 

Not trusting yourself to answer verbally, you simply let your mouth fall open so that your wet tongue could drag over the tiny slip of exposed skin above his groin, never once taking your eyes off of his shadowed face. Your reward was a thick groan and a twitch of his cock by your cheek, shooting a hot spasm into your core. Ren huffed out a tense breath. 

“Keep that fucking mouth open.”

He drew back and pumped himself, long and slow right in front of your obediently waiting tongue, black glove squeezing almost too roughly along his shaft until a thick bead of pre cum wept from his slit. Your brow pinched upwards as saliva pooled behind your bottom lip, threatening to drip down onto the duracrete, seep into a blaster hole and add to the memory that this roughened street would keep of you, so soft and wanting, incongruous next to its grit.

Ren stepped forward, obliterating your thoughts as finally, finally, he rested his thick head on your tongue, removing his own hand and letting you test the full weight of him in your mouth. Your moan was almost a sob when you closed your lips and dragged your tongue across his frenulum, letting him feel you, swirling the pre cum from his tip before sliding him deeper into the hot depths of your mouth. 

“Fuck, good girl,” he hissed, resting both hands in your hair, but not controlling. You took him another inch, tongue working to lubricate your path, satisfaction unfurling when his chest heaved at the feeling. The taste of him shot a primal fire through you, equal parts sharp and masculine, the remnants of your own cum leaving a tang on your taste buds. 

Arousal careened through your belly, and you couldn’t help but dip your hand between your thighs, fingers finding your clit stiff and sensitive as your tongue passed over a thick vein.

But he caught your movement, and your hands were immediately wrenched upwards by an invisible strength, both wrists flying up and into the waiting grip of Ren’s palms. You squeaked.

“Impudent thing,” he growled, and wrapped your smaller hands around the base of his cock, securing your grip with a warning squeeze before carding his fingers into your hair again. “Keep them there.” 

You gave a tiny nod and a shallow whimper, briefly mourning for your aching clit yet almost instantly distracted again by a twitch of his shaft on your tongue. Relaxing your jaw, you took him further, letting him begin to feel the tight silk of your throat.

“Fuck--” every muscle in Ren’s body seemed to go rigid enough to rival the durasteel frame of his ship, and his fingers clenched tighter into your hair. “Yes, take it--” he hissed as you slipped back an inch and enveloped him again, relaxing to take him deeper.

You found a steady rhythm like this, gradually acclimating to the feeling of intrusion. It became a little easier with each appreciative sound you drew from the commander, arousal permeating your body’s natural defenses and slackening them, even as your throat began to protest the moment you got about halfway down his cock.

But as hard as you tried to ignore the sensation of breathlessness, your lungs still screamed for air. You got maybe eight or nine good strokes in before your lips drew off of him with an obscene pop, slick hands taking over to work his length while you gasped a few starved breaths. 

It would have been easy to stay like this, jaw slack, lips plump and wet, simply marveling at the hard and beautifully flushed appendage in your palms. But then a finger tapped twice under your chin, breaking your daze with a wordless command that struck an immediate response--your eyes flicked up. 

“Are you determined to test my doubts in your capabilities, lieutenant?” He laid a flat palm under your jaw and ran his thumb over your blushed lips, leather slipping lewdly over saliva. “Or must I teach you everything?”

Your heart struck your pelvic floor, dread and excitement charging up like a shot from a plasma cannon. “N-no. I--” Heat surged into your face. “I me-mean, I, uh--” Fuck, it was stupid to think you were somehow out of hot water. He expected more. Always, always, expected more, and now you were going to have to play your cards carefully. You swallowed against the thundering of your pulse. “I c-can take it, Commander, ple-please--”

“Can you?” He wiggled your jaw slightly in his palm, face tilting until a sliver of moonlight slanted across it like a translucent scar. You tensed, resisting the urge to shrink. “Or should I have selected someone more adequate?”

The plasma charge inside you flared, fusing atoms of dread into something deadlier with the affront. Your teeth gnashed, tension breaking your body into trembles under the strain of caution. “N-no, sir.” A muscle in his face twitched. “Please, I was... I w-was just--”

“Perhaps I should return you to General Quinn,” he said. “I’m sure he would be more than accepting of such inferior talents--”

You lunged, and in a single, smooth stroke, you swallowed his cock straight to the base, your body heaving its protest with a soundless convulsion.

A noise strangled in Ren’s throat, and a firm hand slid around the nape of your neck to hold you there, gagging and completely stripped of any capacity for breath. 

It probably would have been too much for you to handle, were it not for the hot sparks of indignation that quickly soldered each fissure in your resolve. Each one forced you to soften, to accept the agonizing incursion, if nothing else just to prove that you could. 

Relax.

Tears welled as you glanced up, funneling all of your willpower into sacrificing your need for breath. Movement was impossible with him holding you there, but the huge hand on the back of your neck spasmed, and your opportunity struck.

Doe-eyed, you gazed up and swallowed, letting your pharynx flex and ripple around the thick head of him just as hot tears spilled over to soak your cheeks, and one hand curled around to cup him by the balls.

You could almost hear something in him snap with the choked roar he let out, and it made your chest swell even as both of his hands coiled roughly into your hair and locked your head back. You met his stare, fire in your own, and gave him a challenging squeeze. In less than a second, your hands were no longer your own, seized by the Force and shackled down to your thighs, just before his hips drew back and oxygen smacked your lungs with a less than pretty sound. 

He gave you no time to recover before his cock was gagging you again, his rhythm punctuated and slow, each thrust forcing submission from your body. Gravel shifted under your knees as you trembled with all of the muscular tension that you redirected away from your jaw, the coarse pain of it serving as a welcome diversion from the intense sensation of having your throat fucked.

Relax. Control yourself.

Wetness began to streak your face, tears and saliva converging on your chin, and the vague thought shimmered in the back of your mind as to what you must look like right now: a slutty mess completely at your commander’s mercy, drawing choked breaths only when he allowed it, tongue fluttering soft and wet under his thick shaft while your clit fucking throbbed between your legs. But from the broken sound that Ren let out as he watched another violent gag roll through you, you’d have thought it was the hottest thing he’d ever witnessed. 

His grunt bottomed out into a snarl as one hand slid out of your hair, his palm turning outwards while two of his fingers began to curl in a salacious motion.

The fluid sensation of the Force coiled and rippled across your clit at his command, its motions just like your own fingers but even better, making your eyes nearly roll back in your skull. Ren gave a knowing hum as your moan was choked down into your throat by another thrust of his cock, and a bend of his fingers sent a toe-curling rumble over your swollen bundle of nerves. 

“That’s it, lieutenant.”

The sound of his voice slid down your body, settling low in your belly where your orgasm was starting to simmer again. Even the ache in your jaw began to meld into your pleasure, making your head swim and buzz with the renewed promise of climax.

Ren’s breathing started to crack and falter, coming in half-formed curses through his ribs as he continued to steadily fuck your mouth, and it was clear that he must have been leaning on the edge of closeness for some time as well. You could feel it in the way his cock pulsed on your tongue, the way his stomach began to tense and flex.

Fuck, the thought of it--Kylo Ren, this grand enigma steeped in poise and brutality, a man who could obliterate life with a flex of his hand, was about to pull you apart by the threads, shatter you into pleasure with that same power and cum down your fucking throat. 

The wave of arousal that slammed you was almost maddening, and it was all you could do to flatten your tongue over your teeth and swallow thickly around his cock once more before everything was coiling up tight and fast inside you. 

His voice shot you to the precipice with a gritted out, “Fucking whore, let me f-feel you cum--”

There was a moment before it hit, like the way a seismic charge pulls in all of the sound around it into a single devastating point, and then with a choked sob you shattered, pulses of ecstasy ripping through your body while your cunt spasmed and wept its bliss onto the street with each unrelenting surge of the Force at your clit, wringing convulsions from you until you began to shake from the intensity of your orgasm.

You blinked the fresh tears from your eyes just in time to see Ren snarl above you, jaw tight and hips stuttering as the tension in his body threatened to snap, echoing in a rough pull of your hair. Pain seared your scalp as he pulled you off of his cock just in time for the first jets of his release to coat your tongue.

He groaned, a harsh sound that rivaled your surroundings in its sheer impurity, and he wrenched your head back further, working his length while thick ropes hit your open, gasping mouth, splattering your lips and chin with his bitter taste. He was grunting, swearing, panting through clenched teeth, and then--

Your name. Not your title, not a mocking belittlement of your rank, but your name, cracked through his lips, a desperate sound half-buried in the delirious stream of filth.

Before you could even process what you just heard, he sharply released your hair and stepped back, your invisible restraints dissipating and leaving you to crumple over on yourself, gasping and trembling and painted in cum. 

Slowly, through the ring of pleasure and shock in your ears, you rubbed your sore jaw, before using your fingers to gather the warm mess around your lips. But just when you were about to slip them into your mouth, his voice stopped you, a graveled whisper from the shadows.

“Look at me.”

Breathless, you looked up, suddenly conscious of how plump and stained your face felt as the cool air began to dry the tears on your cheeks. Ren had already adjusted himself to decency, but your walls still fluttered with aftershocks of pleasure at the sight of his huge stature, swelling with deep breaths like a sated, black tide under the moon. You gazed at him in the dim light, holding his stare while you dipped your slippery fingers into your mouth and dutifully sucked the cum off of them, admittedly letting your tongue lick out along your knuckles just a little more than you probably needed to. 

Ren’s nostrils flared, and he took a few strides in your direction. When his hand came out towards your face you flinched, but he simply curled his fingers under your chin and slowly passed his thumb over a spot on your cheek that you had missed, expressionless as he pushed it through your parted lips. He watched you like this for the smallest moment before he drew away again.

Your mind felt blank; wiped and recalibrated by the staggering intensity of whatever your life had become over the past few hours. Exhaustion settled on you with the weight of a freighter. The one thing still tethering you to reality was the sensation of oxygen drawing in and out of your lungs, sweeter now than it had ever felt in your life despite the taste of grease and rust in the air. 

Stiffly, you began to readjust your clothing, pulling your undershirt and coat back over your breasts before beginning the painful process of climbing to your feet. As shaky and sore as they were, your legs somehow supported you, and you managed to wrestle your pants back up over the curve of your ass, only fumbling a little to secure them around your waist. 

For some reason it was only after you were covered again that you even thought to look around the alley, a brief pang of fear seizing your ribs, but it was just as still as when you’d landed. Just as empty, just as quiet. Maybe even moreso.

You glanced back around to Ren where he stood by the connecting beam of the ship’s wing, still and ruminative, a sleek device raised in his hand. After a moment, he pressed a button and spoke into it.

"Report."

A crackle of static peeled through.

“Have eyes, dropping in,” you could faintly hear the voice on the other end say, and a spear of alarm jabbed you back to sudden alertness. Ren's eyes flicked to you, his face stone. 

“Clear to land,” the commander returned through the commlink, before tucking it back into his pocket. 

Your heart pumped uneasily against your ribs, your face surely a canvas of confusion. Ren cast you a blank look before grabbing a metal ridge on the ship and smoothly disappearing into the cockpit again. 

Okay, this was getting unnerving. But the whine of an engine snapped your attention to the sky, where a standard-issue TIE fighter was descending with predatory swiftness upon the alley, its headlights killed, swooping into a hover just behind Ren’s Silencer. Half-shielded by the wing already, you recoiled instinctively into the shadow of it, as if you could find safety in the way it jutted forward like a protective talon.

You jumped when heavy boots hit the ground next to you again, looking up to see a masked Kylo Ren. He watched the other fighter land, standing silently as its cockpit popped open with a whisper of hydraulics. A shadowed figure leapt out, and you took a few steps backwards as it strode in your direction, vaulting the wing-support beam of the Silencer in a smooth motion before coming to a halt in front of the commander.

“Ren,” a dusky voice rasped through the tinny filter of a vocoder. He was masked as well, similar yet altogether different from the commander he addressed; rougher-looking, shrouded in strange black armor. As you stared, his head quirked, the mask tilting to settle on you. “Who’s this?”

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Emp-Ire, “Patriot.”

Still working and am still in a bit of a writing slump.

I have only been able to write the very few things that REALLY interest me right now. So thank you for your patience with me going off on the occasional tangent, ok maybe more often then not going off on a tangent, but thanks anyway :)

A crisp morning breeze needled his skin, the icy tendrils causing goosebumps to break out over Adam’s bare chest and shoulders. Overhead a layer of dismal grey clouds blocked the sky over an alien landscape.

He was so tired.

And he hurt.

All around him other bodies shifted in the cool morning air, and he would have sworn he could see their breath puffing out in great gouts of steam, though that might just have been his imagination. He was so cold, what the hell was wrong with wearing a shirt, or at least some real pants.

But no, apparently pants were reserved for those who earned them, everyone else was relegated to nothing better than short leather skirts, or underwear which he found mildly infuriating. Even some compression shorts would have been nice. Another cold breeze ran past him and he crossed his arms over his chest palms pressed flat over his freezing nipples in hopes that by warming them up they wouldn’t just fall off. 

Also his toes were numb, courtesy of the sandals he was wearing.

Looking around him, he could see that the other men and women didn’t appear to be nearly as cold as he was, in fact, they were probably being kept nice and warm by the sheer awesomeness of their big manly muscles or something.

Standing in a line with all of them he felt like the awkward nerd kid trying out for the football team. Each and every last one of them had washboard abs, or similar since genetics is more kind to some than to others.

And then there was him.

Chicken chest, noodle arm bastard that he was, with only the faint line of abs hanging out waiting for the moment he flexed intentionally to pretend his abs were bigger than they actually were. He hunched his shoulders just a bit, feeling very very small in comparison.

“Hey, how are you doing? Looking good everyone, looking good…. Hey…. hey.”

Adam lifted his head just in time to watch Ramirez strut up like he owned the damn place turning heads with the sheer gravity of his confidence. 

He walked up to stand Next to Adam, “Fuck you, dude.”

“What?”

“How can you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Strut up like you and I aren’t literally the most pathetic people here.”

Ramirez patted him on the shoulder, “Confidence is key my friend. If you pretend to be awesome, soon you’ll believe it and eventually it will be. Self fulfilling prophecy and all of that. The mind is a powerful tool. Also chicks dig confidence.”

“What about men?”

“Them too, I don’t discriminate.” he held his arms out wide, “Everyone could do with a little bit of Ramirez in their life.” He looked at Adam pointedly, “How about you?” He flexed, “Want some of this.”

Adam snorted, paused and then said, “You know what, if I swung that way, sure.”

Ramirez put his hand over his chest, “That is probably the nicest thing you ever said to me. But the Ramirez is an open door and I open both ways.”

“You’re not a swinging door, you're a revolving door.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I don’t know man, it just sounded good. But if you were a door, you would also open from the bottom up, I just couldn’t think of an object that opened on both the x, y and z axises.”

He tapped his chin, “Gotta love how my morning has mostly involved being compared to a door, besides I don’t open to just anyone, I am age restricted, and no pets allowed.”

Adam grimaced, “Gross.”

“No I am not gross, if I was pet friendly THAT would be gross.”

Adam paused, “How about…. aliens ?”

Ramirez shrugged, “If it’s sentient, I Will try anything once. You kno, can’t knock it till you've tried it.”

It was at this moment that Adam became acutely aware that they were the only ones talking. They may have been speaking rather quietly, but at some point the other men and women had stopped speaking. He paused and turned his head to look. Ramirez’s voice faded off into the silence as the two of them turned to find a tall, heavily muscled woman standing before them. Her hair was tied back and her midriff was bare. She carried a spear in one hand and a shield in the other, and she waited very pointedly for the two of them to stop talking.

The look on her face could have coagulated his blood in his veins.

He shrunk back.

She walked up, looked at the two of them and her face pulled into an expression of disgust. 

“Flabby.” She announced smacking Ramirez in the thigh with her spear. He yelped and grabbed his leg, “Soft.” The spear jabbed Adam in the belly driving the wind from his boy, “Pathetic,” She announced, “No weakness, not on my island.” She jabbed at him again and, on instinct, Adam caught the haft of the spear.

He knew pretty immediately he had made a mistake as her eyes widened, and then he was slammed to the dirt head ringing from the metal of the shield on his skull.

He groaned and rubbed at his head.

“Thank you for volunteering.”

Adam didn’t know what he had just volunteered for, but it sounded like he wasn’t going to like it very much. 

As it turns out.

He was right.

She announced immediately that they were going to play a game. He thought that seemed weird for the biggest badasses this side of fake Greece but ok. But it turned out her idea of a game was just a fun way of saying I am going to make you regret you ever lived.

They were the wolves, he was the rabbit. He had a two minute head start, and then they would chase him. If he got caught, they were allowed to beat him up for a few minutes, and then he got another two minutes head start.

This lasted all morning.

About two or three hours. He couldn't tell by the end.

He had never been so exhausted in his life, andhe thought training with the Drev had been hard.

By the end he determined that they were about the same amount of hard, but the Drev didn’t do nearly as much Running. Towards the end his two minute head start counted for almost nothing, and he was in a nearly continual state of getting the shit kicked out of him. Ramirez huffed and puffed at the back of the pack like the big bad wolf had asthma.

And Adam threw up…. Three times.

Three times.

By the time it was over he was covered in bruises and could barely walk. He thought, like during training, they would get a lunch break or something, but nope by the end of the day they were back to the sandy training field where it was either, wrestling, bare knuckle boxing, sparring, or some other ungodly torture. 

There was no stopping.

Occasionally, they were allowed to kneel on the dirt and have something to eat. He wasn't sure what the spartans had eaten back in the day, but this looked like meals clearly prepared by people who studied the science of getting jacked. Mostly protein and vegetables. Whatever drink they were using was some kind of water, but cut with something else he couldn’t have been sure about, probably electrolytes.

Either way he had a hard time keeping it down.

Ramirez on the other hand was part of the passing out gang.

The two of them together barely made a functioning human. And by the end of the day they crawled themselves back to what constituted as the barracks, which was just one long building with mats laid out on the floor. He was so tired that he slept like a log through the entire night until they were woken up to do it again the next day. He slept whenever he could, using anyone and anything as a pillow.

He became way more intimately familiar with Ramirez than he had ever wanted to be but at that point he was too tired to give much of a shit. Even Ramirez was too tired to say anything sarcastic or inappropriate.

He honestly couldn't have said how long they were there, every day seemed to bleed into the next with only the changing of the weather and the night to let him know anything was going on at all.

The change in himself was so gradual that he barely even noticed until one day…

“SHIELD WALL!”

Adam and Ramirez raced forward interlocking their shields with the group of men and women before them.  Others piled up behind bracing their spears over the shoulders of their comrades.

“Remember the wall is only as strong as its weakest member!”

Across from them a group of other trainees raced forward and slammed against their shield wall. 

Adam and Ramirez shouted their exertion.

“Push back!”

They pulled back slightly and then drove forward shoving the other recruits back and to the ground tossing a few of them bodily three or four feet back.

“BRACE!”

They returned to their interlocking position, spears bristling outward like some sort of demonic porcupine. 

They did that exercise once or twice more until ordered to break off, separating into individual units which charged the other groups' spears raised.

Adam Batted another combatant’s shield aside, slammed his shoulder into the man’s chest, kicked another oncoming from the left, dodging out of the way as Ramirez covered him from the right with a sharp jab of his spear which caught another woman by the bottom of the shield and sent her deflecting to the right.

They clashed on the training field for a good half hour of continual battle, when another group of fresh, armored combatants charged them. He was tired, but as the enemy charged inward, he shook it off, roared a battle cry and charged them.

“Shields!” He ordered without thinking, and a small group of remaining fighters bunched up with him and Ramirez. They managed their wall right before the new combatants hit, “PUSH!” And with a massive have they threw them back, causing them to trip over one another. They broke their wall to take on the remaining group now fractured.

Adam went straight down the middle with Ramirez guarding his back chagrin at the armored combatants.

They were fresh, and Adam had the distinct impression that they were also not trainees.

Three of their number had already gone down under the onslaught, but he brought up his spear, knocked the shield to the side and tagged the other man with a glancing blow in the throat. He staggered away holding his neck. He spun left clobbering a woman with his shield. Ramirez cut past him stabbing straight down the middle and catching another one straight in the breastplate.

Two more of their number went down to the right.

There was no way they could make an effective shield wall now.

One more went down on their right.

Ramirez went to his knees shield held up before Adam, who used the shielding to strike past with his spear.

Ramirez ducked and Adam leaped over him crashing into another line of men shield on one side spear on the other. 

The man before him went crashing to the dirt.  He caught incoming strikes simultaneously and ducked under both allowing Ramirez to take one while he dealt with the other. They were split off from each other in the confusion and he didn’t see what happened as he was blindsided by another shield.

The power in that was awful, and he went flying back at least two feet staggering until he skidded in the sand and regained himself. The armored man came charging at him with a roar, and they clashed shields again. The other man was clearly stronger, though not by much. Adam strained against him, feet digging into the dirt before suddenly slacking and rolling off to the side.

It nearly caught the other man off his guard, but he was good, and caught himself before he could fall forward.

Adam snarled as they exchanged a flurry of blows. All the other combatants had backed off so the two of them could fight. He advanced pushing the other man back, though it seemed impossible that he would be able to score a hit, the other man was just too fast. It went on for a while.

Adam got tagged in the right hip, but kept fighting, it was nothing compared to the beating he had received only yesterday. He cut in again slamming his shield against the other man to throw him off balance. It didn’t do it as well as he had hoped, but for a split second he saw an opening. He would have to time it perfectly.

It was probably as much luck as it was skill that he managed to pass the spear through the little hole between the shield and man scoring a long cut across the man’s left bicep. As soon as he did someone shouted the halt, and he froze in palace.

The man before him lowered his shield and pulled off his helmet to reveal.

The King!

Adam stepped back in shock, quickly raising his spear in salute.

“Sir!”

The man smiled grimly turning to look down at his bleeding arm. He turned back to look at Adam, “Exhausted, training all day, and you still managed to cut me, I think that is a good sign.”

The entire field was returning to rest position.

Ramirez climbed out from under his shield, dazed but somehow unscathed.

“How long have you been with us now, two months maybe more.”

“I can’t remember.”

“Two months of improvement I think, and today many of these men proved themselves worthy of being real soldiers….” He turned to look at Adam, “How about yourself, what do you think you deserve?”

Adam planted his spear against the ground, “I’m still standing aren’t I.”

James, the king of sparta, laughed, “Spoken like a true Spartan.” He turned to look at the others, “I tend to agree with your assessment.” He waved a hand at those who are still standing, which included Ramirez, to Ramirez’s evident surprise.

He looked down at himself then around then grinned nodding as if it was very obvious he deserved to be there.

Adam smiled slightly.

He supposed he did.

And now that he realized it the two of them didn’t look at all out of place in comparison to the other men and women there. He stood up straighter, “Thank you, sir.”

“Just right in time then. We set out for Argos tonight, one last test before I let you go.”

The men and women raised their spears to thor king.

***

It felt good, almost familiar, with a cloak fluttering at his back, a spear in hand and a helmet on his head. Granted it was almost nothing like the Drev, but it still felt good enough that he could forgive it. He was, in fact, very proud of his accomplishment as he now stood on the rocky outcrop next to the King of the Neospartans and an entourage of warriors, his sandals feet rested hard against stone and a bare wind tugged at the red plume on the top of his helmet, the same wind that caused the red cloak to flutter behind him in the breeze.

“What is in Argos?” He wondered allowed, not entirely sure if he was allowed to ask, but curious enough to risk it.

James looked down at him from the pinnacle of rock, “You know we dislike the New Athenians?”

Adam nodded “Yeah…. About that, is it just tradition… or…”

James shook his head, “No, nothing like that. We would be fine working with them. This is a real place with real people who have their own real beliefs. It isn’t just some elaborate LARP. No, I was here when this colony started, and there was no difference between us and the New Athenians but after a while there rose some… disagreements.”

Adam tilted his head, “And what disagreements are those?”

“Moral disagreements. I am a patriot, admiral. I may be the king of Sparta, but I was also born on earth and am a True believer in the unity of the GA. Division Will only weaken us. But there are factions among the New Athenians who don’t believe the same, which would be fine. I understand a group of people who disagree with the current political system. That should be allowed by all means, but the way they are going about it is just wrong.”

“What do you mean.”

“They Are supplying information, weapons, and lodging to rebel forces who wish to destroy the GA and everything it stands for. They aren't just doing it through protests and reforms, but through violence, and hurting innocent people. They don’t care how they win as long as they do, and that is something I cannot abide. I have on good authority that some of them are working with Kree operatives and anti-alliance forces to plan assassinations against key members of government.”

Adam’s eyes widened in shock, “Really!, than why haven't we heard about this.”

James shook his head, “Despite their radical ideals, they are a very small and mostly powerless group who don’t pose much of a threat to GA members themselves. In fact, most of them are all bark and no bite. I figure that it's my job to keep my little slice of the galaxy clean, and I have managed it so far.”

Adam shook his head in surprise…. “So the Oracle….”

James nodded, “She recognized you, and likely sent you here in hopes that we would kill you for being spies, which we have done before. She honestly should have killed you herself, but the New Athenians don’t like to get their hands dirty, they like to keep their hands clean and let others do their dirty work.”

He turned to look at Adam, “Based on my studies, you are an important piece in an intergalactic chess game, holding the GA together with a volatile humanity.” He turned his head back to stare out at the horizon, “Like I said, protests, petitions, and legislation is all well and good, but as soon as your course starts to hurt innocent people you lose my sympathy. You are no longer the heroic rebel, but you are a blight and you must be stamped out.”

The fire in the man’s golden eyes was enough to make Adamstand back a little.

“I see.”

“I am glad you do, you need to see what goes on at the small scale. You need to know that there are people here fighting for you and your ideals. You built what the GA is today, whether on purpose or not, and that is something I intend to uphold.” He pointed downwards, “And we are going to start here.”

[fruitcoops]

I ADORE YOUR WRITING!!! it’s helping me get over sw ending😭😭 could u do 58 aand 63 for cap?? i need more of your writing and the prompts are so good!!!

Y’all really love seeing my sweet boy hurting, huh? Lucky for you, I enjoy writing angst with a happy ending. This is a continuation of Sea Salt and Sunshine, and is loosely based on my own experience with heatstroke (pro tip: don’t get it halfway up the Grand Canyon). Always always always remember to monitor your water/ salt balance! Coops credit goes to @lumosinlove!

Prompt 58: “You’re shaking. What’s wrong.”

Prompt 63: “Hey, woah. Don’t pass out on me.”

 TW for heatstroke symptoms!

The day grew hotter and hotter and hotter until Sirius was ready to follow James’ smoothie’s example and melt into a puddle. He was not built for Florida weather, and certainly not for doing exercise on ninety-degree beaches.

“I can’t wait to be home,” Remus groaned as he let his head fall back against the trunk of a palm tree. Sirius winced at the state of his arms; from his elbows to his mid-back was a vicious red color that worsened despite their best efforts with aloe and sunscreen. “I miss being able to breathe without also feeling like I’m inhaling water.”

Black fuzz sprinkled the edges of Sirius’ vision and he shook his head to clear them. “Woah.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah, all good.” He didn’t feel all that sick, just wobbly and unusually cold. “Did the wind pick up?”

“No?” Remus sat up and touched his arm. “You’re shaking. What’s wrong?”

Sirius shook his head again, then grabbed the nearest vacant beach chair for support as the world tilted. “I don’t know, I’m just really dizzy all of a sudden.”

“Have you been drinking water?”

“Tons.”

“When was the last time you ate?”

“Lunch,” he snapped, suddenly impatient. Guilt and confusion washed over him as Remus paused. He never spoke to him like that. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. I don’t know what’s going on.”

“I think you might have heatstroke. If your salt and water balance is off, it’s easier to fall under. Stay in the shade while I grab some goldfish or something, okay?” Remus’ hands were cool when he rubbed them up and down Sirius’ arms. “Baby, are you listening?”

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you. Will you check on the other guys, too?”

“Of course I will.” Remus’ face creased with worry as he jogged down the beach to talk to Coach. Sirius closed his eyes and focused on taking deep breaths to calm himself.

In. Playing volleyball on their first day there.

Out. Tossing Remus into the water like a sack of potatoes.

In. Winning their first Florida game after a close third period.

Out. The dozens of freckles that scattered Remus’ cheeks by their second afternoon in the sun.

In. Pots’ endless quest to find a blue smoothie.

Out. They would be back in chilly Gryffindor soon. Cold sounded good right now.

“Hey, baby, how are you feeling?”

Sirius blinked and grimaced in the sun. Everything was fractured or blurred by the light, even the shadowed outline of Remus’ face. “That was really fast.”

“I was gone for about ten minutes, actually. Kuny’s got heatstroke too, and Bliz got a bad sunburn from a missed sunscreen spot. Coach called off practice for the rest of the day because it isn’t going to cool down any time soon.”

“Mhmm.” In all honesty, Sirius only caught every third word, but the gist was clear. “Heading home?”

“Yeah, can you stand up?”

“Of course I can stand up,” he scoffed, struggling to his feet and gripping the nearest tree for support.

“Do you need an arm?”

“Nah, I got it.” Sirius took two shaky steps toward the path to the parking lot and stumbled, only for Remus to catch him and steady him around the chest.

“Hey, woah. Don’t pass out on me. Let me help.” Remus wound his arm around Sirius’ waist and took some of his weight as they made their way off the beach onto solid ground again. The concrete was blazing hot, but Sirius’ head had started to pound as soon as he stood and his teeth rattled with each pulse of his heart. Something crinkly was pressed into his hand—only then did he realize he was sitting in the car. “Seatbelt on, eat these.”

They pulled out of the lot just as Sirius managed to open the bag and toss back a handful of salty crackers; he didn’t immediately feel better, but some of the growing nausea passed and he felt marginally less sweaty. Five minutes and a kids’ pack of goldfish later, he was coherent enough to notice Remus’ hands flexing and gripping the steering wheel. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Blame yourself. You’re doing your anxiety hands.”

“You know, for someone as repressed as you were, you’re remarkably intuitive.”

Sirius laughed lightly. “You’re one to talk. I’m serious, Re, this was my own fault.”

“I should’ve been paying attention,” he muttered.

“That’s not your job anymore. All of us should have been paying closer attention to when we ate and drank water. Honestly, we probably shouldn’t have had practice during a heat wave.”

Remus’ lips quirked up. “It’s Florida, there’s always a heat wave.”

“True.” Sirius looked down and realized he was still in his swim trunks. “Aw, I’m sweating all over your seat.”

“Oh no, not that,” Remus said. “I’ve never had your sweat anywhere near me before.”

“How will you possibly survive?”

Remus reached over and rested his hand on Sirius’ thigh for a moment. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“Thanks to you. I’m still all gross, though.”

“Yeah, you’re going right in the shower when we get back,” Remus laughed, flipping his turn signal on. “It’s going to be the coldest shower you’ve ever taken.”

“What? Why?”

“Cold water is good for easing heatstroke. Also, your skin is super overheated right now and no matter what the temperature is, you’ll probably still feel cold.”

Sirius closed his eyes and laced their fingers together. “A fake ice bath. Okay.”

The car was quiet after that, aside from the radio and Remus’ soft humming as he ran his thumb over Sirius’ knuckles. A cold shower sounded like heaven, and then perhaps a nice long nap before they packed for their early-morning flight. They deserved a vacation day.

[quitethepirategal]

An Analysis in Threes

❥ TAGGED BY: @emcads​ like 30 years ago ❥ TAGGING: @riidcr​ @starsailingcaptain​ @covencrown​ @hookd​ @all-fleshed-out​ @evermxre​ @motherofredemption​ @bup1957​ @conquistadoradelmar​ @seaprofound​ @tcthinecwnself​ @withinycu​ @windguided​ @daevilhorns​ @concordia-cum-sinistro​ and YOU and I spent like 8 hours on this so pLEASE READ IT PLEASE I AM BEGGING I NEED VALIDATION I’M-

     repost don’t reblog. yall dont have to type this much.

MUSE: Captain Red Handed Jessica

Three Strengths:

     Her adaptability and resourcefulness.  Is she brave, yes.  Is she lucky, also yes.   But over all, she can roll with the cards she’s been dealt in a way that many would call inhumanly clever.  Her intelligence, her perception, and her charisma are all different ingredients of this indomitable characteristic of hers.  She can see the value in just about anything and anyone, can pick up on clues and tangents few others can follow, and can remember seemingly endless details, tho unfortunately not on command.  But even then, her patchy memory seems to contribute to this adaptability as well, as it usually allows for detachment.  If she can find resources everywhere, it means she can survive everywhere. There have been countless times where the wheel of fortune has suddenly turned on her and she’d lost near everything and her response was more or less Damn, ok I need food water and shelter lets go.  No food?  Grow food.  No water?  Ask someone if they have water.  No shelter?  Sleep outside.  No money?  Steal money.  Can’t hear anymore?  Cool I can use loud weapons.  Crashed on an island?  My island now.  Shot?  Free bullet.  She knows when to push, she knows when to quit, and sometimes she knows when to gamble based on her ability ( what a man can do and what he can’t do and all that ).  Strong she may be, she knows its foolish to rely on strength.  Survival of the fittest actually rarely means survival of the strongest. ( edit; this is the theme for the entirety of her character. I will say it 50,000 times. I am very sorry ).  And as a student of philosophy and biology, she understands that phrase better than most. Leading to our next point.

     Her understanding.  As I stated, her charisma is something unmatched, and is a key element in all three of her strengths.  This charisma might not exist as prominently were it not for her ability to understand.  She has limited ( I’ll get back to that ) but deep running empathy and while not terribly observant all the time, she is always perceptive.  Not only that, but she’s personally known abuse, hardship, and uncertainty, and understands that hate or anger can be rooted in similar pain.  She was schooled lightly in both Christian and Buddhist values before diving heavily into democratic philosophy, meaning she believes all being experience suffering and therefore kindness is a powerful sign of strength, but also that suffering while free and equal is better than comfort in oppression.  And between her sweet words and beautiful face, she can get most people to open up in ways they themselves my not have expected.  Being very good with people means she can learn from them, gain something from them, lead them, and/or use them.  But Jessica isn’t a manipulator in truth; her intentions are almost always kind or healthy ones.  She absolutely uses people from time to time but not EVER without them consenting to or being made aware of such because again, unlike a manipulative person, she understands that can ruin a relationship and therefore ruin a resource.  What it makes for is an excellent leader, a beloved captain, and a trusted ally at most and an excellent conversationalist at the least.      But her understanding isn’t just social, oh no.  It’s academic as well.  Armed only with his little library and the lessons of his own teachers, Jessica’s foster father tirelessly smithed her into a not just a girl who knew a lot of things, but a truly intelligent, thinking mind. He’d die before learning he’d succeeded tenfold.  Jessica isn’t one to just except things as they are, facts or otherwise.  She usually needs to prove it, experiment, see things from a new angle.  Debates with her are fun!  She has no issue admitting she’s wrong or confessing she’s never thought of it that way, and is actually wrong a lot of the time.  It doesn’t bruise her ego, it excites her.  It means there’s more to learn.  And her ability to constantly understand new concepts paired with her ability to overwhelmingly understand people combine to make for a very powerful core idea of hers:  We are fittest to survive because we all fit together.  Our humanity, our empathy, our community are our strengths because they keep us united, which keeps us the fittest.  No one is independent, no man is an island.  People are power. And thus her final strength is just that.

     Her power.  While she and I still firmly state that strength isn’t everything don’t be disillusioned; its very goddamn important.  And it’s something Jessica has plenty of.  She is durable and clever because of her rocky early childhood, she is quick and versatile from her youth in a pirate port, she is physically strong and mighty from her years training in martial arts, and she’s an absolute crackshot after years of diligent practice with her trusty pistols.  Her true strength may lie in her brains and in her allies yes, but even without them, Red Jessica is a powerhouse of a warrior.  She can end fights extremely quickly or run from them without a prayer of catching her ( no shame in the later, both skills keep you alive ).  And it may be in bad taste to say, but ever since loosing most of her hearing, Jess swears up and down it’s made her vision better, her reaction time faster, and her quick thinking even quicker.  Yes of course she’s slowed down with age, but a bullet shoots at the same speed no matter how old you are.  And you best hope she didn’t bring her firecrackers, because while sudden loud noises will absolutely temporarily discombobulate or debilitate an opponent with healthy hearing, it’ll hardly effect her at all and suddenly, you’re a sitting duck.  You see those thighs?  You see those calves?  She can crush PINEAPPLES with them!  People have seen her do it!  Do you know how many micro-fractures broke and rebuilt those hands?  Thousands!  She can crush a trachea like a fucking beer can!  She can kick you to death!  One ill placed curb stomp and you are DECEASED.  Sometimes she’ll just psyche you out because she KNOWS you know she can kill your stupid ass!       But while her strength, mental and physical, have always been there, her power is relatively new.  As stated before, people are power.  Not knowledge, not money, not strength.  People.  She’s a fearsome warrior but she’d be useless if outnumbered.  Shes a very successful pirate, but she’d never make it out of port without a crew on her ship.  She found a gorgeous island, but it’d still be wild without those who built it’s piers and buildings.  She manages orchards and tends to them and harvests them herself, but she would loose all of her crop without the helping hands of her employed farmers.  And like I mentioned, she deeply understands this.  Freedom is not independence or vice versa.  Did you make the clothes on your back or the fabric that made those clothes?  Did you write the books you read to make you smarter or teach you that skill?  Did you plant the seed years ago that grew that orange you’re eating?  No, of course not.  Jessica didn’t either.  Another human did.  We all need each other to fill the holes in our lives that we can’t fill ourselves.  Humans are puzzle pieces in that way, there is no bigger picture or prayer for survival on our own.  And because of this, we can do anything we as a community, as a SPECIES work together to achieve.  There is no knowledge if there’s no one to learn from, there is no money if a society don’t give it value, your money is worthless if those you’re paying decide to rise against you, your role as leader only exists at the consent of those you lead, and your strength won’t save you from a sinking ship.  People are, and always will be, power.       And as someone who is exceptionally strong and exceedingly smart, Jessica has slotted herself in the humanity puzzle thusly: The strong exist to protect the weak, the smart exist to educate, and the lucky exist so the unlucky may be given aid.  And it is with this fairness and compassion that she has won the trust of so many.  She has a great many friends and allies even outside of those in her crew or on her island.  And she can make many more with ease.  That kind of power is not a power to be trifled with, even if she can kick your ass six ways to Saturday without it. 

Three Weaknesses:

     She suffers ADHD.  Now before ANY OF Y’ALL SAY ANYTHING, I myself also suffer ADHD.  And yes I do say suffer because well that’s what it causes for Jessica and I, suffering.  Yes, it is ableist language to say ‘suffering from’ rather than ‘has’ or ‘is diagnosed with’ and yes it perpetuates a stigma against us but god DAMN IT in both Jessica’s case and mine, it make life much much harder than it needs to be.  At the end of the day, Red Jessica is a fantasy of mine; I pour myself into her whether I mean to or not.  She’s the adult I wish I was, the person I might be if I had no anxiety, or brainfog, or lived in a world were I didn’t need a credit score or a degree. And even then, I can’t say I know anyone else’s problems better than my own.  So if my character has problems, by sheer osmosis they are going to reflect some of mine.  Both of the characters I write have ADHD because I have ADHD and I couldn’t even begin to know how a non-ADHD mind works to write it properly.  And no, I’m not being dramatic when I say it causes me suffering.  I can’t drive, I can’t hold down a job, I nearly flunked out of school, I still cant read very fast or spell very well, I am constantly overwhelmed by mundane things, I’m a slow learner, I forget very important things or recent things, I forget about things that mean the world to me, I forget about people, I stumble through tasks, I procrastinate hobbies and basic hygiene, and everything I do takes all goddamn day and I can only really do one important thing at a time and in order of importance.  If I have a date at 4pm, I’m dressed and ready at 11am because I’ve gotta do the important thing first or else I will forget to do the important thing.  I started typing this at a little before 5pm.  It’s 7;30.  It’ll probably be 10 o’clock at night by the time I fucking finish ( edit: l m a o its 1am bitch you thought ).  I’m 26 and am just medicated enough to barely function.  So yeah.  Suffering is the word.       Though for Jessica, perhaps suffering is a tad strong of a word.  Her ADHD affects her ability to function in far less debilitating ways ( though whether that’s a result of a less severe diagnosis than me or the result of the society, situations, and responsibilities she functions in and around are far different from mine, who’s to say ).  For her, she has very consuming hyperfixations that can last anywhere between weeks to decades, a spotty memory that is detail and memento oriented,  she’s scatterbrained more often then not but can focus with amazing clarity on her interests or in high adrenaline situations, is is ABYSMALLY bad at math and EXCRUCIATINGLY bad with numbers ( as opposed to me, who is good at numbers but shit at spelling or reading ), she can forget anything no matter how important it is to her or to anyone, she’s bad with names and dates, is COMPLETELY time-blind, has trouble prioritizing, and of course, wile not actually that materialistic, she absolutely has the ol’ magpie instinct.       While her poor memory assists in her adaptability and ability to move on, it also means she forgets things she needed to remember, like when the last time she bathed was and who this person is and what happened between her and someone else or what conversation’s shes had.  Unfortunately this means she’s a very good friend and leader... while you’re around and interacting with her on at least a weekly basis.  It’s almost a lack of object permanence in both a social and very real sense.  If something is not right in front of her, odds are she’s not going to think about it.  And while its something she constantly kicks herself for and actively tries to be better about, it applies to people too.  Face to face is the best way to interact with her; she won’t think to write you and in her modern verse she won’t think to ever call and she’ll text you back in perhaps a few days.  She doesn’t value you any less, I promise.  She’s just either distracted or overwhelmed.  Also, for someone as understanding as her, she is surprisingly self-centered.  Not selfish, self-centered.  She’ll talk about herself more than she should, and will assume people understand that she’s doing so as a form of showing empathy rather than bragging when they may not know this at all.  Actually she accidentally assumes all the time.  It was far worse when her hearing was functional; she’d finish your sentence for you or guess what it was you were going to say ( again, not to talk over, you but to show she understands you and the conversation, tho it usually came of as annoying or patronizing ).  Sometimes she mistakenly assumes you believe or know the same things she does without even realizing it.  Maybe she perceives the right idea off of someone but isn’t observant enough to notice anything past that.  And while she is willing to change her mind about things, she might change her mind a tad too quickly.  She’s an over-sharer and is horrible at keeping any kind of secret.  Romantic relationships tend to fizzle out. Her impulse control is improving but has a VERY long way to go. She’s always chasing something new.       All and all, when you’re a pirate, a librarian, or even a captain, all of these things may be irritating and inconvenient, but are overall manageable in chunks.  ...But as a governor to her island, as a leader of an entire population... oof. In the position of leadership that she’s in, she can’t afford to make too many massive mistakes, and she knows this.  ‘There is no power quite like the power of being underestimated’ is a phase you’ll hear her say a lot but for her, there is a shift in connotation.  If people expect less and you do more that’s a great upper hand in any situation but for her, it was a safety net.  Having ADHD sometimes means going months or years being fine and then eventually you fuck up and everyone around you wonders how in the world you managed to do that.  She has only barely avoided disaster more times than she’d like to admit.  Even with the resourcefulness, the understanding, and the power she wields, she’s finally starting to realize that she’s bit off more than she might be able to chew, with the entire well-beings and livelihoods of others on the line.  And she fears that one day she’ll play her cards wrong and everything she’d built, everything she’s done, will all come crashing down in ruin.

     She is Hard of Hearing.  This one is literally as simple as it sounds: she has moderate and degenerative hearing loss and tinnitus after years of canons, explosions, gunshots, and a definitive, scale tipping attack in her early 30s.  Her ears just don’t work at all like they used to.  The whole world sounds like it would if everything was underwater: she can’t pin point the location of sounds, how far off or close sounds are, and barely registers changes in volume. And it only gets worse the older she gets; one day she won’t hear anything at all.  And while yes, again, it might be very harsh and ableist to say, the truth of the matter that being deaf a “ weakness ” more often than its a strength.       That said, it very well can be a strength.  I’ve already mentioned that trick with the firecrackers and let me tell you it is a DAMN EFFECTIVE TRICK.  Shes around explosions and canons and guns all the time and now she can focus while being around them five times better than she could in the past!  But unfortunately it also means she’s very easy to sneak up on, she sometimes isn’t aware of danger until it’s nearly too late,  no one can get her attention or warn her across any distance, it’s very easy to escape from her, and it’s easy for her to be just... left out of things.  She might hear you talking, but she has little to no idea what you’re saying without sign or lipreading.  Some people don’t have the patience or even just the courtesy to speak slower, or clearer, or repeat themselves a lot.  Though, those last too thinks aren’t weaknesses of hers so much as they are the weakness of others, but they still negatively affect her self esteem and her effectiveness as a leader.       All of this has taught her to pick her battles carefully, and plan around the elements of surprise and discombobulation.  And while communication was tricky at first, it only got easier, and now she can talk to you almost like anyone can, so long as she’s looking you in the face. 

     That damn bleeding heart.  We have established a number of things that should easily add up to an overly empathetic, trusting, fight-the-good-fight, martyr-some, idealistic pushover;  she believes humanity and kindness are strengths, she has taken on the role of leader and then a provider, she has known suffering and tasked herself with ending the suffering of others to the best of her ability,  she lacks the clarity of mind to assume people aren’t just as good or capable as her automatically, she can have poor impulse control at times,  she wants to have relationships, and ( while I never stated this outright yet it can be inferred  ), she believes that being able to see yourself in others is the foundation of humanity and ( as i did say outright ) humanity is what keeps us unified and unity is what makes us fit and strong.  Keeping up?  Good. Here’s the curve ball: How can she whole hardheartedly preach and believe all of this, to the point of it being the foundation of her character, WHILE BEING A VIOLENT THIEVING AND BLOODTHIRSTY PIRATE?!  HOW, MANGO? HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?! MAKE IT MAKE SENSE!!  Ok, fine, sure, I will. I’m sure about one half of you are looking up from the screen and going “ Oh yeah, wow I totally forgot that bit. “ and the other half got about two and a half paragraphs in before squinting and silently calling bullshit. So let me explain.      In short, she’s a detached hypocrite and is well aware and unashamed of her hypocrisy while far less aware of her detachment. I’ll cover both:  Western culture as a whole seems to be under the impression that hypocrisy, despite context or importance, is automatically bad.  I don’t know where this comes from personally ( my bet is Christianity but I have exactly 0 evidence ) but its a very... flawed idea.  Take the freedom of speech vs racism problem; say you owned a bar where all could speak their mind freely over cold drinks.  Excellent concept without context, right?  Sure. ....Then a die hard racist covered in slurs and symbols walks in and orders- what are you going to do?  The correct answer is to throw him out instantly.  Not let him sit so long as he doesn’t cause trouble, not just ignore him and hope he doesn’t return, you throw him out.  Is it hypocritical?  Yep!  Sure is!  But it is also 100% necessary to protect your other patrons because if you don’t, the racist starts feeling safe and bringing his racist buddies, literally everyone else starts feeling unsafe and starts to hang out elsewhere, and two months later, ta da!  You now own a n*zi bar and there is literally nothing you can do about it. Jessica is in a somewhat similar situation.  You as a pretend bar owner need to make a decision as who to let into your bar and who to throw out for the good of all of your patrons.  Jessica too is faced daily with that decision.  If she want’s to help as many people as possible, the only realistic way she can do that are by protecting those under her leadership... only.  She is surrounded by hateful, angry, sneaky, traitorous, abusive, or otherwise evil people.  Piracy as a profession and poverty in general can do that to a person.  Of course there is a clear difference between those down on their luck and desperate, and the truly cruel and twisted, but unfortunately both types of people yield the same wrongdoings.  It’s absolutely her nature to extend a hand to anyone and everyone but.... she just can’t anymore.  Too many times has her trust been betrayed, too many times has she gotten in peoples business trying to be helpful, only for her to absolutely bite her in the ass.  Too many time the extended hand is bitten and once or twice, she’s actually made things worse.       Now, she will only help someone she loves, someone under her leadership, or someone who seeks her out.  That’s it.  And even then, sometime it manages to bite er in the ass.  But she had to set that hard limit for herself out of necessity, one she does her absolute best to adhere too and... these days she adheres a little too well. That leads us to our next point; what I was alluding to at the beginning of her Understanding essay when I said she has limited but deep running empathy.  That detachment again, courtesy of a very unattached mother and unchecked ADHD. ( It isn’t a strong enough characteristic to even rank as a strength or a weakness but damn if it isn’t an undercurrent to a lot of her motivations and experiences. ) Strangers are fair game that she tries to ignore, but if she even perceives you as a threat, you could be in danger. Like anyone used to violence or perhaps anyone trapped in an us verses them mindset, she can just... flat... turn her empathy off.  Not on command, she’s not a socio or psychopath persay.  But she has become totally numb to the horror of violence via her warrior upbringing that, in her mind, violence can actually be rather fun. Pair that with the fact that she purposely tailored herself to only be empathetic to her allies and boom.  You get a kindhearted killer.  Cops and soldiers in our world do it literally every day.  Actually anyone can do it really, even you if you tried. You don’t have to be evil or even angry to kill or steal or lie... you just have to believe you’re right.

Three Secrets:

     WHAT SECRETS?!  LMAO this bitch is the oversharing queen!! I’ve been typing and pondering her character for literal hours ( its currently 11:16, fuck you adderall ), and I still can not think of a single goddamn secret.  There is nothing about her that at least five random people don’t fucking know about!! The only secrets she has are secrets she knows about other people and even then she is!! literally the worst!! She spills her guts left and right and yet she wants to be a mysterious bitch SO BAD like BABE I love you, you’re precious, but you are a dumbass attention seeking validation chasing adhd CLOWN girl!! Stop telling random people about your hermaphroditism or your dairy allergy or your dead dad or that time you fell asleep in a barrel like that is literally your uber driver Jessica honey come ooooon. I’m skipping this section mom holy fuck.

Three Fears:

     What if she does wrong by everyone who trusts her?  As stated at the end of the ADHD essay, she’s terrified of failing those she leads.  Where it as simple as personal failure, she’d be fine.  Ever if her entire world came crashing down on top of her she’d either die or start back from square one.  Death is a fact of life and her adaptability means she can just dust herself off and move on, so neither her death nor her failures really scare her... But it isn’t just her life and happiness at stake, is it? Not anymore, right?  What started as a leader of a small gang of rebels became a full crew, then a crew became a slew of allies, then those allies built a town and now... now she’s the governor of the Crimson Isle and there are nearly twenty five HUNDRED lives at her mercy.   HER mercy.  One really, really bad mistake could ruin their livelihoods or spark disorder and disloyalty.  And if she died?  Would whoever it is that will take her place be as good to them as she is?  Is she good enough to begin with in the first place? Every day the paperwork gets a little bit thicker, every year there’s a new baby or two.  And the isle has fertile soil sure but will it last?  Are they prepared for a raid or a hurricane?  And if Jessica trusts the wrong people, where her people right to trust her?  ...can I protect them? Can I protect them?! CAN I PROTECT THEM?!

     Who am I if I’m not interesting?  This is, literally, an entirely subconscious fear.  She’s not at all aware it exists and therefor this entry is short. But between her short time with her very unimpressed mother, her own ADHD, she is constantly hungry for attention without even realizing it.  She must be interesting and intriguing and engaging, and I did mention she wants to also be mysterious.  She wants not so much your input or even your validation - but rather if shes not perceived then.... is she really there? Remember, she is unaware of any of this.  And fortunately she’d never been starved for attention to act out over it in the first place, even when her disinterested mother was alive. Look at her; she’s radiant, she’s beautiful, and she’s 6′4 / 195 cm shredded and covered in cool scars. Without even opening her mouth, without even her colorful clothes, she’s kind of automatically interesting.  So she’s never been so desperate for attention that she acts out because she’s never been without it for very long.  But it’s there. Hungry, aching, silent.  Those years after the M branding were horrible and she could never really explain why.  She still throws parties, organizes festivals, and talks to damn near anyone who will listen.  Look at my art!  Look at my library! Listen to how much I know! Let me tell you how lovely you are! Look at my scares! Look at my hair! Look at me haha, please, please look at me. 

     GHOSTS. NOPE. No. NO. Fuck ALL of that noise. Stay dead, go to hell, eat a dick.  Red Jessica is a scientist and superstitious atheist. As an academic and somewhat bi-cultural woman she simply thinks there are far too many religions with far too much history for any of them to be considered The One True Thing You Must Believe Or ElseTM and she tends to not truly believe anything until she finds some kind of proof.  Shes not afraid of the unknown, shes thrilled by it. She’s not afraid of death or the afterlife, that’s beyond her control. She’s only superstitious because she does believe in and value luck, and also its a bit of a cultural habit. BUT IF SOME SHIT STARTS MOVING ON ITS OWN OR IF SHE SEES SOME BULLSHIT IN THE CORNER OF HER EYE THEN SHE IS OUT OF THERE. OUTIE 5000. She has heard the tales of lost souls from purgatory or the eternally ravenous Pret or dangerous Phi Tai Hong or the tragic and startling Banshees or the creepy Santa Compana and she wouldn’t believe a word of it where it not for one thing.      SHE FUCKING SAW ONE. She’ll never forget it, it was the first and last time she EVER attempted to plunder a tomb all Skyrim style and at first she thought it was one of the crewmean being creepy as shit until she got a good look and he was SEE THROUGH AS SHIT AND SKINNY AS FCUK AND SHE GOT LITERALLY CHASED THE FUCK OUT OF THAT JOINT. She does not CARE that some ghosts are just apparitions she does not CARE that some are friendly and trying to warn her of something if you are MOVING and DEAD at the SAME time get FUCKED. If any of y’all cringe try-hards bring a Ouija board to the party you are getting SENT HOME and BLOCKED. NO CAP.

Three Goals:

   She really only has one left. Listen its... almost 1am and ive been typing since like 5pm i think i covered goals somewhere in here but ive gotta throw in the towel but even then I’m kinda being serious.  Her only remaining goal is to find a suitable heir of some kind.  She wants what she’s built to fall into worthey hands but she could never seem to find a good parter and even when she did she couldn’t sustain a pregnancy ( you’d think that would be a huge deal but it hardly mattered to her oddly ).  So at 50 the option of having kids is out but there’s still plenty of hope for either adoption or a protege.  But then again, she’s so busy these days that she hardly prioritizes it like she wants to.  

                                                                               holy shit i need some water...

[serpentinesarang]

Familiar

pairing: chan (bang chan) x gender-neutral reader

genre: no smut, married!au, emotionally heavy, lots of plot build-up/context description, slow burn, fluff at the end, second-person POV

word count: 2098

content warnings: themes of death, depression/grieving, lack of eating, swearing; this is a SERIOUS piece that may make you cry. please proceed with caution and take a mental breather after. 

summary: your husband chan died a year ago, and life hasn’t been the same until you meet a peculiar stray dog whom you decide to keep.

a/n: partly inspired by the netflix anime film “a whisker away.” hint hint: australian dingo...

korean key:

⦿ sasaengpaen (사생팬) = crazy spy-like super fans, sasaeng for short; pronounced “sah-seng”

⦿ annyeong (안녕) = multipurpose word that translates to hi/bye and no; in this story, it’s used in the hi/bye sense. pronounced “on-yawng”

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

Preface

It happened a year ago. The crash. The sasaengs. The coma. The stroke. The doctors’ denial of life support. The funeral.

Your husband Chan had died tragically after a catastrophic car accident outside the JYPE building in Seoul when a group of sasaengs tried to take control of an already chaotic situation on the street. Chan had been rushed to the hospital, so bloodied and so internally fractured that he immediately fell comatose and incidentally suffered a stroke due to the bodily trauma. 

You’d begged with all your might for the doctors to put him on life support, but they refused, saying he’d be vegetative for the rest of your life. They even sent an insurance liason up to Chan’s ICU suite to speak with you about having to pay for his life support as long as you continued to live, and you were just so beaten down by all the hospital staff that you agreed to release his body to the funeral home his parents had flown in to coordinate with.

And you were destroyed. 

Your employer had given you three months’ bereavement, but you still couldn’t bear to go to work for four more months. You slept 12 hours on Chan’s side of the bed every night and only wore his clothes during those four months of intermittent crying. After you used up the remaining sick days and paid time off you’d accrued over the years, your manager finally terminated you for missing too much. The next two months were spent on the couch with no appetite and inconsistent sleep, the good memories of Chan continually flooding back to you at random times. 

This was when you’d decided it was time to get your shit together because the scale declared you 15 lbs [7 kg] lighter; the circles under your eyes scared you each time you dared to glance in a mirror; and your phone’s mailbox had filled to its limit with messages from anyone and everyone offering their condolences for your loss. So three months passed, and you were able to gain back most of your weight, sleep more consistently, and clean out your social media.

Those last three months were the cleansing your soul so desperately needed, and for the first time since the incident, you were starting to feel a level of normalcy again. You’d even pushed yourself to get back into the workforce, and thankfully, this new employer didn’t cause a scene about your 11-month gap in job history. 

The dominoes were falling back into place. Sadly, you’d felt compelled at one point to ghost the rest of Stray Kids because it was just too painful for you to act like you could handle yourself around them. Out of worry and compassion, they all individually sent you messages here and there, but you told yourself maybe in the future. After all, your life had disintegrated to less than dust, so you were your priority moving forward.

Now

Your phone’s alarm wakes you to another dreary November day. It’s a snippet of an audio message he’d left you long, long ago when he was away for a tour. “Good morning to you, [Mr./Mrs.] Bang, my beautiful angel. I’m thinking of you as always. Text me when you get this. Love you, honey.”

November 25th, to be exact: the one-year anniversary of Chan’s death.

You sigh, whispering to the ceiling, “I love you too, baby.”

You pick yourself up, go through all the usual motions, and head to work in the morning snow, trying to keep your mind as numb as you’ve been recently feeling. Perhaps you’ll do a little something once you return home, you resolve.

The workday passes; the snow continues blanketing the city; and nothing really good or bad has happened in the meantime.

You step off the elevator onto your floor of the apartment building. You’re freezing from the windchill, mindlessly deleting spam email on your phone while trudging in your heavy boots to your door.

Once you reach your unit, something at the edge of your eyesight causes you to freeze. You take in the sight before you: a large, tan and white dog lying on your welcome mat with its front paws extended toward you. Its deep brown eyes stare right into yours, and you feel all the air in your lungs disappear.

“A-annyeong,” you murmur softly, pocketing your phone. 

The dog blinks in response, not moving his gaze.

You crouch down in front of the dog slowly, trying not to spook it. “Are you lost, sweetie?”

The dog emits a barely audible whimper, and you can’t tell if it’s sad or relieved to have been found. It’s not wearing a collar, and its abundant fur looks clean, like an inside pet.

Feeling conflicted, you purse your lips. “You must be... I’ll tell you what: you be good and stay here for me, okay?”

The dog exhales sharply before closing its eyes.

Wow, well trained pupper, you think to yourself as you rise. You spend the next five minutes ringing the entire floor’s doorbells, even banging on the doors of the units that didn’t respond to the bell. Each and every neighbor of yours denies owning a dog that looks like a Shiba Inu, and they all claim to not know anyone else who might have one.

“Fuck,” you hiss under your breath after the last person closes their door.

Returning back to your unit, you find the dog hasn’t moved an inch, but it must recognize your presence because its eyes fly open, and its head shoots up toward you.

“I guess you’re mine for now,” you address it. You enter your passcode and push the door open, pointing expectantly with an approving facial expression for the dog to understand it’s okay to go in.

And it happily trots inside, sniffing around the entryway while you shuck off your boots, parka, and other winter layers. 

The dog seems to be waiting for you to finish because, once you turn toward it, it immediately turns around and saunters to the bedroom on the far end of the apartment. You keep up at its side and determine with a friendly visual inspection that this dog is a boy.

Approaching Chan’s old side of the mattress, he turns back to you and sits down in front of the nightstand, digging his eyes into yours once more.

Your brow furrows as you try to piece together what’s happening. “What? What’s up, sweetie?”

The dog replies with a heartwrenching whimper, angling his snout forward as if asking for you.

You pad closer and sit on the backs of your legs. “Will you let me touch you?” you ask him softly, raising a hand for him to sniff.

Oddly, he straight up disregards your hand and leans forward to lick your chin.

“Awww,” you gush at his sudden affection. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.” You stroke the top of his tan head, and again, the poor thing whimpers while leaning into your touch.

You scratch at the bases of his ears before cupping his jowls in your hands. “You’re such a sweet boy, you know that?”

The dog blinks rapidly, pushing forward again to gently lick at your unsuspecting lips this time.

Giggling and stroking his front shoulder areas, you say, “Ohh, thank you, thank you. I haven’t been kissed in a year, so I appreciate that, sweet boy.”

A moment passes, but you have to do a double-take when you notice the thick stream of fluid cascading from his shiny eyes.

You gasp. “Oh nooo, are you crying?” With your thumbs, you carefully wipe away his tears. “Don’t cry, sweetie. I did enough of that for nine months straight, and I can’t have you making me sad too,” you confide with the animal, stroking his head again.

He responds by standing on all fours and pressing the top of his head to your own forehead, and you go breathless again.

He’s so human-like... so emotional... you think, raising your arms over his body and hugging him. You stay there for a solid minute before he finally pulls back and sits again.

You sigh quietly, evaluating his expression. “I don’t know about you, but it’s been a long day.” You nudge your chin up to the bed. “Wanna rest for a while?”

The dog ever so quietly barks with its snout closed, as if in acknowledgement, and he waits for you to move first. So you rise and position the pillows on Chan’s side against the wall for you to sit upright. You spread your legs in a butterfly position, and without you having to beckon or give permission, the dog hops to the corner of the bed and situates himself between your legs. You notice then that he’s eyeing something on the wall above the bed.

The professional landscape shot of Chan with his arms tightly curled around you under a peony-adorned gazebo near a lake, the day of your wedding. You were looking into each other’s eyes with the sincerest of smiles.

You turn to glance at the framed photo. “Yeah,” you sigh deeply, turning back to the dog. “That’s Channie, my husband.”

The dog picks up on your change of tone and scoots forward as close as he can get, resting his paws on your upper thighs and his snout on your stomach. His gleaming eyes practically compel you to go on.

Placing your hands on his soft back, you continue in a strained voice: “He was taken from me last year, on this day actually, November 25th. He was so badly hurt in the accident that he went into a coma and had a stroke a couple days later.”

You pause, and the dog whimpers on your stomach, his sad gaze making your throat constrict and your eyes water. 

How can a dog be so in tune with me...?

You push that question away with a sigh and bring a hand to rest on his head. “I never left the hospital. The nurses had to kick me out of his room when he passed. And I cried my eyes out for almost a year.” 

Your eyes drift off, glancing at the ceiling and the walls while remembering your grieving process. “So now I sleep on his side of the bed... I wear only his clothes at home... and I shower with the same things he always did. He’s always with me, even when I’m not wearing my ring.”

Tears have started falling onto your cheeks, and you look back down at the quiet dog to find him crying again as well, his glassy eyes still intently watching you.

An uncontrolled sob escapes your lips before you mash them together, trying to keep it together.

“I love him so much,” you throw your head back against the wall. “I love him so, so fucking much,” you whisper, the hot tears falling faster now.

You hear the dog whine rather loudly, so you focus on him again as he raises his head. “He was my person, and now I have no one,” you blubber, using your hands to angrily wipe away the tears.

The dog replies with a seemingly uncharacteristic growl, its eyes still very soft in contrast.

“Okay, okay, now I have you,” you concede, catching your breath. “I don’t know where your parents are, and I’ve been alone for too long.” You pause, almost unwilling to continue. “Will you stay with me, sweet boy?”

He barks out a high-pitched yelp, spastically moving his paws against you so they’re digging into your abdomen now.

Cheered up by the dog’s responsive expressions of emotion, you burst into a brief laugh and scratch the underside of his snout. “You remind me of him, you know. Soft hair, gorgeous brown eyes, super caring.”

Again, he whimpers, very quietly this time. You tenderly kiss his moist nose. “I’ll call you Chris... because only I was allowed to call him that.”

Chris responds by licking your lips again.

Your random gasp makes him jump a little. “Oh my gosh, I bet you’re hungry or thirsty!” You try shifting on the bed, but Chris’s weight holds you firmly. “Do you want food?”

Chris lowers his snout, resting it on your chest now. He doesn’t make any noises, but you can guess what he means by this.

“Okay, Chris, I gotcha. We’ll stay here and eat when you’re ready,” you promise as you smooth his pointed ears backward.

...

I found them... if only they knew it’s me... I’m Channie, and I’m still yours, honey. 

[marinsawakening]

Late Enough to Rest

Fandom: Princess Tutu

Wordcount: 2153

Summary: Alternate Universe. Superhero Ahiru finds supervillain Rue on her doorstep in the middle of the night, hurt, holding an unconscious Mytho and asking for help.

Notes: Written for @ahirueweek day 2: superpower. Relationship can be platonic or pre-romantic, depending on your interpretation. Read here on AO3

///

The last thing she expected to find on her doorstep at 3 AM was - well, anything, it was 3 AM, the only reason Ahiru herself hadn't gone to bed yet was because she apparently made terrible life choices. But definitely the very last thing she expected to find on her doorstep was Rue.

But there she was, leaning heavily against the wall, sopping wet locks of hair clinging to her forehead, her clothes so tattered that Ahiru couldn't even guess whether they used to be her Princess Kreahe costume or not. And hanging in her arms was Mytho, eerily still.

"Please -" she started, but Ahiru was quicker.

"Rue!" she yelled, throwing the door open as wide as possible. "You - Mytho - are you hurt? Is Mytho alright?"

"We need to come in," Rue said, her voice tense. Her fingers dug into Mytho's side. "Quickly, before anyone sees us."

Despite this, when Ahiru stepped aside, Rue just stared at her.

"Come in," Ahiru urged, and finally, Rue moved inside, out of the rain. It was only then that Ahiru noticed the trail of blood she left behind.

"You are hurt," she accused. "Sit down, I'll get the bandages -"

"It's nothing," Rue cut her off. She lay Mytho on the couch and sagged next to him on the floor. Inside, Ahiru could get a better look at her. Blood gushed from wounds all over her body; thankfully, most of them were probably just shallow scrapes, but there was a large gash in her thigh that might need stitches, and from the way she was holding her chest, there was a good chance something wrong with her ribs as well. "Listen -"

"Don't move," Ahiru ordered, running to the kitchen. She pulled the med kit from under the sink and ran back. Rue startled as she knelt next to her.

"Clothes off."

"I'm sorry, what?" Rue asked, incredulous.

"I need to reach your wounds." From up close, it was clear that she was wearing civilian clothes, a black shirt and pants, tactical, good for running.

"It doesn't matter," Rue snapped. "Listen, I have information -"

"I'm not listening to anything until we've taken care of your wounds."

Rue groaned. "Ahiru, we don't have time for this -"

"Is anyone going to die within an hour?"

"No, but -"

"Two hours?"

"I don't see how that -"

"Then we have time to disinfect, stitch, and bandage some gashes."

"Who even cares!"

"I do!"

Rue glared at her. Ahiru crossed her arms and didn't move an inch.

Finally, Rue sighed and gingerly pulled off the leftovers of her shirt. "You're still as stubborn as ever, aren't you?"

"Yup," Ahiru said, in a cheerful tone that quickly morphed into a horrified gasp.

Bruises climbed up Rue's torso like vines, covering her side and ribs, sneaking up into her sports bra and down to her thigh. Without thinking, Ahiru reached out a hand to touch, before remembering why that would be a terrible, awful, no good idea, and snatching it away.

"Are your ribs..."

"They're fine."

Ahiru stared at Rue until she turned her head.

"They're not broken," she said, reluctantly. "They don't hurt enough for that. Bruised, probably. Maybe fractured."

Ahiru took a deep breath. "Alright," she said. "We're taking you to the hospital for an x-ray tomorrow."

"No hospitals," Rue snapped.

"I can't just let you walk around with fractured ribs!"

"No. Hospitals." When Ahiru opened her mouth to protest, Rue cut her off. "My - the Raven knows I'm hurt. He'll be keeping an eye on them. The risk is too great."

That's - fine.

"Okay," Ahiru agreed reluctantly, "no hospitals. But promise me you'll take it easy, at least for a while, alright?"

Which was a normal question! But Rue stared at her like she'd just announced she was marrying the Raven."Why do you even care?"

Ahiru blinked. " 'Cause you're my friend, of course."

Rue just kept staring at her. "I've been trying to kill you for the past three months."

She shrugged. "Friends make bad choices, sometimes. Doesn't mean they're not your friends anymore. Now take your pants off, I need to reach your thighs."

For a solid few seconds, Rue didn't move. Then, she burst out laughing.

"You're one of a kind, aren't you?" she muttered, and it seemed almost bitter.

Ahiru didn't know how to respond to that, so she didn't, setting out to clean her wounds instead. Luckily, she'd been right, and most of them were shallow. Only the one on her thigh required stitches.

"There!" She clapped her hands together, triumphantly. "All done. I'll get some ice for your ribs. Lay down on my bed in the meantime."

Rue sputtered. "I can't just - I can't just take your bed!"

Ahiru waved her off. "It's fine, it's fine. I can sleep on the floor no problem."

"It's indecent!" she protested, and it would've been beyond weird, a supervillain on her floor protesting that taking the bed would be impolite, but it was Rue. Rue was just like that.

"You're the one who's hurt," Ahiru reasoned. "Please, Rue. Take the bed."

Rue blinked owlishly at her, before slowly getting up and walking to the bed. With a sigh of relief, Ahiru ducked out of the room.

Problem: there was no ice left. Fakir had even written a nice little reminder on the fridge door: buy ice, right there beneath the rest of her groceries. The whiteboard has been his idea too, actually; she'd forget less if she wrote down whatever she needed right after she ran out. It'd been a huge help, except for the fact that she still forgot to go to the store on a regular basis. Whoops.

Underneath the ice, there were more supplies in Fakir's handwriting; iodine, gauze, medical alcohol. The last fight had been rough, and Fakir had spent a good half hour just bandaging her wounds. It'd been worth it, though; Mytho had actually shown some awareness, right before he slashed her the third time, and the sword had only grazed her. He'd even opened his mouth to say something, before it turned into an ugly sneer again. Stuff like that was getting rarer and rarer, and even Fakir couldn't bring himself to lecture her too much, after she told him.

And now Mytho was on her couch, offline, and Rue seemed like she'd split off from the Raven and - and she needed ice for her bruised-or-fractured ribs that they couldn't take to the hospital because the Raven would be watching them.

Ahiru took a deep breath, and managed to unearth some frozen peas from the back of her freezer.

Rue had settled in on her bed, in the same way a stray kitten would settle into a dog pound. Aside from her fingers playing with a stray piece of fabric from her leftover-pants, she lay completely still, stiff as a board and with her arms tucked in as close to her body as possible. She and Mr. Fuzzles seemed engaged in a staring contest, and it didn't look like Rue was winning.

"Mr. Fuzzles doesn't bite, you know," she said, plopping the peas down onto Rue's chest. Thankfully, Rue didn't protest the treatment anymore, and simply moved them down towards her bruises.

"I know that," she snapped. "Why do you have a stuffed animal? You're seventeen."

"What, don't you have any?" She moved Mr. Fuzzles so that his head rested in Rue's armpit. "They're fuzzy!"

"Father would never have allowed me to cling to such childish nonsense," she sniffed haughtily. But even though she glared at the teddybear, she made no move to throw him off. Maybe because that would throw the peas off too.

"Well, your father is a supervillain, so I think that might just be part of all the evil."

Rue opened her mouth, then snapped it close again. "I... suppose it is soft."

"Exactly!" Ahiru grabbed a chair. "I'll get you one too, later."

"You really don't have to do that."

"But I want to."

"Ahiru, if we don't deal with Drosselmeyer, there might not be a later." Rue hit her fist against the bed. It couldn't hide the shaking in her hands.

"Drosselmeyer?" Without even thinking about it, she touched her pendant. "Shouldn't we be taking down the Raven?"

Rue started taking a deep breath, before letting it out again with a painful wheeze. "How much do you know about Drosselmeyer?"

"I - I've only met him a few times." She remember him appearing above her lake, hovering over the water like a ghost, gifting her the pendant, a chance at humanity. A chance to help Mytho.

Rue's head snapped towards her. "You've met him?"

"Only a few times! Can count them on one hand, really." His smile was creepy, and his ability to stop time even more so, and he seemed to delight in other people's misery just a bit too much, but even so, he didn't seem - well, Raven-level capital 'E' Evil.

"That - makes things easier, I suppose." Rue blew out a breath. It seemed exhaling was easier than inhaling. "Drosselmeyer is the writer of the story."

"The Prince and the Raven, right? Where Mytho's from?"

She remembered him, that day on the lake, smiling down at her with a grin too wide for his face.

"So you love that boy, huh?" he'd asked her. She could only nod. She'd been just a duck, after all.

"Would you still love him if I told you he wasn't human?"

"It was one of the many plays he wrote, although the only one he left unfinished," Rue confirmed. "It seems he wants to finish it, now."

"Would you still love him if he was just a robot, made to perform?"

"Mytho tore his own heart apart to keep the story from continuing; with him defective, the Raven couldn't properly fight him. But when you started to rebuild his heart -"

"Do you love him enough to search for his heart, so that he may feel again?"

"The story continued," Ahiru finished. Her nails were digging into her arms. "Then - this fight. It's my fault."

"If it hadn't been you, it would've been someone else," Rue said, but Ahiru barely listened.

"He said that only I would accept being Princess Tutu. That I'm the only one who -"

"And the Raven told me I was an android built by him," Rue interrupted. Ahiru startled.

"What? But you bleed."

"Exactly." Rue's hand was clenched and white-knuckled. White-knuckled from a lack of blood, which androids didn't have. "He lied. Men like him and Drosselmeyer will say whatever they need to, in order to get you to do what they want."

And Ahiru - Ahiru was still shaking, but she took a deep breath, and suppressed her fear. For Rue. Rue needed her to be calm. "I'm sorry."

"I told you, it's not your fault -"

"I'm sorry about the Raven," she clarified. "That's the reason you were helping him, right? I'm sorry. He shouldn't have treated you that way."

And Rue just... stared. She just stared, until tears started to stream across her face.

"Rue..." Ahiru reached out a hand, but Rue was faster, wiping away the tears as quickly as they appeared.

"I'm sorry," she said, and she sounded choked up. "I don't - I don't know what came over me."

"It's okay." Hesitantly, she laid her hand on Rue's head, and when Rue didn't try to stop her, she stroked her fingers through her hair. Her hands were still shaking, a little bit, but as she continued, they stilled. As Princess Tutu, she'd done this dozens of times before, for dozens of people, and there was something comforting about the familiar movements.  

"I don't know exactly what you've been through," she started, and without even noticing, she slipped into the familiar Princess Tutu cadence. "But it must've been horrible, having the Raven as a father, doing everything you could for him, even hurting Mytho, and finding out he never loved you to begin with. You've been through a lot, and you can cry about it."

"We don't - we don't have the time -" Rue choked out, but the tears kept coming faster than she could wipe them away.

Ahiru kept carding her fingers through Rue's hair, carefully working through the knots in her hair. Even as Rue's sobs increased, her whole body shaking, a certain tension slipped from her body underneath Ahiru's fingers. "It's okay," she repeated. "If nobody's going to do die in a few hours, we have the time."

And at that, Rue unraveled. It was like all the tears she'd kept in for weeks, months, maybe even years came spilling out in one giant storm. She wailed into her pillow, and all Ahiru could do was continue to stroke her head, the practiced motions just as much for Rue's sake as for her own.

A story was moving, the plot wrapping up, but even so, they could take a few sentences to rest.

[subarubi]

The List

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Everyone’s got a submission to his list. Watch this. Read that. Go there. But you’ve never given him anything. Not a single idea of what it is you like, what makes you feel at home in this world. Never made an effort to bridge the gap between the 40s and now, and yourself and him. And it oddly bothers him.

Word Count: 3.6 k

A/N: this is my very first reader insert i’ve written and am posting, so i’m excited :) appreciate anyone who takes the time to read!

Everyone’s got a submission to his list. 

Watch this. Read that. Eat here. Go there. I Love Lucy. Moon Landing. Berlin Wall. Steve Jobs. Disco. Thai food. Star Wars. Nirvana. Rocky. Troubleman Soundtrack. Things he absolutely must do if he wants to call himself a modern man. Which, he does. But kind of doesn’t? Doesn’t even matter much now anyway.

You don’t.

Have a submission to his list, that is.

You’ve never been talkative anyway, he reasons. You’re quiet, reserved, and a bit of an outsider in this haphazardly thrown together group of extraordinary people. 

Not that you’re ordinary, not in the slightest. You’re a comet. Your power, palpable. A volatile missile, ice and dust carving a hole through space. Nucleus, hard body amalgamation of granite muscle and tungsten bones. Tail, a whipping flurry of wild hair, muted decimation in its wake. No, you are far from ordinary.

You just... stick to the walls.

With arms-- arms he’s seen bring men to their knees-- crossed over your chest, face set in marble. Not unfriendly. You’ll talk nice when prompted, smile when appropriate, but you never initiate. 

You seem to prefer a distance, a line between work life and personal life. A line that just doesn’t exist with the Avengers. Somehow, though, you manage to maintain the separation. Natasha’s prying questions, Stark’s intentional invasions of your personal space, Sam’s harmless but persistent flirting. 

It’s all so easily deflected. 

Made even easier now that the family you’d always resisted has been fractured. 

You don’t care to foster intimate relationships with any of these people. And you definitely don’t care to put in a submission to Captain America’s To-Do List. 

Everyone, everyone has something to add to his list. Even Bucky, Bucky, who has spent the better part of 70 years in and out of cryo, brain pulled apart and replaced with a new, foreign synapse each time, said something about a movie he’d seen somewhere. 

It bothers him. It shouldn’t, but it does. 

Steve can physically feel it--  that’s how much it bothers him. A now permanent path of his eyes to your form in a room. An itch in his fingers for a pen and paper anytime you say anything. A burn on the tops of his ears, hot and red, if you smile softly at some reference he doesn’t understand. Is that a signal? Would that be a suggestion if you actually talked to him?

Regardless, he trusts you. A boundless amount. Unexplainable given just how little the two of you have actually spoken.

You don’t make suggestions for the list, and it only really bothers him because he does trust you. He wants to know what you have to say, what you think is important for him to experience. What you like. If, perhaps, what makes you feel at home in this world could help him too. 

It’s a Thursday and he’s thumbing the pages of his notebook when Natasha gets the idea. 

The quinjet cabin is filled with a heavy, pregnant silence that no one can bear to cut through. Full-term. Unbearable pressure on the sciatic nerve-type silence. 9 months discomfort and anxiety, stifling their words. 

A mission gone right, but leaving a bad taste in their mouths. 

Bucky sits near the front, aimlessly bouncing a tennis ball against the starboard wall. Sam is in the co-pilot seat, trying to read a book with a red cover and yellow spine. Nat’s knuckles turn white on the yoke, keeping the quinjet on track even though it could pretty much fly on its own. 

You like music, Steve thinks. You there now in the back corner-- fingers drumming to the private beat on your thigh, eyes closed and head tipped back, white of earbuds in stark contrast with your dark combat suit-- is a frequent sight. He imagines your recommendation might be an album for him to listen to. 

Steve’s fingers ghost over the familiar scrawl of his list; some crossed out, some recently added. 

He decides it could use more music. 

You should just ask her, Natasha smirks, jutting her chin your direction. When she moved to sit next to him, Steve didn’t know. But, she is, after all, the spy. He’d been otherwise occupied anyway. He lifts his bowed head up to fix her with a puzzled look. Nat gives him that smirk and Steve has to fight back a groan. Knocking her knee against his, she teases,  you know, she can probably feel you staring.

His eyes shoot over in your direction, sighing a little in relief when you seem to still be lost in the music pumping in your ears. Steve realizes Natasha isn’t talking about the list. Years now, and she still hasn’t given up on playing his personal matchmaker. It’s slowed, surely, due to circumstance, but she’s never satisfied. A date. He should ask you on a date, is what she means. He’s suddenly as red in the face as the tips of his ears and Natasha’s hair. 

Steve’s not blind. 

You’re attractive. 

Soft and hard in so many ways. Lips, pink and pillowy and parted ever so slightly. Sharp line of your jaw clenched, brows furrowed. The gentle curve of your neck, warm skin disappearing beneath a dirt stained, hole ridden suit that hasn’t seen mending hands in months. Not since you followed him in his free fall from grace. 

You’d followed. Wordlessly. Burned out, abandoned by coworkers and the public, you resigned yourself to this life of Motel hopping and operating outside of the realm of what’s legal. Though not outside of what’s right.

Pondering what any of that could mean feels forbidden to Steve.

The hard shell of a man, not any less great, but perhaps less sure.

He looks back at Natasha with a low shake of his head, abruptly shutting his notebook. She sighs, but takes the hint. Enough. Not now. 

Almost a year later, he does ‘just ask’. 

It’s kind of like a date, in barely-there ways. You’re left alone, facing each other in a booth, knees brushing. You go to the bathroom, Steve orders for the both of you. Kind of like a date. 

Stuffed in the sticky booth of some diner in Middle America, alone together. Natasha gone off on her own again. Bucky recovering in Wakanda. Sam out like a light on a creaking Motel 6 mattress-- hard, just like he likes it. Your muscles like jelly, stomachs rumbling with the dull ache of hunger, soaked head to toe from the torrential downpour outside. No idle chit chat for you two. Steve stares out the window, impossible blue eyes following the path of a raindrop. You ring the bottom of your shirt out onto the small bit of floor between two pairs of feet. It splatters on the ground loudly. 

Not a date. 

You risk a glance at him over the piping hot brim of your coffee mug. Silently marvel at just how much he’s changed through thin white wisps of steam. More than longer hair, more than a handsome and disguising beard, more than the ripped out star of his suit sitting in a heap on the motel room floor. You can’t say how, it’s more a feeling. 

He’s a lot quieter now. Like you. 

Steve’s always been stoic. Passionate when needs be, but not exactly loose with his emotions; never as restrained now. His voice was always strong and sure, but never quite so gruff from frequent disuse as in this past year. You suppose it’s partially your fault. With Natasha gone much more now and Sam talking enough to carry a conversation himself, you’re not exactly great company. You might be one of the reasons he speaks less and less. 

A pretty waitress is smiling wide at him, a signal that she knows. A beard and hat pulled down as far as possible would never be enough to hide those golden boy blue eyes. 

Those eyes millions of women would gladly melt into a puddle of rainwater on the dirty floor of some diner in Midwest America for. You’d have to ask for a mop later to clean up the mess. Yours and the one spilling from ‘Molly’s lips. 

I heard you have a list, she smiles coy. You tuck in to the plate of chocolate chip pancakes doused in maple syrup as she bats her eyelashes down at him. 

Steve shifts, glancing over at you seemingly uninterested in the conversation. He’d given up on you having anything to do with the list weeks ago. He may be a fugitive-- may no longer be an Avenger, Captain America-- but he’s still a nice guy.  

Yes, he laughs kindly, hands clasped together on the table top.

You sniff and his eyes snap to yours again, tense. You’ll have to leave soon. Now that ‘Molly’ from the midnight shift at Red’s diner has seen Steve Rogers and his pretty blue eyes, you’ll have to wake Sam from his long overdue sleep and be gone before dawn. You wish he could’ve been left longer. It’s just how things work these days. A long shot from living plush, courtesy of Tony Stark. But you can wait long enough to finish coffee and breakfast.

Can I make a suggestion? she leans down and speaks in soft tones, a wicked grin hidden beneath those sweet, innocent looking red lips. 

You raise a brow when Steve politely nods, pulling out his trusty notebook from his back pocket. Steve asks to borrow a pen which she hastily holds out to him, purposely having their fingers brush in the exchange. Surely he knows she’s flirting, he’s not that naive. There’s no way. He’s a nice guy, maybe too nice.

She’s young. You imagine she has spent more than a few nights looking up at a poster of his face, clean shaven and perfect, playing this exact conversation in her head. That she has carefully thought over what her input would be. 

You should definitely watch ‘Friends’ when you have the time. 

You snort. Loudly. 

Molly instantly shrinks in on herself, deflated. Steve gives you an odd look, which you brush off and promptly resume shoveling the sweet breakfast food into your mouth. 

He’s so kind, it’s downright disgusting. 

Steve makes a point of writing it down underneath ‘Stevie Wonder’, smiling, Thank you. And for good measure, when he returns the pen, Captain America runs his ring finger across her knuckle. Oh, he knew. So considerate, you almost want to smirk when you catch it.

She’s gone now to wait on the other late night stragglers, blushing and gently ghosting her fingers over the spot he’d touched. Your hurtful mocking isn’t enough to dampen the feel of being caught in Steve Rogers’ warm glow. 

His knee presses along the inside of yours again when he shifts to shove the small book back into his pants. You take a measured sip of coffee. 

Steve raises a brow in your direction, Did you have a better suggestion?

There. He’s asked. 

Maybe he could finally breathe in your presence now. 

No luck considering you simply shrug and break from his gaze. So unreadable. It’s frustrating. He has half a mind to write ‘shrug’ underneath ‘Friends’. Are you? Friends, he means. You’ve known each other what feels like a lifetime now. At whatever this is for a year and a half. He can count on one hand the amount of conversations not involving a mission you’ve shared. 

He trusts you with his life, which, after everything that’s happened, is a rare commodity. He’s sure you feel the same. 

You’d say that no, you’re not friends. You probably wouldn’t deny the unfathomable trust in each other, though. That’s comforting at least. You sleep a bed away every night after all. 

Steve doesn’t really sleep. 

He doesn’t know you know that; you don’t sleep either. 

He’s staring, maybe he doesn’t realize it. 

You’ve abandoned your fork, suddenly feeling sick with it. That fucking blue. It split you like butter and might’ve knocked you over had you not been tightly gripping your knee under the table. 

So handsome it hurts. 

How could anyone be that pretty? Heartbreaking. Even before the serum-- you’ve seen the pictures. Breathtaking. The beard. The beard is really something. So so pretty. Adonis and Aphrodite. Michelangelo’s David. Torturous. 

It’s been almost a full minute now. Of him, just staring. 

You clear your throat in hopes it might pull him out of whatever it is that has claimed him. It doesn’t work. You talk just to end it. You know for certain that will surprise him. 

Why do you even keep up with it? The list. That stupid goddamned list.

You can see the flush on Steve’s neck when he does realize that he’d stared at you, through you, in you, for the longest two minutes in history. He coughs into his fist. 

What do you mean? his brow furrows, and you almost want to touch the crease between them to make it go away. It’s a ridiculous thought. One you shake away with another measured sip of coffee. 

Doesn’t it seem... you shrug, and there’s an urge in him to grab you by the shoulders and beg you to stop fucking shrugging so goddamned much. Steve thinks he might go insane if he sees those shoulders twitch up again. I dunno, kind of pointless now?

In a way, yes, it is. 

Steve can’t exactly pop in a film or binge watch a tv show like this. And sitting down to listen to read a book doesn’t really seem right.

He doesn’t answer. You watch him finally pick up his own fork, cutting into an omelette more cheese and meat than egg. 

It still rains down hard. 

Steve pays the bill, smiling tightly at Molly when she lays her hand on his bicep. He tips her well, she was sweet and young and still half terrified from just you snorting. 

You follow a few paces behind him out of the diner, mindful of maintaining that distance. 

Neither of you bother to fight against getting soaked. 

You’re both immediately set on edge when three cars pull into the parking lot, tightly together. It’s the kind of thing you’d been trained to be suspicious of. The kind of thing that never means anything good when around people like you. It means they have come for you both. It means you'll probably have to fight. 

He pauses underneath the buzzing neon sign. His back is to you, the tense expanse of muscles outlined by the wet shirt clinging to his skin. A breath. Another. 

Giggling.

You hear giggling of all things, bubbling through the parking lot. Girls, a whole crowd of them, spilling out of the cars, hushing each other. His name is on their cherry chapstick lips. Not his name, his title: Captain America. Molly had texted them, that’s clear now. 

It’s better, at least, than your previous estimation. But it’s trouble nevertheless. 

Steve turns to face you and somehow, the soft glow of red on his face only makes his eyes bluer. He takes a step forward. You understand. You always understand in the absence of words. There’s a link between the two of you when you’re in that working mode. That trust, tangible in how you too, step forward. 

It’s procedural. You fall into it so easily.

His head ducks, yours raises. Eyes locked in one another, but ears elsewhere, listening. Not touching, but near to it. A breath away. Swaying in the rain. You feel it sizzle on your skin, see it coming off him in steam. 

No one bothers the two lovers, obviously too occupied with each other to be superheroes. Natasha had taught you both that. 

It pours harder yet. 

The giggles fade into nothing, drowned in the monsoon-- no space between the fat drops pelting the earth. They couldn’t see the two of you now even if they tried. 

Why did you come? You never really said, he has to shout, the rain is so loud. 

You’ve left a lot unsaid. Some things are better that way. 

Steve’s hands, large and powerful, stop your shoulders mid shrug. Don’t, he squeezes his eyes shut, drops of rain trickling down the slopes of his nose, For the love of God, don’t fucking shrug.

Everything is heavy: your drenched clothes, his hands still gripping your shoulders, the crushing weight in your chest-- the rock lodged in your throat with all the things you’ve never said for the sake of some stupid credo about not letting things get personal. You’ve let the words die on your lips and for what? 

It did nothing. The lines blurred anyway, out of your control. 

The truth: there hasn’t been a distance greater than the width of his notebook between the two of you for a long time now. 

You pretend. 

You both pretend that absence of any extended conversation means you haven’t already learned everything about each other just by watching. Stealing glances when the other is turned away. 

Steve pretends that the reason your input in the list matters so much to him is because he wants to know the people he’s trusting with his life. 

He already knows you. Not your favorite color or band, but you. Your outline in the darkness of a thousand motels. The smell of you under layers of grime and sweat and blood-- you’re scrubbed clean with the same soap he uses. Your breathing patterns: one when you’re resting with your earbuds in, head bopping to songs he’s not been privy to; another when you’re side by side in combat, moving together like one; the most prominent, when you’re both laying in bed staring at the ceiling, too lost in thought to even care about sleep. 

You know him too.

His question. How do you answer? You followed. Wasn’t that answer enough?

Where’s your notebook? You ask instead, though it’s more of a call in this downpour. 

Steve’s brow furrows again, left hand flying back to pat the small book in his pocket. This time, you do reach out, though you don’t have to go very far. His breath quickens when the pad of your thumb brushes against the wet crease of skin pulled together in uncertainty. He swallows hard, rifling through the pages a little messy because he can’t stop looking at you. Your hand stays there until the pressure releases. For a good second after, too.     

When he finally opens it up to the two pages worth of ‘to-do’, the ink is running. Black to blue. A melted mess of jumbled letters on delicate paper one wrong twitch away from ripping. 

You take it from his hands, gentle, because you’re pretty sure this notebook has been a lifeline for him. Grounding. There’s sketches in there that you’ve only caught glimpses of. 

You lament now that it has been ruined by the rain. 

I don’t have a pen, he says softly. Softly, because he’s closer now than you’ve ever been. You’ve never heard him so soft. So cautious that his voice might scare you away. 

You spare a languid glance up to see just how close he is. It must be only inches because you can hear him through the rain. You tilt your chin to the sky, heavy lids widening slightly. 

He’s closer than even that. Not inches, centimeters. If you hadn’t been swaying in synchronization and instead leaned forward at the same time...

You don’t even know what you’re doing. For the first time in a while, you’re scared. 

The book is closed between your palms, the list shut. You’ll deal with it another day. You’ll help him remember everything that was on there so he can rewrite it. 

Steve leans in more. Not enough. 

I’ll just tell you then, you nod. Steve’s chest brushes against yours as you both suck in heavy breaths. You press the notebook there, against the hard swells of his front, closer to his heart. 

Which question are you answering? Why did you come? Or did you have a better suggestion?

Bob Dylan.

What?

Bob Dylan. Bringing It All Back Home. 1965.

Oh.

The stupid list. For years now, that’s all he’s wanted to hear. But there, under the neon sign, in the parking lot of Red’s diner, drenched in the deluge of rain, it’s not enough. 

We’ll listen to it together, you smile and he’s never seen it quite so big or bright.

Together. It is enough. 

Your lips taste of rain and maple syrup. He’ll remember it for a while. Forever, maybe. And him, you don’t recall something ever being so rich in your life. Steve’s mouth, so decadent you could die with a sated smile still. It’s all the sweeter, the press of your lips together; in it all those words left unsaid. You breathe them into his mouth, warm and red and waiting, and he sears them back into yours with the delicate slide of his tongue. Mouths together form lost sentences and sing. A crescendoing flurry of soundless vowels and consonants that only the two of you will ever hear. 

Steve faintly hears the notebook fall in a splash at your feet and you can feel the grin in his lips by the scratch of his beard against your chin. You’ll feel guilty for dropping it later, but your hand had been hellbent on curling itself under his arms and around his shoulder. His own hands cradle your neck and face, slipping across the rain wet planes of your face. And those forearms, like hams, rest heavily on your shoulders-- so that you can never shrug again. If you can’t find the words, Steve’s content to have you speak them on his lips. 

Everyone’s got a submission to his list. 

But yours come with a kiss. 

Yours is the only one that he’s ever really cared about.  

Sam complains weeks later that he’s sick of hearing Bob Dylan.